Who would have thought that, not even 11 hours after I wrapped up my last post, I'd once again be sitting here on the toilet cranking out another one?
I just have things I wanna say, and I'm not sure I have another great place to say them. Twitter has been my go-to mental dumping ground for years now, and maybe that's why I haven't blogged as much. But Twitter doesn't lend itself well to waxing philosophical like I tend to do. I mean it can (particularly now that there's a 280 character limit per tweet, and you can publish an entire thread at once), but when you tweet in high volumes at a time, no one cares. Twitter is a nice microcosm of people's attention spans in that sense. You overwhelm them with too much at a time and they just tune it out. Or maybe it's just that no one's interested in my tweets in the first place. Could be that too. But even then, I'd probably argue that that stems from how I tweet. I use it as a bag for thought-vomit.
This is better, right? I can at least collect all my scattered thoughts in one place, so that you don't have to keep clicking "show replies" to get the full story. And sure, no one responds to what I have to say here, but it's not like I have a superb success rate on getting reactions to my tweets either.
I've also found that, despite the prevailing school of thought on brevity in radio, I do my job like I tweet. I say what I want to say, how I want to say it, and if it takes longer than other people are comfortable with, so be it. I toss everyone else's notions on how radio should be done out the window. And I think I'm in a place where I'm more or less entitled to that. My methods have proven successful enough that there's not exactly a great reason to change them, and at this point in my career, I've realized it's more important to me to be enjoying myself while I work than it is to be concerned with whether or not my style is making everyone happy. That's not to say there's nothing I can improve on, of course. You can always improve, and you should always strive to do so. I want to be the best that I can be... but in a manner that suits me personally, not at the whims and demands of others nor in pursuit of jacking their swag, so to speak. Drawing influence or inspiration from others is one thing; straight up copying (or even poorly imitating) is another.
Well that took a turn. But honestly, I kind of like this new stream of consciousness flow I've got going on here. Anyway, I explicitly sat down here to say two things:
1. I finally got caught up on New Girl, at least to where I was when I last watched,which was the end of season 4. At the time, season 5 was not yet on Netflix, but now the show has completed its run, so I can pick up where I left off without missing any of the emotional resonance of the details of the established plotline. This is something I can (and probably will) tweet, because it doesn't go much deeper than that, other than the fact that I really, really hope Nick and Jess end up together. If they don't, I feel like this whole exercise will have been a waste. In a weird way, it's like they're so perfect for each other that they both think they're not, and legitimately agree on it. That's some next-level synergy. I will say, the season 4 finale is possibly the best episode of the show to-date. I really hope they keep that energy going with the way they weave the implications of all the relationship dynamics together. I also don't want it to jump the shark in the sense that they overcomplicate those dynamics for the sake of forced drama. So far the show has been really good about making that all flow naturally, and since there are only three seasons left (and I hear the last season is only 8 episodes), I have faith that it'll stay a natural course.
2. I really want to play Doom 2. This in itself isn't a problem, and it stems from the impact Doom as a series has had on my life and my outlook thereupon (but more on that later. As in another post. Probably). The problem is that I haven't even finished Doom 64 yet. And there's a good reason for that. Doom 64 is HARD. Not necessarily in a mechanical sense either, but in a mental sense. It requires a certain level of commitment each time you sit down and play it, because if you don't complete a full level and get the password for the next one, you've made zero progress. You can't save mid-level, so if you die, it's back to the start. Basically it's Nintendo Hard, which is fitting for the only Doom game made exclusively for a Nintendo system. So I can't just say "I feel like playing a little Doom 64 right now." I have to block out enough time (usually at least an hour) to complete at LEAST one level. And on top of that, every time you turn the system off and back on again, you have to remap the controls and redo the display settings. There is no way whatsoever to get the game to save your settings, not even with a controller pak (which I don't have anyway). This combination of factors has made Doom 64 something of a chore, and that aspect increases the further into the game I get and the more difficult it naturally gets.
But that's not even my overarching point here. My point is that I have an entire STACK of games that I've acquired just in the last YEAR alone (not even counting purchases I've made and never touched throughout the years on Steam). There's Until Dawn, Resident Evil 7, Mortal Kombat X, and even Prey I only put about 2 hours into before I went and started working my way through the OG Doom games. And now I want to go dive back into Doom 2. What is wrong with me? Why am I like this? And I suppose the bigger question is... does it even matter? Why would I put aside something that I acively want to do right now just because there are OTHER things that I have not yet done? Does that make any sense? Why would I deny myself the experience I'm seeking? If the choice were a matter of objective right and wrong, that's one thing. But playing one video game as opposed to another? What does it matter?
I suppose the question at the root of it is "am I being a good steward of my resources?" Am I wasting money on games just to HAVE them, while they sit there in a pile as I keep replaying old favorites? And I honestly think the answer is NO. Because I DO have them in the event that I ever want to play them. I can pick them up at a moment's notice. I had enough desire to play them to buy them initially, so I do believe there will come a time when I will want to delve into them in earnest. And even if that time never comes... it's like insurance. You buy it not because it's practical, but just in case. And I'm a firm believer in that police of preparedness.
In a similar vein, I've recently been afflicted by a strange urge to watch Happy Days. I don't know why, exactly; perhaps because it reminds me of my dad, perhaps because I associate the period of my life when the show was constantly on Nick at Nite with when we got our first computer... and it came with a media demo CD that had Weezer's Buddy Holly music video on it, which is built around Happy Days. And that CD showcased the power of Windows 95, which became known as the optimal way to play... you guessed it... Doom. The problem is, the show isn't available to stream anywhere. I could buy the complete series at Walmart, but it's $60. And is that REALLY worth it to watch a show when I'm probably gonna lose interest after a few episodes?
Well if my philosophy about doing whatever the heck you want (barring moral impediments) is correct... then I suppose... yes, it is worth it.
