There ain't no second chance against the thing with forty eyes
As I desperately tried to avoid work all morning I went in search of some Halloween pictures in my iPhotos to have printed out. We bought several Halloween picture frames and we need some photos to put in them. Sadly the Sparrow and I only have one pic together from last year. But, we've got plenty of cat pictures and I have dozens, hundreds of pics from Halloween and my costumes over the years.
I had specifically been looking for this picture Joey took of me in his old apartment on Buckingham when I was Michael Jackson (with Blanket) that one year. All I had was a cropped image in my iPhotos and I realized there were dozens taken that night that I could not find anywhere. So I had to dig out one of my archive USB drives where I not only discovered all those photos, but a ton of others I did not have in iPhoto or in the other picture folders on my old Mac. Why I separated all these folders out I am not sure.
As is always the case this thrust me back in time, swept over with nostalgia and memories of places and events I'd completely forgotten about. I even found the original photos I took in 2003 when I saw Duran Duran at House of Blues, as well as the following year's pictures of John Mayer at The Beat Kitchen. I thought these photos were all lost when my laptop was stolen in 2010 or 2011. The only memory I had of them was when I was going back through my journal last year and found the entries with them.
Pictures are just images in time and never tell the full story. But, I do remember the fun of being alive back then. Even as I was broke and miserable from work and my self-esteem was in the toilet. There is no way to broach the subject without coming off as arrogant, but as much as I pretended I was "hot" back then, and I knew I had some kind of power over men, the Kavorka as we would call it, I remember being so critical of myself. I thought I was grossly overweight, I hated my pale complexion, I always had zits, my teeth were never in the best of shape, I hated my hair and could "never do anything with it". I was crippled with fear over being judged, and as I've said, the friendships I had were generally some level of toxic and all we did was judge each other and tear each other down. I played my part in it as much as anyone else.
But, I look at these pictures and I barely see the flaws. A few zits, sure. My occasionally bad teeth, of course. I wasn't this troll I thought I was though. Far from it. And I likely feel this way now because I feel old and think *now* I am this horrible troll. In twenty more years, we'll probably go through this cycle again if I am still around.
I thought I was fat, yet I have all these "sexy" pics I took back then, before the term "selfie" existed and I was in great shape. My skin was not "disgustingly white" like I always thought it was. In general, who isn't good looking when they are young. I have a jawline. I could grow a beard that wasn't gray. I had a crap ton of hair. I've been under this delusion that I've been going bald since I was about 23. And I've not yet, except for a slight receding hairline. Back then I lamented it but I literally had a thick mane of the most awesome looking hair on my head. And all I was worried about back then was combing it so I wouldn't be made fun of half the time. I should have been doing whatever the fuck I wanted, with my hair, my clothes, my life, and not given a damn what anyone thought.
Yet, I can't act like I was that crippled. I think I wrote the other day about how I've often pictured myself in the past like I was this spineless coward, but I wasn't. Not always. I took chances, I stood up for myself on occasion. I did crazy things that *I* wanted to do, in spite of everyone else's opinion. I think the issue is, then and now, I only ever beat myself up for the perceived "wrongs" and never give credit or acknowledge all that was right. I'm getting better though.
I think back to that Halloween when I was Michael Jackson. I think it was the single greatest Halloween night of my life. The costume was this cobbled together thing, with pieces from the thrift store and hot glue and women's belts from TJ Maxx. Yet, I put my mind to it and created this iconic character. I remember getting dressed at Joey's to go to a party the weekend before Halloween. And I was so embarrassed and ashamed to be seen outside in the thing. Yet, when I emerged from his bathroom he was flabbergasted and we completely cracked up over how I looked. He could not believe what I had done with the bits and pieces I'd put together, along with the goth make-up I found in some store to make my skin even more pale. And the little baby doll with the blanket over it, paying homage to the infamous moment not long before when the real Michael Jackson held his baby over a balcony. I honestly couldn't believe it either, because until that moment I had not even tried the entire thing on.
