mth - timshel!

shake itlike a polaroid picture

30
I'm 30. I'm unemployed. I have a lot of gray hair.

What happened?

It wasn't so long ago that I was young and promising and had the whole world ahead of me. Was it?

Where did the economy go? Where's my boom? Really, fellas, I was just getting started. I wasn't finished. I never actually got to, you know, make a big pile of money. I never got any recognition or accolades, awards or profiles written about me in glossy magazines that glibly toss off references to Cat Power, Jasper Johns and Crispin Glover, where I never appeared wearing a pair of sunglasses standing in front of the Bay with my arms crossed in front of my chest grinning yet ultimately looking bored and jaded with some sort of caption about my brilliance being matched only by my vision, and beauty. Never happened.

Where are my accolades?

There was a time in my life when I would casually stroll into job interviews, wrinkled and reeking of cheap booze and expensive sensimilla, half-asleep and a full day late, and would be rewarded with contracts and assignments. Promises of more assignments to come and a thrilling future that didn't involve sitting at home in my underwear weeping into a warm bowl of Gorilla Munch and soymilk. And today, when I show up sober and suited, eager to work for a pittance at a job with no promise, somehow they only seem to see my gray hair and legacy of failure to appear in those aforementioned glossy magazines.

And I feel myself creeping along now. Doubting myself and questioning whether or not things are really going to happen. And if they are, why they haven't already. You see your peers shine and sparkle in their youth, hanging out with Stephen Malkmus and Dave Eggers at cocktail parties where people casually throw around phrases like "postmodern dilemma" and "Penn-Faulkner Award" instead of "totally wasted" and "unemployment check." And you just get older. I just get older.

But the thing is... The thing is. I'm not really 30. Not really. Don't let the gray hair fool you. It's not true. I have the same dream today that I did when I was eight years old. That I did when I was sixteen and twenty and twenty-five. I may not have the job, but I've damn sure got the dream. There it is. Right there, big and tall in front of me. Always reminding me that I'm lugging it around. And sometimes it makes me unhappy and sometimes it makes me afraid. But I need it. And I'll hang onto it, even if it makes me feel like a failure or a fraud.

Because The Dream stands between me and 30. The dream rejects 30, denies its gray hair and aches and failures to do, and not to do too. It reminds me of my beautiful wife, whom I adore. Who adores me. It rummages through boxes from the closet, pulls out your old clips and tells you you're pretty. It says "look, look," and points to the miserable sucker stuck in the straight job, trudging off of the bus with a psychic limp. It belittles your rivals and tells you how interesting it finds your friends. The dream is good like that.

And on days like today--when CraigsList.org and MediaBistro.com and JournalismJobs.com and SoYouWannaBeALackey.com are as barren and void as Dubya's soul, when you look in the mirror and see every gray hair and nose hair and ear hair and eye hair and all those kinds of hairs that come with aging that you wish would just stay the hell over there on your father where they belong and your knee pops with every step because it's foggy and the damp air makes your bones ache and you have bad breath and you don't listen to new hip-hop anymore and and and and and--on these kind of days, it's your dream that grabs you by the scruff of your neck and says: "hey, bitch, fuck it. You know what? Let's go get some strong-ass coffee, write up that Dengue Fever pitch, and send it out to some punk-ass editor who's going to want to eat your doo-doo and pay you in cash. And then, when you finish, we'll go out and throw some motherfucking eggs at cars on Fell Street. What do you say?"

I'm 30. I'm unemployed. I have a lot of gray hair.

But I still have my dream. And two dozen jumbo Grade-A cage-free organic eggs. Watch out world.

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The Great American Restoration
I was thinking of watching Howard Dean's speech yesterday, but a friend came in from out of town (one half of the hoorays, actually) and we didn't make it. Thankfully, the text of his speech is online.

I love to vote. Voting is absolutely one of my favorite things to do. I vote whenever possible. Ballot initiatives. Runoffs. School boards. You name it, I'm there. I take the process seriously, too. I read every page of the tomes that come in the mail explaining the various ballot measures. I look into candidates voting histories. I'm passionate.

Yet I've never found myself anything but flummoxed by Presidential elections. Largely because I've never felt there was a candidate, with a realistic chance of winning, who represented me. Actually, I've never even felt like there was a candidate with a realistic chance of winning who represented anyone other than Boeing, Bechtel, and Chevron. And so I've voted for a long string of third-party losers. Lunatics and dimwits. Conspiracy freaks and confidence men. Watch-stealers and mouth-breathers. And of course, Ralph Nader.

Although I've never viewed what I've done as protest voting, the thought "well I'm not going to waste my vote on either one of those two jackasses" does tend to transverse the cranium as I've looked down at the Democrats and Republicans listed on my ticket. Screw you guys. If I wanted to vote for Jack Welch, I'd have bought stock in GE.

Now, the "anyone but Bush" sentiment certainly appeals to me. Sure, he's the worst President since, well, ever. Sure his foreign policy is the moral equivalent of "give me your lunch money or else." Sure, he's awful, he's an embarrassment, he's thuggish, he's fascist, and quite possibly some sort of simian hitherto unidentified. Get him out of here. But is it too much to ask that we replace him with somebody who's actually good instead of just less bad?

Howard Dean is someone I feel like I can believe in. Somebody I can vote for with pride and confidence. A patriot and a statesman. And yet a member of the two-party system. He's a doctor and a twelve-time governor of Vermont. Or maybe two-time. Whichever. He's my boy. He should be yours too.

UPDATE: I almost forgot. If you registered, don't forget to vote in today's MoveOn primary. For the doctor, of course.

