The Horror of the Front Door

I don't feel like doing shit.

It has to be my new diet. My body is slowing down my metabolism to keep myself burning 1700 calories a day. That's why exercise is so valuable to dieting, because the body works against you at every level. It want's to hold onto the fat. I lay in the bed, not wanting to move. My garbage is piling up, dirty clothes, dishes. I don't want to exercise, I don't want to leave my room, I don't want to take a shower, I don't want shit on the commode, I don't want to do a fucking thing other than sit behind my laptop and type. Low calorie consumptive tasks.

But that can't be the case for today. There is no SHOUT OUT today. It has been canceled because of the memorial for Theda Detlor, a fellow poet who died quite suddenly. It was a shock to all of us. The memorial is across town from me, so there isn't a long way to travel, although it's going to be tedious. I'll have to do the bus thing, on a Saturday, down 96th street, the Rodeo Drive of the Upper West Side. You can imagine how packed the buses will be, with people rubbing against you, chattering in your ear, filling up your space. I would walk the distance instead. It's close enough, but I would have to take the foot path through Central Park, the most direct route, and you know my sentiments against that. That last time I thought that I wouldn't make it through. Naahh, walking is definitely out.

GOD I DON'T FEEL LIKE GOING.

I know that it's this diet that's talking to me. If I go it will be an amazing caloric draw and it may even energize me for further things. But I fear that that's just me explaining things away. What if it's not my diet? What if it's not my body reacting to the lower caloric intake, but rather my mind? What if I'm becoming like Howard Hughes, a shut in, afraid to go out, growing more paranoiac by the day? The slow draw to insanity. I'm homeless, it happens to us all. Sooner or later we all SCHNAPP. Getting out and around others may be good for me. A breath of fresh air, some new/old faces, stretching my limbs, getting off my ass. All of these things are beneficial.

THEN WHY AM I SO LOATHE TO DO THEM?

I don't think about it, because the more that I think about it the more that I'll grow anxious, and the more anxious I get, the less inclined that I am to do anything. That's just the way that I am. So, to take my mind off of the issue, I blog. Yeah, I find blogging to be like comfort food for the skull. I'm happy...until my webtools begin giving me problems. Yeah, delayed requests, long uploads or no uploads at all, freezing screens. It's as if there is a force against me trying to relax. I struggle with it, plodding on. Even websites are not responsive. Their servers returning with, bullshit like: Host Denied, and Network Timeout. I struggle with it because I really do need to blog. I really do! But to no avail. The crappy post that I was able to cobble together was not worth posting. I gave up.

I stood over the sink full of dishes, staring down and dreaming. I never had a problem cleaning things before, especially my dishes, why now? What was going on in my mind that I didn't want to participate in life any longer? Why was I giving up on everything?

I stood in front of the window, staring out at the brick wall across the narrow courtyard. Yeah, that's right, there is a solid brick wall right before my window. You see window's like this on comedy shows, where the landlord is boasting about scenic views. Well, I stare at it. The chinks in the mortar, the chips in the brick. What is going on in my mind? I really don't want to go to the memorial. I'm tied of mourning. I've mourned the demise of my entire life. You mean there's more?

It's a show of support for the family. I guess so. It's nice to see all of the friends of a deceased person get together to mourn their passing. It's not so much for the dead, but for the living. I stood over my laptop, looking down at it, and it's inviting arms. I have been glued to this chair for days now. DAYS. Not moving other than to get up and make something to eat. What will I do today if not just repeat the agenda of the past few days, blog, write, build and destroy. That's it. A vigorous and eternal circle.

Thinking about going out to the Associated Supermarket yesterday, I was amazed as to how much everything, even the minor things, bothered me. Waiting for the elevators or on line was interminable; encountering people, intolerable; dealing with the chill, snowy weather, insufferable. I was as hypersensitive as if I was rubbed raw and the exterior world was torture. I could not wait to get back to my little room. Its four walls closing in around me like a comfortable, warm blanket. Now I know what the phrase: 'snug as a bug in a rug' is trying to convey.