That night people on the street were crazed when we walked to the party. I was embarrassed for some stupid reason.
When we went out on that Friday for the actual Halloween festivities people were completely unhinged for me. I could not make it down the sidewalk without being mobbed. I can't remember if I got dressed at Rockwell's or took a cab there from my place on Ashland, but he was so annoyed because the second we rounded the corner by IHOP people were screaming and shouting for me. We couldn't walk five feet without someone wanting a picture.
It was such a blast. Our intention was to go to Roscoes, but I kept getting mobbed by people and never even made it into the bar. I have all kinds of photos with people dressed as Elton John, Elvis, Courtney Love, Mugatu... it was just hilarious. I think the only sour bit to the evening was when I was foolishly motivated to enter into Sidetrack's costume contest. Always a waste of time, because it is more so a popularity contest. I lost of course, but the fun wasn't on that stage, it was out on the street.
It was like a last remnant of what Halloween in Boystown used to be. Because even back then in 2004 things were changing, and at that time I was thinking back to the Halloweens of the late 1990s down there, which themselves were a fantastic time. People running through the streets in all kinds of homemade costumes. A site that would slowly fade away as the breeders moved in and the awful, yearly Halloween parade came into existence.
I found pics from even earlier in time. From the year 2002 or so when I bought my first webcam and would take pics of myself with it to use on profiles for dating websites. They weren't apps back then and it wasn't yet coined "social media". In the background I can see the stark, white walls of the studio apartment I lived in. The place I literally wept in when I had to move there in 2002 because of the issues with Ex-roommate and not being able to afford a one bedroom.
I look back now and see that it was no big deal. I was just a kid. Twenty-six-years-old, with my whole life ahead of me. I legitimately did not even know what a studio apartment was until then. Had I know, maybe I would have moved out earlier than 1999 from my parents. Who knows.
I thought that I was supposed to live up to a certain standard in apartment living. I thought I had to have nice furniture and a big space to hang out in and show off to friends. I knew other guys who had nice places and roommates and couches and queen sized beds. I was still sleeping on my twin bed in those days.
But WHO CARES? I shouldn't have back then. Sometimes I didn't. I only remember the times I did.
We were all so young and had so much life ahead of us. Caught up in all the drama and emotion of youth. Where we were still learning how to feel and react to life around us and sometimes doing it poorly. I am sure half the choices I made back then were the wrong ones. But, in retrospect I had a great time making those bad choices.
The in between moments too are things I still remember and cherish to this day. Moments that would seem inconsequential to people. Living in that studio, I would often take the long walk home after the bars at night. Walking down Irving Park Road or Clark Street at 2 in the morning. Passing that old Jewish cemetery and Graceland on the the other side of Irving. Often with music in my ears. Sometimes making audio posts to my blog. Occasionally making phone calls to Joey. Crying about drama, raging about toxic idiots, talking about guys.
I loved those walks and the city at night. It was probably dangerous for me to be doing, but what did I know back then. I knew people like Constituent who would get mugged all the time, but somehow I never did. Even when I was obsessed with walking through alleyways after seeing 'Underworld' in autumn of 2003.
Hanging in coffee shops, reading books, going to Tower Records. Drinking at the bars, flirting with boys and dancing constantly. More than anything else in those youngest of days, I loved to dance. As I got older and it became less fun in Chicago I would often spend hours in New Orleans during Mardi Gras dancing. I think it was the 2007 Mardi Gras when Agent Smith first went that I danced on Fat Tuesday on the box in Bourbon Pub for eight or nine hours. I loved music, I loved moving and sure, I liked the attention too. From afar. I never much liked when they'd approach and try dancing with me.
I am sure people probably thought I was on ecstasy, but somehow I was just just high on life (though definitely drunk).
