I finally hoisted up the printout of Jesse’s criticisms of The Monster Within. Got through part one tonight – the easy part, the part Jesse had gone over before. Part two is still undergoing a major rewrite. Man, it’s great to have friends who can tell you when you suck. That just makes the compliments mean something. John, I know you’re looking forward to the chance to tell me I suck, too. Just remember that it’ll mean all that much more later.
A pause for a joke before I get on to business:
A friend is the person who will come out in the middle of the night to get you out of jail. A REAL friend is the guy sitting next to you in the cell saying, “That was fucking awesome.”
Speaking of fucking awesome, Mom asked me for the URL for the blog yesterday. I don’t want to hold out, but to be honest I’ve already been censoring myself, and I’m not too happy about that. I’m no Hunter S. Thompson, but there have been times I’ve kind of pulled the punches. For the most part it has been as a recognition of the fact that most of my exploits are simply not that interesting. Any thoughts I have at those times that are perhaps even remotely interesting I am sure to share.
A few things I have done that don’t deserve their own entries:
Went to the DC United vs. San Jose Earthquakes MLS game. It was the first game in which Freddy Adu started. Kid could play. I was there. Got too much sun. (Why. oh why have I not learned? This time I put sunscreen on parts of my body, but I decided that my arms didn’t need anything. ???!!?. That’s like saying, “Oh, my stomach already has cancer, so I’ll go ahead and eat some plutonium.” What possible rational reason is there to not put SFP 1,000,006 upon your entire body?) I like hockey better than football from any continent.
The night before, I went to a dance club with a couple of Buggy’s hungarian friends. Buggy was there, too. The music was horrible. I know I’m just being an old man complaining about the so-called music the kids are listening to these days, but there was a point when I thought things were improving when the bass played a second note. Sorry, kids, Some guy shouting – givin’ it to ya – telin’ ya’ll uh huh hu huh – Givin’ ya’ tha’ sto-ry – tellin’ of the glo-ry – Step back kick stand frappuccino blow dry! is not my kind of tunes. Watching well-dressed Palo-Altites shamble aimlessly to the angry Hip-Hop was almost worth it.
But not quite.
I have of late compared paying Microsoft for anything to paying a tax. Only I get more value from my other taxes. Yesterday I paid Microsoft again. I got a virus. Yes, I admit I was a little careless; I thought I was behind a firewall and I wasn’t. Today I had the firewall on and I was infected AGAIN. It’s a new virus that exploits no less than six Windows vulnerabilities. OK, maybe five. Still, what are we paying these guys for?
Nothing personal to Buggy, who challenges me intellectually more than anyone else I know, but I have to get the hell out of here. He has been a great host and a most valuable technical support guru, and all he has to show for it is a broken microwave and a depleted wine cellar. There is a pool here and I could get comfortable.
Tomorrow morning I’m gone, gone, gone.
A friend is someone who will help you move. A real freind is someone who will help you move a body.
the question about your mom is a poser. I’m no help. On the one hand, I bet she’d enjoy following her son’s adventures around the world. On the other hand,…its your mom! None of us would ever want to hurt or shock our own mother! If it helps, I think you must be in good company, because just about every writer of substance has a parent. How did James Joyce’s Ma react to his writing?
Hmmm…. to let Mom in or not to let Mom in? Since I’m the kid who lives close to home (or in the two places close to home if you count Laguna Vista), I deal often with the question — how much scrutiny do I want in my life? I’d vote for diplomatically deflecting Mom’s queries if possible — especially since her only grandchild is now posting here, and that could prove embarrassing to his mother and his uncle, as well as himself.
But then, she does seem to have at least a bit more of a sense of humor than she used to have.
Honestly, I’m not that worried about young Gerald’s contributions – they’re far more coherent than my own. It’s just that, well, there’s something dissolute about the life I’m embarking on, and I’m already doing a poor job communicating that.
Then, of course, there’s the naughty words.
You are now an adult (at least age-wise). Time to cut the Gordian knot, give her the URL, and let the chips fall where they may.
You don’t discuss family matters generally, so she can’t object to that. (For instance, you haven’t given background on the oblique reference to “doing a poor job communicating” your dissolute lifestyle choices.)
I agree with Jesse (frightening!): authors must express themselves without worrying about their immediate relatives think. It’s just a little more immediate because neither you or your mother are dead yet.
You’ve hit upon the easiest Mother’s Day gift ever: a URL!
Hmm. This could get interesting, verry interesting ;)