raining frogs

When I woke up this morning I decided to call State Farm to get the warranty information to get my car stereo repaired. I put the call on speaker, picked up the tv remote, and sat down on the couch while I waited on hold for Claims Team 6 to answer.

Feet on the coffee table, phone by my side, I looked down at the floor where a big dark hairball of dust and lint twitched. I stared at it for a second, wondering how this much crap had amassed under the table not even 24 hours after sweeping when it twitched again. Clearly a movement of something alive. Not dust. Not hair. But covered in both.

I hung up the phone that was still by my side playing muddled, too-quiet-to-make-out hold music, carefully put my feet back down on the floor, and leaned over to push the table in front of me out of the way.

A frog. This dust is in the shape of a frog. A frog is on my floor, in my living room, 3 stories up in the middle of Brooklyn. A real, alive for all intents and purposes, frog. It didn't really look like a frog. It had the basic shape, but appeared to just be a frog shaped dust bunny. But it had to be a frog under all that dust. It was moving.

I didn't know what to do. How to pick it up. I grabbed a magazine subscription card having long fallen out of its host and slid the hairball frog on to it. Setting the card and dust frog on the table, I carefully tried to remove the hair and dust covering the thing. It was too hard. Too knotted and tangled. But yes, under it all, there was a frog.

I got a bowl of water and dipped the living room frog-based tumbleweed into it slowly to help in sorting out the mess. I untangled its tiny body with the most delicate touch I could manage, piling the wet lint next to the bowl. The frog floated there in the shallow water, not necessarily "moving" by any means, but also not appearing to be just quite dead.

He was maybe an inch long, and one of its arms appeared to be broken, or at least missing its tiny frog hand. I'm not sure if frogs can break bones, but I'm sure frogs can be broken, and he looked like he had been through quite a lot. He must have crawled quite far to have amassed the amount of dust and hair and all that he did. Like a little frog based tumbleweed.

...


He's some sort of aquatic frog. He doesn't move much, but he's alive. I don't know if he will stay alive, or even if he's made it through while I've been writing this down. Maybe there is too much chlorine in the water. Maybe if he was still alive after crawling around in dust and hair on my living room floor he should just stay dry. I don't think I have the means to care for a frog. I have a bigger bowl, and maybe he can live in that. I guess we'll see if he makes it through the day, and then I'll figure things out from there.

Life in the first world

I thought I was watching some kid pray to mecca at the indian museum
today.

On closer inspection he was kneeling down facing a wall playing a
video game.

"… But some explanation may be of value to the less introspective signs. We can say that the hydra can mean many things: jealousy, vengeance, resentment, anger, frustrated sexuality, violence. Scorpio is a sign of intense desire; and the hydra's many heads can mean the many desires of the uncivilized human heart. Left to grow in the darkness, they can become poisonous, and begin to destroy others. But they cannot be dealt with by repression. They must be understood, held up to the light, respected as part of oneself. And although vanquished, it is a good idea to remember that one immortal head. For Scorpio, all human beings carry within them the seeds of good and evil. Evil is not an abstract thing, or somebody else's fault; it is in everyone. Human brutality cannot be blamed on society, but ultimately only on oneself. It is relevant to realize that Sigmund Freud, the great founder of modern depth psychology, had Scorpio rising. Therein lies the deepest meaning of Scorpio's myth: come to terms with the hydra in yourself, and you redeem the world.


Astrologers broadly agree that the following are the characteristics of Scorpio:

* Intense
* Powerful
* Determined / tenacious / persevering
* Emotional / sensitive
* Calm but seething
* Reserved / withdrawn
* Secretive
* Deep / profound
* Revengeful (if hurt) / unforgiving
* Passionate / sexual
* Loyal / devotional
* Ambitious
* Extreme
* Willful / fanatical
* Mysterious / magnetically attractive / exciting
* Deeply resentful / brooding / potentially destructive
* Scorpio is the Zodiac sign that indicates the deepest interest in sexual matters, and for most Scorpios, sex is an expression of love."

All that astrology stuff is so stupid.

Except for me.

For me it is dead fucking on.

A Problem I Have

it is so windy. it feels like my windows are open.

they aren't.

Because the night

Never have I been so blown off. Waiting outside in the "wint'ry mix"
for so long to be told they "didn't think I was really coming" and my
role was double booked, to be filled by another.
As soon as I solidify alternate plans, my original dream evening plan
calls.

This is what happens I guess.

The internet (myself included) doesn't have time to read.

This is why twitter is such a craze, and this is why I hate it.


Despite the fact that I don't have an attention span either...

I just hate writing and then looking at the post and going, "man, that is so wordy... what a long block of text." There is no reason that should be a negative thing, but it is now.

Boil it down. Reduce it to 140 characters. And then update 50 times a day.

People are more likely to read 100 short entries they can quickly scan over and through than one long entry like the one I just posted.

But, like I said, that goes for me too. What a bummer.

What have we done?

I feel like I am catching up on sleep I've been missing for the past god knows how many weeks. Today I wanted to accomplish a lot, but I just wound up getting my oil changed and buying a new fish.

I cleaned out my car, too. That sounds like a small task, but if you saw some before and afters, you'd understand.

The day wasn't a total bust I guess, but when it came time for the sun going down, I had no plans, and just felt too tired to really try to make any.

Tomorrow is some sort of locations department lunch thing near the production office. We're supposed to be in the throes of the blizzard of the century (two inches, maybe more!!!) when I wake up tomorrow, so I'm thinking I'm going to have to take the train. This is something that gives me a great amount of anxiety, as I am taking a subway line I have sworn off on, to a neighborhood I have sworn off on, to a subway stop I have most certainly sworn off on. Directly into the domain and neighborhood of ex-girlfriend du jour who apparently happens to live (with her former ex-boyfriend) directly next to our production offices in Greenpoint.

