August 10th, 2001


(no subject)

So I turned on the TV tonight at 2:15 AM and what should appear on my screen but Dr. Laura's talk show. Apparently she got moved from her 3 PM spot to the very desireable (sarcasm yaya) 2 AM timeslot. I used to watch the show from time to time during my talk show phase (I've gone through a lot of odd phases trying to understand cultural phenomena. Pro Wrestling, Talk Shows, even bad martial arts shows.) and it was always interesting to me because of the way that she moralized. Watching it at 2 AM with phone sex adds playing in between the segments just made it surreal. Late night television is always best when it's surreal in my opinion. While watching normal entertainment at 8 PM when your mind is sharp and your wits about you can be rewarding, watching something normal at 3 AM when you're tired and contemplating sleep tends to be a quite forgettable experience, unless what you're seeing is so strange and bizzare that it turns from prepackaged entertainment to spectacle.

Listening to Dr. Laura praise a woman who preaches abstinence and then immediatly going to an advertisement for phone sex counts as such a spectacle.

I also saw that guy on the sports shopping show trying to sell a $2,200 print of a picture of Tiger Woods as a good deal. That was perhaps even more sureal because I can't imagine anyone, no matter how stupid or fanatical, spending 2200 bucks on a non-original photograph of a living sports star. I mean why not just fly down to the masters and take a picture yourself? Cheaper and infinitly more memorable. I'm not really that into sports, but if I was I would think that attending live events would be worth more than commercial products based on those events. Maybe not though.

I also managed to catch almost all of American Movie which was an interesting experience. If you don't know it's a documentary about a guy who'se trying to make a film, and the strange conflict between his incredibly drive and total lack of common sense. As for his talent, I can't really comment on that. The parts of his movie that we get to see are above camcorder amateur stuff but definitly below even professional independant productions.

Anyway the movie had an impact on me in that it showed me exactly the guy that I don't want to be. 30 years old with a below dead end job (He alternates between a newspaper route and a part time job as a cemetary caretaker) 3 kids by a woman who apparently he can't stand, a consistant record of fucking up, and no real prospects of getting out of where he is except by dumb luck alone (although getting this documentary made did prove to be an enormous break for him). I dunno, he has this incredible drive and NOTHING else and it'd be kind of sad if he wasn't a drunk and something of a hypocrite (he whines about how his parents treated him while he leaves his kids in the care of an acid head or has them sleep with him in the editing room of a university he never attended.) What is sad is his inability to express himself, he constantly has trouble pushing words and ideas out of his head and into the world and the same blockage prevents him from being a particularly interesting film maker. His scripts are beyond hackneyed (and he knows this a little bit), his acting rather sub-par, and the people he associates with are pretty low on the talent scale (although the actors seem like they have at least dinner theatre quality talent, and infinite patience.) He also has a girlfriend who looks like she's in her late 30's early 40's (he's 30) who he brings a bundle of flowers stolen off a grave in one scene that made me cringe a little.

Anyway while watching these kinds of uniquily American people try to live out their lives, begging the alcoholic and addled uncle for money and sucking up to him for a shot at his funds, I always get that classic question thought. "How far am I from them?" Sure I'm at a big fancy university but it's so easy to fall through the cracks, from the intellectual book writing middle class to the blue collar hard drinking middle class. It's kind of scary when you think about both how little in life is guaranteed and how much depends on where and with what you were born.

At least I got to engage in one of the great pleasures of a summer vacation. Watching television at 5 AM while the sun is coming up, eating cold fried chicken and slugging down a mountain dew/Coke mixture (Coke alone doesn't have enough caffeine for 5 AM documentary watching sessions.) With this being the last night I am going to have the house to myself for awhile, I'm glad I did this. Glad I managed to take in at least one spectacle of the bizzare before I have to pussyfoot around for fear of waking the slumbering monster.

Less than 3 hours till my mom comes home. I think I'm going to get some damn sleep.
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    Blink 182

(no subject)

My mother is back and life has gone swiftly to helll. She came back pretty nice and it looked like things were going to be different this time. It lasted for about half an hour. Then everything spiraled downward so fast I didn't even have time to get dizzy.

The telephone
The bills
Her work
Her stress
Her stupid inability to figure anything out
Smidgeons of dirt
The same old recycled shit. I tried to defend myself with laughter and seeing through her psycho bullshit so she started playing mindgames. The calling out for me in a voice just loud enough to hear but muffled and unintelligable. The "BENJAMIN! BENJAMIN" "what is it?" "Nothing."

All the SAME OLD FUCKING GAMES. No need for articulate discussion of inner feelings when there's a monster roaming your house. I want to slit my throat. I want to run away. I'm 13 again and my dad's just killed himself and all this shit is too much.

I want to be able to stay the relatively mature controlled person I am when the islington horror isn't inhabiting my domicile. I want to BE A HUMAN. I just want to be human.

But I'm not. I'm a whipping post, a punching bag, a stress squeezem.

And one of these days, one day soon, I am going to pop.
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    The shrieking of a lunatic.

(no subject)

Sometimes I feel like the world is out to get me.

I have trouble falling asleep in the heat and it is BLAZING out. Well not so much the heat as the humidity. The air is still thick and sticky. It rained earlier but that didn't do anything. It was nice to be out there in the rain though and imagine the humidty ending after it. To imagine being comfortable again.

Anyway I was dozing off during a terrible Don Johnson movie, I don't know the name of it, when the super and the doorman came into the apartment because there's a leak on the floor below ours and they thought it was from our bathroom. It was not but by the time they left I was awake and Don Johnson was off the screen replaced by Andie McDowel in another movie whose name I do not know in which she is remarkably unsexy considering just how beautiful she is.

