It's past midnight on Thursday morning and I'm listening to Nirvana and remembering how great they sound. I haven't had the urge to listen to them for years since they remind me so much of college and the fact that their music has been so diluted by similar bands over the years that I've forgotten how wonderful they can be. A perfect combination of anger, intelligence and beauty.

I made the last trip to pick up apartment stuff with C today. I don't have much here but I have all I need. A and I found a bunch of furniture this weekend, stored most of it at her place (which is now brimming with my furniture stocked in the basement) and carted a kitchen table over. I have no need for a table but I'm sure I'll need one eventually. This place has a lot of promise and though I don't have a need to have a full living room and I'm sure the two extra rooms will stay empty for a time I already see myself planning how they will look.

I'm planning to make the extra bedroom a gym but that will take a while. I've started a new workout program without any weights or equipment, just a lot of intense activity. I can tell it's working, I'm sweating a lot and cramping. I hate when I go without that activity for too long so it feels great to get back to it, sore muscles and all.

Been writing a lot lately as well. Mostly it's stories though I've been adding to a book as well. Writing used to be grueling, now it's almost second nature.

I'm back. I've actually been back for a couple of days. I moved in without problem on Wednesday and got my internet connected yesterday.

Moving day was a treat. C helped me and brought along a friend of hers visiting from California. He helped out with the promise that I would buy his dinner and see his show when he plays at the Metro. I'll do him one better, I encourage anyone reading this to see his show which means he may have one more other person showing up to the gig. Unfortunately, I forgot (or perhaps he failed to tell me) the name of his band. I'm sure it's something somewhat funny/weird like The White Trash Neighbors or something like that. A good name, but not on you can imagine opening up for U2 or No Doubt.
Speaking of No Doubt, can Gwen Stefani be less subtle about stealing Madonna's career. Not that I have any love for Madonna...

It took me 3+ hours to move my stuff out of my place and about fifteen minutes to move it in. Meanwhile I met C's girlfriend, who seems really cool, and got a bed for me and a desk for C.

The bed is amazing, the softest one I've ever owned, maybe the softest thing I've ever slept on. A and I have already spent quite a few nights taking advantage of it's size.

My place is set up though two rooms are empty. Most of my stuff is still in boxes since I have no need to open them. I'll get some shelves and furniture eventually. It has the room and the potential to be really cool. I have a tendency to whole up in small areas like a rat, making my way between my bedroom, kitchen and bedroom so I don't need much else right now.

I started running again though this area is not as conducive to it as my last place. It's not necessarily a bad area, it's "up and coming" as they say. There are two schools nearby me so when I'm out running I don't want to slalom between kids milling around. Why aren't they in class anyway? They always seem to be outside doing nothing.

Jay and Jarvis, the guitarist and bass player of Scissorfight, have a new project with the singer and drummer of Lamont called Mess With the Bull. They are doing their first tour and playing to mostly empty houses that haven't heard of them. Monday night they played at the Note to about eight people. Me and one other guy were the only people not in the other bands.
Great show though and since there were so few people had people in the audience Jarvis had us introduce themselves.


Mess With the Bull

I'm seeing the Fucking Champs at the Empty Bottle Tuesday.

I added a link on the side of the page, my reviews for Yelp.com, a little thing I've been playing around with.

I'm all packed, the truck is reserved, C is coming over to help me move. I have the keys, I'm moving.

I don't know when I'll get internet after I move so this site may cease for a while but I'll be back.

Last night, coming home from A's, two men came up to me, grabbed me and demanded my money. I'm kicking myself because I'm usually more aware but these guys took me completely by surprise. In times like this you look back and think of what you should have done, get pissed and hope for a chance like that again to really get the most out of it. In retrospect things turned out almost as good as I could have hoped.

I didn't attack them and didn't get an adrenaline rush and pounce as I did in similar situations in the past. I knew I wouldn't give him any money. I couldn't give up that easy. I was completely surprised. All I could do was yell back at him to get him to calm down.

