Pardon if the spelling is wrong, I am not all that good at spelling – it is one of those bothersome things that get in the way of getting words on paper – and so, much like most things that I attempt to rationalize through, I ignore spelling in hopes that the spell checker catches the mistakes. I know to every purist, this probably irks you and makes your legs twitch at night with that queasy feeling of uneasiness – but get over it, you can correct me in your emails that I occasionally get from some fuckwit concerning what I put in this thing, and how my improper usage of a noun as a verb or some other intelligent, but meaningless, comment that beckons me to take up artistic masturbation as a form of self expression, versus putting this out there. (Artistic masturbation – that’s a new one, from the inner part of my brain tucked way behind my eyeballs. Probably has some tissue paper, Elmers Glue, a couple of midgets, and some fireworks associated with it. Who knows)
No, I am not dead. That was another one that came across my Gmail account – “Are you Dead, because you are funny sometimes” – well, if I was dead, I would still be funny, in fact, I would even be slightly funnier, posthumously recognized as a wit and a prick – but well insured my friends, well insured. I am still here – and there, and just about everywhere in between – that’s what happens when you live in Saint Augustine, date a girl in Edmonds, are based out of Omaha, and work in Toronto – and frankly, I have not been too much interested in writing. It is a large amount of work to write. Talk to anyone that has to sit in a training session that I am administering – I tend to digress – you know, go off on tangents about the exhaust systems on antique cars, or better yet, what beer specials are running at the local pub. Writing, on the other hand, makes me focus. (Hence the reason the standing prescription for Xanax comes in real handy when I actually try to shoot a blog or two over your mental bow as a warning that I am actually focusing, and not able to operate heavy machinery). Nope – I am not dead yet – that gets to what I called this blog – Bread and Circuses.
That’s what my life has been this past thirty or so days – you know, we all have bread and circuses – that was the policy of the Romans back in the day – give them food, wine, women, and the occasional crucifixion – and there you have it – enough of a distraction to keep you going to work everyday making sure the lead lined aquifers keep getting water into the homes of the rich, or squashing grapes, or whatever it is folks did in Roman times for a living – that’s what I have been doing. Where I could not get some bread and circus – I went out and bought some – a drum set, with all accoutrements and attachments, some clothes from the Value Village thrift store, a couple CD’s, and a few books spaced over the past month. Between determining whether I am an atheist or just a really shitty Christian Apologist (imagine how dissimilar these two things are – rationalization of either position being the true question – one requires science, the other relies on history, and both, well in all reality, I guess if I have to try and explain what it was god was saying, then I probably have a slim chance of being the apologist) – I have filled the days with work and conversations about other peoples money and other peoples priorities. I flew from Omaha to Maine to Toronto to Seattle and then back again, and the whole time, filled the spare time with on demand movies and Sugar Babies and Stella and Vodka. I slept, I dreamed, I called my kids, I drank, I sang – I entertained myself with fancy dinners at Tom Douglas joints, I camped by the Columbia River, I walked to the grocery store with a four year old, I drank red AND white wine. I walked in a fourth of July parade in small town America. I over indulged, under indulged, and basically, just made sure my schedule was full of bread and/or circuses. Whereas in Rome, it was given to the people to appease the masses, for me, it was just to have bread and circuses. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was concerned about the oil in the gulf, and the loss of life in war zones, and expiring unemployment benefits, and whatever else Nancy Grace is spewing vile about on CNN (her and Anne Coulter – see previous blog) are both the most corrosive folks I have ever listened to or read – and both annoy me on a similar plane – they are full of hype and bullshit, but the good thing is that they are probably going to heaven. Amen. (I digress). I played piano on an antique upright with a few keys stuck; I sat in a bathtub with pretty scented bubbles and washed my feet with that fancy salt stuff. Bread and circuses – not such a bad approach to things every once in a while – and an even better approach to things when, all said and done, the legacy you leave changes little whether you leave a computer design or a working man’s debt behind – so, for me, the past month – bread and all out, balls torn, hell bound and bent, indiscriminate bread and circuses baby – feed me more of the panem et circunses – and I will be the first one to see how far I can distract myself –
I have not been to my place in five weeks. I have not slept in my bed, seen my kids, driven my car, eaten anything at my table, washed my clothes, or taken a shower in my house now for about 33 days. That, I suppose is the only issue with panem et circunses – the good thing is that a moving target is harder to find, but the bad thing is, now, that I am heading home, is the panic of 33 days worth of mail, the potential that bugs have infested my kitchen, the likely reality that the landscaping looks like shit, and the almost certainty that my neighbors have decided that I am dead – and I am sure the food that I threw in the garbage can in front of the house has pumped out enough odors to justify that belief (sorry folks, I forgot to take it to the street, the cabbage, milk, sour cream, chili, and fruit have probably all melded together to a very nice compost like material by now, or the biological hazard response team was called out and asked to remove the container from the premises.)
I have no idea if my power, cable, and telephone are still on – I know they keep taking money out of my bank account, so I hope they are. I have no recollection of what my bed feels like, and what condition I left it in. I am not sure if there is anything in the house to drink or eat. I don’t even know if I have toilet paper, laundry detergent, soap, or paper towels.
I don’t know if the place next door to me sold, and if new folks moved in, and are using my driveway as a spare. Hell, I just don’t know – I have been too busy with the circus and the bread –
We all have diversions – naturalist, hedonistic, spiritual, whatever you may choose as your distraction – but for me, not so deep and protracted – I want naked clowns and beer and food and music – spaced in between periods of intense work and deliverables – and then I want more – until the bread and circuses stop changing and being new and pretty and shiny – then that is what I want. Give me more bread, I will go to more circuses, and all the while – that is not such a bad thing.
By the way, to those of you who found more spelling or grammar errors – piss off – go to a circus, and enjoy yourself. And for the dolphin picture – ask one of them about the future, and they will say “Eke Eke a Reeky Eke” and eat whatever you throw at them, I like their spirit.
George
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