say bullsheeeet
so my lil brother is gonna have major surgery on valentine's day. the timing is a little odd. not nearly as much as the fact that he's one of the best college soccer players in the country (not to brag, but, well. it's true), and not been sick a day in his life that i can remember. me and my older brother smoke and fuck around with illegal substances and live bad-unhealthy-dangerous city lives, but there's nothing wrong with us, and our straight-arrow, poker-playing, still-dating-his-high-school-girlfriend, goofy little brother is the one getting surgery.
anyway, my mom was calling to say that they'd hope to find a blood donor match within the family, and assuring me that she'd have no problem if i was uncomfortable about that. apparently, the doctors will ask "embarrassing questions about my personal lifestyle," and it'd be okay if i wanted to avoid the whole thing.
well. first of all, if my mom's not actually in the room, i have no compunction about answering embarrassing questions about my personal lifestyle. second of all, i've been clean for a year now--
wait.
a year? a fucking year?
--and no longer fear that the shit i used to put in my blood might stop my brother's heart. third of all, he can have my kidney for a birthday present if he wants. he's my brother.
it'll be interesting. my brother, he keeps a straight face (a poker face, if you will), and i haven't seen him cry or anything since he was ten years old. i haven't visited anyone in the hospital in at least eighteen months, and that after a high school career when the kaiser foundation children's hospital was our after-school hangout.
*
the red carpet is, certainly, one of my favorite parts of the room. it's like living in a high-class brothel of some kind.
these are the bears that stand watch while i sleep. barry bear and bvd bear. barry bear i got for christmas and tied a ribbon around his waist, hung him around my neck and tossed him like a liferaft at my brothers. bvd bear is simply fabulous.
this is the back door. that hideously ugly tie on the doorknob holds a special place in my heart. the top drawing is mike matheny, drawn by brett tomko. the middle one i stole out of a newspaper box. the bottom one is my heart, juan marichal, that was given out at sbc on the day they dedicated his statue out front and he threw out the first pitch in a snazzy pale blue suit, and the boy's still got it.
this is my old, busted computer. the sticker on it, i got ten of those for my birthday one year and it's the greatest thing ever, i think we can all agree.
this is the dresser and the wall. all the flat surfaces in my room, you'll notice, are victims of a particular random disorder that i cannot for the life of me contain. i don't have a desk, which is probably for the best. note, if you will, the boys-making-out magnet on the lamp, which i've owned since i was about thirteen and didn't even have an email address. ah, foreshadowing.
this is the other wall, wherein you can see that my taste in movies skews towards 'movies that are good,' with little else to connect them. the thing that's not a movie poster is the light plot i designed for 'twelfth night' when i was sixteen, my first professional-scale lighting design. i was master electrician on that show, too, and very nearly died.
this is the view from my back steps. that's the alien watchtower on the hill of which i occasionally speak.
this is a picture of rich harden with his hand down his pants. no explanation required.
this is me, looking baselessly worried (as i spend every winter), and wearing my new giants shirt, though you can't tell. trust me.
i am liking this camera bizness. soon, there will be illustrated stories. everywhere i ever place scenes is real, anyways.
anyway, my mom was calling to say that they'd hope to find a blood donor match within the family, and assuring me that she'd have no problem if i was uncomfortable about that. apparently, the doctors will ask "embarrassing questions about my personal lifestyle," and it'd be okay if i wanted to avoid the whole thing.
well. first of all, if my mom's not actually in the room, i have no compunction about answering embarrassing questions about my personal lifestyle. second of all, i've been clean for a year now--
wait.
a year? a fucking year?
--and no longer fear that the shit i used to put in my blood might stop my brother's heart. third of all, he can have my kidney for a birthday present if he wants. he's my brother.
it'll be interesting. my brother, he keeps a straight face (a poker face, if you will), and i haven't seen him cry or anything since he was ten years old. i haven't visited anyone in the hospital in at least eighteen months, and that after a high school career when the kaiser foundation children's hospital was our after-school hangout.
*
the red carpet is, certainly, one of my favorite parts of the room. it's like living in a high-class brothel of some kind.
these are the bears that stand watch while i sleep. barry bear and bvd bear. barry bear i got for christmas and tied a ribbon around his waist, hung him around my neck and tossed him like a liferaft at my brothers. bvd bear is simply fabulous.
this is the back door. that hideously ugly tie on the doorknob holds a special place in my heart. the top drawing is mike matheny, drawn by brett tomko. the middle one i stole out of a newspaper box. the bottom one is my heart, juan marichal, that was given out at sbc on the day they dedicated his statue out front and he threw out the first pitch in a snazzy pale blue suit, and the boy's still got it.
this is my old, busted computer. the sticker on it, i got ten of those for my birthday one year and it's the greatest thing ever, i think we can all agree.
this is the dresser and the wall. all the flat surfaces in my room, you'll notice, are victims of a particular random disorder that i cannot for the life of me contain. i don't have a desk, which is probably for the best. note, if you will, the boys-making-out magnet on the lamp, which i've owned since i was about thirteen and didn't even have an email address. ah, foreshadowing.
this is the other wall, wherein you can see that my taste in movies skews towards 'movies that are good,' with little else to connect them. the thing that's not a movie poster is the light plot i designed for 'twelfth night' when i was sixteen, my first professional-scale lighting design. i was master electrician on that show, too, and very nearly died.
this is the view from my back steps. that's the alien watchtower on the hill of which i occasionally speak.
this is a picture of rich harden with his hand down his pants. no explanation required.
this is me, looking baselessly worried (as i spend every winter), and wearing my new giants shirt, though you can't tell. trust me.
i am liking this camera bizness. soon, there will be illustrated stories. everywhere i ever place scenes is real, anyways.