They were younger, early twenties, maybe less. I looked and saw they had no weapons and I knew they didn't know what they were doing. They didn't plan it, they just saw a solitary person walking home at one am and decided to jump. One guy grabbed me as I wrestled away. I was bigger than both of them but as one occupied me the other guy just started beating on my face.

He didn't hit very hard. Some people will punch you and everything in your mind is forgotten except for the severity of the punch and how to avoid the next one. This guy had several clean, uninterrupted point blank shots to my face and I was more concerned with wrestling the guy holding me. The punches were more of an afterthought. I got away a couple of times, got my shirts ripped off and made it away when a police van turned the corner. It was going in the opposite direction and didn't see us but it was enough. The muggers yelled "Police!" and ran.

Not even good criminals. They had no plan on what to do. They couldn't fight, they weren't strong and really weren't threatening. If they keep that up they won't last. It's difficult being a professional thief, much more difficult than most jobs (which is why it confuses me that anyone takes that route). These two weren't good at it at all.

I ended up with several bruises, a black eye, a very temporary bloody nose and random facial bruises. Nothing too serious and nothing I haven't had before. In a couple years this will be mostly forgotten and odds are those two will be dead or in prison. I'm hoping for dead.

I called the police and filed a report. Sitting in the back of the police cruiser (never been there before- hard molded plastic seats, not very comfortable) she got a call for one of the muggers a few blocks away. Twenty minutes later after committing such a crime, he just decided to hang around. We took off with me in the back seat.

We didn't catch him but it gave me time to think. I wasn't worked up, shaken or pissed off. I was tired and cold (and sore) but was pretty happy. I didn't give in, didn't just let it happen, I fought off the two assholes trying to rip me off and got off with only minor wounds and not a dime of my money taken.

Sometimes it seems that the good people go too soon while shitheads live forever. Those were my exact thoughts when Kam told me Jerry Falwell was on his deathbed. He'd tried that stunt before, each time getting better and thanking his congregation who, no doubt, put their homes up for mortgage in the hopes that god will spare him. I thought it was another ploy to extort money from those that had fallen for it before.

No. Thank god, he's dead. Someone who chose to use his massive influence to cause strife rather than hope, someone who decided to make the world worse off when he left it is gone. He should not be mourned.

This is a man that forced his views on millions of people, someone so egotistical as to believe his opinions were the only ones worth having. He decided what was "moral" and all those he spoke against that were ostracized. He bullied his way into politics where he took more credit for change than he actually accomplished. In his lifetime he manuevered the country further into intolerance, religious fanatacism and false piety that left a legacy that persists to this day.

He narrow minded view of religion, of god and morality has sickened the culture of this country. He thrived on people's fear and ignorance to make this a more dangerous, more hateful world. If he truly believed in the religion he claimed to follow, he would see he has blasphemed greater than anyone he has ever condemned.

It is a great day. The world is a little brighter without him.

How come this movie isn't huge? Why did no one I know see it? It was one of the best movies of last year by far.
It is based on a graphic novel by Alan Moore who also created From Hell and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (two other movies I enjoyed that no one else did).



I would write a movie review but I've got too much to do today. I've got to find a bed and finish writing a paper I put off for too long.