Hmm. Maybe I'll go get it after the gym today. Speaking of which I should really wrap this up and get ready to go.
Anyway, maybe this kind of spontaneous oratory venture is a demonstration of how you affect change. By simply putting it into practice. I suppose I should sit down and just toss my thoughts out more from now on.
Saturday, February 16, 2019
Friday, February 15, 2019
10 Years Gone
Ten years ago today, I started this blog. At the time, I fully intended to keep up with it indefinitely, but I never could have imagined where I'd be ten years from then. Ten years seems like an unfathomable distance in the future even now. I have a hard time picturing myself at 42 years old, because I've always kinda figured I'd be dead by 40. I've never been terribly sure that I even want to live longer than that, other than when I was in a relationship with the girl that I was sure I was gonna marry. But more on that some other time.
For now, I just want to celebrate the fact that I have (more or less) kept up with this blog for ten whole years. Not a year has gone by when I haven't posted at least once. Granted, for the past two years, those posts have come at the 11th hour on New Years Eve. And on New Years Eve in 2017, I'm pretty sure my post was only one sentence. Yep, just checked. It was. But to be fair, that was the end of one of the worst years of my life, and I didn't have much that I wanted to say. The point is, I persisted. I kept it going even when I wasn't necessarily feeling it. And I'm sort of proud of myself for that fact.
This post and the previous one have both been more off-the-cuff and less formally planned out than my traditional posts. Back when I first started this blog, I used to come up with an idea and flesh it out, and I'd really have to have somewhere I was going with what I wanted to say before I would even sit down and start writing. There had to be some kind of ultimate point I was trying to make, lesson I wanted to teach, or piece of wisdom for me to impart for me to even get going on it. But the thing about that approach is that it's prohibitive to actually getting anything done. Because not only would I have to have a fully formed idea for the theme and path of a post, I'd have to have ample free time and be in the right mood to sit down and start working on it. And I operated under that frame of mind even into 2016, which was the last time I really sat down and crafted a post with an overarching theme. These days, I'm so busy that I almost never have both the time and motivation to start writing. Sure, I'll come up with an idea and be able to kind of map it out in my head, say, when I'm at work... but if I can't sit down and focus, I can't write. And I definitely can't do that at work. So here we are. Even without a direction to really take this, I have the time, and at least enough motivation to start pounding on the keyboard. And I think in the future when I look back at this I'll be glad I did it. I'm a very nostalgic, sentimental person, and commemorating significant moments from the past is just what I do.
In that sense, remember when I used to start almost every single post with something along the lines of "I doubt anyone even reads this thing anymore?" There's no point to THAT nowadays. I am certain no one reads it, if only because of how infrequently it's updated. I also don't post on Facebook when I update anymore, because I'm not sure that I want everyone I know reading this blog. I stand by everything I've said in it (I think; I guess I'd have to go back and read every post again to make sure, but I'm fairly certain that I do) and I don't feel like having to explain pieces of my worldview to people I work with, for instance. So it's best to just have this little corner of the internet to myself. The people who would want to read this most likely know how to find it, and if they ever forgot, they could just ask me themselves, since we do keep in touch.
And I guess that's one of the nice things about being here ten years down the road. I still talk to just about everyone I was friends with back at Liberty on at least a semi-regular basis. I knew when I met my core group of friends there that they would be friends for life, and they have been, and that bond is something for which I am very fortunate and grateful.
So much has happened in these ten years. And yet... I remember sitting at the table in E21 20...3? Shoot I don't even remember the number of the quad I lived in. I'm fairly certain I was in room B though, that much I do remember. My point is, I remember the day I started this blog. I remember the months that followed, playing Starcraft and Age of Empires and Magic. I remember the hope that I had that the girl I had liked all year might go out with me, and the crushing defeat I felt when, after I talked her into going on a sympathy date, she politely declined a second. I remember the uncertainty of my return to grad school the following year in the early parts of that summer, and the absolute despair I felt when it was finally decided I would not be returning. That was the closest I've ever been to calling myself "depressed."
I remember having it out with my parents that fall over the fact that I still hadn't gotten a job, and coming up with a plan to get myself out there in the market following one last visit to Liberty to say goodbye. I remember reconnecting with Chris's friend Anthony not long after, thinking he and his friends were insufferable dorks, and wanting nothing more than for Chris to stop hanging out with them so we could play Magic into the wee hours of the morning like we had spent all summer doing. I remember when Chris got them into Magic, and then they became good friends of mine. I remember the hours spent in Nick's basement in the summer of 2010, bleeding into the fall, meeting new people, having a new legitimate love interest for the first time in years, and joining our group with Chris's friends from RPI.
Perhaps most vividly I remember 2011. That's a year that deserves its own post, if not a series of posts. I moved out of my parents' house, got a girlfriend, and got my dream job. That was the best year of my life.
I remember 2012. Moving back to Colonie, breaking up with my girlfriend (but in name only, and still acting towards each other like we always had when we were together), and heading back down to Lynchburg for Dave's wedding. I remember how excited I was to see the girl I had liked during my final year at Liberty and catch up with her. I remember how wary my ex had been about me going down there, but how supportive she had been of me and my freedom to talk to any of the girls I had known from those days. And I remember the realization, like a bolt of lightning to my skull, that the girl I had pined over for so long in college and beyond was no good for me. I remember being so glad that I still had my ex at home, and I remember resolving to patch things up with her and make it work.
I remember that, when I got home... she was gone. In a literal sense, she was staying with her parents for a week while her sister visited, but more significantly, she had gotten over me while I was away for that weekend. She met another guy. She later told me that she was just using him to get herself away from me and that she knew he was never marriage material... but it worked. I never got her back. To this day, that is my greatest regret. I wish I had treated her better.
