Quick note: I went to get my morning coffee at Starbucks and was repulsed by the crowds of people at the surrounding stores. Everyone was driving like a maniac and people were crossing the street without looking. More and more, the holidays bring out the worst in people as they try desperately to fill their respective emotional voids with cheap consumer goods. It just turns me off the older I get. There is no warmth to the holidays anymore. It's become just another worry. Bah! Humbug!

Lunch with Kitty Genovese

I went to lunch today at a Hawaiian/Chinese/mish-mash eatery on Grand. On the way there, I passed a small group of people standing about and watching an old hunchbacked woman who had apparently dropped her cane. One of the group was attempting to help the old woman by handing her back her cane but the old woman, seemingly out of it, would not grab the cane when it was handed to her. This put the Good Samaritan in the awkward position of trying to balance the cane up against the woman so as to prevent it from falling over again and thus freeing her to rejoin her comrades.

It reminded me a bit of those times when you are in a supermarket and you accidently knock over some items on display. You feel compelled to pick up the dropped items and place them back into the display without spending an inordinate amount of time to carry out the task. Likewise, the Samaritan here was trying to perform her altruistic deed but was being faced with the dilemma of where her responsibilities to her fellow man begins and ends.

How much help should we provide to others? Altruism is supposed to be an advanced trait of our genetic development. However, it always must be balanced against the need for self-survival (survival being both physical and social). How do we resolve this state of affairs?

Perhaps it comes down to this: Come and swim in my gene pool as long as you don't piss in it. Maybe I'm just too tired.

I had been feeling more than the usual baseline depression for quite sometime and so it was that my brother paid me one of many visits to ensure that I was still alive and not curled up in a catatonic little ball in the closet (that was a favorite of mine as a teenager). Together, we discussed various topics including our past, our present situations, career and what made us happy. At one point, my brother brought up my past job as a government auditor which required me to travel, by car, across country, moving to and from different locations with each new audit assignment. He asked me if I thought I would be happier in that type of job, moving about and not being pinned to one location. It was tough answering that question.I explained to him that, while I loved the travel, it was always ruined by the realization that, in the end, I would inevitably have to arrive at a destination. The greatest sense of peace came while driving over the interstates, especially through empty stretches of land. There is a freedom to being in motion, unreachable and unable to be located. On some days, it was possible to drive over long stretches of Interstate 10 and have no other traffic present, east or west. I used to stop along the interstate in the Arizona desert and stand, staring up and down the empty road and out across the vast, empty landscape. At those moments, I felt something. It was not happiness or sadness but a feeling that my self and the place in which I inhabited were vibrating at the same frequency, a harmony between what I felt on the inside and what I perceived without. Such moments during those days between stations were incredibly special and could almost justify the hassle of traveling for a living if it were not for the fact that I always had to exit the highway and end my travel at some place. At that point, I always found myself grow a bit sad, as the responsibilities and day to day problems of life took over my thoughts and all the moments of magic faded away.I suppose there are positives to being in one place and not traveling to excess. There are certain financial benefits of being a homeowner and working at one location makes life a little easier to manage. It is stable, secure, routine and comfortable in some respects. But, I do not think it necessarily leads to happiness. I don’t know that I believe anything leads to happiness anymore.

I performed my good deed for the day. While shopping for various baking supplies, a woman was searching for corn meal. She asked another woman who was also unable to find corn meal but did see corn starch and was wondering out loud whether the two were the same. Neophytes!

Overhearing this shocking scene, I immediately exclaimed, “Good God woman, you can’t interchange corn meal for corn starch!” Okay, okay, I didn’t say it that way. I did explain that the two are quite different and went on to locate the corn meal (it’s right there next to the flour!).

The one woman left with her corn meal while the other asked my help in locating Crisco bars. As I was just about to get a can of Crisco myself for making pie crusts, I was happy to locate the bars.

Every year it’s the same. People, who have gone all year cooking with microwaves and purchasing take-out, suddenly take to the supermarket baking aisle. They have visions of grandeur, ignorantly believing they can enter the kitchen and become a master baker overnight. Little do these Martha Stewart wannabes realize that the baking aisle is not for the timid or feint of heart. Fortunately, I was there to avert one disaster.

Muscles and Messiahs

I am always suspicious when someone speaks to me at the gym. This is Southern California. People make it a point to avoid speaking to one another. We are trained to pretend that, even in the midst of a crowd, we are essentially alone. So, when someone resolves to break this social convention, the thought comes to mind that the person is a) recently relocated b) suffering from an organic brain dysfunction or c) has some devious ulterior motive lurking behind that veil of seemingly apparent friendliness.In my case, “c” was the correct response.

