Yucky Murakami

When I was in Chicago, I began my as-yet-quite-short relationship with mister Haruki Murakami by was of Frank Gelati's adaptation (and brilliant staging) of after the quake. That was fall of ought-five. I read that series of short stories in spring ought-six, and now have just completed his Kakfa on the Shore.

In a sprawling, mystical tale, we meet Kafka, his conscience, his "mother," his "sister," his father, his father's killer, and a few other assorted characters along the way. It's a terrifying Oedipal story of love, loss and memory.

I say terrifying because it is. For the reader as well as our fifteen-year old runaway, Kafka. It's unbearable for about 40% of the 400 page novel, in that it's so egregiously graphic and excessive. I'm actually cringing writing this right now.

Of course, some of it is quite interesting, especially if you just give up the real world and let Murakami's crazy magical world live. It's fine, but I'm glad I've finished and can move on to Crichton's newest, Next.

Required Wall Art

Don't be upset. These are not some stock images I'm simply grabbing from some major corporate site. In fact, these are my own creations, beautious as they are. This is giving me inspiration already, I can feel it.

What I See

So, Beedow is going to start a series of photographic posts while he thinks of something to say.

Bumpkis

What is it with life, huh?

So, I've got this friend, let's call him Bumpkis. OK, so Bumpkis can go through one week feeling really well, and then the next week maybe he'll be down. Or, then maybe he'll have a good day and then a bad day. But what about having like a good morning, a weird afternoon, a strange evening and then a lousy night? How does life do that?

I can't ... um, strike that. Bumpkis can't figure it out. Mood shifts, emotional swings, feeling alterations... what the heck he wonders? Why can't he just be happy all the time? Why does he have to beat himself up when things aren't perfect? Hasn't he figured out yet that life, like his namesake, can be bumpkis sometimes? Dull, boring, terrible, lousy, unfeeling, ineffective, irrational, stupid, difficult, crazy, insane, problematic, unseemly, depressing, poopy ... the list goes on. But, othertimes, everything can be sunny, cheery, warm, wonderful... hmm, that's a significantly shorter list.

Anyway, he just needs to eat some pizza, watch some futbol and take a siesta and start the week over again tomorrow. Thank goodness for Mondays.

PS: He doesn't even care about futbol.

...

I nearly forgot to write anything here today, it was such a relaxing afternoon and evening. I think this whole Project 365 is stupid and pointless. I should just write when I have something to say instead of forcing myself to write crapola like this for y'all to read, which you don't even want to because it's not worthy of reading even.

Alas, poor Blog, I knew it well.

No Shadows Here

Phil didn't see his shadow this morning, and come to think of it, neither did I as I walked around the corner to do some laundry earlier today. It's an early spring -- which means things are looking up. It's a grand way to begin a new year. Of course, today is the real new year's day for me and Phil, who both consider this date probably the most important on the calendar. I mean, if it weren't for this date, neither of us would be who we are today.

I'm now about thirty minutes into my twenty-fourth year of life. It's exciting. Birthdays are always nice, because you see who really cares a lick about you. I got some early morning phone calls today from some friends, a bunch of texts, and a gaggle of messages on my myspace and facebook "walls." Of course, technology nowadays tells us immediately whose birthday it is, so it's no big deal to actually remember it or worry about forgetting someone's. Which, I guess, is nice because it allows the birthday boy (or girl or groundhog) to feel worth. Which is a good thing.

So, today I feel like a million bucks, and gosh darn it, I look like it too!

Drink, Drank, Drunk

So, I was going to write a post tonight about my last thoughts on being 23. But, instead, after getting out of rehearsal fifteen minutes early, I actually made it to the grocery store before it closed, and purchased beer, bread, and potato chips. Then, I came home and watched by DVR'd GREY'S ANATOMY and THE OFFICE while consuming said chips and beer (four of them). So, I cannot really speak coherently for what twenty-three was like. Twenty-four, however, is coming in like a lion, and I expected nothing less.

More when soberness hits me like a train.