I remember how painful and drawn-out the reality of that breakup was, once we were TRULY broken up and she was official with her new guy. I remember the hostility between us when she moved out, and how it didn't bother me too much because I had already been talking to a new girl at work. I remember how, after a few dates with that girl, I realized just how much I truly missed my ex, and how desperately I tried to get her back just weeks later.
I remember meeting another girl at the company Christmas party that year, and thinking that that was why things didn't work out with my ex. Because I was supposed to meet THIS girl. I remember going on a date with her, and then a second, and then declaring to my roommates that I was going to marry her. I thought she was perfect, and to this day, she's the most attractive girl I've ever dated.
I didn't marry her. She flaked on me one too many times, and after she bailed on Leland Melvin Day, I proposed one last do-over with her from the beginning, and she declined. After that, I wrote her off. I spent months wishing I could get my ex back. I remember meeting yet ANOTHER girl in the fall and going on a few dates with her before realizing that I STILL missed my ex too much to commit to anything with anyone else.
I remember taking 2014 off from making any kind of moves on any girls whatsoever... other than to try and reconnect with my ex. But those were all failed attempts. I remember my dad's cancer diagnosis that summer. I remember that phone call vividly... and I remember believing he would beat it. I remember that Christmas, when his doctor pulled some strings to get him discharged from the hospital on Christmas Eve, and going with Chris to pick him up. I remember the nurse coming to our house and showing him and my mom how to drain the fluid from his abdomen at home. I remember how terrifying it was when he started puking blood on Christmas day and thinking we were gonna have to go back to the hospital. I remember the relief upon hearing from the doctor that it was a false alarm, and how grateful I was that we would just get to stay home and celebrate what may very well be one last Christmas with our dad. I remember him sitting us all down and telling us how much he loved us, and how much that meant to me. I remember Meg and Michael crying together on the couch, and trying to hold it together myself as I watched them. I remember that as one of the best Christmases I ever had, because of the simple gift of getting to be together as a family without taking it for granted.
I remember driving my dad to work between December of 2014 and July of 2015, when he got too sick to keep working. I remember meeting a new girl at work in June of 2015, and starting what turned out to be something of a summer fling with her. I remember buying this house, and how happy and relieved my dad was that we owned land instead of throwing our money away renting. I remember how stressful it was trying to move out in time, and I remember having to get up from the table early on my dad's last Thanksgiving so we could continue moving. I remember him asking us if we had any Thanksgiving memories... and no one did. That is another one of my greatest regrets. I wish I had just sat there a few minutes longer and come up with something, ANYthing, to perpetuate that conversation with him.
Man I miss my dad.
I remember that Christmas. The last real Christmas we had together as a family. And considering his condition at the time, my dad was in remarkably good health and spirits. I remember him laughing at Texas Boots. I remember it was like 60 degrees on Christmas, and we all went outside and watched Mark ride his new unicycle, and I remember how both amused and proud my dad looked. I got that on video, and I'm so glad I did. I believe that's the last one I have of him.
I remember New Years Day, and walking around the desolate floor of Colonie Center with him after hours. I'm surprised we weren't asked to leave by security. But that started something of a weekly tradition for us. From then until he died, we went to the mall every week, and he'd tell me stories from his childhood. He liked to just sit and watch people go by. I remember him telling me he knew it wasn't easy for me to get up early and come out to church and then to the mall afterwards, and I remember thinking he was crazy for telling me he knew how hard I had it.
I remember our last trip to the mall, when he told me he felt like he was slowly slipping away; like everything was slowing down. He knew he didn't have much longer, but I didn't want to believe it, and I didn't want anyone to worry, so I never told anyone else he said that. He said he would have liked to take another trip up to Schroon Lake, and I told him we would go up in the spring when the weather got warmer. He bought me a video game at Jay Street that day - OddWorld: Stranger's Wrath. I was gonna buy it myself, but he insisted on getting it for me, and I think that's because he knew it would be the last thing he would ever buy for me. To this day, I can't bring myself to play it.
I remember how hard I worked on Danny Latin's bachelor party video for about a month, and I remember thinking as I walked out the door to leave for the airport for his wedding that this could very well be the last time I ever saw my dad. God forbid something happened while I was gone, but I wanted to make sure I took it in just in case.
I was right. He died while I was in Florida. I remember not knowing how to feel when I broke the news to my friends, and I remember telling them I was fine, and I remember Danny Latin telling me that I don't always have to be fine... and I remember losing it when he said that and breaking down. And I remember how embarrassing that was. It shouldn't have been, and of course I know they understood, but I don't like people seeing me upset. I'm so thankful they were there with me when that happened.
I remember the rest of that year being simultaneously a blur and utterly, almost unforgivingly miserable. And to cap it all off, I remember seeing my ex in Target on Thanksgiving weekend, reconnecting with her, meeting her for lunch... and finding out she was engaged. I remember feeling like I was punched in the gut when she told me that, and actively trying to prevent myself from throwing up. That was easily the worst year of my life.
I remember 2017. That was another year that deserves its own post (or series thereof). It started off in abject mediocrity, became what I figured would be the best year of my life when I met the girl I truly thought I would eventually marry, and plummeted near the end to not quite the worst when she broke my heart.
I remember struggling through the end of that year and most of the following one to find myself. I remember how helpful Darrell was in showing me how to process and move past that pain. I remember starting at the gym, and continuing to go to the gym, setting and achieving goals (I can do 10 pull ups, and now my goal is to be able to bench my body weight; I'm about 15 pounds off). I remember the rollercoaster of hope and despair whenever I would consider the possibility of getting back with the girl who dumped me.
I remember discovering Doom. And that also deserves its own post. That game means more to me than I think anyone can understand. I know it sounds silly, but perhaps more than anything, Doom is what showed me how to believe in myself. I'd say "how to believe in myself again," but... I don't know that I really ever did before.
