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kurt vonnegut is my hero

Excuses, Excuses

By how did i just realize this?, kurt vonnegut is my hero, not ruling at life, skills 2 Comments

I used to consider myself a writer — far from a professional writer, but at least a writer in my spare time. I sometimes wrote when I was happy, but mostly I wrote when I was sad. I wrote when I was mad. I wrote when I was confused or lost or conflicted. I wrote when I was completely apathetic. I wrote because I had no idea what else I wanted to do. I wrote because I was good at writing…and because I was good at a lot of things, but passionate about none of them. I wrote because my mind would race, and jotting down my thoughts would force me to at least slow down to the speed at which I could type. I wrote because I realized I could make myself laugh. And then I wrote here in this blog specifically because I realized I could make other people laugh, too.

I don’t really write anymore. I think about writing all the time, but I don’t really do it. I piece together funny little sentences in my head, and amongst the million and one other things swimming around in there at any given moment, I think, “I could write a blog post about that.” But I don’t. I used to carry around a pen and paper with me everywhere to jot down silly ideas and take them home and write about them. But I don’t do that anymore either.

I don’t remember when or why I stopped writing in this blog. I know I got really busy. I got nervous about literally the entire world having access to it. A lot of bloggers don’t understand that. But then again, a lot of bloggers started blogging exactly for that kind of attention. I started blogging because I wanted to make a website. I wanted to type instead of write with a pen. And I wanted a way to keep in touch with my friends and family without having to send the same email to all of them at once.

Maybe I stopped writing because I stopped feeling so sad. And mad. And confused and lost and conflicted. I stopped feeling apathetic. I found something I love to do. So maybe I don’t need to write as much anymore because, for the most part, I’m pretty happy now.

Or maybe I didn’t stop. I still write in emails and text messages. In Facebook posts and Instagram captions. Intermittent tweets and daily Chatter messages at work. Bits and pieces strewn haphazardly across various channels of communication that might all add up to something resembling a coherent thought or story or…maybe that’s a stretch.

But the thing is, I do still have a bad day here and there. Or a bad week. Or sometimes just a really stressful month. Or two months. Or hell, even three. And nowadays, when I’m feeling a little out of sorts, I don’t sit down and write. I sit down and read something by one of my two favorite writers.

And so it occurred to me today that I either need to snap out of my recent stressed-out funk or start writing again. Otherwise, I’m going to run out of material to read. Because one of my favorite writers is deceased. And the other one is me.

Iced Tea, Vonnegut, and Cat Puke

By books, employment, kurt vonnegut is my hero, not ruling at life 2 Comments
It’s the first hot day of the year (a grappling 83 degrees out there, people), and — you won’t believe it – the air conditioning at work is broken. Since it’s still technically early spring, I am wearing jeans and a light, short-sleeve sweater. Don’t worry, though. I’m actually pretty comfortable temperature-wise. Fans have miraculously appeared throughout the office as if they were the new result of rabbits reproducing, and I’m pretty sure this whole place could take flight at any moment what with all of the air being propelled about. I’m staying cool (in more ways than one) by drinking some bright pink iced Bella Coola, which is potentially going to cause me to develop one of those second-grader drink-stain mustaches around my mouth. So it goes.
Speaking of Kurt Vonnegut (you either caught that or you didn’t) and my quest to read all of his novels in order, I finally finished God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater after skipping Cat’s Cradle because I already read it. It took me several months to read this one; I must admit it was a difficult one to get into, and I read the entire Sookie Stackhouse series while I was taking extended breaks from it. I think I had to start all over from the beginning about three times, which was surprising, especially considering that the main character mentioned in the first sentence of the first page was a large sum of money in the amount of $87,472,033.61 that was producing more than $10,000 daily in interest. I read the first two sentences and thought, "Hell yeah! Count me in!" But, in the end it wasn’t so much about the money as it was about Eliot Rosewater and his philanthropic insanity that was, to tell the truth, entertaining, but not as much so as Vonnegut’s four previous novels. The ending was pretty witty, but too little too late for me. On to the next one – a re-read of Slaughterhouse Five.

Since I actually wrote this blog post in an e-mail to myself this afternoon with the intent to post it tonight and backdate it to this time I actually wrote it (which I am currently doing), I would just like to say that I really, really, really look forward to getting home from work and finding a heaping pile of cat vomit on my carpet. Really.

So it goes.

By books, kurt vonnegut is my hero One Comment

I’m just hanging out at my desk, mourning the death of my favorite author – Kurt Vonnegut. The guy was brilliant. Hilarious. In honor of him, I am going to collect all of his books – or at least read them all. (I kind of planned on doing that anyway, but…) 

Anyway, Mr. V., you had a good run. 85 years, and more than a dozen humorous novels. Thanks for those. My favorite so far is Breakfast of Champions. Peace out, and don’t forget, "The 2 prime movers in the Universe are Time and Luck." Someday I’ll name a pet after you.

If you want to date me, please skip to the last sentence.

