We are all actors, aren't we?

This is just a short observation. I think after this I may take a life hiatus for awhile, but this I definitely need to get off my chest. Last night, the woman I love told me that she loves me with all her heart, will miss me for the rest of her life, and that she can't continue a relationship any longer. For good. No trying, no second chances, no seeing the kids every day. A confusing, terrible situation, but kind of only half the point.

Today, I watched a movie called Defiance, about four brothers from Belarus who saved over 1200 fellow Jews from annihilation by hiding them deep in the woods, moving them place to place, and using every ounce of ingenuity and bravery to keep them fed, healthy, and relatively warm. The actors who played the main three brothers were Daniel Craig, Liev Schrieber, and Jamie Bell, and one of my favorite things about their performance was how easily I could believe that they were indeed related. It was far less a physical resemblance and much more the easy camaraderie, the fierce competition, and the feeling that when all was seemingly lost, they would do anything for each other. Touching, really.

After the film, I watched the requisite interviews and behind-the-scenes footage, and Mr. Bell indeed noted that the brotherly feelings between the three actors sprung up "almost immediately", and that they translated into real friendships after the film was done. . . . which got me thinking, considering what I went through yesterday.

How real are our relationships, really? Love relationships, family relationships, friend relationships, work relationships . . . . what are they based on, and if they are so true and real, how do they die so easily?

There seems to be an arc to most of these kinships and liaisons we cultivate. It almost always starts with an intensity that never lasts. Brothers and sisters rarely hate each other before the age of 12. Lovers never love as brilliantly as they do in the first six months. Children are rarely neglected while they are still defenseless infants, though the minute they can talk it seems okay in most societies for older adults to physically assault them in the name of discipline. It's all about the "newness", the breathtaking beginnings where anything and everything seems possible.

Of course, life intrudes in almost all cases, eventually. How many people do you know that have been together for five years? Ten? Twenty? How many families do you know where there isn't at least one or two that no one seems to care for? Or that openly despise each other and try to make life miserable for the others? How many marriages are you aware of where the lovers in question still have sex frequently, laugh often, and know what is in the secret heart of the other . . . . what makes them unique?

You know the answer as well as I do. Friends lie and undercut each other for the merest of reasons. Family murders each other over money or grievance. Marriages fail because that's pretty much what they almost always do. Except for a very small list, doesn't it all just seem like a giant fucking waste of time?

I have never hurt like I do right now, and for what? I have my two kids, but this will adversely affect them at best, and at worst scar them for life. I have no control over who will eventually be their everyday father-figure, and that scares me to death and offends me to my core. Will that person care about them? Will they care ENOUGH?

I'm not saying I don't have relationships that I treasure. I have a few I even believe are real. . . . but that's the thing about these kinds of situations . . . . they always seem so bright and vibrant, right up until they time they aren't. Right now, I just don't see how to believe in this again. . . . I just don't.

Just a little patience . . . .

I have not died, nor have I renounced the joys of blogging about random observations and the craziness of daily life.

It's just that my daily life has progressed from "crazy" to "full-blown, why in the name of Zeus's Beard is this happening to me, batshit insane". Be sure that there will be more blogging to follow. . . . just not right this second.

Anyone who's hung around, check back next week. I'll be back once I've done the full-tilt Vodka Cleanse. That's a thing, right? If it isn't, I'm going to invent it and then possibly use that as my first blog topic back. Hope all is well with you.


- P

Men Are From Mars (And other dumb cliches)

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Jesus Was Cool (So Why Aren't You?)

Hey friends. Long time, no post . . . I know. It's been up and down the last two weeks or so, but I'm in a much better frame of mind today, and ready to get back to blogging for your entertainment. I see there is nine of you now (though I think two of you are actually CJ, but thanks for inflating my numbers!), so feel free to let other people know about this thing.

For your perusal today, I have two wildly disparate topics which I will condense into one giant-size blog post, to make up for my long delay. You're welcome.

The genesis of what I'm going to talk about today comes from a late night Skype chat with the lovely Miss Hyde, currently holding it down in lovely Jew-maica, whom you can find over at http://wagwanjamaica.blogspot.com/. It was her idea to take these elements of our chat and blog about them, so if you are offended - feel free to fill her inbox with spam and hate-filled emails. She loves that kind of thing. (But seriously, don't do that. She'll cut me.)

As we talked yesterday, one of the topics that came up was the inherent differences between men and women. Clearly, this topic could fill up three hundred billion books (and has, seemingly), but what I was focused on specifically was our physical differences. I had to ask a woman just what was appealing about men, in any way, shape or form? We're gross. It's just science.

We bantered back and forth about it for a bit, until I unleashed my secret weapon. Shorts. I now postulate to the rest of you - is there anything LESS attractive in the history of the planet and the people on it than a man wearing any kind of shorts? An example after the jump (this is your chance to bail out now, if you need to. I understand).