I remember my desperate attempts to get back with the girl who destroyed me, and I remember Darrell being right in his predictions of what would happen between us every step of the way. I remember the fallout with her, her family, and consequently Anthony. I remember AJ taking advantage of us, owing us thousands of dollars and costing us thousands more in repairs necessary to the Swag Pad. I remember him leaving his dog to die after Chris gave him his eviction notice.
I remember the problems that started when my mom got remarried. They're ongoing, but there's light at the end of the tunnel now. I remember the first Christmas we spent here and not in our childhood home. I remember going to the Chinese buffet for dinner... and honestly that was a great day.
And most recently... I think I can stop saying "I remember" now, because we're just about caught up. I went through my first Valentine's Day ever without feeling desperately lonely. For the first time in history, it just felt like another day. That's how I know I'm really making progress on myself.
Wow. I didn't expect to get that into it. I don't even know how long I've been sitting here. Maybe in another 10 years, I'll get back on here and write up a big long post that includes how I remember sitting on the toilet, painfully (and at points joyfully) recapping the events of the last decade.
For now though, it's time to hit that publish button and resolve to do this more regularly. And maybe update my picture and the tagline for this blog too. At some point.
For now, I just want to celebrate the fact that I have (more or less) kept up with this blog for ten whole years. Not a year has gone by when I haven't posted at least once. Granted, for the past two years, those posts have come at the 11th hour on New Years Eve. And on New Years Eve in 2017, I'm pretty sure my post was only one sentence. Yep, just checked. It was. But to be fair, that was the end of one of the worst years of my life, and I didn't have much that I wanted to say. The point is, I persisted. I kept it going even when I wasn't necessarily feeling it. And I'm sort of proud of myself for that fact.
This post and the previous one have both been more off-the-cuff and less formally planned out than my traditional posts. Back when I first started this blog, I used to come up with an idea and flesh it out, and I'd really have to have somewhere I was going with what I wanted to say before I would even sit down and start writing. There had to be some kind of ultimate point I was trying to make, lesson I wanted to teach, or piece of wisdom for me to impart for me to even get going on it. But the thing about that approach is that it's prohibitive to actually getting anything done. Because not only would I have to have a fully formed idea for the theme and path of a post, I'd have to have ample free time and be in the right mood to sit down and start working on it. And I operated under that frame of mind even into 2016, which was the last time I really sat down and crafted a post with an overarching theme. These days, I'm so busy that I almost never have both the time and motivation to start writing. Sure, I'll come up with an idea and be able to kind of map it out in my head, say, when I'm at work... but if I can't sit down and focus, I can't write. And I definitely can't do that at work. So here we are. Even without a direction to really take this, I have the time, and at least enough motivation to start pounding on the keyboard. And I think in the future when I look back at this I'll be glad I did it. I'm a very nostalgic, sentimental person, and commemorating significant moments from the past is just what I do.
In that sense, remember when I used to start almost every single post with something along the lines of "I doubt anyone even reads this thing anymore?" There's no point to THAT nowadays. I am certain no one reads it, if only because of how infrequently it's updated. I also don't post on Facebook when I update anymore, because I'm not sure that I want everyone I know reading this blog. I stand by everything I've said in it (I think; I guess I'd have to go back and read every post again to make sure, but I'm fairly certain that I do) and I don't feel like having to explain pieces of my worldview to people I work with, for instance. So it's best to just have this little corner of the internet to myself. The people who would want to read this most likely know how to find it, and if they ever forgot, they could just ask me themselves, since we do keep in touch.
And I guess that's one of the nice things about being here ten years down the road. I still talk to just about everyone I was friends with back at Liberty on at least a semi-regular basis. I knew when I met my core group of friends there that they would be friends for life, and they have been, and that bond is something for which I am very fortunate and grateful.
So much has happened in these ten years. And yet... I remember sitting at the table in E21 20...3? Shoot I don't even remember the number of the quad I lived in. I'm fairly certain I was in room B though, that much I do remember. My point is, I remember the day I started this blog. I remember the months that followed, playing Starcraft and Age of Empires and Magic. I remember the hope that I had that the girl I had liked all year might go out with me, and the crushing defeat I felt when, after I talked her into going on a sympathy date, she politely declined a second. I remember the uncertainty of my return to grad school the following year in the early parts of that summer, and the absolute despair I felt when it was finally decided I would not be returning. That was the closest I've ever been to calling myself "depressed."
I remember having it out with my parents that fall over the fact that I still hadn't gotten a job, and coming up with a plan to get myself out there in the market following one last visit to Liberty to say goodbye. I remember reconnecting with Chris's friend Anthony not long after, thinking he and his friends were insufferable dorks, and wanting nothing more than for Chris to stop hanging out with them so we could play Magic into the wee hours of the morning like we had spent all summer doing. I remember when Chris got them into Magic, and then they became good friends of mine. I remember the hours spent in Nick's basement in the summer of 2010, bleeding into the fall, meeting new people, having a new legitimate love interest for the first time in years, and joining our group with Chris's friends from RPI.
Perhaps most vividly I remember 2011. That's a year that deserves its own post, if not a series of posts. I moved out of my parents' house, got a girlfriend, and got my dream job. That was the best year of my life.
I remember 2012. Moving back to Colonie, breaking up with my girlfriend (but in name only, and still acting towards each other like we always had when we were together), and heading back down to Lynchburg for Dave's wedding. I remember how excited I was to see the girl I had liked during my final year at Liberty and catch up with her. I remember how wary my ex had been about me going down there, but how supportive she had been of me and my freedom to talk to any of the girls I had known from those days. And I remember the realization, like a bolt of lightning to my skull, that the girl I had pined over for so long in college and beyond was no good for me. I remember being so glad that I still had my ex at home, and I remember resolving to patch things up with her and make it work.