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Say Again?
"As a result of Saddam Hussein's failure to disarm and his possession of weapons of mass destruction," White House press secretary Ari Fleischer said, Bush "has come to the determination that the only way to enforce the United Nations resolution now is through the use of force." (Source: The Boston Globe 03/20/2003)

"The president also believes that there is a gathering threat from Iraq; that the failure by Saddam Hussein to disarm of his weapons of mass destruction presents a threat to the security of the United States, and therefore, he has come to the conclusion that after exhausting the diplomacy, that military force must be used if Saddam Hussein does not get out of the country." -- Ari Fleischer (Source: Federal News Service 03/19/2003)

Bush said Hussein has weapons of mass destruction that he might give to groups such as Osama bin Laden's Al Qaeda terror organization. Hussein acknowledged Monday that Iraq once had such weapons, during the 1980s, but said it no longer possessed any. (Source: Detroit Free Press 03/18/2003)

"Intelligence gathered by this and other governments leaves no doubt that the Iraq regime continues to possess and conceal some of the most lethal weapons ever devised. This regime has already used weapons of mass destruction against Iraq's neighbors and against Iraq's people. The regime has a history of reckless aggression in the Middle East. It has a deep hatred of America and our friends and it has aided, trained and harbored terrorists, including operatives of Al Qaeda. The danger is clear: Using chemical, biological or, one day, nuclear weapons obtained with the help of Iraq, the terrorists could fulfill their stated ambitions and kill thousands or hundreds of thousands of innocent people in our country or any other." -- President George W. Bush (Source: CNN 03/17/2003)

"Our mission is clear in Iraq," Bush said. "Should we have to go in, our mission is very clear: disarmament." (Source: Orlando Sentinel 03/07/2003)

"In Iraq, a dictator is building and hiding weapons that could enable him to dominate the Middle East and intimidate the civilized world, and we will not allow it," Bush said. (Source: Associated Press 02/28/2003)

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Kuala Lumpur

I don't think I ever posted this picture from Kuala Lumpur. But it was one of my favorites from the trip.

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The Mats
I've applied for so many jobs now, and heard so little back; I'm beginning to wonder if my applications have the SARS corona virus attached. The electronet is no fun on 56K. At least not for me. And besides. I became so used to being without the Internet that it's, well, I don't know. Unfamiliar now. Before travelling, I never went more than two weeks without going online. And that two week period only happened once. In 2000. On my honeymoon. I'm not working. I'm not online. So what's there to do all damn day?

I Read.

I'm reading old-school, again. Things printed on paper. Books. Library books. I don't have money for new magazines, so I read old ones. We used to get a lot of magazines--fifteen or so a month. Now I'm actually reading them.

I just read an old article on the Replacements reissues. Something I missed before. Reading about School, Hootenany, Sorry Ma Forgot to Take Out The Trash, and Let It Be. It made me nostalgic for a largely unpleasant time.

The Replacements are one of those bands that somehow slipped away from me. I was crazy about them in High School, after the very first time I heard Pleased To Meet Me. Crazy. They spoke to me. Singing songs of suburban angst and apathy (remember apathy?). They sang about the things I felt but didn't understand how to express in any way other than petty vandalism. I devoured their music. Pleased to Meet me was the soundtrack to my first year of high school. And then there was Tim. Tim! We are the sons of no one. I didn't know what the kind of music I liked was called, but I did know that these guys sounded like a munch angier, drunken version of whatever it was. And that was good.

There weren't any independent record stores in the town I came from. Just Turtles and mall chain stores long since driven out of business by Tower. I'd never even heard of Sorry Ma until I saw it in my friend Todd's room, and got him to make a copy for me. Suddenly I had a whole new world of Replacements. I would scream along in my car, rolling past suburban Alabama smoking dope, feeling like I didn't belong.

Tapes, tapes, tapes. I had all the tapes. I crooned to Don't Tell and Soul and felt cheated by All Shook Down. But it was allgood. Allgood, yo. Whatever. Pass the bottle, cut me a line and roll me a joint. It's Tuesday. And I'm feeling alienated. Paul Westerberg wrote lyrics that made me want to cry and laugh and punch things and fall in love. Fuck New Edition, this is the teen music I want to hear. Give me the 'Mats. I mean, they're the Mat's! One T. Just like me.

And then they were gone.

Paul Westerberg's solo stuff was good, but it didn't speak to me the same way. Na-na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na. And by then I was in college. I had a different agenda. Different feelings. And I had Nirvana. Entertain me. And somehow or another, The 'Mat's didn't make the switch with me to CDs. (I'd had CDs in High School, but I was predominantly a tape guy until 1992 or so.) Every once in a while, I'd stumble across and old tape and put it in and be blown away all over again. But not very often. And some things that should not have been forgotten, were lost.

So here's to old magazines and Replacement reissues. And hoping for jobs so I can afford to buy them.

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06.05.2003
Happy Birthday Jack Strang

Welcome to the world, little buddy

6lb 10oz (for the record, i still prefer "anakin")

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Top Ten Reasons I'm Still Not Updating Every Day
I don't have broadband
I've been doing a lot of freelance work (which is not to say I'm making much money)
I'm looking for a job
I've been away
I've had guests visiting
There was an earthquake
A terrible flood
Locusts!
I have a rash
My joints are achey
I'm still recovering from reverse culture shock
There aren't enough hours in the day
What was the question
Where can I find some Beer Chang in san francisco
I don't think that was the question
No, that was totally the question
You're sure?
Well that's what I want to know
Oh. Um. Well I don't know
Damn straight I don't know. That's why I'm asking. You expect me to answer?
What...
Don't be an ass. Just give the people what they want
Oh, alright
No, not that
What then
Answers
But I don't have any
Quick! Blame somebody
It's all Dubya's fault!
There we go...

I feel better

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