Well Fuck a Doodle Doo

I am not sure how exactly to type this up without violating several employee policies if I divulge anything too specific, but I should say first that I am still employed very gainfully, and that does not seem to be changing anytime soon.  What is changing, however, is the team I was working with, and most specifically, the ones I answer to.

It's a common thing in very large companies, like the global one I work for, to have people shuffled around seemingly suddenly.  Honestly, it just seems sudden, if you ask me.  I know behind the scenes they have to plan such changes out far in advance.  What isn't common is to build a bond of trust with your bosses.

My immediate supervisor knew everything about my home situation , my mother's deteriorating state, and my own battles with mental illness.  When we had to drag Mom to the hospital recently, I knew my boss would allow me to take a sudden week's vacation to deal with it... we'd built up that kind of a relationship, and he knew her history (mostly because I was hoping there was a way he could help me get out of my living area).  He granted me that, and my deadlines were extended, which was not a big deal.

Then during this unscheduled break, which wasn't a break for me as I was going to the hospital every day in Winchester and then zooming up the holler to feed these cats who hate me, spending about $400 in gas in a week, I saw something that made me realize that Everything Was Changing.

I felt immediate dread.  The last time I felt immediate dread about Everything Was Changing was in radio, and a few months after that, I was unceremoniously dumped.  Schadenfraude was smiling on me there, because the guy who unceremoniously dumped me was shortly, along with everybody he brought along in The Great Dumping of 2016, also themselves dumped because they sucked.  

Well, change things did, and now I have to train a new boss to like me and my weird life right now and why I am like this and just accept me even if I am mental.

And now I am sure I am never going to meet any of the people who hired me in the first place.

We have our regular meeting tomorrow, who knows how that will go, or even if it will happen, as a colleague also passed away this Saturday.  He was probably one of three or four people I worked with on the creative side since the company hired me, which was shortly after it started (My first message from my supervisor was January 1, 2017... I knew I was in it for a while by mid-February of that year).

I'm not sure bringing up my concerns for my own welfare if we have that meeting will be appropriate, but it might be the last time I talk to somebody I completely trust.  And then, even if I am getting paid well and doing a good job, I will still need to start all over again, just like in radio.

Just in case, Kelly will help me re-do my resume to focus on creative podcasting.  I shouldn't have ignored that recent posting for Wondery, I guess.  Hindsight is 20/20.

The Bat is out of hell

RIP Meatloaf, 1947-2022.  His name is Robert Paulson.

The Eternal Man from Earth

 I came across a Facebook memory recently about a weird cult film called "The Man From Earth" that Dale had introduced me to and I had forgotten about.  I watched it again (on the free Youtube version) and enjoyed it, but probably because it had so many Star Trek alumni in it.  I guess it was basically based on an interesting thought experiment... what would happen if you never died?

From what I've gleaned, this is usually the grounds for theology student debate teams, but it made a great movie if you can stand one that is mostly talking heads.  I tried watching the sequel they filmed in 2017, available on APrime... not as good, but okay.

I knew that Marvel's ETERNALS was this same kind of concept, but I'd forgotten that when I started the movie this morning, and when Pink Floyd's "Time" started playing, I switched it off and decided it was just a GotG ripoff.  Well, I also gave it a second chance, and it is not... although I cannot see how anybody who does not know the history of the Eternals will really appreciate it, especially the ones who haven't followed their recent Marvel histories.  Also the CGI Pip was painful to watch, worse than the CGI Bruce Banner head in the Hulkbuster armor.  I really doubt the Eternals will return, despite what the end card said, but I assume the Black Knight is coming, for whatever reason.  I should do research on the character and his Ebony Blade.

I wonder if I ever introduced Dale to one of my favorite cult films, Miracle Mile?  It would be interesting to know what he thought about it.

Holiday Road

 This is the first day of my first vacation week this year.  I just chose this week because I need to spend some vacation time and I do not want another calamity like last year, when I had to spend my entire vacation time in December when not much was happening work-wise anyway (or at least, not as much).