I remember that, when I got home... she was gone. In a literal sense, she was staying with her parents for a week while her sister visited, but more significantly, she had gotten over me while I was away for that weekend. She met another guy. She later told me that she was just using him to get herself away from me and that she knew he was never marriage material... but it worked. I never got her back. To this day, that is my greatest regret. I wish I had treated her better.
I remember how painful and drawn-out the reality of that breakup was, once we were TRULY broken up and she was official with her new guy. I remember the hostility between us when she moved out, and how it didn't bother me too much because I had already been talking to a new girl at work. I remember how, after a few dates with that girl, I realized just how much I truly missed my ex, and how desperately I tried to get her back just weeks later.
I remember meeting another girl at the company Christmas party that year, and thinking that that was why things didn't work out with my ex. Because I was supposed to meet THIS girl. I remember going on a date with her, and then a second, and then declaring to my roommates that I was going to marry her. I thought she was perfect, and to this day, she's the most attractive girl I've ever dated.
I didn't marry her. She flaked on me one too many times, and after she bailed on Leland Melvin Day, I proposed one last do-over with her from the beginning, and she declined. After that, I wrote her off. I spent months wishing I could get my ex back. I remember meeting yet ANOTHER girl in the fall and going on a few dates with her before realizing that I STILL missed my ex too much to commit to anything with anyone else.
I remember taking 2014 off from making any kind of moves on any girls whatsoever... other than to try and reconnect with my ex. But those were all failed attempts. I remember my dad's cancer diagnosis that summer. I remember that phone call vividly... and I remember believing he would beat it. I remember that Christmas, when his doctor pulled some strings to get him discharged from the hospital on Christmas Eve, and going with Chris to pick him up. I remember the nurse coming to our house and showing him and my mom how to drain the fluid from his abdomen at home. I remember how terrifying it was when he started puking blood on Christmas day and thinking we were gonna have to go back to the hospital. I remember the relief upon hearing from the doctor that it was a false alarm, and how grateful I was that we would just get to stay home and celebrate what may very well be one last Christmas with our dad. I remember him sitting us all down and telling us how much he loved us, and how much that meant to me. I remember Meg and Michael crying together on the couch, and trying to hold it together myself as I watched them. I remember that as one of the best Christmases I ever had, because of the simple gift of getting to be together as a family without taking it for granted.
I remember driving my dad to work between December of 2014 and July of 2015, when he got too sick to keep working. I remember meeting a new girl at work in June of 2015, and starting what turned out to be something of a summer fling with her. I remember buying this house, and how happy and relieved my dad was that we owned land instead of throwing our money away renting. I remember how stressful it was trying to move out in time, and I remember having to get up from the table early on my dad's last Thanksgiving so we could continue moving. I remember him asking us if we had any Thanksgiving memories... and no one did. That is another one of my greatest regrets. I wish I had just sat there a few minutes longer and come up with something, ANYthing, to perpetuate that conversation with him.
Man I miss my dad.
I remember that Christmas. The last real Christmas we had together as a family. And considering his condition at the time, my dad was in remarkably good health and spirits. I remember him laughing at Texas Boots. I remember it was like 60 degrees on Christmas, and we all went outside and watched Mark ride his new unicycle, and I remember how both amused and proud my dad looked. I got that on video, and I'm so glad I did. I believe that's the last one I have of him.
I remember New Years Day, and walking around the desolate floor of Colonie Center with him after hours. I'm surprised we weren't asked to leave by security. But that started something of a weekly tradition for us. From then until he died, we went to the mall every week, and he'd tell me stories from his childhood. He liked to just sit and watch people go by. I remember him telling me he knew it wasn't easy for me to get up early and come out to church and then to the mall afterwards, and I remember thinking he was crazy for telling me he knew how hard I had it.
I remember our last trip to the mall, when he told me he felt like he was slowly slipping away; like everything was slowing down. He knew he didn't have much longer, but I didn't want to believe it, and I didn't want anyone to worry, so I never told anyone else he said that. He said he would have liked to take another trip up to Schroon Lake, and I told him we would go up in the spring when the weather got warmer. He bought me a video game at Jay Street that day - OddWorld: Stranger's Wrath. I was gonna buy it myself, but he insisted on getting it for me, and I think that's because he knew it would be the last thing he would ever buy for me. To this day, I can't bring myself to play it.
I remember how hard I worked on Danny Latin's bachelor party video for about a month, and I remember thinking as I walked out the door to leave for the airport for his wedding that this could very well be the last time I ever saw my dad. God forbid something happened while I was gone, but I wanted to make sure I took it in just in case.
I was right. He died while I was in Florida. I remember not knowing how to feel when I broke the news to my friends, and I remember telling them I was fine, and I remember Danny Latin telling me that I don't always have to be fine... and I remember losing it when he said that and breaking down. And I remember how embarrassing that was. It shouldn't have been, and of course I know they understood, but I don't like people seeing me upset. I'm so thankful they were there with me when that happened.
I remember the rest of that year being simultaneously a blur and utterly, almost unforgivingly miserable. And to cap it all off, I remember seeing my ex in Target on Thanksgiving weekend, reconnecting with her, meeting her for lunch... and finding out she was engaged. I remember feeling like I was punched in the gut when she told me that, and actively trying to prevent myself from throwing up. That was easily the worst year of my life.
I remember 2017. That was another year that deserves its own post (or series thereof). It started off in abject mediocrity, became what I figured would be the best year of my life when I met the girl I truly thought I would eventually marry, and plummeted near the end to not quite the worst when she broke my heart.
I remember struggling through the end of that year and most of the following one to find myself. I remember how helpful Darrell was in showing me how to process and move past that pain. I remember starting at the gym, and continuing to go to the gym, setting and achieving goals (I can do 10 pull ups, and now my goal is to be able to bench my body weight; I'm about 15 pounds off). I remember the rollercoaster of hope and despair whenever I would consider the possibility of getting back with the girl who dumped me.
