"he's as blind as he can be..."


What? do you see self-perception issues?

I was joking around in photoshop. but of course, no one ever kids.
Here's the mental split. I go to a silent auction benefit thang. I win a few auctions. Including a two-hour workout session with a private trainer, and... and a gift certificate to a local restaurant called "The Pig." Sound like a man of two minds?

You might say. And two heads shoved into one skull.

Oh. Just a note. There's a yardstick I have for whether or not the week is going to suck. I consider it a good week if I have remembered to listen to "You Don't Say" on KCRW, my local NPR station. It's funny. It's intelligent and clever. So rare on the radio. So rare. And today, hedgehog watchers, I listened to it.

I just had a meeting with my two young former students and current co-workers. We're designing some posters and other material for the upcoming AIGA student show at UCLA extension. It was great. We did a day of shooting (10 am to six!) - just playing. Setting up stuff and shooting, Like the good old bump days. These are the two women who confronted me the other day. In all honesty, they did a good thing. They warned me about the perception of what I had done. How another student might misread my behavior. She was right. We had -- I don't want to go into all of this. It got really uncomfortable, but ultimately, it turned out okay. And I think the three of us are better friends as a result. And business partners.
But the end result, I think, is that I am probably not going to go so far out of my way to help students. The fear of being misunderstood, misinterpreted... too great. I don't want to fuck things up. But I think we're all cool. Really cool. Joe cool.

So. Fave client calls because I didn't get back to her earlier today. No calls? No email? Hey, I was busy. Somehow, she enjoys talking to me. We're a generation or so apart, but we come from the same stock. Or cask. Or jug. Role models. You know? I understand her, and she knows it. But she treats life a lot differently than I do. She lives it. I sit here writing this shit. No, just kidding. {yeah] She had an accident a couple of months ago and really fucked up her face. (I sent her a lovely, handmade card.)

She liked it. Anyway, she finally went out clubbing and finally kissed with her recently-messed-up mouth. I asked her how it went. Not great, about 5 out of 10, she said. And then she asked me about my kissing. How it's doing these days. And that, ladies and gents, tested my fucking patience. I wasn't really angry at her. I wasn't even fakely angry at her. But here I am. 49 fucking years old, and I haven't been kissed in about 4 months. And before that, for about a year. So, I told her that and she suddenly tells me that her German boyfriend told her that whorehouses are legal in Germany.
Hooray. Get me a ticket. But, wait... you can't kiss whores. They don't want to be kissed. They want to fuck and get your money. Kissing means something more. And that's the fucking sad part. I want something that means something. I don't want to fuck a whore. (mihija, if you're reading this... jesus christ. welcome to the twisted world of your father.) That put a damper on the phone conversation. And then she said goodbye, as she was about to enter a bad cell phone area.
I don't know that I get as much out of our conversations as she does. She feels better, I feel like shit. Perhaps the occasional rap on the head wakes me up a bit. Shi-ite.
Okay, samsonite, time to pack up and get the fuck outta here. Two days in a row! Wow, just like the good old days>

My dad's birthday is coming up. And shortly after that, my mom's. I foresee some tough times. And then the anniversary of his death. Anniversary. Sounds like something you should be happy about. There should be another word.

Do you ever feel like you've alienated everyone you know?
It'll pass.

all material ©2002 iguanaking