This man begins speaking to me while I am performing my usual Stairmaster ritual. At first, I am caught off guard by the attention but take it in stride as just one of those brief, aberrant moments. However, as he continues to speak and ask me about my workout, etc., I am beginning to get the feeling that something is afoot. I am wondering if he may be gay. I have had this happen before and, while in some ways a complement (shit, at least someone thinks I’m attractive), I am hopelessly attracted to women and not inclined to change that preference. However, my initial suspicions were later proved to be unfounded.

The man begins to discuss various sports and inquires as to whether I participate in any team sports. I reply that I am not much for team sports, preferring instead to engage in activities on my own (gee, what a surprise!). He begins to talk about a group of men who are getting together for volleyball, softball and a barbecue this coming Saturday. In addition, there will be plenty of Christian discussion and bonding. Well, that answered my suspicions. If it isn’t a gay pick-up, it must be an invitation to a religious group. I should have just said “no” to his advances but, like a fool, I was quietly polite (well, quiet except for all of the huffing and puffing). So, he continued on about fellowship and bonding and other stuff like that and, instead of making me feel comfortable, I felt more ill at ease. I never fit into groups or bond with others. I’m a positron amongst electrons and, if I interact, annihilation will ensue.

So, I pictured this barbecue and outing on Saturday. I could imagine a whole lot of clean-cut people with mini-vans and pictures of their wives and three kids and everyone wearing T-shirts that say “God is Awesome!” or “My Boss is a Jewish Carpenter.” I can’t absorb that positive energy. It is sunlight to the vampire.He prattled on for a seeming eternity and, much to my dismay, it appeared that he had programmed a considerable amount of time on his machine.

Unlike me though, he had set his machine for a low-level workout, leaving him with an abundant supply of energy and lung capacity to continue speaking to me in a nearly uninterrupted stream. I grunted “yes” and “no” answers to his questions and comments and began hoping that this meeting was not all some sort of harbinger of doom. Maybe I am going to have a heart attack right now and this is my last chance to repent!

Thankfully, it all came to an end (no, not my life). Rather, he moved on and I continued my exercise. I saw him on other days but I did not acknowledge him and so he probably got the hint that I was not convertible material. It is back to good old self-imposed isolation.

Oh well, I will probably go to hell now, if there is one. I have come to accept that. I do know what I will find when I get there, though: Stairmasters, lots of them.

It is only fitting that, at this time of the year, I should recall a holiday related dream.

When I was about six or seven, growing up in Anaheim, there was one Christmas Eve that was particularly stormy and very windy. During the night, the wind was roaring and throwing everything about. I was trying to sleep but the wind was so loud that I could not relax. Soon, the trees outside were banging and scratching against the roof and windows of the house. I began to grow afraid and finally I called to my brother in the bed next to mine. He woke and told me I could come over and sleep in his bed. I was still afraid so he began to tell me that he was absolutely convinced that he could discern the sound of, what was more than likely, reindeer treading about. He told me that there was nothing to be afraid of if Santa Claus and the reindeer were here. Convinced that my brother knew of what he spoke and that miracles were afoot, I was able to ignore the howl of the wind and fall fast asleep.

I still think that my favorite times with my Mother were when I was about three or so and learning how to read. I loved reading out loud and how she encouraged me to pronounce or spell new words. That period in my life has a warm glow to it.

Feeling down right now. Something isn't quite right. I hope the proverbial switch doesn't flip or it will be a rotten weekend. Oh well, maybe it is just a post-workout spacing out or a little dehydration. How many times has this happened over the years? Too many to count. I should be used to it and, in some manner, I am but it is still rather tiresome. I am almost another year older, the year is coming to an end, the holidays are intruding and the winter solstice is nearing. I suppose all of those factors are no help. In the end, we are all islands, alone and lost. Thinking of one of those Santa Ana wind days, listening to the freeway traffic humming in the distance, the sky, high and deep blue.

My childhood.

Fascinated by this woman at the gym the other night. She has the most perfect body, neck and form. She reminds me of a dancer in that her body combines strength with a grace of form. Anyway, I was very attracted to her brown skin, glistening with perspiration, the underlying muscles and bones causing her skin to undulate and ripple, the form varying from shadow to light and back again. What perfection! She looked absolutely flawless. I suppose this perfection is based on my perception and mix of biological imperatives blended with my own unique psychosocial upbringing but my perception is all that I can provide to this situation. Anyway, I can hardly doubt that anyone would say otherwise about this woman. Did I say anything to her, even when she was working out next to me? No, of course not. What the hell would I say to someone like that? I am not good enough for someone like that.

-Sigh-

“If I get near what will I say?

Miles to fly over,

Miles to the girl on my left.”

-Harbor Freeway Moments: Two deaf people were communicating with one another in their car on the freeway. The seemingly wild gesticulations of the arms and the surprising expressiveness of their fingers in communicating complex thoughts and ideas was only overshadowed by the simple fact that no body had their FUCKING hands on the wheel!