I remember discovering Doom. And that also deserves its own post. That game means more to me than I think anyone can understand. I know it sounds silly, but perhaps more than anything, Doom is what showed me how to believe in myself. I'd say "how to believe in myself again," but... I don't know that I really ever did before.
I remember my desperate attempts to get back with the girl who destroyed me, and I remember Darrell being right in his predictions of what would happen between us every step of the way. I remember the fallout with her, her family, and consequently Anthony. I remember AJ taking advantage of us, owing us thousands of dollars and costing us thousands more in repairs necessary to the Swag Pad. I remember him leaving his dog to die after Chris gave him his eviction notice.
I remember the problems that started when my mom got remarried. They're ongoing, but there's light at the end of the tunnel now. I remember the first Christmas we spent here and not in our childhood home. I remember going to the Chinese buffet for dinner... and honestly that was a great day.
And most recently... I think I can stop saying "I remember" now, because we're just about caught up. I went through my first Valentine's Day ever without feeling desperately lonely. For the first time in history, it just felt like another day. That's how I know I'm really making progress on myself.
Wow. I didn't expect to get that into it. I don't even know how long I've been sitting here. Maybe in another 10 years, I'll get back on here and write up a big long post that includes how I remember sitting on the toilet, painfully (and at points joyfully) recapping the events of the last decade.
For now though, it's time to hit that publish button and resolve to do this more regularly. And maybe update my picture and the tagline for this blog too. At some point.
Monday, December 31, 2018
Keep Moving Forth
My bathroom is clean. I think this may be the earliest I've ever gotten that done on New Years Eve. In fact, it's been clean for about an hour now, and I'm just waiting for the floor to dry so I can move all the stuff back in and get the rest of my room tidied up and in order.
I suppose it doesn't make a difference whether or not my bathroom is particularly clean, since I have no one to impress. Only the usual people are gonna be at the party tonight, and even then, due to the shifting sands of social dynamics, some of those who have been party regulars dating back to the Greatest Party of All Time on New Years Even in 2010 won't be here. But that's okay. I like to have a clean bathroom to start the year, even if I only clean it once or twice for the entire rest of the year thereafter.
I also like to start the year with clean bedsheets. Since this was our first year spending Christmas away from our childhood home (due to circumstances beyond our control, mind you), I changed my sheets for Christmas Eve and had no plans to change them again before New Years. HOWEVER! Meg came in clutch with a brand new Rick and Morty bedset for Christmas, and Natalie gave me a Mr. Poopybutthole body pillow, so as soon as the bathroom is done, I've got my sights set on outfitting my bed with those items, so the clean sheet streak will remain unbroken.
Up till now, I've always intensely considered everything I put up on this blog; I've pored and pondered over it for great lengths of time before deeming it thorough or complex enough to be worthy to be posted permanently on the internet. That is not the case on this day. As I mentioned a year ago, I have yet to go a full calendar year since 2009 without making at least on entry here, and that's another streak I intend to never break. So here we are.
I guess it's about time to go check on the bathroom again. My goal is to come back here more often in 2019, but... that's been my goal for most of the intervening years (thanks for that term, Razorfist) as well, so... we'll see. But at least I've gotten over that mental hurdle of needing to have something arduously prepared before plopping myself down at the keyboard.
For now, I'll close out 2018 by saying that, by and large, the year sucked. It was not the worst year of my life, at least not personally speaking, but it was almost certainly second place, all things considered.
But there were a few bright, shining spots. I got into Rick and Morty. And I discovered Doom. That game has changed my life. I may get into exactly how more later on; I may not. But one thing I am not gonna do is stop moving and let myself get taken down.
I suppose it doesn't make a difference whether or not my bathroom is particularly clean, since I have no one to impress. Only the usual people are gonna be at the party tonight, and even then, due to the shifting sands of social dynamics, some of those who have been party regulars dating back to the Greatest Party of All Time on New Years Even in 2010 won't be here. But that's okay. I like to have a clean bathroom to start the year, even if I only clean it once or twice for the entire rest of the year thereafter.
I also like to start the year with clean bedsheets. Since this was our first year spending Christmas away from our childhood home (due to circumstances beyond our control, mind you), I changed my sheets for Christmas Eve and had no plans to change them again before New Years. HOWEVER! Meg came in clutch with a brand new Rick and Morty bedset for Christmas, and Natalie gave me a Mr. Poopybutthole body pillow, so as soon as the bathroom is done, I've got my sights set on outfitting my bed with those items, so the clean sheet streak will remain unbroken.
Up till now, I've always intensely considered everything I put up on this blog; I've pored and pondered over it for great lengths of time before deeming it thorough or complex enough to be worthy to be posted permanently on the internet. That is not the case on this day. As I mentioned a year ago, I have yet to go a full calendar year since 2009 without making at least on entry here, and that's another streak I intend to never break. So here we are.
I guess it's about time to go check on the bathroom again. My goal is to come back here more often in 2019, but... that's been my goal for most of the intervening years (thanks for that term, Razorfist) as well, so... we'll see. But at least I've gotten over that mental hurdle of needing to have something arduously prepared before plopping myself down at the keyboard.
For now, I'll close out 2018 by saying that, by and large, the year sucked. It was not the worst year of my life, at least not personally speaking, but it was almost certainly second place, all things considered.
But there were a few bright, shining spots. I got into Rick and Morty. And I discovered Doom. That game has changed my life. I may get into exactly how more later on; I may not. But one thing I am not gonna do is stop moving and let myself get taken down.
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Never Give Up
I have posted at least once every year since I started this blog in 2009, and 2017 will not be the first year I miss an entry.
