july 18 2000
a strange holding-pattern sensation has started to permeate things. nothing ennui-laden or existential or break-out-the-st.-john's-wort caliber, just a sneaking sense that change is a-needed. not a-comin', but a-needed. symptoms include listening to elton john's greatest hits on repeat and uncontrollably weeping into my pillow that's covered with a feathered and coiffed john travlota as vinnie barbarino from welcome back kotter. actually, neither of those is are symptoms; the album is captain fantastic and the dirt brown cowboy, and the pillow instead of featuring john travolta is festooned with a young tiger beat-era peter gallagher, replete with ernest borgnine eyebrows. there are no symptoms, because i'm not even sure it's happening. what it is,, i can assure you, is self-indulgent; this is apparently why i've decided to talk about it.
"proven," you may ask as your heart swells with the kind of compassion only reserved for inordinately undersized people, "your mild psychic discomfort, whether genuine or shrewdly formulated so as to maximize nurturing female response, strikes a chord in my innermost being. it could be an e-flat augmented seventh chord, or it could be something as vanilla as a major triad. the kind of chord isn't important. what is important is what i can do to help you. i'll even overlook the fact that you lead what appears to be a wholly rewarding and fulfilled life, because my purpose on this world right now is to cater to your ego."
to which i have to respond, "no, really. while your kindness and beauty are appreciated, i'll will simply trudge through this trial, as through others before it, with the unflagging determination of a labor leader or even a religious martyr, though one not worshipped by too many adherents lest i be miscontrued as disrespectful. however, i do enjoy gifts very much, which may include but are by no means limited to:
-compact discs
-books
-fine wines
-not-so-fine beers, such as red stripe and heineken
-photos of female readers in varying stages of undress, and
-ceasless validation of my already priapic ego."
and now, a change of topic!
as far as most things go, i'm a nonconfrontational person. not that i'm the passive-aggressive type of person who instead of asking a roommate to do the dishes does circuitous and whiny things like asking "have you seen the sautee pan?" or leaving post-it notes around. far from it. in fact, come to think of it, i don't mean confrontation in any sort of rhetorical way; that's the kind of stuff that's almost always insignificant in my book, so it doesn't even warrant the kind of inward seething that when mixed with a weak spine results in cowardly doublespeak games. i am, though, a big fan of shutting my mouth and letting people play themselves. that's more of a minor-league spectator sport. basically, i let a lot of things roll of my back because it doesn't figure in the karmic opera. which is a term just coined.
the term "nonconfrontational" really applies to the physical arena. i've never been in an actual conventional fight, for instance. nor have i even been in the later preliminary stages, in which the involved parties stand chin to chin with chests puffed and eyes afire, supposedly waiting for the word or action that proves to be the proverbial backbreaking straw allowing party a to loose a litany of bodily violations party b will never likely forget. things happen, though, that get that instinctive hackle-raise; it's not like i can predict when it'll happen, or what i'll do when they happen. since i'm not the fighting type, it won't be anything physical, though being alpha-territorial i'll probably console myself afterward with a thought in the vein of "he's lucky this didn't happen" or "good thing for him he didn't say that." i'm only bringing this up because a female friend of mine was being consistently assaulted and bothered on friday night, and though i was in the same establishment i wasn't nearby and didn't find out about it until we were all outside preparing to leave. as i said, i'm willing to let a lot of stuff go, especially stuff that pertains to me. if someone starts some stupid shit, i'm the person that's going to walk and just let it slide. when my female friends are involved, though, it's a different scenario, and it's definitely a "we gwan have problems, understand?" type of scenario. whatever it is, it's a subspecies of belligerence reserved for fraternally-perceived offenses. just saying.
i'd also like to take a quick second, or, more accurately seeing, as how we're operating in a grammato-spatial realm rather than a chronological one, a short paragraph to point out that in september, when the jazzmatazz: street soul album drops, do yourself a favor and pick it up. i got an advance from the label last week, and i've been bumping it nonstop. there's a duet between guru and erykah badu that is, as steven rightfully observed, nearing the comfortably smoky rapport of louis and ella. yes, erykah sounds more like billie holliday, but this song has the playfulness of any of the verve sides that made louis and ella such an ideal pair. big up yaself now, guru. bo!
to recap: a young tiger beat-era peter gallagher. my already priapic ego. thank you.
p.
and yo. my full-on venture kneejerk.net is up and running, though not nearly full. go and getcha read on. for me.
props to darkcounter.com
and sitemeter