-Up until a month ago, I had not kissed anyone for a very long time, possibly years. The touching of our lips felt special but it was the feel and scent of her breath in my nostrils. It was hot, real, not perfumed, from deep inside her body, infused with passion and life. For an instant, I felt human and not just a human observer. If I experienced such things more often in my life, would they mean as much?


-Thanksgiving is coming and so the grocery stores are stocked with turkeys. Every time I see this plethora of frozen carcasses, I can’t help imagining hundreds of turkeys, single file, quietly moving along a conveyor belt like ducks in a row (sorry, I couldn’t resist that one), their heads about to be lobbed off and a red pop-up thermometer stuck into what was once their shoulders. All of this so people can sit around eating and having family arguments while a pointless football game blares on the TV. With that being said, I’d like some of that breast over there if it isn’t too dry. I need all of the serotonin precursors I can get.

-Self-help should never involve other people’s help since they are likely just helping themselves.

-Along Aviation Boulevard, in Manhattan Beach, I have noticed a curious sight. For the last few weeks, a group of three or four men have been carrying signs that indicate that they are on strike. I kind of feel sorry for them. All the media attention is on MTA workers or grocery workers and here these guys are standing around a little parking kiosk that leads into a non-descript parking lot. What are they striking? Who are they striking? It is all a mystery. No one seems to know. Perhaps they represent the Parking Attendant and Weapon’s Grade Plutonium Workers, Local 65, striking to get Orange Fanta put in their vending machine. I almost feel compelled to make box lunches for them just so they know that someone is curious about their horrible, yet unknown plight.

=Unsalted peanut butter is horrible. Peanuts need salt and peanut butter needs it even more.

I was in the supermarket and a couple was arguing:

Husband: We already have that mustard.

Wife: No, we have the other kind of mustard.

Husband: No, it’s in the back of the refrigerator.

Wife (annoyed): Well, I want to get some.

Husband (pissed): Fine, now we’ll have two of them.Wife: (throws jar in cart and doesn’t talk to Husband)

Me: Just buy the damn mustard! -- said to myself, of course.Men can be sort of stupid. I think most men do not appreciate women when they are in a relationship. They take for granted something for which they should feel grateful. Oddly enough, those are usually the men that women gravitate towards. It’s kind of screwed because it just sort of provides men positive reinforcement for crappy behavior.

But, what do I know, I’m chronically single (a term that was once given to me by a therapist).

Headaches today.

I have had a great many lately. Migraines are a drag. I especially dislike the whole visual aura that precedes the whole thing. (Hmm, do blind people with migraines get visual auras and how are they experienced?) I don’t know why I am having so many of them. I probably have a brain tumor. Of course, I’ve been saying that since I was sixteen. But it wouldn’t surprise me if there was some cocktail wiener-sized thing wedged in my brain. Plumping each day like a Ballpark Frank, it will eventually burst, transforming me into a mindless, drooling man who sits all day, playing Mahjong with former President Reagan in a sunroom at some local sanitarium.

Actually, that would be something of a minor miracle since I don’t know how to play Mahjong.

I doubt that I will die of a brain tumor, though. People like me never get to die young. My friend Jerilyn thinks it is a whole cosmic joke, conspiracy sort of thing. The more you suffer, the longer you are forced to live. I could walk out in front of a train and would probably survive…unless I had just won the lottery or something, then I would definitely be killed.

If we ever come up with a real tele-transportation device, what kind of sound will be created when your body is instantaneously removed from one spot and transported to another? Will it be a clap, a whoosh, a gentle breeze?

I was in Starbucks this morning to get my infusion of caffeine. Everything is decorated for the Christmas holidays and there is this endless loop of cheery Christmas music playing. It was all too much for me. The holidays are sad for me and here I was, trapped, waiting in line, bombarded by the holidays. I felt like a prisoner of war being brainwashed, the music screaming the unmistakable message: “You are single and alone for the holidays, sucker!” It isn’t fair. I buy a lot of coffee from them. I even leave tips. Well, except when I need quarters for laundry, then I tend to become a little self-serving.

This initial post is dedicated to Ana for telling me to start an on-line diary. Ana is someone to whom I have revealed things about myself that I have honestly never revealed to another human being.

Thank you, Ana, for your instruction.

-Long day of freeway driving following a long day of meetings and other important type stuff which I pretended to take very seriously. Maybe it's wearing glasses. People assume you know something instead of the truth which is that you can't see a damn thing without them.

-The sky was blue and clear. It felt open and inviting. If only we had wings and could just float up into the blue.

-Back to work tomorrow for a couple hours or so of fun and spreadsheets. I wonder if Starbucks can just sell me a venti IV and save the time it takes to absorb the caffeine into my bloodstream.