Saturday, November 26, 2016
Blocked
This will not be the first year I neglect to publish a single post on this blog.
I've put up at least one post every year since I started it back in 2009. And I think 2011 was the only year when I wrote only a single post.
So at the very least, I've kept that streak going. Plus, this has been a day. I needed to go somewhere and write something. I have a lot of somethings to say. My 2016 recap is swiftly approaching, and my 2015 recap is long overdue. I don't know if I'll even get to the latter before the end of 2016.
Also I'm tired. I'm not putting a whole lot of effort into this. I'm just going. This used to be a place for thought-provoking insight to spur discussion (or at least that's what I wanted it to be). Not anymore. It's little more than a diary. I didn't even follow through with my plan for it to be a place where I shared stories, probably because I have to be approaching a reasonably intense degree of sadness to even make my way over here.
That's exactly the kind of thing I never would have said outright before. But lack of regular posts (and removal of links from my social media accounts) guarantees pretty much zero readership. I still don't want to get too specific, but I'm here because what I really want to do right now is Late Night Twitter Confessional... but I know people are looking at Twitter right now. And we can't have them seeing my updates in real time. If they stumble upon them later, that's fine. But not now.
I don't have the necessary degree of stoicism to take it to my journal, and I don't have the energy (mental or physical) to pull out my Super Secret Notebook Where I Write My Feelings. It's not a diary, because I pretty much only write my feelings on one very specific, very pathetic topic. I haven't done it in a while (maybe more than a year), but if I were going to... today would be the day.
Oh and for future reference, the title is a reference to the Christmas episode of Black Mirror, just because I'm genuinely concerned I might come back here someday, read this post, forget what I was going on about, and wonder why I titled it like I did. This should be enough to spur my memory, should it fail. You think it never will, but it does, as I've learned from reading a good number of incredibly vague Facebook statuses from years gone by.
Anyway, like I said, now I've got my one post in for the year, and I think I may be able to get to Late Night Twitter Confessional now.
I've put up at least one post every year since I started it back in 2009. And I think 2011 was the only year when I wrote only a single post.
So at the very least, I've kept that streak going. Plus, this has been a day. I needed to go somewhere and write something. I have a lot of somethings to say. My 2016 recap is swiftly approaching, and my 2015 recap is long overdue. I don't know if I'll even get to the latter before the end of 2016.
Also I'm tired. I'm not putting a whole lot of effort into this. I'm just going. This used to be a place for thought-provoking insight to spur discussion (or at least that's what I wanted it to be). Not anymore. It's little more than a diary. I didn't even follow through with my plan for it to be a place where I shared stories, probably because I have to be approaching a reasonably intense degree of sadness to even make my way over here.
That's exactly the kind of thing I never would have said outright before. But lack of regular posts (and removal of links from my social media accounts) guarantees pretty much zero readership. I still don't want to get too specific, but I'm here because what I really want to do right now is Late Night Twitter Confessional... but I know people are looking at Twitter right now. And we can't have them seeing my updates in real time. If they stumble upon them later, that's fine. But not now.
I don't have the necessary degree of stoicism to take it to my journal, and I don't have the energy (mental or physical) to pull out my Super Secret Notebook Where I Write My Feelings. It's not a diary, because I pretty much only write my feelings on one very specific, very pathetic topic. I haven't done it in a while (maybe more than a year), but if I were going to... today would be the day.
Oh and for future reference, the title is a reference to the Christmas episode of Black Mirror, just because I'm genuinely concerned I might come back here someday, read this post, forget what I was going on about, and wonder why I titled it like I did. This should be enough to spur my memory, should it fail. You think it never will, but it does, as I've learned from reading a good number of incredibly vague Facebook statuses from years gone by.
Anyway, like I said, now I've got my one post in for the year, and I think I may be able to get to Late Night Twitter Confessional now.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Houses
Tomorrow, Chris and I are going to close on a house. This time tomorrow night, I will legally be a homeowner.
That's so weird to me.
Part of that probably has to do with the fact that all I did was write a check for the down payment. Chris dealt with the realtor and took care of all the paperwork and meetings and red tape and whatnot on his own. He's always been the more responsible one anyway. Heck, I haven't even seen the inside of the house yet. I'm looking forward to finally getting to see it tomorrow right before we officially close.
I kinda hate that term, "close." It sounds so needlessly official. But I guess it's more efficient than "signing a few papers last minute to conclusively transfer ownership after the deal has already been worked out well in advance."
This will mark the fifth house I've lived in in as many years. This time five years ago I was still living at my parents' house. Not long after that, I took up residence at Highland Ave for a few months, and immediately following that I transferred to the Farm for just about twice as long as Highland Ave, and then we made the move down here to our current establishment, where we've been for almost four years. That fact is staggering to me. We've lived here for the better part of four years. And in less than a month and a half, we'll be moving one more time. One last time.
I normally stress over the titles of these posts. I try to make them clever or punny or to include some kind of reference to some work of fiction or piece of pop culture, but I didn't try on this one. I just labeled it with one word that sums up the backbone of the content of the post. Of course, as it always goes, I had way more to say when I first opened up this tab to start blogging; as well I should, I've only posted once this year and that was over five months ago. It's been an interesting five months, to say the least.
But here we are again, having written out the factual skeleton for the post but lacking the meat of the content I set out to lay down. Maybe part of the problem is that I already expressed some of my thoughts last night via the good ole 5 AM Twitter Confessional, and I fear posting them here would be redundant. I guess I kind of intended to expound upon those thoughts in long-form here, but it doesn't seem to be playing out that way.
And welcome to life, ladies and gentlemen. Intentions and plans? What good are they?
I guess I really only blog when something is bothering me. That's the lesson to take away from this exercise. Because when nothing is bothering you, why blog? Just go live your life. Enjoy it, because there's nothing holding you back. But a blog... that's a place of existential discourse. Or at least that's how it is round these parts.