What I *should* have done was use some of these American Airline points to take a trip somewhere I want to move to, since COVID fear seems to be winding down for the vaxxed (me).   Increasingly I find my choices limited.  I had thought of Dallas again, but their mismanagement of their electric grid this past winter, plus the ultra-right conservatives in charge there, kind of really make me not want to go.  And of course all my friends moved and all that.  Los Angeles, I think I would like, and to return to San Francisco would be great too.  Expensive, though.  Same with Portland, expensive, plus, irritating Proud Boys all over the place (or Oath Keepers or whatever jerk-off club that was).

One on my radar has been Denver, because a.) legal pot would really help with my sleep issues, and b.) lots of cool concerts (music, comedy, and others) always go through there.  I am still considering that.  Perhaps take my next week off around my birthday and fly out there, spend a week exploring.  I know from previous visits I like the city already.

Weirdly, although Denver-Boulder seem to be twin cities close to each other, like Dallas-Fort Worth, Boulder seems to have the more expensive rent.  Maybe Boulder is the bigger city?  Who knows.

Anyway work is going great and I am constantly surprising myself by not repeating myself on my sound design, which seems impossible but there we have it.  Ask me to explain how I do it and I can only say "I have no idea."  Everybody I work with seems to like my stuff.

That's the update.

Dance in my Pants

 "And I don't ever wanna be rescued, I don't ever wanna be saved...

I got a feeling that I'm gonna be alive forever, dancin' on the edge of a grave..."

I'm really surprised that I am so unmoved by Jim Steinman's death.  Maybe it's because there's nobody in my life, besides my brother, to commiserate with, but also honestly, it's not like he was going to put out more stuff, you know?  He had a penchant for taking his older material and reworking it for a new audience, such as his vampire musical (based on The Fearless Vampire Killers even), which was originally just reworked Steinman songs in German.  

Seriously, when he made a hit, it was gold, but he'd just as often squeeze out a turd.  I never got into what he did with Sisters of Mercy, but that's understandable as it was goth and I am not.  It sounded well produced, but that's all I can say about it.  And that is a thing about his music, if he was the one producing the album, it would definitely sound stellar.  Hence the garbage train wreck of Bat Out of Hell III, which Meatloaf apparently just recorded a bunch of Jim Steinman's songs without his producer's touch.  I think I listened to the entire album once and never opened the CD case again.

So I have had lots of friends who have better taste in music than me.  That is, they were pretty snotty about their music and wouldn't really get into mine because of theatrical stuff like Jim Steinman.  I never understood that, especially with the ones who were Deadheads and thought the Grateful Dead were the best rock band of all time.  Fffffffffffffffffffffffffuck you guys.  Seriously, you turn your nose up at an Alice Cooper song like "The Last Man on Earth" because it's a humorous vaudeville romp about destitute homeless people, but you cream your panties when Mumford and Sons releases a Tiny Desk show on vinyl.  Whatever.

So anytime there were road trips it was time for another Iron & Wine marathon.  

My point is, maybe it's because I am no longer working in radio, but I am still surprised that I am not more moved by Jim Steinman passing.  His time was over anyway.

*******************

Everything else in my life seems to be going fine, especially work, where I am doing the best work I've ever done.  To think I used to do fart jokes for a living.  As of tomorrow I am fully vaccinated and can finally start seriously looking at where I want to move to.  I have a top-tier FICO score and a house down payment burning a hole in my pocket, just waiting for me to get out of here.  Crossing fingers Covid passes soon.

U R BLOKKD!!1!

 Am I, really?  Okay.  I will schedule the appropriate amount of therapy for this.

The Christmas That Almost Isn't

 I think watching this video accidentally ruined my brother's Christmas gift for me, dammit.

Still Alive

 

Yep.  I haven't caught the 'Vid yet, and neither has my brother who is a nurse's aid, and neither has my mother who never leaves home anyway.  I am still alive and kicking and not much to say except lockdown sucks but I'm Still Alive.

