Richard Marx's bus door
four people allowed inside
I need a damn smoke

Can't let him see me
like hiding from my parents
damn you Richard Marx

Satisfied the urge
a delicious cigarette
I want another

Where are you Richard?
Ah, there you are, "Hi Richard"
Who are you again?

I was in a grouchy mood, or maybe I wasn’t. Someone told me I was, but I was just annoyed at this person in particular, but after having this pointed out to me, I became pissed off at everyone. Well no, perhaps this is not true. I think I was more annoyed at this person for being who they are, only because someone else pointed out to me what I already knew about the aforementioned person, and I suppose I’ve come to terms long ago with who this person is and how she acts, yet having others aware of it and – as I perceived it – mocking me for it set the tone for an evening where I once again emerge in the morning light looking like an asshole.

I tried arguing with people who apparently haven’t engaged in a passionate debate about anything in some time. They seamed generally upset that I dare try such a thing, and I remember at one moment when trying to demonstrate the pointlessness of making a point, yet the necessity to do so it was unanimously agreed that I had just terribly insulted my housemate and I don’t believe they cared to hear anything else I had to say. I awoke looking into the eyes of the landscaper in the backyard as he surveyed the mess that was made the night before. He probably didn’t care to hear anything I had to say, and I was too tired to do so, so I said nothing, but I should have said something. The sky grumbled, and I listened. I couldn’t know what it intended to mean by that, but I was happy it said something, and I took from it what I could. I’m tired of everyone’s and my own complacency. Why aren’t more people pissed off? There is so much to be vein popping, fist shaking angry about, yet most people just don’t give a damn enough about anything to even attempt to talk about, or more so disagree about, anything other than what to eat, drink, or watch on the boob tube. I’ve shirked debate recently because I’m disillusioned by everything always breaking down into polar opposites and I feel everyone is just as right or just as wrong as everyone else, but communication is how people form and solidify their ideas and culture. I can’t know if I’m right or wrong, I don’t think those distinctions have any bearing on matter, what’s important is the act of disagreeing, breaking up the circle jerk, being passionate about something enough to turn red, start yelling, and breaking things if need be. Granted people probably won’t listen to a word you say if you’re running around breaking things, but they’ll probably take something out of the situation. Something is something, and god damn it, it’s better than nothing.

For five years I resisted, put my head in the sand and hoped when I pulled it out they’d be gone, like CB radios, but damn it all to hell, I could resists no longer, and I signed away my soul for two years for a lousy electronic ball and chain. I suppose I still had a choice, but it had become increasingly difficult to communicate with others who had become dependent upon the speed an impulsive nature of the cell phone. Not many seemed content to leave me a message on my home phone and wait for me to return their call, nor did they think a head long enough to leave time sensitive information on my machine that I would be able to receive in time to act upon it. My housemate with a cell phone would answer the phone about half the times it rang, and if he did, wouldn’t write messages down and attempted to make my other non-mobile device carrying roommate (who now is packing plastic as well) and myself feel like we were creating a massive imposition on his life by depending upon a phone attached to the wall. Cell phones have drastically changed how people communicate and interact. Just like the tire and automotive companies buying up the street car companies and dismantling the rail infrastructure at the beginning of the twentieth century to force high car sales, look around at take note of how few pay phones are left in this city. Perhaps it’s simply supply and demand, but I’ve been hard pressed to find a working pay phone on many occasions when I needed to make a call, and the price of a local call has doubled in the last five years. Maybe I’m a hopelessly anti-technology reactionist, I certainly am a laggard, and I am surely not pleased at all to have to pay $40 a month for something I did just fine without before all you damn people had to be available twenty four hours a day, seven days a week and force me to chase after the band wagon after it’d left town and the dust settled. Oh, and I got my Internet back today, so I suppose I’m now officially reconnected to my digital appendages and a member of the 21st century. I want to get some land and raise some hogs, a couple goats, and perhaps a little soy to appease the vegan crowd. Anyone interested in joining?

Have you seen my glasses? I was spotted without them late Friday evening, and when asked where they were I am told I replied "don't worry, I know where they are." What did I know then that I do not know now? I've searched high and low for them to no avail and damn it, I just bought six replacement frames that do me no good without the lenses. My plan to never have to buy new glasses has been foiled. Shame on me.

Shame on me for wasting no time in returning to the same wretched state that prompted hightailing it out of Buffalo in the first place a few weeks ago. I don't know what it is with this damn city, but as soon as I pass that sign on the thruway "Welcome to Buffalo: An All America City" my insides begin to quiver, and once I see the skyline on the 33 my entire body shakes and the car drives itself to the nearest location to procure an alcoholic beverage. I'm not one to support government intervention into regulating the lives and behaviors of individuals, but I do secretly wish that if they must impose an hour in which all bars must close, why can't they make it 2:00AM rather than 4:00AM ? Don't give me no bologna about bars losing money because they lose two hours of business, people will just adjust their schedules and go to the bars earlier, go to bed earlier, and feel less crackheadish in the morning.

Life has been less than ideal since returning Tuesday evening. Everywhere I turn some asshole is taking my damn money and giving me nothing in return. HSBC allowed me to overdraw my account in South Carolina "as a courtesy for your long standing relationship with the bank" charging me $30 a transaction for six purchases that left my account hundreds of dollars in the red. Then it turns out my old landlords changed to locks on our apartment before my housemates had cleaned the place and refuse to give back my security deposit claiming the carpets were soaked in beer and someone with a key - while not accusing us directly, more than subtly hinting we had something to do with it - entered the apartment on the 14th and kicked a hole through the wall into the business downstairs setting off the alarm at 4:30AM. I believe whoever did that probably scaled the fence in the front and came in through the porch door, but the landlord didn't seem to care too much about that. The carpets were crap anyway, we did them a favor by soaking them in beer, they were filthy. I'm still living out of boxes in my new place, I don't have internet or a phone, and my housemate's cat is a fucking asshole. Cigarettes cost five dollars a pack and won't stay lite long enough to utter two words between drags, not to mention, I’m not worth half a cent to make out with. Glad to be back in Buffalo.