I'm going to catch enormous grief over not going to this memorial today, but I honestly don't believe that I can suffer the scores of chattering heads, and shifting faces that I will be presented with. Not like this. I am too weak in and of myself to deal with all of these signals to the brain. There just isn't enough battery power to push this vehicle any farther. I'm struggling with dealing with the outside world. It's growing more and more difficult. I'm not giving up, I just need a break. This is the first Saturday that I've had off from the SHOUT OUT without being in pain in a long time. That counts for much.

I sit down in front of my laptop. At least I'm wearing slacks today. I need to either get up soon and get it together, or make another blog post and let it continue to find a state of rest. No doubt I will be forgiven for all of my transgressions, I will be granted clemency for not showing up today. That's the way life is I'm sure.

Now, for my part, I just have to participate in it again.

Hmmmm, I think I'm going to title this next post: The Horror of the Front Door.

Hobobob

Swapping Problems

I blew off my doctor's appoint- ment.

I just didn't show. I know that's bad, you don't have to tell me! I got up this morning and had to run about to get there by 9:00am. So, I didn't bother. I was also told to come in whenever I can. I still didn't bother. I sat in my underwear all morning, surfing the web and working on my blog manuscript. While I was engaged in my work, I got curious. My mind started to wander as I cut and pasted blog posts. Something just wanted me to search the term: 'Publish your blog'. So I caved in, alright? And I came up with Blurb. Surfing to the site, I was greeted with the announcement: PUBLISH YOUR BLOG. Yes, this inventive site, constructed by The New York Times, has a downloadable software application that allows you to import your blog into a book template with one single press of a button, manipulate and format it, and then send it to an actual printer, for printing into quality book form and shipped anywhere. What the fuck? Millions are turning their blogs into professionally bound books even as I write.

That's right, the entire world is down- loading, formatting and printing hundreds of thousands of blogs. Standard book publishers don't stand a chance, and probably couldn't give a good goddamn that there was one blogger with a blog to present for publishing. They would probably just tell me to self publish it and get out of their hair. I looked at this site, and I was deflated. I could import, format and publish my blog in a day. Otherwise it will no doubt take me months to prepare to send my manuscript around to publishers, who probably wouldn't even take the time to read it anyway. OH, ANOTHER BLOGGER?? What makes my blog so motherfucking special? Because it's written by a homeless man about his crummy life on the streets? People are trying to take their minds off street dwellers. They're in denial about their uncertain futures. Remember, I'm everyone's Boogie Man. Why buy my book?

Further, I used hundreds of uncopyrightable images in my blog that I've culled off the Internet. While my site is not all that big and popular, the chances of the owners of these pics coming to complain copyright infringement is just about nil. But raise that number exponentially with the publishing of them in a book, and Houston, we have a problem. FUCK!! All this work that I was investing my time into is circling around the commode drain. Should I go any further with trying to present something to overwhelmed publishers, or publish the damn thing myself?

It was noon. This decision had to be shelved for the rest of the day. I was getting hungry and I took stock of my food cabinets and refrigerator. You know you have no food in the house when all you have to eat are seasonings. Begrudgingly, I dressed and headed out. The hallway was clear of the chattering assholes as I emerged and I went downstairs and into the brisk New York afternoon. A light snow was falling as I marched up to the Associated Supermarket: the smallest supermarket known to Man. The minute that I walked in I thought that I would have to punch out this dude that would not step aside as I tried to enter. I had to shoulder past him roughly. He turned around and had a comment but I ignored him and kept on trucking into the crowded store. I got microwaveable dinners, salads, steak and pork. Yeah, steak. I microwave the shit. Sometimes they come out real tough, but they're still good. From there I went to Duane Reade and got coffee and milk, and more microwaveable dinners and side dishes. Before I knew it, I had blew through $80.00. EIGHTY fucking dollars!! Jeezus. I'm on a 1700 calorie a day diet and I can't keep food in the house. This eighty dollars worth of food would not last me the month.