I was supposed to be back in Dallas by now.  Well, I guess, technically it looked like I would be spending a couple of years in Tulsa, thanks to a relocation program I qualified for, where they basically pay a large portion of your rent and they give you a monthly stipend if you come live in their shitty town.  There are programs like this in about ten cities I know of, a few in the Northeast (uh, a world of NO), but also some midwestern states and a couple of others in the south, but I applied to the Tulsa one because it was a.) only four hours from Dallas, which believe it or not is still a comfortable drive, and b.) well, there is no b, it was just free money.  Despite saving up more than I've ever had in my life, I still know a good deal when I see one, and having spent some time with a college guy in Tulsa a while back (now THAT is something I should write about... wow), I knew Tulsa was manageable.  Besides, I'd have just do my regular stuff during the week, and then occasionally on weekends gone to Dallas to hang out with the friends who are still there.

Then COVID-19 came along, and this nerd (me), who's read The Andromeda Strain more times than most Christians have read even just passages from the Bible, knew he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.  The Trump rallies there sealed it, as did learning about the *edit* Tulsa Race Massacre (not Juneteenth as I had previously written) thanks to HBO's Watchmen series, something I kinda knew about but didn't really grasp.  Tulsa's really hurting for an influx of residents, because they do not have a great reputation right now.

It's funny, I have been working remotely for nearly four years now, and I remember back when I was dating Dale trying to talk my boss in Lexington if I could work remotely for him since my laptop was better than the tower he had set up for me.  He always said that would not ever work.  He's called me twice since March asking if I was looking for work and offering a remote position.  And everybody works remotely and it won't go back to the old ways easily.  I wonder if my life would have been better if he'd offered me that back when I asked it?  I did not return his calls.

(Livejournal rose from the dead to remind me that today is Dale's birthday.  I know he is Still Alive.  I wonder if he even cares that I am.)

The job continues to go incredibly.  I have changed so much in my sound design, improving it as we get more and more tools.  I kind of get the impression that my immediate boss thinks I would fly the coop easily, but I do not intend to, unless something really incredible pops up.  I mean, I have applied to a few (A FEW, MEANING TWO) places, but I do not expect anything to come from them.  They were dream jobs, and that kind of things just never happens to me.

I'm just glad I am not stuck in some menial job like the phone bank I was training for before my current position was offered.  I get to be creative, and I get paid for it.  It's like playing for a living. It's like being on an E-Sports team without the groupies.

So why do I still feel kinda down sometimes?

Late Night Terrorism

That time when I was fifteen and wrote a letter to David Letterman and he read it on the air eventually and then I had to wait 33 years to see it again, thanks to a meticulous Youtuber digitizing lots of Dave's classic bits. 

I remember there was at least one more letter where they tore up the studio over a washing machine or something made by GE that stole a listener's money, so TECHNICALLY it became a running bit.

Empty World

I thought of maybe making one last post just in case I get the 'vid, because if I do I am a goner, and I will probably take my older brother and my elderly mother with me on the way out.  I am very mad because everything in my life was going swimmingly:  my job was firing on all cylinders, and yes I was hoping they would maybe move me back out to California, but I can only assume now that it's not happening, so I was going to just pick a place and move my meager belongings there.  Places I knew I could afford with what I am making now... Dallas, for sure, I wouldn't mind living there again.  Portland Oregon may be a bit of a stretch, but I have given up comics... still, a bit expensive now, no matter how much I loved it there.  My brother and a former work mate assures me that I would enjoy Denver, which was on the list but aside from the airport I've never been there.  BUT everything I've read about it makes me consider it, and it IS doable on this salary now.

Then this fucking virus came to and fucked all that shit up.  Move across country?  Not for a year now, thanks.  Maybe I can rent at Kelly's house in Louisville (with the GOD-FIBER-INTERNET), but moving out of state... when I might be needed to help take care of Mom if my older brother is exposed during one of his shifts at the hospital... to convince her stubborn ass to pack it up and move to Kelly's local house with me...

Pretty much I had a big balloon with the words "DREAM LIFE" printed on it, and it's been popped, and instead of exploding with glitter and confetti, it exploded with ectoplasm and diarrhea and potato bugs all over my face, leaving me with three seconds to blink, stare into the camera, and scream MOTHERFUCKSHITCUNT.

Sorry, that was a very lazy portmanteau-ish attempt at swearing to show my frustration.  I needed out of here.  Away from family obligations.  Back on my own.  And now I will almost be 50 before I am out of KY again.  