I could say I didn't know my mother until after she died. At her wake and for years afterwards relatives and friends would come up to me and tell a story or talk about her as if I was one of her old friends. I knew her as a child knows his mother, which is to say I only knew of her as my mother and nothing else.
Here's what I knew about her; she came from a very Catholic background in NYC after being born in Texas. Her parents were working class people that managed to do better than most people and found a comfortable life for them and their family. My grandfather grew up on a farm with eight siblings. As he was the oldest he was the only one to own a pair of shoes. A wrinkled and grey photo of he and his brothers on the edge of a freshly cut field proved this.
My mother grew up in the city and went to an all girls Catholic school. From there she went to college and then received her Masters. Her degree helped her become a teacher where she worked until she became pregnant with my oldest brother.
I was the son of a teacher, I learned a lot from her. She taught me to read and gave me a love of books that will always be with me. She understood people well and had a loyalty to me and my brothers I have never before seen in a person. Growing up, I didn't wonder about her or think to talk to her about her life. She was my mother and a good one, that's all I needed to know.
My parents divorced the summer I graduated from college. I too self involved at the time and though I was shocked and disappointed in learning the news, I was too concerned about moving out to start my own life to dwell on it too much. For a month it was only my mother and I in the huge house that my family lived in for nine years, now emptied after everyone else had moved away and started their own lives. It was during this time that I looked at my mother differently. For once I was able to help her and try to cheer her up. Several times she came to me for support and reassurance while she was beginning to go out on her own for the first time in her life. We were both learning that together. I did what I could but I had no idea how she really felt. If I did I don't know if I would have been able to handle it.
I moved to Boston and started building my own life. I got a job, found my own place, made friends and started doing pretty well. I'd talk to my mother a couple of times a week and it was only then she told me what had happened. My parents had decided not to tell me the details of the divorce until afterwards and would do all they could not to bring us into it. During one long phone calls she explained to me why and how she and my father were getting divorced. It was more complex than most divorces and I learned more about both parents that day. I thought of them much differently after that.
What I heard upset the family for many years. My father was ostracized and my brothers were understandably upset. Though it made us closer we felt separated from some members of our family for some time.
Months later, after the divorce hearings had ended, my mother decided to take a vacation with her best friend to get her mind off of everything that happened. Her first visit was to Boston to see my brother and I where she seemed happier than I'd seen her in years and began crying with relief when she saw my brother. We spent the day together, went on a whale watch and had dinner at Legal Seafood. I remember her talking to the table next to us, a Japanese couple there for the convention next door. We talked about Seinfeld and laughed at the more off color moments, something my mother had never done before.
My mother died soon after returning home. She passed out while on the phone to her mother and fell into a coma. Doctors diagnosed her with a cerebral hematoma and less than two days later, as my brother and I were flying to see her, she died. The next time I saw her she was embalmed and in a coffin.
At the wake few people I never met came to speak. She had had trouble finding work as a teacher despite her excellent resume and experience. Few people would hire a middle aged woman that has been out of a classroom for twenty plus years and couldn't handle modern high schoolers. In the past months she had been working as an assistant to disabled children for teachers half her age. She spent long hours looking after these kids while her own children were hundreds of miles away.
The week of her funeral my brother met his future wife. Their first child, a girl named after my mom, looks like the black and white images of my mother my grandfather keeps in his photo albums.
For years afterwards people would come up to me and tell me things about my mother I never knew. She was the perfect daughter, living up to her parents' expectations and never once arguing with her brother despite their different lifestyles. She came from the Yankee side of my family, stretching back to the Mayflower and Bunker Hill. My mother's family is full of firefighters, police officers and politicians.
After her death I thought of her constantly. I would have, and sometimes still do, have dreams about her. I wonder how different my life would be if she were still in it and what would have happened had I gone back to help her as I wish I did. It's hard dealing with the loss of someone so close, even years later. I still think about her often though it has turned into something more accepted. I always thought of my mother as just that, a mother, and only began to see her for who she was when it was too late.
If I was religious I would find comfort in what happened as many in my family did. The future looked difficult for my mother and if all she believed in was real she had earned what she hoped for.

It feels strange to be packing and boxing everything up again. I look forward to moving because most times I end up in a better place, which is the situation now. In just about an hour I was able to pack up all my dvds, books and cds, including a couple trips to get boxes and packing tape. Some of this stuff hasn't been moved since I first arrived here and my fingers were slightly black from the ash residue.