Disgustedly on both sides of my day, I return home to make lunch and get behind the computer again. I went back to that fucking Blurb site and looked at it again, trying to make a decision, and I see that you can construct a professionally bound 5x8 B/W book with color covers for something like $8.95 a copy. And I can buy as few or as many books as I want. This intrigued me. Remember my resolution was to (and it wasn't a New Year's resolution either) start to self publish my poetry books. Well, this could be the perfect outlet for such. I download the software called 'Book Smart' and take the tutorials and actually learn how to make a book. I use pictures from my blog that I took and form and shape out the template for the book. Then with the click of a button there was an import tool that would pull the text from nearly any goddamned source. I chose Word for Windows, and it went, got the text of my first book written: A MIND GONE TO WASTE, and poured it into my template. The import went through with only a few kinks. I spent the rest of the day cleaning up the import and adding more text and graphics until by the evening I was all done. With the click of another button I imported the damn thing to the website and I was then able to buy copies of the book at about $9.00 a pop.

Shit. I had a published book in less than a day. On Monday I'm going to put some money on my credit card and buy a few copies to see how they turned out. Yeah, if you can't beat 'em, become their whore, that's what I've always said. Now all sorts of opportunities began to open up in my mind. The sheer power of being a publisher got to me. Or now, a published writer, even if it is SELF-published. Holy shit! Now I can be like the other poets that bring their books to the poetry readings and leave them on the 'poetry tables' for sale to their fellow poets. I'm overjoyed. I can buy a few copies, say like twenty or thirty dollars worth, and resell them at poetry events. Hot damn!

And I have the material for at least five more books, which I intend to publish every last one. That's right. Get them all out and into the hands of others. I don't care how good or bad they are, they're getting out.

I am proud of myself today. I've solved one problem, created another, and went food shopping.

Not a bad day, if you ask me.

Hobobob

Have a wonderful weekend.

What are you up to this weekend? My dad is coming to visit for my birthday, and I can't wait to see him! In the meantime, here are some great posts from around the web this week...

Bonnie and Clyde have fabulous style...even as salt and pepper shakers.

Heehee. Remember this awesome mantra if you ever get cranky blog comments!

Sophia Coppola looks great on the cover of Paris Vogue.

Five cliff-top towns. (Via Double Takes)

A heart-themed baby shower.

Loving these vintage wares and pretty hairbands.

Yikes! I am too much of a wuss to ever go ice climbing.

This Indonesian photographer looks just like Obama. Also, Christian Bale looks like Kermit.

A rad Rosemary's Baby poster.

A peek into writer's rooms.

Stacy sweetly suggests these flower wedding dresses.

A nice butterfly mobile.

Following Domino's demise, Page Six Magazine fires everyone but the editor-in-chief and moves from a weekly to a quarterly.

But let's end on a happy note. Loving the newish blog All Stripes.

Have a lovely weekend!!! xoxo

Happy birthday, Lucy!

Happy birthday to my amazing sister Lucy, who turns 30 tomorrow two minutes after I do. Sending a kiss to San Francisco!

Amish horses

A sweet print from 20x200.

Feeling Smitten...

My dolls, here is a weekly round-up of Smitten, my Glamour Magazine relationships blog...

Do you look older or younger than your age?

Have you read a good book lately? (I need one!)

What's the most romantic city in the world?

Cute yellow shoes for thirty bucks!

What's your scary age? (Mine was 27, weirdly.)

True reader's confession: "I have orgasms when I do sit-ups."

Five romantic posters.

Have you ever had white Christmas lights in your bedroom?

Which of these three outfits would you wear on a date?

The perfect vintage wedding dress and SQUARE wedding rings!

If a guy cheated on you once, would you stay with him or break up?

Dating do or don't: Super high-rise underwear.

How comfortable are you in your job security?

We sent two cuties on a blind date. Here's what HE thought, and here's what SHE thought!

As always, find much more on Smitten. Thank you! xo

Dick Caught In The Wringer

I blew therapy off today so hard that I didn't even care.

Sometimes I feel a stark sense of regret when I blow off one of my sessions, some serious remorse that I'm doing something bad, but today, I couldn't give a shit. This made for three. All three, blown off this week. Not good, but necessary. I need a break from people being in my head sometimes. I feel like I should have a revolving door on my forehead and have psychs walk in and out of there and set up tables and chairs and treat my skull like a lunchroom. Sometimes you just get tired, you know. It's not easy opening up every week and have someone listen so as to examine you.

