Red Lodge

Hey all, I’m back! I had nothing last week because I couldn’t think of a funny way to report my slow decline into madness and despair. This week, I dunno. I’ll talk about Fruity Pebbles or something. I just had a bowl. The end.

Here’s a little bit of a bummer. Sunday, my family took an old family friend to Red Lodge. This family friend, Vera, was like a sister to my grandma. After my grandma passed, Vera decided there wasn’t anything keeping her in town, and is moving to Arizona to be around her kids. Understandable, but it made for a melancholy day. Probably the last time she’ll ever go to Red Lodge. She bought me a bag of candy. It was touching.

I don’t know. It’s got me thinking about my mortality again. There will be a time in my life when I go to Red Lodge for the last time. Will I know it? Has it already happened? Have I already eaten my last Walnetto? The last one at least is unlikely, because I just found them online. So that’s something.

Moh-Jiy-Toes

Lately I’ve been trying Mojitos. I say trying, because I’m learning that they are the Klimpaloon of the mixed drinks. Perfection is impossible, and anyone that’s told you they’ve seen a perfect one is a cartoon character. It’s not a perfect metaphor. I’m getting better at them. The trick is less rum than you’d think, more sugar than you’d think, and muddle everything.

Spring is almost done cooking, and the roasted heat of summer is starting to show. As of press time, I have two fans blowing on me to keep me cool. Albeit, I am a bit of a slavering meat beast with many sweat creases, but it is getting warmer out. I’m considering turning on the air conditioner, but am worried that in runs on pure green money. Sadly, I only have currency in the form of cardboard boxes and vague whispers of future favors.

It’s easy for me to give in to sloth this time of year. Looking for jobs has becomes more and more demoralizing the more I keep looking. I can see opening just outside of my driving radius. Well, not just outside, I’m not commuting to the Miles City every day. I’m considering Roundup. Add to that the time vacuum that is the Comedy Bang Bang podcast backlog, and watch my brain goo coagulate.

In fact, I have it on right now. I’m slowing down, and I can feel my brain

Community Update Written Radio

There was no post last week. Because, there was no last week. The calender went straight from the 24th to the 1st. If you think thought that there was a week there, then you were the one they were trying to trick. They know that you were fooled. And we are all laughing at you behind your back. Welcome. to GiTH.

But seriously, I got nothing. Other than trying to stave off Marc Maron levels of depression and self-judgment. Though, I did help out at a Women’s shelter last Saturday. I did it for my body weight in barbecue and sushi, but still.

Garage sale didn’t work out. I got everything from the house packed up and in the garage, then I realized that things you want to sell need prices on them. And when Emily left town, so too did all my motivation. We’ll see if I can get back on track. Though, knowing me it will take a while. Garage sales

Hmm, what else… I got that Dark Souls game at one of those charity video game sales. You know, the one famous in nerd circles for being impossibly, infuriatingly difficult? So, I basically paid five dollars to be frustrated for a week before giving up. It’s rather profound, like a metaphor for good intentions.

More of the same. Sometimes, I guess everything old is just still old.

Sail

Let it never be said I don’t give the people what they want. And I know what they want: me talking about my upcoming garage sale.

This weekend I have one coming up. Going to try and trap me that memorial day weekend money. Totally planned it that way. On purpose.

But that means I have to finish what I started when I moved in, and pack up the rest of the rooms downstairs. I started today. Oh man. The dust and the smell of old cat pee are stifling. And why was there so much fabric? Just loose fabric. Did Nana intend to sew it later? Into what? She never sewed. She just had six trash bags worth of fabric on the off chance something needed poinsettia print fabric sewn into it.

That’s what I have to root through for this garage sale. So, if you’re not doing anything this weekend (and why would you be, it’s only memorial day), come on by and see if there are any old clothes, candle holders, or Christmas decorations you absolutely have to have.

Cheers

Some days you get it right. Turns out that today, “right” meant having friends over, getting Chipotle, playing video games, and drinking Jagermeister out on the deck. Also, Captain Morgan Tattoo was in there somewhere.

I’m still new to this whole drinking thing. I stayed away from it during college, because no one seemed to do it in a way that wasn’t stupid, and I didn’t want to get sucked into that wormhole. I stayed away from it in grad school because it was a habit by then, and well, who had the time. Now that I own a home, though, and all the problem drinkers are now far, far away in bad decision land, I can comfortably give it a go.

It’s actually pretty empowering. I spent a lot of emotional energy over the years either afraid of the stuff or trying to compensate for the void tee-totaling leaves in adult social interaction. Drinking, and doing it responsibly, is a middle finger to every bro/drunk I’ve ever met, and has the added benefit of making it easier to blend in a crowd.

You should have heard Dan squeal when I told him I’d started drinking. Like, actually squeal, like a piglet in a room full of theremins.

Here are my rules for responsible drinking for adults. First, don’t drink and drive, dummy. To me, that means no driving after any drinking. Second, don’t drink to get drunk. Alcohol is not a coping skill, and using it that way is a highway to bad decision town. Third, no beer. I already don’t move enough. Add beer to that, and I’ll be shocking internet photo fat in no time.

Fourth, rum. That is all.

