I Have Arrived?
Automatic said "get off your ass and blog already!" He who just wrote a paragraph for the first time in over 2 months. He who has a commitment to at least 4 other writing gigs that he's also let flounder for much too long. He who drives a jeep with a leaf pattern and the dashboard painted black. He with a much too medium head. What's his excuse?
Me, well, I've been out of commission. Since I have shared with you the revelation that I have a midget in my soul - this brought out by my 9 year old daughter - I have lost my home and I have lost my job. I believe this entitles me to a little slack in regards to the updating of this and other blogs I may or may not have a firm responsibility to. Doesn't it? After all, it's only been a little over a month since my absence. Bite me Automatic. Bite me up and down - in the words of someone that used to be fond of.
Now, I don't want you all to feel sorry for me. About the whole homeless and jobless thing. I have friends here in the Windy City. (Or the hot as hell city as I call it on this 28th day of June) And they are taking care of me. For now. I have a place to stay. Roommates once again. 2 woman. I feel like Jack Tripper. Yes, it's their place and they are the ones paying the rent. But I take care of them. Essentially. While they go off to there respective and respectful jobs, I stay at home and cook and clean and wait for them to come home for dinner. And, I guess, I blog in the meantime.
What I need is my own job. What I need is a sense of independence. What I need is a beautiful house. With a beautiful car. And a beautiful wife. And it would also help to know what the hell I am here for. As things stand now, I am a 36-37 year old bachelor, once divorced, with a child out of state, degrees that leave me qualified for nothing and overqualified for everything, a hot new girlfriend I lean on much too much and a sense of self worth that is about as regular as my bowel movements. All this and the whole Nicole Kidman thing still dogs me like a sonofabitch. What's one to do but blog. I guess. And pray. Pray a lot.
I know there have been a whole lot of pop culture episodes since I have last written. What with the Michael Jackson verdict, Dick Durbin's big mouth, the whole Tom Cruise - Katie Holmes explosion, not to mention all the missing people off in islands somewhere and the continued capitalistic progress of Starb**** and Walmart. And I will comment on all that. Believe me, my absence has nothing to do with a loss of words. So...I'll start over. I'll begin again. A new era in the life of the Passenger. Let's play catch-up. Let the games begin.
In the meantime, I came across this little delight, reprinted from GQ magazine for July. It is one of 62 reasons to love your country. So says someone named Devin. This one is # 12. Remember, it does, in no way, reflect this author's views or opinions. So take it with a grain of salt. Enjoy.
12. STARBUCKS COFFEE...SERIOUSLY. In New York, where I live, people complain about Starbucks. It's part of the litany: Wal-Mart, Barnes & Noble, Home Depot, the Gap. People unleash the litany to illustrate many different forms of American decay: homogenization, rapid consumerism, the architecture and design of fakeness, strip malls. But what Starbucks means isn't the death of culture. Starbucks means applying the engine of American corporate expansion for a good cause: bringing good coffee to places that used to serve Sanka. A Starbucks on every corner? Fine with me. I'm not saying I like their folk music or their $24 dessert drinks or the "lifestyle" they try to sell you. But when I'm driving on the 90 and see that Starbucks sign lit bright over the flatlands and I know I won't have to drink watery slop from a Mobil station, I'm pretty fucking happy about it."
Me, well, I've been out of commission. Since I have shared with you the revelation that I have a midget in my soul - this brought out by my 9 year old daughter - I have lost my home and I have lost my job. I believe this entitles me to a little slack in regards to the updating of this and other blogs I may or may not have a firm responsibility to. Doesn't it? After all, it's only been a little over a month since my absence. Bite me Automatic. Bite me up and down - in the words of someone that used to be fond of.
Now, I don't want you all to feel sorry for me. About the whole homeless and jobless thing. I have friends here in the Windy City. (Or the hot as hell city as I call it on this 28th day of June) And they are taking care of me. For now. I have a place to stay. Roommates once again. 2 woman. I feel like Jack Tripper. Yes, it's their place and they are the ones paying the rent. But I take care of them. Essentially. While they go off to there respective and respectful jobs, I stay at home and cook and clean and wait for them to come home for dinner. And, I guess, I blog in the meantime.
What I need is my own job. What I need is a sense of independence. What I need is a beautiful house. With a beautiful car. And a beautiful wife. And it would also help to know what the hell I am here for. As things stand now, I am a 36-37 year old bachelor, once divorced, with a child out of state, degrees that leave me qualified for nothing and overqualified for everything, a hot new girlfriend I lean on much too much and a sense of self worth that is about as regular as my bowel movements. All this and the whole Nicole Kidman thing still dogs me like a sonofabitch. What's one to do but blog. I guess. And pray. Pray a lot.
I know there have been a whole lot of pop culture episodes since I have last written. What with the Michael Jackson verdict, Dick Durbin's big mouth, the whole Tom Cruise - Katie Holmes explosion, not to mention all the missing people off in islands somewhere and the continued capitalistic progress of Starb**** and Walmart. And I will comment on all that. Believe me, my absence has nothing to do with a loss of words. So...I'll start over. I'll begin again. A new era in the life of the Passenger. Let's play catch-up. Let the games begin.
In the meantime, I came across this little delight, reprinted from GQ magazine for July. It is one of 62 reasons to love your country. So says someone named Devin. This one is # 12. Remember, it does, in no way, reflect this author's views or opinions. So take it with a grain of salt. Enjoy.
12. STARBUCKS COFFEE...SERIOUSLY. In New York, where I live, people complain about Starbucks. It's part of the litany: Wal-Mart, Barnes & Noble, Home Depot, the Gap. People unleash the litany to illustrate many different forms of American decay: homogenization, rapid consumerism, the architecture and design of fakeness, strip malls. But what Starbucks means isn't the death of culture. Starbucks means applying the engine of American corporate expansion for a good cause: bringing good coffee to places that used to serve Sanka. A Starbucks on every corner? Fine with me. I'm not saying I like their folk music or their $24 dessert drinks or the "lifestyle" they try to sell you. But when I'm driving on the 90 and see that Starbucks sign lit bright over the flatlands and I know I won't have to drink watery slop from a Mobil station, I'm pretty fucking happy about it."
posted by The Passenger at 12:34 PM
1 Comments:
does this mean you are going soft on starbucks???
Don't worry young grasshopper--a life that is aimless, can only get more directed with time. Tis old Cantonese proverb. Keep leaning on your hot new girlfriend--gain karma and you will imerge fresh like a newly spun dead butterfly--only a live one....I think....if all else fails visit the wise Wahotak of the ancient Wahoophalantite tribe ( that is pronouced tites not tits) Bring your kyrptanite and you will be sure to mine some great advice from him..or is it a her...at any rate. Your problems will be solved....taaada Nirvana! O happy Happy!!!
Finally I leave you with great O Pache greeting
wahhhatt the craaappp!
a wise ole sage:)
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