Wake the Undertaker

It turns out nothing was wrong with my phone (http://tinyurl.com/3rme8or).  An internal connector wasn't properly lining up with the battery, causing it to shut down every time I tried charging it.  The Sprint Store wasn't crowded, its staff helpful, and the problem was remedied within six minutes.  But yesterday's problem/post perfectly captures the manifestation of my neurosis, how the slightest setback, deviation, obstacle, whatever, can fuck my shit up and ground me, sometimes for days.  I received a number of messages yesterday commenting on the post, most encouraging me to take a deep breath, shut the fuck up, and just go get the phone fixed.  All very good advice (although I always find it funny when someone [Esther] comments to "drop the Holden Caulfield voice."  I named my kid after the fucking character; he's pretty deeply ingrained.  If I were to do that now, I'd be a goddamn phony bastard).  And, of course, this blog is often played for laughs; it's a caricature where features and tendencies of my, for lack of a better term, "mental illness" are self-exploited and poked fun at, because people appreciate honesty and the willingness to admit one's shortcomings, especially when said shortcomings can simultaneously engender feelings of both camaraderie ("I'm not alone") and superiority ("Thank God I'm not that far gone").  And it's not like I was really that mad and displaced over a goddamn broken phone.  But I kind of was.

There's an old X-Files about a child champion chess player, a real whiz kid, able to beat all challengers.  Eventually Mulder deduces that the reason the kid is so good is because he can actually see a few minutes into the future, meaning because he knows his opponents next move, he has a head start to formulate his response to a move before it is even made.  Essentially, the kid's prodigy is nothing more than a psychic parlor trick.  And now for no reason, here' the theme from the X-Files because I A.) fucking love that show, and B.) am too fucking lazy to look up a more relevant clip.

The loose analogy is that repeating the same routine every day isn't all that different. I can't see the future, of course, but intimate familiarity with reoccurring events isn't that far off.

Among yesterday's comments, my former professor Dave Cappella (after telling me to take a deep breath, shut the fuck up, and go get phone fixed) remarked that he doesn't know how I am able to keep up with these (close to) daily blog posts.  To which I responded, Because I treat writing like a mutherfucking job.  Or at least I try to.  I've been ridiculously blessed, afforded a life (at the expense of chronic pain, which is extra chronic today--old people aren't lying when they say their joints hurt in inclement weather) to do just that.

Not that it's always easy.  Some days words are slow to come.  Today is one of those days.  Last night we (Justine, my friend Adam, and Wandering Jew keyboardist/vocalist extraordinaire, Jarret "Secret Weapon" Cooper) traveled to the land of the lost (San Jose) to see Daniel Tosh.

And it fucking wrecked me.  We didn't get back to El Cerrito until, like, 2, and Holden didn't care what time we got home, because he gets up at 6, every day.  So I get up at 6 every day.  Still, Dave, I write.  People check this site, and they want to see a post, and so I give them what they want.  Problem is, by the sheer volume, not to mention expediency with which I am forced to work, means that every post can't be a winner.  Like yesterday's (which sucked).  And today's (which ain't much better).  And I apologize.  But it's my job.  And every day at your job isn't always golden.  When I worked in the print shop, there were several days where I phoned it in because I'd been up too late, doing too many drugs, drinking too much, not sleeping.  Which is how I feel today.  Because I can't stay up past midnight anymore.  In fact, after 10 is rough.  Add to that, yesterday the Wandering Jews practiced with our new drummer, and I am in the middle of reworking my noir novel to send out; I am coasting on creative fumes.  So I hope you'll forgive an old man the lack of a pithy, neatly wrapped up summary.  Yesterday's genius was spent when I (i.e., Jimmy) renamed the novel.

The Lone Palm is now...Wake the Undertaker.  How fucking cool a title is that?

Now I have to go take a steam train to Santa Cruz.  It's family day.

But I promise I'll make it up to you.  We already have next week's topics all lined up.  Very exciting stuff.  I can't tell you everything.  But I'll give you a hint.  Four words.  Paula Deen.  Donut Hamburger.

I'm Big in Japan

In our quest to decipher (i.e., manipulate) the demographics of who actually visits this blog, I finally got around to using the "stats" feature on blogspot, which breaks down things like Audience and Traffic Sources, which keywords are searched, all URLs leading here.  Pretty interesting stuff.  There's the shit I already knew, like that there were about 5,000 visits to this blog last month.  But lots more I didn't know. Like, for instance, do you know that after the United States, the country that visits Candy and Cigarettes the most is...Slovenia?  No shit.  Fucking Slovenia.  Now I am not above admitting that I had to Google "Slovenia" to find out where the fuck it is (it's near Austria).  The next on the list is Malaysia, followed closely by Germany. I know where those two are, but can't answer why more people from Slovenia, Malaysia, and Germany visit this blog than, say, folks from England.  (Or France.  I love the French, but they are behind Romania, Denmark and the fucking Philippines, this despite my second honeymoon's being in Paris, where the French woman eye-fucked the shit out of me.)  Not that I am not appreciative to the good people of Slovenia, Malaysia, and Germany.  I just wish I knew I knew more about these countries.  I mean, I get why Germans would love me so much; they are known for their melodic music, and terrific senses of humor. But I'm lost when it comes to the other two.

