Far too often I become entirely consumed with something. The substance of this consumption is of no importance, yet however it shakes out, I always become ensnared with it in some twisted self sabotage. I overdose on music, thinking happiness will come of it, however I often find myself with a notably padded playlist and bloated on secondhand lyrics. I sometimes look towards movies for escape and as much as they delight and stretch the mind, I always walk away reminded of my own smallness. Sports reverberates around the walls of my mind on a daily basis and even though I hold my love of Chicago sports teams as I would a newborn child (as alarming as that sounds on a priority basis), I always expect heartbreak as a perennial endgame.
But THESE!, you say, are the very components of life. The struggle, the human condition, My Good Sir, This Is What Sets Us Apart... the everlasting dreams of the frail body to overcome. We all move around in this world, uncertain, over reacting to the slightest bump in the night, but THESE things, they combat our fear of the eventual unreadiness. The fear that we control nothing, the momentum is not our own. So there it is, the idea that we possess some tool against that which might sink us, whether it be a script of words, a tapestry of guitar chords, or an athletic feat worthy of such unholy pageantry. That should embolden even the meekest spirit, shouldn’t it?
Sure. It does. I suppose. But sometimes it can put me off. Okay?
So, I just want to say I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last installment. I would say "I’ve been lazy", but if you know me, you’d know I’m lazy by nature. No, I’ve been actually been at odds with myself the past month. I’m working on a full plate for the first time in a while and I spend my free hours on other pursuits. But now I’m back, sitting in my room, writing and consuming, throwing words up there on the screen like it’s my savior.
Writing is like leaving your piss trail across a garage door in a dimly lit alley at midnight, your head buzzing with beer, your mind on other things. It may seem oddly beautiful or even a profound moment given the perspective, but in the end it’s just excrement that has to get done.
I saw Factotum the other day. Great book, good movie. Usually the way it goes so it shouldn’t be surprising. Thoughts arose for me as I sat there watching the opening credits and I saw the words "Adapted from the novel by Charles Bukowski". I began wondering, since I read so few books that actually become movies, I’m extraordinarily drawn to enterprises such as these. So if the chance presents itself in a social setting, I can use this phrase with complete honesty, "I thought the book was better". Like that makes me smarter, or more interesting, or oddly engaging. Weird how that is...
To me, Old Style beer tastes like it was twisted out of golden kegs by angels when the Cubs are winning. Now? Merchants are selling 6-packs of 16 ounce tall-boys for $4.19 just steps from Wrigley Field. That’s about all you need to know about us this year.
Make A Note Of It:
-Never play "Promiscuous" by Nelly Furtado and Timbaland on your I-Pod as you move your wet laundry into a nearby dryer in your community laundry room, because you’ll most likely turn around and see the hot girl from across the hall that you’ve been slowly building up the nerve to talk with standing there, smiling quietly at you after you subconsciously roboted across the room while humming suggestive lyrics. Way to go, Donny. Smooth criminal.
-If you go to a 10:25pm showing of Beerfest on a Tuesday night, don’t come sober with a date and then get mad when my intoxicated laughter spills out into the darkness.
-If you ever find yourself watching countdown of the top 20 MC’s of all time, and they have Nelly in front of Rakim, never watch that channel again. An egregious error. Pitiful.
Much Love, Let’s talk soon. Sorry I’ve been gone so long.
-Donny