I also blew off doing my laundry for another week. Now retreads will be the norm for next week. There is nothing more grueling than doing laundry in the coin op around the corner. I am indeed fucking lazy to have a laundromat so close to my home and not use it. The only thing that I use regularly is the fucking microwave.

I stayed online until there was an altercation in the hallway. I took off my headsets to hear Paula threatening one of her girlfriends in the hall, claiming that: 'I will slap the shit out of you bitch!' Amusing. Another, voice cooed in the background for her to calm down, while a third called her a crazy ass. I didn't hear anything ignite into a catfight, so I assumed the calming voice diffused the situation. If a catfight did break out I would open my door and stick my head out.

Funny, ever since junior highschool, us boys loved watching a catfight, something I carry with me to this day. We would come running, shouting to others: "Catfight, catfight!!" Rushing to the fight, not to break it up, but to get the best position to watch it. Two women fighting just draws men like flies to shit. Why is that?? I sometimes wonder, and now I shake my head. It wasn't anything sexual, or so I believe, because Paula and her mugwomp friends look like Creatures from the Black Lagoon. Not that I'm bragging about looks, but I'd rather fuck my own ass than have a wet dream about any one of them. But to watch them fight, I'll buy a ticket and popcorn.

Besides hopefully this would put an end to their congre- gating in the hall. If they hate each other then they'll stop talking to each other across their doors. This could be good news at last. I put my headsets back on and get busy. I work on my new blog manuscript that at present has no name. I'm thinking: DICK CAUGHT IN THE WRINGER, or EVERYBODY'S BOOGIE MAN. But right now I just have 'untitled' on the manuscript.

'Dick caught in the wringer' is obvious, but why, 'Everybody's Boogie Man'? Well I had this discussion with a friend of mine about how my life is more like a cautionary tale. And that to end up like me is the worst possible outcome for anyone to experience. I've become associated with what everyone is terrified over when they lose their job. I've become everyone's Boogie Man. I guess if I have to explain it, it's not that hot a title then. Right?

I got tired and crawled into bed and took a nap, suffering from eyestrain and a growing tension headache, although the cutting, pruning and pasting of the manuscript was pretty easy. I loaded up damn near one hundred pages, and covered two months worth of blogging in one sitting. I decided that that was enough. Tomorrow, I have my Doctor's appointment, and I'll most likely spend the entire day in the library, like I used to. I am moving further and further away from my homeless roots, my past routines.

I no longer eat with the Skeksies, shower at the Bowery Mission, eat dinner from food vans, get clothes from churches. I'm moving towards a productive member of society slowly but surely. If I can get a paying writing gig, that would just make the process go that much faster.

That's what's bothering me about today. Yesterday I sent out two emails to prospective gigs and today, nothing. Not a damn reply. Jobs are so scarce out there that even the NON PAYING GIGS are drying up. Well, at least the stimulus package passed the HOUSE today although the Republicans were all against it. You know, I wonder if these representatives and senators were faced with layoffs, would they hurry up and run SOMETHING, ANYTHING though? This is supposed to be a government for the people, BY the people, but I can't help but to think how far these career politicians have strayed from 'the people' and have now moved over to power drunk. Like Blogojevich, who was no doubt sitting on a cushy job, selling and buying influence and not giving a fuck about how the government was run, and if he was putting authority in capable hands. That's the problem with politicians. They no longer govern, but rule.

Well, that's me on my soapbox now. It's time to step down and get ready for bed. I have a big day tomorrow. I get to hear how my blood pressure is and my progress. Already I'm leaning to blowing off my doctor's appointment. I just hope I get up in enough time. Right now it's a toss up between playing 2142 or working on the blog manuscript again, and I'm leaning more in the direction of the blog manuscript.

Can you believe that? Just yesterday it was too big a task to deal with, and today, I have something to putter around with.

Life is funny isn't it?

Aloha
Hobobob

Blue Hill Stone Barns

I'm finishing my work early today because I have unusually exciting plans tonight! My good friend gullar sahir is taking me to an early birthday dinner at Blue Hill Stone Barns. It's half an hour north of Manhattan, and the restaurant is part of a working farm. Hopefully we will see some cute goats and cows!

