April 3rd, 2003

flavored with age

My Friday

Today is my Friday, since I'm taking tomorrow off to go to opening day at the ballpark formerly known as Comiskey Park, currently known as U.S. Cellular Field, and still known as White Sox Park. I'm hoping that the Good Guys don't come in 3 games in the whole, but this early on, I really don't care: I'm so happy that baseball has begun that even two frustrating losses can't take the shine off it. Tailgating, keeping score, watching the whole beautiful thing unfold: baseball is one of those very few things I love unreservedly.

I had a dream last night that my pal James had a big bone on for one of my LiveJournal friends and kept trying to get me to hook him up with her. This struck me as odd, even when I was asleep (it's my curse that even when I'm unconscious, I'm picking apart the implausible aspects of plots), because:

1. James doesn't read my LiveJournal, as far as I know
2. James just got engaged and isn't likely to be scouting around
3. I have never actually met this person.

But, it was an entertaining dream in a sort of barbaric-sitcom way, and it almost ended in a fistfight, so you know that ain't bad.

I finally finished a chapter in my stupid novel last night that has been kicking my ass for weeks. I'm still not sure it doesn't suck, but I hate it less now than I did when I was stuck in the middle of it. I was dreading the next (now current) chapter as well, but as it turns out, just when I started writing it, I thought up a new angle for the action that's going to pay off almost immediately, at least in terms of my enthuiasm for writing it. Sometimes my brain does me a favor.
flavored with age

Base! (How low I can go)

Imaginary girlfriends? Don't talk to me about them. I've had more than I can shake a stick at, and I'm sure you're smart enough to catch my double-entendre. Sure, you went to college. I don't have to spell it out for you.

But listen, kid: it's a dead end. A damn dead end. It seems perfect, but it all falls apart in the end. You think they'll never let you down, because they only exist in your mind, but little do you know...they get away from you. They're worse than children.

Oh, yeah, the sex is good. The foreplay is outstanding and goes on for hours. The conversation is goddamn sparkling. And at first, there's no pressure, because you see them when you want, on your own terms. But they get jealous, just like anyone else; they don't like your other imaginary girlfriends.

And if you think you're sparing yourself any agony by having imaginary girlfriends who are fictional, then, son, you're really fooling yourself. Even when I was a kid, I could see the writing on the wall: Morticia Addams wouldn't quit bugging me about money. Agent 99 didn't like how I got high all the time and wasn't an 'active' person. Myra Minkoff was fun while it lasted, until she noticed that I was both fatter and less educated than her last boyfriend. Tigra was just too freaky for me, and the Scarlet Witch left me for a goddamn robot. (Yeah, I know, synthezoid. WHATEVER.) Even Rachel Owlglass wouldn't get off my back about driving a station wagon.

Real-life imaginary girlfriends didn't work out any better. I broke up with Janeane Garafalo when it became clear that I'd never meet her; I broke up with the Comic Book Shop Girl when it became clear that I someday would. For a while I tried imaginary-dating women I had actually dated in the past, but all they did was fight. Then I tried imaginary-dating people I just made up, but after a while I had a hard time telling them apart.

No, kid, stick with real women. Sure, they're a handful; but at least when they walk down the street with you, other people can see 'em.
flavored with age

Pissin' cousins: a cod-Faulknerian miniature

Cousin Jay liked shitty hair-metal bands and driving fast. He drank Everclear and ate cheese dogs and listened to Night Ranger. He went on to become a technician on a nuclear submarine, which is an unsettling thought.

Cousins Earle and Burle were twins. Earle was the evil twin; he spent a couple of years in the joint on a trumped-up rape charge (he got caught fucking the mayor's daughter) and eventually passed out on a railroad track and got run over by a train. Burle owned a carpet store and used to give me free Cokes.

Cousins Joe and Bill are brothers. They're both in the Klan. They both work at gas stations. In fact, they both work at the same gas station and belong to the same chapter of the Klan. They think they're better than the rest of the men in the family because they don't work in the coal mine. It was Joe who told me, at the last family reunion I ever went to, that I shouldn't be considered part of the family, because, among other reasons, I "ain't even white".