Welcome to the Suck

"Pass me that lovely little gun
My dear, my darling one
The cleaners are coming, one by one
You don't even want to let them start
They are knocking now upon your door
They measure the room, they know the score
They're mopping up the butcher's floor
Of your broken little hearts"

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - O Children 


"Welcome to the Suck."      Alan Troy - Jarhead


I hate to do it, kids, but I have to break the streak of lighthearted posts. I am in a strange place today. . . I think I'm starting to degrade a bit under the constant low-level stress that comes with every day lately, which occasionally heat-blooms into full scale, nuclear-fuckin' war for an hour or two, only to recede back to the murky cold war that casts such a long, long shadow on me.


To submit my candidate for understatement of the year - divorce is fucking terrible. There's quite literally no quick, easy method of closure, unless you own nothing valuable and have no kids. For the rest of us, it is a drawn-out, bloodless murder of the soul.

A semi-apt metaphor is something I read once about soldiers in combat. Before you pillory me for comparing my marital woes to people getting shot at to defend our country (or other, more nefarious political reasons, but I digress), I only use it as a brush to paint a broad picture, as it were.

I'm paraphrasing here,  but the description was long and drawn out periods of crushing boredom and malaise, filled with menial tasks and directed by authority figures that you are absolutely powerless to disagree with or defy. Underneath this already terrible feeling is a gnawing, insidious fear that comes from knowing what is going to happen next, compounded by not knowing WHEN it's going to happen.

Finally, the first shot rings out and your whole world disintegrates into pure survival mode, with every sense heightened to preternatural levels, everything around you seeming to wish you injury or destruction, and time and context have absolutely no meaning. You keep your head down, move as much as possible, and try to do what you know will get you through this and safely back in your bed.

Almost as fast as it begins, it's over. The universe slows back to its normal, torpid pace. You are thankful that you made it through alive, but that feeling is undercut by the knowledge that it's just going to happen to you again. And again. And AGAIN. You have no idea when it's going to end, you just know it isn't going to be anytime fucking soon.

Now, my actual life is in no danger, and I would never try to detract from what those people actually go through, but it FEELS like that sometimes. I relate to that description.

My kids alternate between smothering me and pushing me away out of confusion, and in the case of my one-year old, sometimes actually recoiling from me in fear, reaching out for my wife desperately. My three-year old asks me why I don't live with Mommy anymore. I spend every day with them wondering if this is going to be the week my wife finally realizes that staying in the Northeast doesn't make much sense for her, and she decides to pack them all off to Texas. I find myself alternating between smothering them in return, trying to drink in every single cute little word or act, and sliding wildly back into a weird apathy - letting them run rampant around the apartment while I sit and stare at the TV or the internet, refreshing Facebook over and over hoping for some adult contact (not THAT kind of adult contact, get your head out of the gutter).

Meanwhile, my erstwhile wife does her own vacillation, either attempting to seduce me with the physical contact I miss so badly, or venting her sorrow and rage all over me  . . . telling me through a haze of tears over and over how this is all my fault and wondering how I could do this to her, sometimes both in the same day. She claims with one breath that she still loves me and she swore before God to work it out one way or the other, and in the next tells me that she only accepted my marriage request because she was pregnant, and was afraid I would have run out on them if she said no.

In the middle of this, I have no job or means of supporting myself or the children, because I agreed to stay home and take care of them. With the job she had, it made more sense at the time. Now I live in my car, seemingly, driving to the city to watch the kids and driving home to crash on my mom's couch in the country. I get up before the sun and don't get home until well after it has set. I hardly see friends or get the chance to do normal, adult things. I just don't have the means.

After two months of this, yeah . . . .I kind of feel like some grizzled veteran, watching the new kids come in with wide-eyes and completely unaware of what they're in for, and all I can tell them is, "Hey kid, welcome to the Suck."

Sorry if this wasn't what you came here to read, but I had to get this out and this is the only place I have to do it. I'll dispense with the emo crap, and hopefully feel much more inclined to talk about that one time I funneled Jagermeister and tried to fistfight a pine tree. Until next time, Disciples.

What Would Jimi Do?

Hey Disciples,

I don't like to repeat topics if at all possible, but like I mentioned last time, my brother requested a topic specifically. What follows is the post he left on my Wall, verbatim:

"Pandora tells me Jimi Hendrix was only at the star level for 4 years. Had he survived and continued to make music, would we have been treated to tons more world-class material, or do you think he'd have gotten jaded and coasted on his accomplishments? Interested in a musician/songwriter's take on it."

So, yes, we have another post about music this week, but I think this is interesting enough to debate regardless. I love having these kinds of discussions about anything artistic . . . it truly makes it clear just how subjective our methods of self-expression are, and the value of what these songs and the artists who create them mean to us personally.

Disintegration Days

Greetings, Disciples.

A few days ago, I actually received a request on my Facebook for a topic to cover on this very blog. I was indeed pretty flattered (yes, it was my twin brother making the request, but at least SOMEONE's paying attention), and I intend to tackle it in the very next blog I do. I actually have a topic I've been meaning to address, but it's taken me some time because of the very things that have inspired the topic. Oh, sweet irony.

I'm not sure if everyone in the world is like this, but many of the people I know turn to music when everything seems to be going wrong. Maybe it's a case of "misery loves company", but I know that when I'm upset, I like to listen to music that reminds me that other people have had it just as bad, and will again. It gives me hope that I'll get through whatever the situation is.