I spent the afternoon with C accompanying her to Home Depot and Target. I needed to pick up a few things and figured I may see some things I need at Home Depot. At Target I got a microwave and a few smaller items.
I've been planning to get a lot of things though I'm not sure what's a good idea right now. I'd like to get a flat screen tv though I could do without that. I don't watch any tv and have been watching dvds on my computer for months. It would be cool to get a few friends and have a movie night once in a while, pick out some strange movie people may not have heard of, have dinner and watch. I could probably get one cheap. I need to get a bed too and that's not something I want to do without at all. Now that I'm getting a moving truck it should be easier to get both.

Walking home, after seeing C off, I found a fully functioning, clean microwave someone put beside the trash. I always seem to have more microwaves than I need. At one point in South Boston I had four. I never bought one before, I just always ended up having one. I'll take the first one back and get a Foreman Grill.

When I start buying back the music I lost I'm going to get every release from Karma to Burn. Their stuff is a necessity for my collection.

We're two very different people, which makes our relationship fragile at times. As a teenager I was very different from the type of son he wanted. In those years I was going through excessive drama and angst as is common for kids that age. Both my parents, especially my dad, were stricter than most parents, at least in my estimation. At that time I continually heard that I would appreciate my parents', particularly my father's, actions when I got older.

This always irritated me, as it implied that I wasn't aware of what I was doing and I was just a bad kid. I knew my father was strict, I also knew he had problems controlling his anger and would overcompensate in many ways. I'm sure he had an idea of how he wanted his family to be and when it didn't turn out that way he got upset. My brothers and I are all very different people and none of us were the ideal son that I'm sure he wanted though I was the most difficult.

I had no interest in sports and what did interest me bothered him. He didn't like my music tastes, my friends or my sense of humor. We had a strained relationship, both of us pulling away whenever we were reminded of our differences. I just wanted to graduate college and move away to start my own life.

When my parents divorced and my mother died my father probably believed it would lead to more resentment from me. I know it was my cynicism that stopped me from thinking that way. What did you expect for getting married? Over the years my parents grew farther apart as well. With all the kids grown up they seemed to have little in common but, because of the circumstances, most people blamed my father. I did not. While I feel my mother is blameless, I don't put much faith in marriage and the fact that they managed to last so long in spite of everything is a feat.

Growing up my dad gave me everything I needed. I never went hungry and he gave me an excellent education. I see a lot of people that were given more than they needed growing up and it didn't make them better adults. For the most part they are spoiled, difficult to be around and unhappy. Too many people have personality problems due to their upbringing that make their life as an adult even more difficult.

I won't say my father was perfect; because of what I went through when I was younger I am much more violent, distrusting and angrier than most. I don't see these as flaws, since it has helped me more than it has hurt me. It made me tougher and more self reliant, which is a problem for most people.

There's a lot to be said for the few years of our childhood and how much of an affect it has on us as adults. I'm very much a composite of both my parents. From my mother I got my love of music and books. I got my compassion and curiosity from her. My father gave me my sense of practicality and my drive. He taught me how to compromise and work with others based on his efforts to get along with me. He was devoted to his family and his sons as I am with all those around me.

He had a difficult time being a father, just as every man does. He made mistakes but has done more for his kids than most fathers do. He was the coach of my little league teams and was always involved with us growing up. Even though he didn't agree with many of my decisions or my interests, he still encouraged them.

We're apart now and on a good year we may see each other more than a couple times. I don't believe what everyone said, that I would be thankful for what my father did when I got older, but I see a lot of good that he did. The mistakes he made inadvertently made me a better person. One thing I can say is he did all a father should do and that's enough.

My father had a more difficult childhood than I did. My grandfather was tougher on him than he was on me and less of a father than he is. He went to Vietnam and came back and worked hard to get the life he wanted for his kids. All his mistakes are far less than his good points. I know now he has a lot of them. I worry about him more than I thought I would. I feel bad leaving him alone. I know he misses his kids and perhaps being married.