The restaurant has a changing menu, which features the best of their produce and meat every month. January's line up is: American paddlefish caviar, Arugula, Baby lamb, Brook trout, Brussels sprouts, Burdock root, Celery root, Chestnuts, Claytonia, Farm eggs, Firecracker, Focea lettuce. (I have no idea what Firecracker and Clytonia are, but I'm psyched to try them!)

Have a great night, my lovelies. xoxo Update: It was amazing. I did not eat the baby lamb.

Baby Fever x 1000

This video shows nine-month-old Charles Edward playing in the living room for four hours, but it's sped up to two minutes. (Also, the adult interaction was edited out for cuteness sake.) Ooooh, so sweet, my head is going to explode!

Dredging Up The Past

I kept pissing last night.

I kept getting up, over and over again. I would be worried if I were you, but I am incredibly happy because I'm borderline renal failure. My body wants to hold onto liquid normally, not passing them through the kidneys into the bladder. Now with this wonderful happening, I think I'm back on the road to recovery!

I filled two piss bottles in the space of three hours. Amazing. I kept looking at the clock. it was either between 4:00 and 6:00am. Too early to get up, so I crawled back into bed. I'm such a lazy dog. I woke up to Paula's voice in the hallway. They were bitching about there being no hot water this morning. I rose, did my exercise. All of them except for the side bridges. I just wasn't up to it. Tomorrow I'll do those first to keep from backsliding. I washed dishes in the cold water, put on some coffee and booted up.

Checked my emails right away, breezed through them in fact. Then read my blog replies and got a good one today, from Mr. Bill: "Yeah, right! Why do you have to write a NOVEL? You have 3 years of blogs right here that is absolutely facinating!! And the timing is right to do it now. There will be more people joining you on the streets the way the economy is going, the constant layoffs...."

I've heard this before, to get to work on making the blog into something publishable. But the enormity of the task at hand is incredible. It's just too big, too many edits, too much pruning and culling of information. There are scores of photos that have to be gone through one at a time, many, many entries are probably just too fucking boring. It would take a shitload of reading. Time, and more time on top of it.

But then I remember reading a quote from Samuel Johnson: "Nothing will ever be attempted if all possible objections must first be overcome." I happen to love that quote. I happen to love enormous tasks. Things that are involved and worthy of my full time and attention. There is a lot of work to do...so why not start now?

Yeah, for some reason, I judged most of this time that I have on my hands surfing the web could be put to better use putting together the blog for publication. God, we're talking about a big book even if I only put in half of the entries. This will be one mother of a fucker. So I called it up and started. I worked my way through August of 2006, cutting, pasting and pruning. I wanted to do it a month at a time so that it doesn't seem too overwhelming, and it wasn't at all. It was rather enjoyable. This is my second attempt at this blog to novel thing. Let's see if this time it's sustainable.

One thing that's for certain, it's up there in my 'changes for 2009' list.

I think I'm going to skip therapy today and spend the day on getting this off the ground.

My sincere thanks to EVERYONE who suggested that I should do this. It's finally gotten through to my thick skull.

Hobobob

Wedding Kisses

I've been thinking a lot about wedding kisses recently. Can you do a big kiss? Or should you keep it small and grandparent-friendly? Here are a few lovely wedding-kiss moments.

(Photos by Kyle Hale, via East Side Bride; Boutwell Studio; Parker J, and Anna Wolf)

Memories Run Riot

BACK IN MY OWN BED

I'm far from home
seeing the sights
going to strange places
and seeing new things

I'm far from my house
staying with you
eating with you
walking hand in hand with you

I'm far from my place
sleeping in your bed
warming your covers
leaving an indelible mark

I'm far from my locale
and I'm having a great time
But still, I long
to be back in my own bed

Little do I know
that I'll be leaving yours cold
and you
missing me

Hobobob, 2008

Make Money Writing

I am once again riding with my brother on the train to the heartland of Brooklyn.

I spent the day on my laptop. It was cold, snowing, sleeting, raining and dreary all day. I canceled my appointment to see Dr. L. because I just didn't want to go out in that mess. I just didn't want to be bothered. I know I should have a more serious outlook towards my sessions but damn if I have to wade through some fucked up weather to have my thoughts turned over like a pancake on a griddle. I am happy to stay home and call the day quits.