What responsibilities did I really have back then? The rent had to be paid. And the bills, those god awful credit card bills. Those were mistakes I would correct if I could. But the rest, even the idiocy... what a time it was. Even the lazy days were spent watching those great, old HGTV shows. We had our whole lives to do whatever we wanted, so who cared back then about responsibility. If you paid those bills, you just needed to worry about how much was left for the weekend.
It is funny to remember how the drama of life slowly crept in over those years in the 2000s. Money woes, personality conflicts, real life. It was one thing to get dumped or have some random "enemy" at the bar. But, when life got shitty and reality stepped in, the fun was over a lot of the time. You get too old to be partying every night. You get too old to be dancing on a box. The future was on the horizon, and sooner or later most people start to see it. It is the way of things.
What a thrill it would be to go back for a day. Just to relive that one Halloween or that one great night at Roscoes that I'll always remember, when I was dancing up on the box and they played that cover of 'Don't Wanna Miss A Thing' that mixed into 'Santa Maria'. I am sure I looked like a jackass up there, but WHO CARES! I'd get in that Michael Jackson costume at home and not wait to dress up at Joey's. I'd buy that old Sinatra-looking hat from Beatniks that Rockwell mocked and shamed me for wearing, so I put it back on the rack that day. WHO FUCKING CARES!
So much energy in my youth was wasted being concerned what people thought. I am not mad about it, just in reflection I wish it wasn't so. I know I was my own person. The entire course of my life has been about me resisting the crowd and fighting to find individualism in situations where I was expected to conform. I don't need to read back into my journal or see old pictures to remember that conflict within myself. I was braver than I thought I was. But I also was my own person more often than I thought too.
There is an egotism in looking into the past. In patting oneself on the back and proclaiming yourself unique and good looking. I've just spent so many years telling myself I was shit, that it is a real shock to myself when I realize I wasn't. So in my own defense, I think I am owned a little enjoyment in these moments.
It is bringing back something I was contemplating months ago, sometimes in these very pages. Am I really living my life now? Am I taking chances and DOING things? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Is that acceptable? Is that simply how life is? Or should I be doing more? Should I be caring even less about other people's opinions? I may be light years away from where I was in those days in the 2000s... but how many more light years ahead are there for me between now and my future self?
I had specifically been looking for this picture Joey took of me in his old apartment on Buckingham when I was Michael Jackson (with Blanket) that one year. All I had was a cropped image in my iPhotos and I realized there were dozens taken that night that I could not find anywhere. So I had to dig out one of my archive USB drives where I not only discovered all those photos, but a ton of others I did not have in iPhoto or in the other picture folders on my old Mac. Why I separated all these folders out I am not sure.
As is always the case this thrust me back in time, swept over with nostalgia and memories of places and events I'd completely forgotten about. I even found the original photos I took in 2003 when I saw Duran Duran at House of Blues, as well as the following year's pictures of John Mayer at The Beat Kitchen. I thought these photos were all lost when my laptop was stolen in 2010 or 2011. The only memory I had of them was when I was going back through my journal last year and found the entries with them.
Pictures are just images in time and never tell the full story. But, I do remember the fun of being alive back then. Even as I was broke and miserable from work and my self-esteem was in the toilet. There is no way to broach the subject without coming off as arrogant, but as much as I pretended I was "hot" back then, and I knew I had some kind of power over men, the Kavorka as we would call it, I remember being so critical of myself. I thought I was grossly overweight, I hated my pale complexion, I always had zits, my teeth were never in the best of shape, I hated my hair and could "never do anything with it". I was crippled with fear over being judged, and as I've said, the friendships I had were generally some level of toxic and all we did was judge each other and tear each other down. I played my part in it as much as anyone else.
But, I look at these pictures and I barely see the flaws. A few zits, sure. My occasionally bad teeth, of course. I wasn't this troll I thought I was though. Far from it. And I likely feel this way now because I feel old and think *now* I am this horrible troll. In twenty more years, we'll probably go through this cycle again if I am still around.