Everyone wants the approval of their parents. Women have more difficulty with their mothers as men have difficulty with their fathers. My relationship with him was worse than most but not nearly as bad as it could have been. I used to regret a lot and wish things had been different but I know if they were I wouldn't be where or who I am.

I look most like my mother but somewhat like my father. We share the same build, however. Our hands are identical.

Damn, this is a good movie. For once the Best Picture winner actually deserved it. I got this weeks ago but haven't had the time to sit down and watch it. Now that I am I'm doing it in parts, about half an hour at a time. This may be one of the reasons I'm enjoying it so much.
The acting is superb. I can't think of any modern movie that is better. The writing and the story are incredible and turn what could be an average cop undercover picture into something truly memorable.
Martin Scorcese has always been one of my favorite directors and I doubt anyone could do with this what he has. The cast is filled with some of the greatest actors giving their best.
On top of that I feel like a part of it since much of it was filmed or takes place in the area I lived and worked in. I feel a fondness for the city that I haven't felt in a while.



Don't go any further if you haven't seen the movie....

The story is multilayered. The good guy is bad. The bad guy is good. The really bad guy is incredible and those you're supposed to be behind you hate. Everyone is a dickhead. Marky Mark is the biggest dickhead (no surprise). Leonardo DiCaprio, usually the babyfaced teen idol, is a dirtbag with a drug problem and fits of rage. Despite what he's known for he does it flawlessly. Matt Damon, another fresh faced momma's boy, is charming and likable, but ultimately a criminal.
Alec Baldwin is great as Ellerby, the foul mouthed special forces chief that brings the only respite from the scumbaggery.
Oh yes, DiCaprio and Damon are both seeing the same woman, each unknowingly living the reverse of each other's lives- The bad cop acting sweet seeing a woman the good cop acting like a thug is seeing on the side. What does she do? She's a police psychiatrist...

Summer is here as well as the heat the comes with it. I feel like I've spent half my life dehydrated and hot. I'm not installing my air conditioner because I'd just have to take it out when I move. In a strange way I enjoy the oppressive heat that leaves me drained after a workout and cramped for the rest of the week. I feel as if I lose half my weight this time of year. I move slower until the days seem incredibly long and drawn out.

I've been very busy since I last wrote. I managed to find a place and begin the move in next week. C promised to help, as did A. I need to arrange a truck to get my two pieces of furniture and everything else out there. Hopefully I'll be able to pick up a bed somewhere along the way.
It's a good place in a not so great neighborhood. To be honest I'm not sure if the area is good or bad as I've heard both. Whichever it is, everyone agrees it is up and coming which means there will be nothing but condos in a few years in which case I'll have to move out, probably to a worse area. Maybe by then I'll buy and stay. Don't think I want a condo though, would rather just buy a building.

Have been enjoying the benefits of lots of good ideas, both in work and writing. I'm getting a lot done and rather than write a few good paragraphs, question them, put them aside, rewrite them and ultimately throw them away, I instead have too much to handle. My free time is spent getting as much as possible down before anything else comes along.
I started two new stories this month and though I doubt both of them will turn into what I want, I know both have the potential and will both go farther than usual.

Years ago some friends and I predicted where we would be in ten years. Most of them expected to be at the job they hoped for, with kids and a wife. Everyone, including myself, guessed I would be somewhere alone with no air conditioning writing for hours. I think I'm the only who guessed correctly.