Once again, must make this quick. I finally spoke with my parents today about some things I've never gelt comfertable bringing up. For instance, why did grandma and grandfather live in seperate houses before he died of cancer? The answer was much more troublesome than I could have imagined. That brought about revelations about the rest of my mother's side of the family that I had perhaps suspected all along, but never wanted to really believe or ask for confirmation for I was, well, afraid that I was right. I don't want to go into more detail at the moment, becuase I really need to figure out for myself what this "new" information really matters in the grand scope of things. Things were always as they were, and just because I know about them now doesn't change things in the least, just the fact that I am aware of them. I'm heading out the the continental shelf with my father tomorrow for some deep sea fishing, I hope to learn more about his family and life, as I just learned today that his mother - my grandmother - died when he was 9 and he was raised by his older sister in poverty. She feed him peanut butter sandwhiches and oatmeal everyday, and to this day, I never understood why I'd never seen him eat those things... minor detail I suppose, but I cannot believe how truley little I ever knew, or made the effort to know about my own family. I guess this vaction is accomplishing some of the things I had hoped it would, and I'm thinking about extending it a little more once I return to Binghamton to hang out with my grandmother and great aunt to learn a little more about those who handed me down the genes I wear today.

loser eatting combos in a convience mart after singing karaoke at the god damn resot this evening. I met a farmer from TN.. a dude just came in saying "I'm a rapper, homey, I don't play no games..." I've had a good time at this here quicky mart, high speed internet and a plethra of walk in customers to enjoy... oh yeah the farmer... he was friends with Rod.. Rod called him and told him to come see me sing... the rapper is buying a blunt... he left rapping something, I wish I made it out... so this farmer and I.... wait let's talk about Rod.... Rod likes Rod Stewart... he gave me his home phone number and access to his cooler of beer, he also gave me some dip, I haven't had dip in years, not since I Last quit smoking, damn, then my dentist told me I done should quit... reckoned I ought to stop before I get that gum cancer folks been talking bout... well Ron was a boat load a fun, not as much fun as the Baptist family my Mom and I were sitting next to... they told me my voice was on loan from God and I said I was a big fan a Jesus, theyt had me sing Long Black Train... then I done sung Alabama Song.... now the guy behing the counter is kick me off...

Mike and Rachel left today, and I'm starting to get the itch to do so as well. I wish the weather could have been a little better for them as they only really enjoyed one day on the beach as it was raining most of the weekend, but hell, that's not my fault. We rocked it pretty hard regardless, actually a little more hard than we ought to have on Friday as none of us really fully recovered until this morning when the left. I remember very little, which is unfortunet as I dropped a lot of cash that evening, but some how after watching a 16 year old Incubus cover band we wound up back at some girls from TN's crap filled Motle room, and after Mike punched out their bathroom window by mistake, he proceeded to charge down to the beach with a bottle of liqure and run around naked with one of the girls. I woke up the next morning miles away with one of the girls and had to relearn how to drive stick as I had to get her back to her place in time to run back and meet my parents to pretend like none of the above mentioned had happened. I've been singing a lot of karaoke as well, and I also must stop doing this as, I joke not, everywhere I go damn people keep coming up to me and asking if I'm singing again the next night as they want to bring their family / spouses / friends ... to come see me, like I'm part of their vacation package's entertainment. Not to say it didn't enlarge my ego for a little while, but I'm getting damn tired of being known as they dude who flails around half naked singing Backdoor Man and Rod Stewart. They hated Backdoor man for the record, wanted to know why I "came all the way down from New York." I guess the men really don't know what the little girl's understand. Oh shit, then this damn woman with her husband next to me and two kids, age 8 and 12, comes over to me and slips me her number and whispers into my ear: "I may be married, but I do what I like." This was while I was sitting with my father. It was a father son bonding moment I suppose, but I was hoping the fishing trip on thursday would take care of that and not some drunken horny housewife. Well shit, I'm getting looks from the man behind the counter as I think he's letting me use the internet for free, so I'll keep posting as often as I come across a computer. The one I've been using before at my dollar earlier. Looking forward to my return in August.

I've given up trying to do anything productive down here. I wake up, rub lotion on myself, go to the beach, dance around, go back to the room, eat a sandwhich, go back to the beach, drink a few beers, eat a porkchop, take a shower, sing, dance, drink, pass out. Meinhold is here now with me and having a delightful time. Sorry you couldn't make it Robin, though it has proven to be a little more expensive than I had orginally thought. Nothing else of much interest to report on. No naked parties as of yet, but I did muster up the courage to talk to some females the other night, but they bored me and I spent the evening talking to a vet who claimed I was personally responsible for 911. That was much more interesting than the girls from New Jersey. Coming back to Buffalo in around two weeks and not exactly looking forward to it. Until then...

4:52 seconds left of my one dollar... nothing really too pressingly urgent to report on.... took my parents to kareoke night for the first time tonight.... crooned fiona apple "criminal,"
Tom Waits, "the piano has been drinking," and the old southern crowd pleaser Kenny rogers "the gambler," My mother was very impressed. My father sipped ginger ales... my mom and I slugged beers and red bull and vodkas.... apparently the two goals of getting in a closer relationship with my parents and easing off on the drinking are mutually exclusive... Robin, god damn it, call Mike Meinhold... well actually, anyone who is intersted in joining me down here call mike meinhold... 716.465.5901