Post Marked 7-23-09
On Friday ninght after a drink I call up Angela and tell her we need to get matching tattoos. Now, she doesn't ask why we need them all she wants to know is what we are getting tattooed and where. I say,
"Isn't it obvious? We're getting Ron Jeremy's name tattooed across our asses."
She's laughing because this isn't really anything new for us and this is how my weekend starts.
No wait scratch that the real weekend started with me discussing masturbation with a fellow classmate in the few long moments before we were released from class. My goal in life, you see, my goal it's just to cross every imaginable line of polite conversation. I figure that after I cross every line of "You can't say that!"s then I'll be free to discuss anything I want with anybody at any given time. There is nothing in the world that makes for a more boring conversationist than tact. If I have a conversation and someone offends me, it's a good thing. It makes me analyze what they said and why it bothered me. It makes me take a second and harder look at my own views, reevaulate them and see if I can learn anything. Then I get to return the favor. It's called giving back to the community and they love me for it. It's true what they say, "The first step to controlling your world is to control your culture. To model and demonstrate the kind of world you demand to live in." Oh, and I'm so good at modeling.
Anyway, that's how the weekend started and by Saturday Glenn and I were in his truck discussing big, deep, meaningful issues and the general consensus we reached was that this town that we live in, well it sucks. Glenn says he's going to move out to Seattle and when I asked him what's there for him he responded,
"Nothing, and that's the point."
"The space needle's there," I observed.
"It's not as tall as it looks," he said in the tone of a true conspiracy expert, "It was just built in the middle of nowhere for the world's fair right? Then they put a bunch of small office buildings around it, so it looks huge. The way you'd look towering over a group of midgets."
"It's tall enough to have a suicide net," I said, "Any building that I can jump off of and die is a tall building in my book."
"Mmm"
"Tell yah what," I say, "When you move to Seattle I'll send you post cards from the future."
And now we're stuck at a red light so there's enough time for Glenn to digest and consider my silly rerference to a book he's never read.
"A post card from the future?"
"Yeah, that's what you do in Seattle. You visit the space need and send post cards from the future."
"What'll it say?"
"Probably nothing important."
And the light's green and we keep going. To the future I guess. It's probably nothing important. Then we're talking about what we want to do with the rest of our lives and I say I just want to make art. Big stupid colorful abstract paintings that will be overanalyzed because sometimes something just is. Glenn's saying he wants to be a palentologist and study dinosaurs. The way we're talking I feel like we're little again.
Today's Sunday and it's time for the Bears playoff's which is good but not like baseball and Ma's making homemade speghetti and I've got a post card from the future that says everthing's going to be just fine. And there's always tomorrow. Yeah, a real three-day weekend. And my sentimental heart is still beating and I've got about ten mostly full tubes of paint so fuck yeah, things are looking up a little. So fuck, the space needle's not the tallest thing in the world but it's still taller than your average everyday and that counts for something right? And who knows maybe by next week Ron Jeremy's name will be scarred into my ass.
And that's all,
MFB
"Isn't it obvious? We're getting Ron Jeremy's name tattooed across our asses."
She's laughing because this isn't really anything new for us and this is how my weekend starts.
No wait scratch that the real weekend started with me discussing masturbation with a fellow classmate in the few long moments before we were released from class. My goal in life, you see, my goal it's just to cross every imaginable line of polite conversation. I figure that after I cross every line of "You can't say that!"s then I'll be free to discuss anything I want with anybody at any given time. There is nothing in the world that makes for a more boring conversationist than tact. If I have a conversation and someone offends me, it's a good thing. It makes me analyze what they said and why it bothered me. It makes me take a second and harder look at my own views, reevaulate them and see if I can learn anything. Then I get to return the favor. It's called giving back to the community and they love me for it. It's true what they say, "The first step to controlling your world is to control your culture. To model and demonstrate the kind of world you demand to live in." Oh, and I'm so good at modeling.
Anyway, that's how the weekend started and by Saturday Glenn and I were in his truck discussing big, deep, meaningful issues and the general consensus we reached was that this town that we live in, well it sucks. Glenn says he's going to move out to Seattle and when I asked him what's there for him he responded,
"Nothing, and that's the point."
"The space needle's there," I observed.
"It's not as tall as it looks," he said in the tone of a true conspiracy expert, "It was just built in the middle of nowhere for the world's fair right? Then they put a bunch of small office buildings around it, so it looks huge. The way you'd look towering over a group of midgets."
"It's tall enough to have a suicide net," I said, "Any building that I can jump off of and die is a tall building in my book."
"Mmm"
"Tell yah what," I say, "When you move to Seattle I'll send you post cards from the future."
And now we're stuck at a red light so there's enough time for Glenn to digest and consider my silly rerference to a book he's never read.
"A post card from the future?"
"Yeah, that's what you do in Seattle. You visit the space need and send post cards from the future."
"What'll it say?"
"Probably nothing important."
And the light's green and we keep going. To the future I guess. It's probably nothing important. Then we're talking about what we want to do with the rest of our lives and I say I just want to make art. Big stupid colorful abstract paintings that will be overanalyzed because sometimes something just is. Glenn's saying he wants to be a palentologist and study dinosaurs. The way we're talking I feel like we're little again.
Today's Sunday and it's time for the Bears playoff's which is good but not like baseball and Ma's making homemade speghetti and I've got a post card from the future that says everthing's going to be just fine. And there's always tomorrow. Yeah, a real three-day weekend. And my sentimental heart is still beating and I've got about ten mostly full tubes of paint so fuck yeah, things are looking up a little. So fuck, the space needle's not the tallest thing in the world but it's still taller than your average everyday and that counts for something right? And who knows maybe by next week Ron Jeremy's name will be scarred into my ass.
And that's all,
MFB