always with the ship metaphors

My sleep schedule doesn’t make sense anymore – I’ve unmoored it from the clock and it floats freely, sometimes scraping the shoreline. At 9 am, an idea for a girlie show flier drags me off my bed and up against my work table. At 4 am, I find I’ve passed out with my chin on the keyboard, endless zzzzzs stereotyped across the page. Was there time between? I go to work on one date, come home the next. Is a beer at six in the morning the same from both directions? 



Karaoke is like Fight Club. All week long, that guy on stage is a cashier at Publix. But for a few moments on Thursday night, he's a fucking rock star. He's singing his hit, and the audience knows every word.

Me, I love karaoke. Bad, good, country, rock, hipsters, or rednecks, I'm down. As long as people are willing to grab that microphone and go for the gusto, I stand ready to cheer them on. I go every week with a crew and almost never perform. I am strictly there to drink beer, holler, clap, and sing along from my seat. It's a crazy thing that in this day of polished, autotuned perfection, adult are still eager to get up in front of a crowd and give it a try. Some of them, even sober.

It's something that I assume comes from back around the beginning of people being people, taking turns around the fire to entertain or inform the others. We find nothing so amusing as each other.


Like a damn waterfall.

So Tuesday night I did trivia at Corner Pocket, headed home, and started working on a big zine project. Around 3 am, my nose starts to run. I look down and it's blood. A lot of goddam blood. Grabbed some toilet paper, stopped the flow, and starting deciding whether or not to freak out.

It's winter, so it's dry, and that can cause nose bleeds.
It's not stopping.
I never get nosebleeds.
This is so much blood.

I called my mom, but she was asleep. Called one sister, she didn't answer. Called another, she grabbed the phone, said she'd come take me to the ER. She's got two kids, though, and I hated that she was going to lose sleep dealing with me.

Still bleeding.

I cut off my computer and tv. Changed toilet paper. Got the septum ring out of my nose and put it safely aside. The first sister called, announced she was coming to get me. I called the second and told her to go back to bed. She said, "Ha!" and told me to text her as soon as I knew anything.

Still bleeding.

Do you know how hard it is to lace your shoes when you are a fat man holding toilet paper clamped to your nose? Got dressed. Grabbed my hoodie. Locked the door, there's my sister and her boyfriend. Went to the ER.

Still bleeding.

They took my blood pressure, which was on the high end of not good at all. Got me into a room pretty much straightaway. I was pretty freaked out, but the nurse said I wouldn't die. She had on scrubs, so I believed her.

Still bleeding. For the next 3 and a half hours, I held gauze to my nose and swallowed everything I couldn't spit out. Gross, yes? Grosser in person.

Dude, I swallowed so much blood.

As the doc told me afterward, "With pressure and time, every injury stops bleeding. Either it clots of you run out of blood." Funny guy, that doctor. It finally stopped. He took a look, said it was a tiny hole, but my high blood pressure made it gush.

He said, lower your blood pressure. He said, seriously, you don't have insurance. He said, fill out your paperwork, here's a scrip for your bp, go home. Don't pick your nose so hard.

My entire adult life has consisted mostly of red meat and beer. Crap.


Facts About Fruits

I lead trivia nights in a few local bars. I double source my questions, but every now and again someone wants to argue a point.

Last night, a dude took me to task for calling an avocado a vegetable. But no, he insisted, it's a fruit! He had his smartphone out to prove his point, ready to educate me with the true facts. Yep, it's the fruit of the avocado tree, but culturally it's a vegetable, just like, oh, most of what we consider vegetables. He wasn't having it. Culturally? Culturally! But it's a fruit!

Packing up my gear, I didn't want to stand around and argue taxonomy. Plus, turns out this gent was throwing darts and just happened to hear me be wrong and felt the need to rectify that issue. He'd never played my trivia and told me that he never would, since I clearly did not care about the truth. I gave him a thumbs up, grabbed my bag, and got the fuck out. I wonder what outcome he was expecting from that encounter. I don't think he got whatever he was after.



"(Delayed sleep-phase disorder)-friendly careers can include security work, work in theater, the entertainment industry, hospitality work in restaurants, hotels or bars, call center work, nursing, emergency medicine, taxi or truck driving, the media, and freelance writing, translation, IT work, or medical transcription."

That's me. Bouncer/walmart greeter/preschool teacher at a local hipster bar. I stand in the lobby at night and sometimes throw people out if they are overcome by strong liquors. The bar closes at two, and around 1:30 I start to be very grateful that the patrons are about to be someone else's worry. Good folks, for the most part, but evil loves last call.

Time change tonight. Fall back, etc. At 2 am it will suddenly be 1 am again, and the staff will probably take a deep breath and maybe a shot and buckle down for the extra hour of hooliganism. It's gay night, so the FSU/Miami game should only have a minor impact in the usual rowdyism, but on the other hand drunken drag queens. Adventure!


Confirmed Bachelor

"Whenever I come to your house, I know I won't be able to get a snack. Like there won't be crackers."

I think I've edged over into confirmed bachelor territory. Not in the Victorian-euphemism-for-gay way (although, now that I think about it, not necessarily not in the Victorian-euphemism-for-gay way, either). In the I've lived a one bedroom apartment for ten years and the oven has never worked way. The ran out of toilet paper so I just took multiple, specific showers throughout the day way. The eight jars of mustard but nothing to put it on in the fridge way.

Most of my old friends are married or shacked up. I'm the last guy my age in town who sleeps with women but isn't paying child support on a kid or two somewhere. I've come close to tying the knot a few times, but never gave it that final push into foreverness.

Some nights I'm lonely. My cat is a good companion, but doesn't go in much for conversation. Once in a while, when friends are having relationship troubles or I'm particularly comfortable sitting around in my skivvies watching Battlestar for the nth time, it occurs to me to be happy in my solitude. For the most part, it's not even something I think about. I have close friends, I have loose associations, I have plenty of human interaction and hugs and emotional support and laughs, so it's not like I'm longing for love. I even get my share of physical affection, albeit in a more casual way.

My bachelor days could end. I could fall head over heels tomorrow and get married next week. But right now I'm more concerned with the fact that I'm out of toilet paper and don't want to take another shower.


bed time

Okay, day shift. The planet is yours for the next 8 hours. Don't fuck it up or burn it down. Try not to wake me up unless someone is bleeding.