I thought I was fat, yet I have all these "sexy" pics I took back then, before the term "selfie" existed and I was in great shape. My skin was not "disgustingly white" like I always thought it was. In general, who isn't good looking when they are young. I have a jawline. I could grow a beard that wasn't gray. I had a crap ton of hair. I've been under this delusion that I've been going bald since I was about 23. And I've not yet, except for a slight receding hairline. Back then I lamented it but I literally had a thick mane of the most awesome looking hair on my head. And all I was worried about back then was combing it so I wouldn't be made fun of half the time. I should have been doing whatever the fuck I wanted, with my hair, my clothes, my life, and not given a damn what anyone thought.
Yet, I can't act like I was that crippled. I think I wrote the other day about how I've often pictured myself in the past like I was this spineless coward, but I wasn't. Not always. I took chances, I stood up for myself on occasion. I did crazy things that *I* wanted to do, in spite of everyone else's opinion. I think the issue is, then and now, I only ever beat myself up for the perceived "wrongs" and never give credit or acknowledge all that was right. I'm getting better though.
I think back to that Halloween when I was Michael Jackson. I think it was the single greatest Halloween night of my life. The costume was this cobbled together thing, with pieces from the thrift store and hot glue and women's belts from TJ Maxx. Yet, I put my mind to it and created this iconic character. I remember getting dressed at Joey's to go to a party the weekend before Halloween. And I was so embarrassed and ashamed to be seen outside in the thing. Yet, when I emerged from his bathroom he was flabbergasted and we completely cracked up over how I looked. He could not believe what I had done with the bits and pieces I'd put together, along with the goth make-up I found in some store to make my skin even more pale. And the little baby doll with the blanket over it, paying homage to the infamous moment not long before when the real Michael Jackson held his baby over a balcony. I honestly couldn't believe it either, because until that moment I had not even tried the entire thing on.
That night people on the street were crazed when we walked to the party. I was embarrassed for some stupid reason.
When we went out on that Friday for the actual Halloween festivities people were completely unhinged for me. I could not make it down the sidewalk without being mobbed. I can't remember if I got dressed at Rockwell's or took a cab there from my place on Ashland, but he was so annoyed because the second we rounded the corner by IHOP people were screaming and shouting for me. We couldn't walk five feet without someone wanting a picture.
It was such a blast. Our intention was to go to Roscoes, but I kept getting mobbed by people and never even made it into the bar. I have all kinds of photos with people dressed as Elton John, Elvis, Courtney Love, Mugatu... it was just hilarious. I think the only sour bit to the evening was when I was foolishly motivated to enter into Sidetrack's costume contest. Always a waste of time, because it is more so a popularity contest. I lost of course, but the fun wasn't on that stage, it was out on the street.
It was like a last remnant of what Halloween in Boystown used to be. Because even back then in 2004 things were changing, and at that time I was thinking back to the Halloweens of the late 1990s down there, which themselves were a fantastic time. People running through the streets in all kinds of homemade costumes. A site that would slowly fade away as the breeders moved in and the awful, yearly Halloween parade came into existence.
I found pics from even earlier in time. From the year 2002 or so when I bought my first webcam and would take pics of myself with it to use on profiles for dating websites. They weren't apps back then and it wasn't yet coined "social media". In the background I can see the stark, white walls of the studio apartment I lived in. The place I literally wept in when I had to move there in 2002 because of the issues with Ex-roommate and not being able to afford a one bedroom.
I look back now and see that it was no big deal. I was just a kid. Twenty-six-years-old, with my whole life ahead of me. I legitimately did not even know what a studio apartment was until then. Had I know, maybe I would have moved out earlier than 1999 from my parents. Who knows.
I thought that I was supposed to live up to a certain standard in apartment living. I thought I had to have nice furniture and a big space to hang out in and show off to friends. I knew other guys who had nice places and roommates and couches and queen sized beds. I was still sleeping on my twin bed in those days.