So let's break this shit down and go to where all the reliable info resides these days: Wikipedia.

Starting with Malaysia, I see there is lots of stuff about its history and government, with names I find hard to pronounce, and it's over there by China.  All very cool. But this doesn't really tell me why the Malaysians would be so keen on C&C.  Until I read about Malaysia's abundant wildlife, which comprises a lot of monkeys.  Now I get it.  Monkeys, as you know, are featured fairly predominantly on this blog, and they played an integral role in the original version of my memoir (back when the plot revolved around six very tiny monkeys in a Pinto on a mission to assassinate God while visiting the world's smallest cultural attractions.  And, no, surprisingly, that version never found representation).  Also, there's this:

  
I post a lot of Kids in the Hall clips.  'Cause KITH is fucking funny.  And it makes Jimmy laugh.  And, well, some say the sound of Jimmy laughing is better than a whole bunch of kids in a patch of sunflowers on a summer day.  Plus, Malaysia's flag looks a lot like ours:

But instead of lots of twinkling stars they have, like, only one, so it's less threatening to freedom.  (They also have a moon.  But it's only a quarter.)

But what's my appeal in Slovenia?  At first I didn't have a fucking clue.  Their flag don't look nothing like ours, even if they "technically" switched to "democracy" in "198" "7".)  Even though I can't pronounce any of the city names, I see they have the "highest GDP per capita of new members in the European state." That's sorta cool.  I guess.  And there are bottlenose dolphins along its shore, and everyone likes a dolphin.  Still, why would Slovenians be the second highest traffic source after the U.S.?  Then it hits me...Jimmy!

Jimmy Soyka is, like, the co-star of this blog (I won't say "Robin" to my "Batman," because nobody wants to be Robin.  So let's go with the Pitt to my Clooney). Jimmy helps me with my stories, supplying plot ideas, moral support, and editorial suggestions.  I am not sure he is actually Slovak.  But Soyka sounds like it'd probably be from over there, somewhere.

So let's raise a hot piping mug of bujta repa to our Slovak friends, and say, Thanks for reading!

There are other interesting tidbits to be culled from he stats page, like the Keywords that get people to this site, whatever people type into the various search engines that ultimately deliver them to this blog.  The most popular (and obvious) is "candy and cigarettes."  This tells us that people probably know or have heard about this site but don't have the URL.  Good to know.  The next most popular search words are "breaking bad very long wait netflix," no doubt in reference to this post (http://tinyurl.com/3nklrwf), in which I correspond with Netflix for making me wait for my Breaking Bad discs.  Kinda helpful.  Other keywords are "tom pitts san francisco," "heather richotte," and "80s popular candy that isn't around anymore."  I can understand these.  Tom is my best buddy out here, and I went to school with Heather at Berlin High, and lots of folks from Berlin read this (that's Berlin, CT, not Germany...oh, wait), and who doesn't remember those delightful candy cigarettes? ("Look, Grandma, I'm smoking two packs a day, just like you!").  Not sure how I can use this information to my advantage, except to write more about Tom and Heather and maybe start smoking again.

The next most popular keyword(s) is..."candy zoo solo fuck animals."

Don't ask me.

Time to Recharge

So I need to take a break for a few.  Time to recharge.  Unplug and tune out.  At any given time, I can have two or three computers going at once, and when I leave my house I'm checking e-mails, responding to comments on this or Facebook, and I realize...I'm missing my son grow up.  Not really.  But I got a lot of shit to do for the next few days.  For those of you who miss me, let me direct your attention to the right hand side of this blog... Beneath the attractive picture of me (I know, I know, you're all, like, "Which one?  They're all so attractive!"  True.  But if you look between the attractive one where I'm wearing a cowboy hat and looking all smoldering intense, and the attractive one where I look, to quote my buddy Jimmy, "like an Amish Bible salesman" [it's from my wedding]), you'll see "Published Work."  This is all my work that's on the web, not everything I've got out there, just the stuff that's really easy to find.  Mostly fiction.  Some poetry.  Some chapters from the memoir.  If you're pressed for time, I recommend "Rags to Riches" or "Red Pistachios" (two of my favorites), both of which were published in the now-defunct (though still awesome) Thuglit, or maybe "Hepatitis Heights" if you want to be disturbed and feel sick.  If you're feeling less noir, there's other stuff, too, like "Unpublished Manuscript" and "In Cases Such As These."  Or feel free to go back to read one of the 170 some odd posts in this blog.  Point is, there is a shit-ton to keep you busy so you don't go missing me too much.  So don't go making me feel guilty. I love you, too.