The good thing is, the bosses at work are happy with me, and accept the ridiculous situations I have to deal with, like emergencies with mom, or almost getting in a car wreck because ducks were crossing the road, or The Night The Cows Were Loose, when a fallen tree took an electrified fence down with it and a family of spooked cows gathered on Hatcher's Creek Road, blocking me from getting to the studio.

And of course there are the wild turkeys.  

Not the booze.  Just, turkeys, in the wild.  Not the plump meat baskets you find at Kroger, but svelte, sooty-winged avians that tread the earth like men, stalking, always stalking... sometimes you find a loner, feathers slickened from rain and shining like a leather jacket, but they usually run for safety.

Sometimes you find a gang.  And they were not scared of us before, and seem less so now.  Basically, avoid doing a Jets vs Sharks thing when you find a cluster of turkeys, they are mean fuckers.

So I guess I will just continue on.  Work is happy with me, and has always understood that my schedule will be weird as long as I am here in the KY sticks with family.  I'm being very fairly paid now.  I was just ONE MONTH from being completely out of debt, when I could start saving up and studying locations and apartments and moving in June.  Guess I am here for a bit longer.  Will finish Doom Eternal this week.  Maybe buy Animal Crossing?  I am not sure I have enough friends to make that work.  I will just relax.

I wish pot was legal here.

The Flu-zy

I expected some weight loss but not this... 25 pounds, all because my little brother gave me the Flu.

He called a few weeks ago asking to be taken to Urgent Care with a temp of 102.6.  Of course I rushed him out there.  On the way to his house, I passed two ambulances stopped at a farmhouse where cops were waving me past.  This was right when tales of this Coronavirus started popping up.

Rather than taking precaution like making him wear his shirt over his mouth or cover it completely with a bandana, we just went to the hospital, and he apparently had Superflu and three days later I came down with Captain Tripps too.  25 pounds later...

It's odd, because when I weighed this in SF I realized I could just keep doing the same thing and keep losing weight.  It took about six months of doing nothing special (okay, walking I guess) to get down to 290.  I wonder if I keep just being a bland and boring person, perhaps I can do it again.  Six months... right about the time I was planning on moving again.

Suddenly Doctor Who is good again.  I wonder if they can keep this up.

Well this is my favorite song right now

Well fuck

Somehow and for some reason, Voldemort found and looked at my LinkedIn page.  Ruining a perfectly good evening of fake-killing a celebrity for me.

**fume**

With Teeth

I knew going in that it was going to cost a lot of money.  I hadn't gone to the dentist in two decades due to not having dental insurance, but I wasn't having any tooth problems, so that was good, right?  It meant I was taking care of my teeth properly and didn't need to.  Then last year I had one problem tooth removed, and I began to realize that I'd probably really fucked things up, and then this year I after I got my Sonic-care toothbrush I began to actually KNOW I'd fucked things up.  It made my teeth feel cleaner than they ever had; even after a few hours or a meal, my mouth began to feel and taste dirty, even if my teeth felt clean.  So before the end of the year, on my new dental insurance, I scheduled an appointment to have them looked at.

I won't tell you the price tag of the "deep cleaning" that had to be done, as it would probably buy me a reliable used car, as long as I wasn't taking road trips in it, or for that matter, popping over to Lexington much.  And it is undoubtedly overpriced (probably twice as much as it should be), but I will say it was worth it.

I honestly thought the plaque build up had ruined my teeth and gums.  It looked bad, on the lower teeth.  I looked like the lower jaw you'd find in a pile of random skeleton parts in a Halloween Store.  But no, that was plaque buildup, covering my gums, stinking up my breath... for the past twenty years or more.

(How did I ever have boyfriends?  Why would somebody want to suck face with this EC Comics horrorshow inside my mouth?  People must have been desperate, or perhaps it just built up quickly since Dayton.)

Anyway, ninety minutes later, with both the dentist (I'm sure she has a speciality title besides "Dentist" for doing this) and myself basically worn through with sweat, I saw my teeth clean for the first time in decades.

HOLY SHIT.