Nostalgia Ranting

I was a morning person when I was a young, young kid. I couldn’t have been older that five; I remember still living in Texas, which I moved away from when I was seven or eight. I had a Sega genesis back then. I used to wake up early, before my dad had to go to work. I would play Sonic the Hedgehog, and generally do pretty well, except for one or two that were too tricky for my tiny mind. I would try, get frustrated, and would hand the controller off to him. I would eat a bowl of cereal and watch in awe as he effortlessly glided through the spike traps and the bosses, and handed the controller back to me before heading off to work.

It’s what sports must be like for cool people. Where some people played catch or football with their old man, I played a Sega. Where some people got dunked on and outrun, I had my high scores unceremoniously destroyed.

There’s something fatalistic about it. I like video games because I liked them yesterday, and I liked them yesterday because I liked them the day before. I think that’s why most people like most of their hobbies; they can be traced back to something their dad got them started on.

I bring this up because yesterday I was introduced to the concept of speedruns. The games that took up entire seasons of my childhood, completed with mechanical precision by people who more or less do it for a living. It’s strange to see the most nostalgic parts of my life distilled like that. I feel a weird mixture of jealousy and pity, the same feeling I get when I watch “pro” video game competitions. The fact that you’re that good at this and the fact that I admire it are why we are always going to be on the bottom rung of the social totem pole.

If I say it judgmentally, it it mostly in judgment of myself. Well, that and me not being an idiot and knowing what society expects from a full-grown man. Pro-tip: A career in video games will not land you on the cover of Esquire. Or Forbes. Maybe Rolling Stone.

But that’s all right. It just means we were destined for what we got from the start, the second our collective dads popped in Sonic the Hedgehog.

The Green Season

I’ve started fixing up the outside of the house. At least, the green things around the house. This is somewhat worrying, as most green things I own die instantly. I can’t even keep salad in my fridge. The second I put it the crisper drawer, it starts screaming and catches on fire.

I spent most of the day clearing out dead leaves and worrying about how much I will still have to do after that. See once upon a time, my grandma had flower gardens, ferns, bushes, shrubs, and lilacs, all perfectly managed in rows and allotments. Now, as it happens, I have all those things but with a bunch of weeds and dead grass on top.

A bit much for a guy who’s never cared for anything bigger than an office plant.

And the pool. That was a problem for years, back when nana was still around. It kept leaking, she said, and became too expensive to keep filling up. So she put a tarp over and left it for later; a philosophy I can generally get behind. In the intervening time, however, the tarp tore and the water left in the pool became black and, well, alive. I can see foul, lovecraftian things moving in that pool. I would try and get rid of them, but they’re probably so advanced by now they’d just rise to make war on the surface world.

I’m going to try to have a garage sale in a couple weeks. Which means braving the cat pee basement again. If I don’t write next week, it will be because I have died from the pee fumes. If that is the case, do not mourn for me. Just burn down this house like a funeral pyre; it’s safer that way. Preferably with as many ceremonial cats on top as you can find.

Also: reading.

Business as Usual

A couple years ago when we started this blog, it was sort of on the assumption that we led interesting lives. As this weeks rolls around, I’m starting to wonder if this is the case. The most interesting thing that happened to me this week was getting a couple emails that I was not qualified for jobs I applied for. Well, that and a couple Jehovah’s Witnesses. I don’t answer the door now, nothing good comes of people who ring the doorbell.

Really, I’m just passing time between applications. Wheeee, reading is fun!

I have nothing to talk about. Still afraid of cold-calling potential employers. I should just do it, but I’m afraid that when I try I’ll say the secret word, and then that therapist will call all the other therapists, and tell them not to let me be a therapist.

Still have my new house to figure out/take care of. The toilets keep flushing by themselves. I’m starting to suspect a poltergeist. I should be worried about the haunting, but I’m more worried about the implication that ghosts poop.

Things are getting greener outside, which means I should start taking care of them or they will die, and then angry soccer moms from the block will come to my door and tell me that I am the Antichrist because my grass is yellow. Such are the priorities in this strange new world I live in.

-Austin

Blerg?

Well, this is embarrassing. After all the hullabaloo I made about posting stuff, I almost shrugged off making a post today. The only thought I had this morning was a rather childlike “I don’t wanna.” It’s a thought I’ve been having a lot lately, between applications, doing my taxes, and slowly fixing up the house.

God, growing up sucks. You think it’s going to be all staying up late and bacon whenever you want it, but it turns out to be bills and the slow, inexorable hands of mortality and death haunting your every waking thought.

Am I right?

Though, I am feeling better day by day. I’m reading again, and it’s slowly bringing back the creative parts of me that got burnt out over the last six months. Hell, two days ago my friend Kevin and I tried to write a rock opera. We even made it through half a song, a cigar, and two whiskeys before we got bored.

So, slowly getting back to baseline. That’s the cool thing about us humans. Give us three weeks, and we can get used to just about anything.

-Austin

Oops-es and Updates

First of all, I owe the guys an apology. Last week I blamed them for my stuff, and they rightly took offense. I meant it to be a joke, sort of a “ha-ha, I’m blaming you for my actions” kind of thing, but it just came out dickish. For that I am sorry.

I may not have much of a sense of humor these days. Not that it excuses being a dick.

But things are looking up. I had a job interview last week. Tumbleweed, which is the kind of job I should have been looking for in the first place. So, fingers crossed.