The past week has been very busy for me. I've taken on several things at once and the moment I finish one I'm on to the next. Finding a place/moving/finding furniture has taken priority over all the others. I've spent most of my waking moments working towards or worrying about getting a new place and enlisted the help of both A and C to help me, which is greatly needed and appreciated.
I lined up several showings last week, which were, for the most part, terrible. If anything was remotely livable it was overpriced to the point of fantasy. You want a thousand five hundred for a studio apartment with a filthy bathroom on the street with no laundry and a big hole in the wall?
I lined up several on Tuesday, certain I would like at least one of the four. No dice. One, listed as "Dreams Come True!" was a studio, filthy, hot and had a hole in the wall. Price? $995. I could tell the realtor felt like an idiot. Why are you showing me a studio when I asked for at least a one bedroom? It has a bedroom. No, it has a corner with a small wall on one side that couldn't fit a good sized bed. Fuck you for wasting my time. You're a parasite. You're a professional liar that lives to screw people over and steal their money. Realtors are now on the same level as divorce lawyers and pedophile priests. You prey on people and that's all you do.

I don't need you. I can find a place on my own. You need me. Don't give me that bullshit about how business is drying up for you. I don't care about your problems. The way you do business you should starve. You don't do anything to help people.

J must have been feeling lonelier than usual this week and has been texting me or calling daily. We talked for a bit and I told her about the realtor and she said I should understand because he's a salesman and to understand his side. So are heroin dealers. Fuck him. Not sure what to do about J. She wants me to move back which is about as likely as my moving to Indonesia. Going back would be like going back to elementary school. I wouldn't be able to go back to who I was or what I did, I couldn't even imagine it and to think I would just forget all that happened this year and all I gave up. No fucking way.

Woke up very tired and stressed today. All I could think about was getting a new place and worried I would have to do the couch tour between friends while storing my stuff. I told my roommate I was moving out and he got frantic about finding a roommate. I wasn't that concerned. Surprised he didn't see it coming though. Did he think I'd live here forever? This was a temporary thing from the first day. I even told him that before I moved in. I didn't worry too much since I thought it would take him months to find a roommate and I could take my time.

Miracle of miracles, he found one in a week. I met him briefly. The guy is 48 and had to move out because his roommate is getting married. Who are these people? If I have to run between roommates when I'm 48 please kill me. I'm doing all I can to save money to buy a place so I won't have to put up with that bullshit. How can you live with a roommate at that age? I can't even stand it now. I wonder how they'll get along. Won't be around to see it though.

The place I saw today was between A and C. I can walk to both but it's on the better side of the neighborhood; quiet but close enough to walk to everything. I would have taken it immediately but I have three places lined up tomorrow so I decided it's better to see more than just wonder. C went with me to see the place and knew the realtor from when she was looking for a place. They got along great and said he's a stand up guy. After earlier in the week I was skeptical but I trust her. I told him to hold it and I most likely will take the place but want to wait a day to think about it. Odds are very likely I will move in there which will be a huge relief.

Got a new book earlier this week- Broken Summers by Henry Rollins. My favorite writers evoke a lot from me. I get depressed or anxious, angry or sick after reading their stuff. Hubert Selby is one that does this most often. Rollins is a strange character. His stuff can either be really self indulgent that it's almost funny and a lot of it feels so visceral and so real that I begin to see things as he does. I know all these things but can't dwell on them. At one time I did and I was a miserable person. You deal with what you can change, deal with yourself and try to ignore the rest. Ignore the horrible shit that is everywhere else. You can't do anything with it. It's always been here and will be here long after I'm gone. It's too accepted, too welcomed that to disagree with it makes you the strange one.



There's a lot of bullshit, a lot of people living on fast food, bad tv, suckered by liars, liars that thrive on hurting others and destroying people that all you can do is ignore it if you want to live your life. I see people that take guns and mow people down or bomb crowds of innocent people and know they just couldn't look away. They became part of the bullshit and made it worse. No one will listen to them and no one cares so they become part of the evil they rant against.

That's what I get for reading Rollins. I get very angry and frustrated. It does compel me to do all I can with all I have. For that reason I've been going nonstop; reading, making plans, working, looking for a place, writing, helping friends out. I get a lot done when I don't fuck around. I'm tired of fucking around. Here's where we'll end tonight.