But WHO CARES? I shouldn't have back then. Sometimes I didn't. I only remember the times I did.
We were all so young and had so much life ahead of us. Caught up in all the drama and emotion of youth. Where we were still learning how to feel and react to life around us and sometimes doing it poorly. I am sure half the choices I made back then were the wrong ones. But, in retrospect I had a great time making those bad choices.
The in between moments too are things I still remember and cherish to this day. Moments that would seem inconsequential to people. Living in that studio, I would often take the long walk home after the bars at night. Walking down Irving Park Road or Clark Street at 2 in the morning. Passing that old Jewish cemetery and Graceland on the the other side of Irving. Often with music in my ears. Sometimes making audio posts to my blog. Occasionally making phone calls to Joey. Crying about drama, raging about toxic idiots, talking about guys.
I loved those walks and the city at night. It was probably dangerous for me to be doing, but what did I know back then. I knew people like Constituent who would get mugged all the time, but somehow I never did. Even when I was obsessed with walking through alleyways after seeing 'Underworld' in autumn of 2003.
Hanging in coffee shops, reading books, going to Tower Records. Drinking at the bars, flirting with boys and dancing constantly. More than anything else in those youngest of days, I loved to dance. As I got older and it became less fun in Chicago I would often spend hours in New Orleans during Mardi Gras dancing. I think it was the 2007 Mardi Gras when Agent Smith first went that I danced on Fat Tuesday on the box in Bourbon Pub for eight or nine hours. I loved music, I loved moving and sure, I liked the attention too. From afar. I never much liked when they'd approach and try dancing with me.
I am sure people probably thought I was on ecstasy, but somehow I was just just high on life (though definitely drunk).
What responsibilities did I really have back then? The rent had to be paid. And the bills, those god awful credit card bills. Those were mistakes I would correct if I could. But the rest, even the idiocy... what a time it was. Even the lazy days were spent watching those great, old HGTV shows. We had our whole lives to do whatever we wanted, so who cared back then about responsibility. If you paid those bills, you just needed to worry about how much was left for the weekend.
It is funny to remember how the drama of life slowly crept in over those years in the 2000s. Money woes, personality conflicts, real life. It was one thing to get dumped or have some random "enemy" at the bar. But, when life got shitty and reality stepped in, the fun was over a lot of the time. You get too old to be partying every night. You get too old to be dancing on a box. The future was on the horizon, and sooner or later most people start to see it. It is the way of things.
What a thrill it would be to go back for a day. Just to relive that one Halloween or that one great night at Roscoes that I'll always remember, when I was dancing up on the box and they played that cover of 'Don't Wanna Miss A Thing' that mixed into 'Santa Maria'. I am sure I looked like a jackass up there, but WHO CARES! I'd get in that Michael Jackson costume at home and not wait to dress up at Joey's. I'd buy that old Sinatra-looking hat from Beatniks that Rockwell mocked and shamed me for wearing, so I put it back on the rack that day. WHO FUCKING CARES!
So much energy in my youth was wasted being concerned what people thought. I am not mad about it, just in reflection I wish it wasn't so. I know I was my own person. The entire course of my life has been about me resisting the crowd and fighting to find individualism in situations where I was expected to conform. I don't need to read back into my journal or see old pictures to remember that conflict within myself. I was braver than I thought I was. But I also was my own person more often than I thought too.
There is an egotism in looking into the past. In patting oneself on the back and proclaiming yourself unique and good looking. I've just spent so many years telling myself I was shit, that it is a real shock to myself when I realize I wasn't. So in my own defense, I think I am owned a little enjoyment in these moments.
It is bringing back something I was contemplating months ago, sometimes in these very pages. Am I really living my life now? Am I taking chances and DOING things? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Is that acceptable? Is that simply how life is? Or should I be doing more? Should I be caring even less about other people's opinions? I may be light years away from where I was in those days in the 2000s... but how many more light years ahead are there for me between now and my future self?