Maybe the actual signing of the papers tomorrow and the official ownership will have some sort of effect on me. Maybe I can come back tomorrow for "Houses: Part 2" with a bit more clarity, and manage to muster the ability to say what I wanted to say. I guess we'll see.
That's so weird to me.
Part of that probably has to do with the fact that all I did was write a check for the down payment. Chris dealt with the realtor and took care of all the paperwork and meetings and red tape and whatnot on his own. He's always been the more responsible one anyway. Heck, I haven't even seen the inside of the house yet. I'm looking forward to finally getting to see it tomorrow right before we officially close.
I kinda hate that term, "close." It sounds so needlessly official. But I guess it's more efficient than "signing a few papers last minute to conclusively transfer ownership after the deal has already been worked out well in advance."
This will mark the fifth house I've lived in in as many years. This time five years ago I was still living at my parents' house. Not long after that, I took up residence at Highland Ave for a few months, and immediately following that I transferred to the Farm for just about twice as long as Highland Ave, and then we made the move down here to our current establishment, where we've been for almost four years. That fact is staggering to me. We've lived here for the better part of four years. And in less than a month and a half, we'll be moving one more time. One last time.
I normally stress over the titles of these posts. I try to make them clever or punny or to include some kind of reference to some work of fiction or piece of pop culture, but I didn't try on this one. I just labeled it with one word that sums up the backbone of the content of the post. Of course, as it always goes, I had way more to say when I first opened up this tab to start blogging; as well I should, I've only posted once this year and that was over five months ago. It's been an interesting five months, to say the least.
But here we are again, having written out the factual skeleton for the post but lacking the meat of the content I set out to lay down. Maybe part of the problem is that I already expressed some of my thoughts last night via the good ole 5 AM Twitter Confessional, and I fear posting them here would be redundant. I guess I kind of intended to expound upon those thoughts in long-form here, but it doesn't seem to be playing out that way.
And welcome to life, ladies and gentlemen. Intentions and plans? What good are they?
I guess I really only blog when something is bothering me. That's the lesson to take away from this exercise. Because when nothing is bothering you, why blog? Just go live your life. Enjoy it, because there's nothing holding you back. But a blog... that's a place of existential discourse. Or at least that's how it is round these parts.
Maybe the actual signing of the papers tomorrow and the official ownership will have some sort of effect on me. Maybe I can come back tomorrow for "Houses: Part 2" with a bit more clarity, and manage to muster the ability to say what I wanted to say. I guess we'll see.
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
This Is A Story All About How... Actually This Will Probably Be Many Stories Moving Forward
Here we are, staring at the blank space of a new blog post; the first new blog post of the year, as a matter of fact. It's 2015 now and it seems like Blogger's interface has been updated yet again. The font is bigger and more doofy than I would like (at least in this draft mode here, I'm sure it'll look the same as always once it's posted), but isn't that just how it goes? Things change, whether you like it or not, and you have to just deal with it. So here I am, plugging away with these big, doofy characters.
This is kind of a difficult time of year for me. I guess, now that I think about it, it has been pretty much since I started this blog. Heck, the main reason I started this blog in the first place was so I could vent my frustrations about girls. That hasn't changed, because I really don't get frustrated about a whole lot else other than League, but I get over that pretty quickly. It's just a game, and on top of that, I'm bad at it. I may improve incrementally over time (I'm certainly better at it than I was two years ago), but I'll never truly be good at it, and I'm okay with that. Bad beats happen, they happen frequently, and sometimes they make really mad. But it never takes me longer than a few hours to put it out of my mind.
Girls though. That's another story. A lot of other stories actually, and I think that's what I'm getting at here. When I began this blog, yes, the purpose was to vent. But I also hoped that, in so doing, I could pass along some wisdom somehow. But I think I limited myself because of that. Back in the day, I always tried to include some lesson or nugget of wisdom that I thought might be helpful to anyone reading. Of course, as my readership dwindled, I focused less and less on that and delved more into a kind of self-reflective externalized internal monologue... like thinking out loud on the internet, I guess. I stopped trying to find a lesson or a meaning behind everything, but more often than not my posts would revolve heavily around stories.
I'm a naturally really nostalgic fellow. I look fondly at the past and often wish I could relive it, or parts of it. I love sitting down and telling stories of my past exploits, and I love keeping track of dates and notable moments in my life. It occurred to me not too long ago that, rather than keeping all that information stuffed inside my head until someone happened to ask me a question about something that happened years ago, maybe I should just be my own personal historian. That way I get to tell my stories without bothering anyone in particular, and keeping a written record of things can help jog my memory if the details ever get hazy.
I realize that when I reference my frustrations with girls, it seems like I have several bones to pick with the general female populace, and that's kind of how it started off initially (or at least that's what I wanted it to seem like). But when I say "girls" what I really mean is "a select few particular girls that I've encountered in my lifetime." There are really only 3 truly noteworthy players in the overarching story (thus far) and a few other minor characters here and there. I just don't want it to seem like I have something against women in general, or that I go about carousing with whichever girls I encounter. I just use the term "girls" so I don't have to reference any of the main characters by name.
So if you are reading this (and I still feel it's necessary in almost every post to address the fact that people rarely read this blog anymore), what I'm saying is that I'm probably going to be making sort of a stylistic transition, although that's really a more grandiose term than is warranted. I do have a few ideologically based posts still swimming around my brain (one in particular that I've had cooking for almost a year but never got around to is an analogy I formulated based on missing a key Malphite ult, which does sort of tie together all the things in the world that frustrate me), but from here on out, it'll probably mostly just be assorted memoirs about whatever part of my own history is haunting me at the time. And maybe there will be some kind of moral in every story, I usually like to come up with those. But I think most of all I just like to tell stories.
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