goofballs

I love my grandmother, my father's mother, who died more than two decades ago. She had a file of cards on which she wrote so many terrifying recipes involving awful post-Depression and World War II era processed foods, which my step mother lovingly transcribed posthumously in a binder entitled "Meals With Mildred." Her first husband, a contrite former strike breaker cum labor activist, was murdered. Her second husband, my grandfather, a trucker cum shipping executive, was active in the labor movement as well. She loathed Ronald Reagan almost as much as she loathed Satan himself. She was a Southern gal, and she had many "black friends." And I do believe she did. Her home in Akron was one of the first test markets for a service we called "cable" (prior to what we now call it, "broadband"). My first exposure to MTV was on her green couch in her modest Akron living room with it's brown carpet. Brown and green and orange, the swatch ...

Anniversary. The first time I saw her, after nearly 16 or 17 years had elapsed, she was noticeably thinner than she was in high school. But she was also stylish, in a way I didn't recall her being as a teenager. There was an anxious confidence in her. She talked in stuccato, gesticulating sharply.  We dined on bacon and eggs and talked about LA and TV and the Scientologists across the street, in their color coded collared short sleeves filing out of their Scientology busses as the Scientology private police force circled the big blue building on bicycles. We walked to her house, passing a vitamin store (a Scientology front, but I was just as fascinated to hear the dirt as she was to dish it). She offered, smiling, "did you know my maid is a Scientologist?" We passed a Spanish-Mexican church. This was unglamorous West Hollywood, where staff writers and upstarts scrape by. Of course Emily was also on SSI, for her problems. I browsed her selection of books - novelized fictio...

She said she was the penultimate, and then explained that she meant she would be the last before I settled down. I told her that I was not sure I'd ever settle down and that I was glad to have her as a member of my "elite tribe", and that I hope they would be kind to me in their remembrances should they out last me. She called me goth-y. I quoted Elliott Smith. My mind wandered, thinking about other women. A world without jealousy expanded in my mind, but it always turned sour. Conflicts arose and slowly poisoned Utopia. In my dreams, as in my real life, I found myself managing others' emotions and juggling their expectations. This is why we can't have nice things,... I wonder if my Dad steered me toward "A Stranger in a Strange Land" in my precocious, fumbling youth to convey something about my congenital wandering eye and love of lust. He was transitioning to the arms of another. Perhaps he wanted me to grok this. I have yet to grok it ful...

cow-orker I'm going to fix everything! me oh, louis… we all said that at first cow-orker :) me "i'm gonna fix these damn alerts!" cow-orker Naw I know I'm not going to fix everything but at first I want to jump on everything to get a feel for what I can ignore. me ok ;) you'll get a feel alright write up what you've observed in notes for eugene in 10 minutes and we'll handoff to him a little after 10 when he gets settled, k? cow-orker You goti t *got it me I'm going to get started with my laundry, be back in a couple cow-orker haha ok :) me now i'm going to start my Psych marathon cow-orker haha me I'm keep you updated on the developments with Julie and Shawn's relationship, and whatever silly stuff Gus says. cow-orker Great man I sincerely appreciate that. ;) me last week (a couple months ago, I'm really behind), Julie kicked Shawn out when she discovered that his psych...

January 22, 2013, 09:37 PST the premise of the story is vignettes of what people are doing the exact moment your heart stopped. starting with your neighbors, then random people in oakland. maybe a few of the many people around the world you knew, that very moment. some stories are longer, some short - then we go to a montage. then finally to your poor bewildered dog, licking your hand.

Story: I am riding the 33 Stanyan - I get shot - I become a ghost - I am a bad ghost, an ineffectual ghost - I retreat to the ocean - I am reborn as a seal - a rapping seal - the most famous seal rapper.

My garment bag - Seigel's Fine Clothing - looks like a body bag. My minds eye can see your grinning face asking "can I fit in it?" and trying to zip yourself up. You probably could, you were 90 pounds soaking wet carrying 5lbs of bricks. Now I lay it with care across my chair, over top my guitar cases, so that if I manage to bring myself to leave the house any time soon I can get my dress jacket and shirts dry cleaned for your memorial. That will be two weddings, two funerals. I wish I could erase the death by dousing it in gasoline and setting it on fire. Your size was the only small thing about you. I'll never forget sneaking out of the dorms for study hours and you being a fixture misfit in the computer lab most nights - all of us forming a ragtag tribe of proto-geeks. What was it you were always typing? I never knew until later the depths and breadth of your wondrous creativity - only that your joy was infectious and your curiosity boundless and that you h...