I worry about this blog basically turning into my old livejournal. The subjects of my depression/anxiety are often what I talk about in the non-computer world though, so I guess it makes sense for it to bleed into whatever vessel I'm expressing myself into.

There's no work until the 5th for me at the earliest (more likely the 7th or 8th). I'm trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with my time. Coming up with some ideas for the documentary I want to make would be a good iea, but I need some sort of motivation in that regard. I'm quite bad at pushing myself to do things to get them done in any sort of timely fashion if they are just for myself.

I have to get the pictures off of my iphone, and then maybe I'll make some sort of fun picture post with all the amazing things I've done lately. Ha. There's been one such instance I think... I ate a lot of nice meat with Maiko and Bob the other night, and that was quite nice. I have a pretty solid photo of a gigantic plate of said meat.

After the meat-y dinner, I went out to meet up with a lady-friend and the guy she is infatuated with at a horrible bar in [the far reaches of] Park Slope. It could not have been a weirder scene. I think everyone was wearing white button up shirts in a cocktail bar ("Cabana") painted entirely white with white furniture and only them in the place. Of course I walked in all in black like the rain cloud I am, sat down, drank a mojito ($9) I didn't pay for, and left promptly thereafter.

This is the kind of thing I fear about writing in an online journal, and the kind of line-item I really work to redact and leave information out of. That stinks. I hate editing myself and not just talking about people directly and bitching like I would to someone in private company.

The whole fucking thing was so awkward. I don't understand this girl, or at least not her relationship with the infatuee, I don't think anyone does, and we've all been trying to figure it out for over a year.

If you are reading this and don't know what the hell I'm talking about, this is entirely uninteresting. If you're reading this and you know basically what I'm talking about, I might as well just tell you about it in meat space. What a horrible term, "meat space."

I will wind up deleting this entry.

Tonight at 4:50 in the morning I watched a girl run home, checking
behind herself every few paces.

cactus attack

I was moving a chair from this weird office room at the castle to sit in, and this cactus attacked me. I had my side to it, and I guess I just didn't see it. Anyway, it fell on my arm, full force. Not knowing what it was-- just knowing that something was falling, and my arm was stopping it from hitting the ground-- I quickly swung my arm around to help catch it and put it back. The pain of six or so 3/4" thorns piercing into my muscle tissue in my arm hadn't been made sense of yet by my brain I suppose.

With the back of the hand I shot out to stop the fall I did in fact manage to stop it from crashing on the floor. I wound up with a few of these killer thorns breaking off inside the flesh of my fingers, flesh which I did not think had enough room to have things violate it so well.

I looked down at my hand which was not bleeding yet, and saw a couple thorns still sticking out of my skin. I pulled two out with my teeth and then lifted my sleeve up to check on the damage to my arm. Like trackmarks down the back of my forearm, I had been stuck, but there was no lasting damage (besides what I'm sure will be serious bruising from the massive weight of the cactus).

Walking outside of the little office room, the pain started to come in my hand as if my joints were swelling, and when I curled my fingers to inspect the source, I realized one of the thorns had gone almost all the way through my pointer finger at the first knuckle. The sharp end was just sticking out the other side, and the part that had broken off the cactus was about flush with my skin.

Walking outside-- my finger as straight as possible-- I walked toward my car to get my leatherman, as I couldn't get this one out with my teeth, and looking at it and feeling it inside of me was starting to make me nauseous. With some patience and some initial pain, I managed to pull the thing out. I wish I had taken a picture, but that wasn't really on my mind at the time.

It still hurts, and there are nice little poke marks all over my hand which look very gentle which is quite misleading.


I'm thinking of posting music on this thing I want other people to hear, since I'm a big fan of blogs that do that. I guess then I'll have to make this thing more public if I expect anyone to care.

bagels with lox

This job has got to be the worst job I could have in hopes of
distracting myself from my thoughts. When I'm on set (what, 10% of the
time?) it's alright, but really the great majority of the work is
literally sitting in my car, alone, listening to the radio. I'd say
that when I leave my house at 6am to return around 6pm, I spend maybe
an hour or two tops around other people, spread throughout the day.
It's starting to make me a little wacky, desperate-for-company-wise. I
mean, if I was going home to somebody, or going out after work or
something, that would help out. But really, during the week the only
other person I see who I talk to a bit is my roommate.
I guess now I have the fishtank. As pretty as they are, fish make for
pretty poor company. I bought myself a 20 gallon tank for my birthday,
and have been working pretty hard the past couple of weeks filling it
with a little community.
I just got a message from my roommate that 2 neons died (out of the 5
I got yesterday). I'm curious if this means when I get home in 9 hours
I'll have to deal with removing their tiny carcasses from the tank, or
if he'll take care of it. Actually, fuck it. I know I'll have to deal
with it.
What a bummer for the other fish, having to live with the poorly
floating bodies of their peers all day. They probably don't care.

Thanksgiving was all right. A pleasantly uneventful drive both down
there an back up. Stopped by to see my father's side of the family
which includes my grandmother. Seeing them is always strange. I see
them once or twice a year, for a few hours. They're all Christians
(episcopalian?), and just totally different from anything I could
imagine my "family" being like. I can't describe that in any way that
really makes any sense without showing pictures or video or something
comparing the two.
I'm going to go walk through the castle I'm sitting in my car outside
of, and "check up" on the set dressers.

At least I'm hearing a lot of new music thanks to WNYE/KEXP (wake up/
john in the morning). That's always a positive.