By boys, drama, kurt vonnegut is my hero, not ruling at life, political views One Comment

I’m really pissed off right now. I usually write my best LJ entries when I’m pissed off. I tend to be extremely hilarious.

I’m mostly pissed off because of boys. I find boys to be ridiculous. Every time I let one be my friend, he ends up disappointing me. I know they don’t do it on purpose most of the time, but they always do it and it sucks.

I just try to have a good time, but it hardly ever works out. I met one boy last year who didn’t act so immature and we usually had a good time, but he has inexplicably cut me off and won’t return my calls. We were really good friends.

Some boys disappointed me last night, so I went to bed kind of early. I didn’t care that much. I was tired. I fell asleep reading a Kurt Vonnegut novel.

I had the weirdest dream. I told the dream to some people at lunch today and they seemed to think I should try to turn it into something that makes some sort of sense and post it in my LJ. I’ll try my best. I might be a little distracted. I’m at Mark’s and he just bought a karaoke machine, so… Right. Anyway.

My dream:

I was checking my bank account online and there was over $1000 dollars in there becase Mark Twain (yes, the author)…

Let me try again.

Mark Twain (yes, the author) has been distributing his sperm in pill form to females in order to father children all over the planet. Meanwhile, political activists against unwed parents having children have been trying to stop him.

I open the Bank of America webpage and see that there is over $1600 in my savings account (my house fund). My ex-boyfriend asks me why I have so much money and I explain that Mark Twain has offered me $1000 to take the sperm pill and have one of his children. My ex-boyfriend doesn’t think this is a good idea. He argues with me that I cannot have Mark Twain’s child. He even tries to convince me that the political activists against unwed parents might violently harm me if I were to become pregnant. I try to explain how practical it all seems because I can use the $1000 to put the down payment on a condo in Las Vegas. The condo costs around $100,000 and I read a magazine on an airplane that, “One percent will move you in!”

My ex-boyfriend begs me not to take the pill and even gets down on one knee and promises to buy me a house. I say no and storm out to a bar.

Once I get to the bar, I see my ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend. He is wearing a navy blue shirt. I go up to him and tap him on the stomach. “Hey [ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend], how’s the keg?” (We used to call his stomach “the keg” in college.)

“It’s doin’ fine,” he replies.

I look at him for a minute and say, “I really miss you.”

“I know what you mean,” he says.

He leads me out to a dance floor and we start swing dancing. Then we back away because a circle forms and a swing dancing competition begins. A bunch of girls wearing weird red 1920s flapper-looking skirts are doing strange moves all over the place.

My cell phone rings.

I woke up right at that point to find that I had a voice mail on my phone. My phone ringer was off, but apparently it really had just rung. I checked the voice mail and it was two people whose voices I didn’t recognize having a five-minute conversation. I didn’t know the number, either, but I was too tired to call it back.

Anyway, I went back to sleep.

I don’t really think you will find this amusing in any way, but I figured I’d try.

Mark just dedicated “Scotty Doesn’t Know” to Scotty.

By the way, I’m looking for a new boyfriend.

Electro-Syntho-Magnetic Musical Sounds

By books, kurt vonnegut is my hero, memories, music, not ruling at life One Comment

I was sitting here on my deck innocently reading Hocus Pocus by Kurt Vonnegut, listening to my little green iPod and trying to ignore Allison’s dog’s obsessive co-dependency problem when I was suddenly blindsided by the song from the Walt Disney World Main Street Electrical Parade.

The song from the Main Street Electrical Parade is like, 11 minutes long. I used to listen to it on a record when I was little. The record was blue. Years later, I got it on a CD when I was visiting Disney World over Spring Break during my sophomore year of college. I’m pretty sure the CD was blue, too. Soon after, I created a PowerPoint slide show of my sophomore year Spring Break pictures and set the slide show to the music from the Main Street Electrical Parade. In fact, the Main Street Electrical Parade song turned out to be an excellent soundtrack choice for the slide show – especially because the slide show featured several photos from actual Main Street Electrical Parade. But that’s not the point.

So, the song from the Main Street Electrical Parade popped up on the iPod – song number 50 of 672 – and I stopped reading. I really wanted to change the song. Then I really wanted to watch my slide show of my sophomore year Spring Break pictures. Then I really wanted to call people I drove to Orlando with in 2001. But, the computer was in the bedroom and I don’t really talk to any of those people anymore, so instead of changing the song or watching the slide show or dialing the phone, I just turned up the volume and spaced out for like, 11 minutes.

I thought maybe the song would make me giddy like it used to when I was kid. Or I thought maybe it would make me experience some sort of nostalgia and wish I was still a sophomore in college. I thought at least it would make me want to go to Disney World. I was wrong. I spaced out for 11 minutes and felt pretty much nothing but humidity on my face and a mosquito biting my arm. I couldn’t decide if that was sad or not.

After it was over, I lifted the weight of Hocus Pocus of my chest and went back to numbly absorbing the useless details of the tragic life of the fictional character Eugene Debs Hartke, who was born in 1940 and firmly believes that “the 2 prime movers in the Universe are Time and Luck.”