Archive for November, 2010

8:14 (71)

Posted in eight fourteen on November 18, 2010 by darryl zero

I’ve been struggling to find words, lately, or the emotional wherewithal to actually care about things enough to write about them. But I suppose that’s getting away from the heart of this exercise, which is simply to use the need to write as a means to an end.

Started watching Surviving The Game today for no real reason other than I wanted to hear the musical score. I’ve been a huge Stewart Copeland fan ever since I was a kid, listening to my dad’s Police albums and listening to him gush over the guitar work. I always did think Copeland’s drums were mixed really strangely then; I preferred listening to the soundtrack to The Equalizer, which always reminded me of video games for some reason.

Despite not really wanting to go anywhere or do anything, I hauled myself out to Geek Trivia with the girlfriend, and had more fun heckling the moderators than I did actually answering the questions. To be fair, it was good-natured heckling–less insults and more simply being silly. I rarely nerd rage at events like that–and, if I do, it’s usually because I should have known something I didn’t, so much of my calls consisted of Godwinning the entire damn night. I need to come up with better shtick next time around–if I go, that is.

I also discovered I need to start boycotting Ground Kontrol. Don’t ask why–it’s an entirely personal reason and not one I’m interested in bringing anyone else into–but it’s only mildly disappointing in that it means I have to find a slightly different Old Town routine after getting sushi.

I really should finish my Strippies ballot. And my Florida application.

This was a forgettable eight minutes.

Time’s up.


8:14 (70)

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on November 6, 2010 by darryl zero

I so rarely get the seats I want when I go to coffee shops these days, either because I just go at bad times or because the best seats are usually nowhere near the power outlets, so I’m taking this excursion at the Fresh Pot on Hawthorne especially seriously.

I had dinner with my best friend this past monday for the first time in months.  Steven’s one of those friends I have to love because he puts absolutely everything in perspective, regardless of how painful said recontextualization may be.  Even better about the guy: he knows when to just let something go and realize I’ll talk about it when I’m good and ready.  I almost got into what’s going on with me, really truly going on with me (shit I can’t even figure out how to articulate here), but I couldn’t figure out the words.  Thankfully, he asked once, then when I couldn’t clarify it for him, he let it the fuck go.

As I typed that last sentence, a professor from whom I took a fantastic class at PSU walked by and said hello.  She had her three kids with her, the oldest of which couldn’t have been older than, say, nine.  As we caught up, the middle child (a girl of maybe seven) reached up and snagged her hat and tossed it on.

“I think it looks better on you,” I said to the girl.  “It really goes with that outfit.”

The girl smiled coyly and curtsied with the swagger of a girl whose parents clearly encourage her creativity and cultivate a sense of pride in being intelligent.  I responded in kind, pleased as I always am when a child doesn’t fear the mere sight of me, and knew she was going to be special.

Professor Klotz chuckled.  We said our goodbyes, and she and her kids left, smiling and joking in that storybook way so few kids get to experience with their parents.

I took an extra minute and watched myself grin in the reflection of my monitor before continuing to write this.

Time’s up.

8:14 (69)

Posted in eight fourteen, emo on November 4, 2010 by darryl zero

I’ve been trying to come up with something witty or interesting to say about my friend Carmen, but there really wasn’t/isn’t anything I could come up with that didn’t sound like it was deliberately trying to be profound, sensitive, or grossly overstating either of our importance to each other. The truth of the matter is that she was a friend, we knew each other pretty well in high school, kinda lost touch when we went to college, and reconnected during my random trip back to the midwest over new year’s ’08/’09 and contacted each other regularly (if not constantly) before she decided she didn’t want to be in this life anymore.

Another high school classmate passed along a link to the blog of one of Carmen’s Salt Lake City friends, thinking it would be of interest to me (since Carmen and I did try to connect a couple times since ’09). And it was, although not necessarily because I miss Carmen (although I do) and wish she were still alive (which I do). I mostly appreciated reading it because of the things that have been going through my head as of late, that feeling of inescapable nothingness and apathy that makes every day such a boring, laborious exercise that I don’t even remotely care about. And yes, of course, I think about dying and death (anyone who reads me should know that well enough by now), and sometimes–most times–I don’t see the point in waking up tomorrow, even though there are a ton of people who know me and love me and some people that count on me for things, however trivial.

That’s the weird, shitty truth–I don’t care about living, really, and can understand why anyone would feel alone seemingly for no real reason and want to just say fuck it. It’s not an issue of overarching despair, or that life is some grand tragedy–it’s that it’s fucking pointless, really. There’s no transcendence for most people, and some of us–the stronger ones, I suspect–are able to see that and just muscle through it. Others are good at finding reasons to keep going. Some of us put their money where their mouth is and just slip free from the monotony–I’d argue they’re the strongest, but that’s a cop-out.

And then there are people like me, the weak, who dawdle and examine, never taking any steps in any directions.

So it’s been good to read the words of someone, a strong one, who loved Carmen and is angry with her for fucking bailing, because there are few things that scare me more than my friends being mad at me, and that’s enough to keep me going for now until the emptiness stares me in the face again.

Time’s up.