I read emails and surf the web. Well you know that by now. I also blog, and today I scoured Craigslist to find some more writing gigs. I found one:

"I have 3 openings left for people who can do online writing work. From blogs to fiction and much more. I must fill these spots ASAP. Email me for more info thanks."

Shit, it was just posted today, so lets see. I send them an e-mail requesting more information and I get this in my mailbox from BC:

"Hello thanks for the email we have 2 spots left for the job. Here is the site that explains it all. Check it out and if you want it I would i sign up asap. Thanks"

Well damn, I made it. Let me go to this site! I do, and go through a lot of blah, blah, blah about making terrific money writing nearly anything I want:

"You're just minutes away from making great, easy money from the comfort of your home, just from writing simple articles, easy blog posts, or (if you want the really BIG bucks) by writing short fiction and non-fiction stories.... Thousands of smart people just like you are are already brining in an easy $1,000, $2,000...even as much as $5,000 every single week just by doing this easy writing in their spare time...and now it's your turn! "

YES! It's my turn to make the thousands of dollars. I finish the registration and I get this webpage:

"An "Unlimited Access" member- ship to the FreeLance Home Writers Private Site normally costs $69.95... But I'm going to take the risk off you completely with our Special Risk Free Trial Membership which allows you to see for yourself what all the hype is about. For only $2.95 you will have unlimited access to the same money making tools that thousands of our other members have for 7 days. Monthly membership is only $47 dollars which is a fraction of what you will make with the Freelance Home Writers system. Try this amazing system for yourself and if you don't like it, no worries you can call our 800 number anytime to cancel your subscription no questions asked. There are no obligations of ANY kind!"

I've been totally scammed out of my personal information. Now they'll sell my contact information to tons of spammers and I'll start receiving all kinds of shit in the mail. I hate when I fall for these fucking things. As much as I surf you would think that I could see through these things by now, but no. I fall for them occasionally. That really fucked up my groove.

But in this jungle of ads I find two good writing gigs. Both are internships, and both don't pay money, but I get to use them as references and put them on my resume. Good solid blogging sites that can keep my ass busy. I'm trying to be proactive just in case my online magazine does not come up ever again, or they can me. Whichever comes first.

I get ready and split by Five O'clock to make it down the the Madison Avenue Starbucks to meet up with my brother. We hang around for awhile. He doesn't really want to go. He's addicted to his laptop and would rather sit in Starbucks, surfing the web. But he comes after a cup of joe to enervate him and we head out to Brooklyn. The F train is called that because it's 'Fucked'. We take the slowest train ride up to 18th street, deep in the heart of Brooklyn to reach a restaurant called the Green Pavilion. We enter in and go to the back where there is a reception hall, ringed with tables, and seated there are a dozen poets chattering amongst themselves during the break.

My brother and I file in and take a seat, and order dinner. He has a cheese burger, I have a salmon burger. I could have made a better choice. The salmon burger was not all that appetizing. I stuffed my self on the french fries. My brother's burger was medium rare even though I asked for well done. Well, you can't have everything. It was inexpensive in any event. I tipped the waitress five dollars, because I had it on me, and poets tend to be a little stingy when it comes to tips.

Hey, don't get mad at me, that's what one of our bartenders used to tell us at the SHOUT OUT. Poets are stingy.

While sitting on my hands, I am suddenly called up by Evie, the hostess, to read.

My brother reads after me, and soon the reading is over. Everyone mills about and I pull Evie off to the side where I conduct the interview, which takes all of five minutes. Then we take the photos, and all is done. My brother and I socialize a bit longer and then head back to the F train and uptown. I, for my part, want to get home in a hurry because I suffer from separation anxiety every time I leave my laptop in my apartment. I'm deathly frightened that someone will break in and steal her. I fret all night long. When things are over, I can't wait to get home.

I get home and sigh with relief to find it on my desk, unmo- lested. I am very happy. I turn her on and get online. I have a lot of things that I want to get done before going to bed.

Blogging is one of them.

I still can't believe that I fell for that fucking scam.

Hobobob