It was worth the money I will be paying.  There was some gum damage, but it obviously will repair itself in a short while if the tooth extraction was any indication.  And I had plaque built up so long that I had forgotten about The Gap.

I have a huge Letterman-esque gap in my lower front teeth that I had totally forgotten about.  The plaque had bridged the gap and I didn't notice.  It was like seeing an old friend... an old, scared friend who was frightened that he might be corralled into an Invisalign prison soon.

Immediately my tongue began exploring The Gap just like it used to.

My family was poor at the time my dental hygiene went to shit, and we had to decide if I got the braces to fix this gap, or my brother with the severe cross-bite got them.  I don't know how it was decided, but my brother won, and rightfully so, because this gap just looks stupid but a cross-bite is pretty much hell.  (Not that the braces were fun either.)

I had gotten better with dental hygiene in the past couple of years, but there was always some bleeding.  This is the third day after the cleaning, and there has been not a single drop of blood during my brushings.

Yes, it is worth it.  I may have to delay moving by a few months (unless my job does that for me) and I might delay getting the new laptop for a while, but it is worth it.

Now spit.

Is there more I could have said

I am finding myself at a crossroads in life that I've never been to before, which is namely, not being sure what to do next.  I do know that following my heart is not good advice, whether in love or professional matters.  The heart lies to you, well, mine seems to anyway.  At the very least it doesn't know what it's talking about with matters of love.

In my professional career, leaving Kentucky for Portland was absolutely the right thing to do.  And leaving Portland for Dallas, even after just a year, was also the right thing.  Leaving Dallas to go to DC was not, because I felt I had failed in romantic matters, but also needed to get away from Voldemort.  I should have just ignored him and let that relationship whither on the vine.  

Coming back to Dallas was the right thing to do... leaving it yet again was definitely not, because it did not make my professional or personal life better.

Now I am at a junction where I will shortly be relieved of all debt and be able to be independent again from anywhere.  Honest?  I'd love for my company to find room for me in their city, I do not know how feasible that is in the short term.  Perhaps I should just pack my shit up and move back to Dallas.  There are enough people I still know there, and it is a fun place to live.  And cheap.  And their apartments KNOW how to make Central Air work, which is important.

Anyway, I am lucky to have such problems now considering the past few years.

**********

An online tussle with somebody who used to be a dear friend revealed something to me that I didn't really want to admit--I'm not a fan of the gay community, despite being an estranged part of it.

The honest truth is a few years ago, when I was too scared to seek medical treatment for depression, I kept an open journal online.  Anybody could read it, as it was a cry for help.  I didn't understand these thoughts I would have, often bordering on absurd anger towards the smallest slight by friends, often just rude observations and the like about my life.

Getting these thoughts out of my head helped me tame them, and often I would go back and read them and actually post, "Why am I like this?  Why did I think this way about somebody I am supposed to care about as a friend?  It makes no sense and the person who wrote this is an alien to me, but I know he is still here with me now, inside." 

It seems obvious to me that I was hoping one of my friends would stumble across this, see how much I was hurting myself, and just... you know, try to help, like friends do.  But no, instead, my beloved dead-in-the-bed-fuck stalker found the journal, weaponized it, and suddenly everybody in my life (who at that point practically never talked to me anymore anyway since I'd moved again) had their hissies absolutely fit, and were chewing adamantium nails about what a horrible person I was to say such things, completely ignoring the posts where I admitted to not understanding what was wrong with my brain.

They could read it all.  I know quite a few did read it all, and somehow missed the bits about me knowing I was sick and not understanding where these thoughts came from inside of me.  

And then they had the gall to act like I had betrayed them.

Really.  I'd make a comment on somebody's talent (while also praising them) but I was the absolute bastard for daring to criticize.

In the end, I didn't so much as apologize to a few of these people as call them and let them know that I clearly stated this journal was for crazy thoughts, and we all agreed we knew the sick person who leaked it... but you know?  What does it matter who leaked it?

The reason I avoid the gay community is because most of them seem to be just like my crazy journal when you are not there.  Every one of them, at one time or another, has talked smack about our other friendships behind those peoples' collective backs.  Vicious little acidic jabs, clucking at the laughable machinations of others' lives, all the while not knowing the people who they were talking smack about were doing the exact same thing to them.