A side note on Don Johnson....he is really pretty bland on his own. In the bad movie I was dozing during he played a cop, but instead of being surrounded by colorful characters or beautiful and occasionaly topless women it was just him. He doesn't have the presence to hold the screen. Sure he's handsome in a rugged way that appeals to both men and women (men not sexually, but in that he will appeal to our baser instincts and perform the acts of violence and sexuality that we are either incapable of or not allowed to do) but there's just something missing. Oh well.

I love the song Exhuming McCarthy.

Anyway I can't really go back to sleep right now because I need to make a choice. To get my mother out of the house I promised that I would work on cleaning my room some (it is a total mess so she won't come in it. A protective barrier of old magazines and cardboard and diet coke cans on the floor. I once caught her coming in at 4:15 AM and have never trusted her to stay out since then. I keep the room in such a state that neither she nor anyone can me can bear to be in it. I can stay in it for days at a time since messes don't bother me. It works okay except of course she's constantly on my case about it.) I either have to do that or go to dinner with her, something which she suggested and I laughed at. Sticky hot sweaty work of excavating some crap from the floor of my room or a long tense dinner with a prying nasty old hag? Decisions decisions.

The dog days of summer can truly begin now that the bitch is back.

I am left in an untenable position here. Have to choose between living with someone who I cannot stand and think is crazy or move into the dorms which I cannot stand and drives ME crazy. I can't afford an apartment on my own without dipping deeply into my nest egg which lost FIVE THOUSAND dollars last month in the stock market. Started at 262 and is now down to 230 thousand. I really hope that the broker isn't bleeding me dry but I don't know what to do. He's been our financial advisor forever and....and....I am just not ready to take responsibility for that much money on my own.

My friend Robert told me that men watch Buffy and similar shows purely for an illicit S&M thrill. That superwomen beating up male villains gives them their jollies. I don't understand that at all. It seems to me that most of the male dominated entertainment culture prefers the woman to be in the submissive role. The ultimate superhero example being catwoman. Different demographics? Personally I only really see the sex appeal of scenario number 2 but maybe that's just who I am. Still it's interesting to me how much of gender relations is about combat.

Jeff says that female dominant superhero type shows are about adolescent angst and the feelings of young boys that girls are incomprehensible and incredibly powerful. Maybe I read that somewhere. I dunno, it's very freudian.

I also read somewhere that a lot of female superheros exist just because their animators prefer drawing well endowed babes to male characters. Nothing like churning out page after page of oversized breasts to keep you working eh?

This is all just idle musing because I don't want to decide between cleaning the room and eating with the hag. Working well though.

I am quite tired.

Why has this journal taken such a sharp turn into the sexual recently? I don't know. I mean I've given reasons but they aren't everything. I think it's in part because I want to be a bit shocking. I want to be blatently honest about the stuff that America likes to sweep under the rug. I also want to dig behind the obvious and understand how twisted American sexuality is. I mean we all know that the U.S. is a puritanical society where bloody violence is alright on TV but a flash of some chick's ass requires that warnings be plastered all over (A la NYPD Blue.) This has GOT to twist our views of sexuality as a society. Are American men obsessed with tits because they are the most obvious difference between the genders that even clothes can't hide? Is that why many men fetishise big tits? Because they are even more prominent under any number of layers of cloth?

Why are breast fetishes so much more acceptable than any other kind? I mean why is it considered more emotionaly healthy for a man to want to see a girl with bags of scilicone in her tits than for him to want to see a naked leg in a five inch pair of stilleto heels? At least high heels don't require surgery and can be easily discarded if they are no longer desired.

I dunno, personally I'm an ass man. It doesn't matter though because I almost never check out women.

Am I being too explicit? Am I crossing a boundary? Is that a good thing?

Sex is the great equalizer in a way. I mean different people want different things in other spheres. Some want money, some want fame, some want moral superiority, some want love, some want stability, some want instability, but everyone wants booty. Almost everyone.

I'm sort of ranting along here, I'm too tired to be embarassed, too tired to be self critical, too tired to worry about driving potential readers away. I have a penis and I don't really engage with it or own it most of the time. Own your genitals people, that's your homework. No clue what it means and I'm sure it's different for everyone, but it felt like a good thing to say.

Now I AM embarassed.

I don't want to erase what I have said so I guess I'll post it. Talking about base sexuality candidly is very out of character for me. I'm a moralizer and ultimatly afraid of sex for any number of reasons, from fear of failure to perform up to specs to the idea of being monogamous to a woman who'se getting drilled by every prospector in town and getting sick because of it. I feel that I am a good person (true or not) and if I stick with the theory that I proposed in a previous entry that means that I will end up with a lousy mate. I don't want to be the guy with 3 kids and no job and a pathetic dream, but I don't want to be the hardworking husband sacrificing for the family while the Mrs. smokes the butcher's sausage.

Of course that is not where things would start out but when I think of the future I tend to leap ahead to adulthood because teenagedom has been such a ramrod up the ass for me.

Jeff thinks that some of my negative attitudes towards women are based in my mother. I agree with him. I don't want to deal with that though, especially not with someone like Jeff who'se pseudo Freudian at times. Oedipus Complex? Don't make me hurl. My father's dead and I wish my mother would join him. I really shouldn't say that in print and I don't really wish it. I just wish she'd move far far away and only call at Thanksgiving.

A nineteen year old boy obsessing over sex. What a fucking cliche I am. Pun intended.
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