You know, I am pretty sure none of these people, whom I used to call friends, have ever owned up to their true feelings.  They smile in your presence, waiting for you to turn your back so the dagger can be so gently inserted in your back when you don't expect it.

So I just assume the whole gay community is still like this, like an ongoing season of RuPaul's Drag Race.  Why would I want to still be part of that?  They don't miss me, I no longer miss them, and should I move back to Dallas and see them at TBRU, I will just politely just nod and say hi, and then when they go for a drink Mean Tweet about them.

Anyway.  Time to work.

Whoops

That last post got away from me.  It was actually supposed to be, "Dad's been dead seven years now and nobody really misses him," which is sad but true.  But when you spend your life deceiving your family over such petty shit, that's to be expected.

Today I am producing another urban legend.  Yesterday it was about the Wendigo, and there was not a single act off cannibalism in it.  Boo!  Tonight is "The Fatal Hairdo."  As long as it doesn't include the beehive of one of the B-52's girls being full of Africanized killer bees, it should be good.

Tomorrow I should get news about my next trip.

Seven years past

It was on this morning in 2012 that I found out all my fears were there for a good reason.  The friends and family were, in fact, avoiding me.  A bartender does not take off a random Saturday night for no reason (if he truly lives on tips, which was the story), and there were plenty of chances to meet family during visits, but no invites.  Not a one.  My fear was that I would not be welcomed, and I wasn't, because to maintain a living meant I had to go where the job was, and it wasn't there, and I was shunned.  I blamed myself and fell into drinking again, which at that point I had never really given up, but fell far harder than I had before.  This day was the proof, and it all went downhill from here.

(It wasn't even the job thing or not living there that they disapproved of, I believe, but that is the less hurtful thing to believe so let's stick with it.)

It was never going to succeed.  Perhaps if my life was like it is now, it would have, but remote working was not yet a thing.  And now here I am, about to make enough to live on my own again, anywhere I want, and work from home to boot.  It is a weird thing to make your living in your underpants half the time, and weirder to be paid well for it, yet I do now.

But seven years ago, I got the news.  And the reaction showed no empathy, no emotion.  It didn't matter what I thought of him, he was my father, and this morning in 2012, he'd died.

The reaction was, I believe I am quoting it correctly, "That sucks."

I've never pretended that I wasn't at fault for what happened afterwards... if that was his reaction to the life-changing event of losing my father, maybe we shouldn't be together after all.  He was kind to not move out while I recovered in the hospital from my stroke.  Heck, he was kind to trek across the country to live with me in a dopey town like Dayton.  But all the puzzle pieces I'd ignored coalesced in that moment:  his friends, his family, never wanted to give me a chance, and maybe even hated me from the beginning.  His younger sister said maybe five words to me, his older one wouldn't let her kid meet me, which for some reason he thought he should tell me.  They didn't approve and I saw it all clearly when he said those two words... "That sucks."

It "sucks" that my father was dead.  And I knew then the clock was just ticking on him walking out, regardless of what I did, so I slid into the hole deeper to help numb the pain (hint:  that never works).  

Seven years past.  Sometimes I wonder if he even knows I am still alive.  Or, to be honest, cares.

Well that's somebody I haven't thought of in a while

Guest starring Shay Carl Butler.

Thank You Hater

1895.8333333333333333...

My birthday week (last week) was supposed to be a low-key affair where I got lots of personal maintenance done by taking the first week off I've had in who knows how long to do things like car stuff and dentist stuff and eye stuff.  Instead, on my birthday, one week ago, I woke up with the nastiest chest cold and coughed my throat raw until I sounded like a Skeksis.

Luckily some medicating helped me get a handle on it and this past Monday I had a short chat with my boss that floored me and pretty much confirmed that they want to keep me long term.  So I guess I will stop looking at those Indeed.com emails, unless I see something really interesting.

In the meantime, instead of making a living doing sex and fart jokes, I will make a living scaring the bejeezus out of hundreds of thousands of strangers.  Except for tonight's episode.  I'm not sure what to do with this one.

That hasn't stopped me yet.