On How To Be Brave

To the best of my knowledge, there are three place a one, such as myself, can work for this State, but not actually work in The State. Houston, Chicago, and New York are where these jobs are located.

Four or five months ago, I did a phone interview to work in Houston. A week after that I was offered a face-to-face interview for the position. I didn't take the interview. I was interested, but at the time I had done a couple of interviews for promotion that I thought went well, so I turned down the second interview. At the time I was right. The position I interviewed for was the same position I'm in now. I would have been doing more receptionist work rather than clerical or analyst work and there was no room for promotion at this job unless I wanted to go back to school and learn some skills that I don't want to have. (Although I know I could learn them and then use them fairly well.) There was no money for moving and there was no pay increase.

Four weeks ago a position came available in the New York office. Again, not a promotion. But in New York. The office is in Manhattan. No moving expenses, but the pay goes up at least $350. And it's in New York City, which is one of the most amazing places I have ever seen.

Yes, I hate living in cities. I hate the idea of large cities, but I wouldn't have to live in the city. There are buses and subways and trains and plenty of places in all directions where the population density is at a more reasonable level for my sanity. For a week after the job was posted online I looked up rents in the city and its Burroughs. I looked at Long Island and New Jersey. I looked upstate thinking that it would be wonderful to be able to say I lived in New Rochelle. I found places with potential. Places I think I could live.

But...

I hadn't sent the application. Sure, there were two weeks to get it out, but I hadn't sent it. Not because it's not a promotion. I've basically given up on that dream because there's no chance of a promotion for me where I am and the dozen or so interviews I've gone out on for a promotion have done nothing for me. I figure the best way for me to get a promotion is to get somewhere at my level and show them that I am so much more than just a file clerk or a receptionist. Out in New York I would have been at the same level with no real chance for promotion, but I'd be in New York City where so many things that I like are made or come from. Where there are more plays going on each week than I could afford to see in a year. Museums, publishing houses, food from around the world, music everywhere all the time if you look for it. Just the place for an aspiring hipster to be.

Three weeks ago, on Monday, I got out of my car and started to walk across the parking lot thinking about how I have to get the application out that afternoon and suddenly I knew that I wasn't going to send that application off, ever. I stopped and stood in the middle of the lot because even though I knew that I wasn't going to send the application in, I didn't know why. I had to figure out why. I stood there and thought about it.

I'd be living in a city, a gigantic city, where I didn't know, really know, a single person, 3000 miles away from those I do know. Now that wouldn't be a big deal because I've lived in cities where I don't know anyone and been okay, but it's always been in this state. Always close enough to people I know that if something went terribly wrong they'd be close enough that they could help.

The normal argument would be that I'd meet people and make friends. The problem is that, when it comes to me, it won't happen. I don't know how to make friends.

Okay, so logically I know how to make friends. You meet people who share your interest. You get to know each other and enjoy spending time together. Eventually you start hanging out talking about nothing, maybe sharing a meal or going to see a band at a bar or maybe looking at some art. You call or text or e-mail to set up one of these things and you go and you laugh and fun is had. Friends. My problem is I don't know how to go anywhere after the "meet people" stage.

Seriously, I don't know how to do or what to do anything after I meet people. I go to things where people share my interests and sometimes, rarely, I even talk with people I don't know. And then the talking stops. I don't know how to continue after there's a pause because I don't believe that the person I've been speaking with actually wants to speak with me. Crazy, I know, because we were just speaking and 95% of the time I'm not the person who initiates the conversation. Still, I have a hard time imagining. There's also the fear of becoming one of those people who become too much.

If you've ever been to a comic shop you know the kind of guy, and it's always been a guy to me, I'm going try to describe. It's the guy who knows you're interested in comics so you must be interested in the comics he's interested in and he will, if he can, corner you among the long boxes and tell you everything about what he likes and why the stuff your looking at is either brilliant or crap. If you're lucky enough to not get cornered he'll follow you around the shop. When you tell him that you don't like the Punisher because you don't think he's a hero the guy doesn't stop talking about the Punisher because the Punisher is who he wants to talk about. There are only two ways to shake the guy: one, pawn him off on someone else, someone else who was hopefully stupid enough to comment about the Punisher while the guy was blathering on. Or, two, pay for your comics and leave the store.

I try really hard to not be this guy because I know that he's in me. I can feel it every time someone at work talks about a TV show or movie that I like. I can go on and on about the story and the directorial choices and the writing and the acting because I like this stuff and I want to have a conversation about these things. Example: The Hunger Games movie came out and one of the women in my office saw it and liked it and we started to have a very surface-y conversation about it, but then I said despite all the violence I liked how the director would pull the camera away from the actual blood-and-guts moments leaving it to the audience to imagine how horrific the act is. There was a huge pause because this woman doesn't think of movies in the same way I do (just like I don't think of horses in the same way she does) and our conversation was essentially dead. I could have gone on. I wanted to go on. I didn't go on, though, because I don't want to be that kind of guy. He's in there. I know that because he's come out on occasion, fortunately it's mostly been with family and they just either put up with it or get into a conversation with me. I fear turning off potential kindred spirits by doing it, though.

To get back to the point, I wouldn't have anyone in New York. I wouldn't meet anyone in New York. Five years of not making any friends in North Bay proved that. And the vast majority of the time I'm fine with it. Being 3000 miles away from anyone I could depend on in a crisis, even if they have three hour drive, wouldn't work. I'm not going to change. I don't really want to change. I'm afraid that I can't change.

When I realized that, I could walk again. That afternoon I posted to Facebook: "I can state this with certainty: I am a coward." because being brave isn't doing the things other people are afraid to do, but pushing through your fear and trying to do the things you're afraid to do.

Happy Hourly Comic Day!

To learn what it is, go here and here.

To see the hourly comics by the man who created it all, go here.

To see the hourly comics created for today by the people with scanners, go here.

I've been doing an hourly comic tody. So far, I have ten. Number eleven will be worked on after I post this.

If I can find a scanner, I'll be sharing mine by next Monday. It depends on if I think I have to darken them at all.

Oh, and I should probably apoligize to/thank John Campbell, the guy who created the hourly comic, because I totally stole his way of drawing people. So, thanks/I'm sorry, John.

Year 2

It began at 8:00 AM this morning.

Last night, I watched Ghost World, again. I've decided that when I'm in a certain mood I shouldn't watch the end of that movie. It makes me wistful. That means I won't be watching it again until some time after Easter.

I've spent much of this day looking at the state's website looking for a new job. There's nothing local and I still don't have enough money to move, but it's nice to dream, right? I discovered that I can search based on the department and I've spent a lot of that time looking through the Department of Consumer Affairs listing. I think that could be a really interesting department to work for. Even if it isn't, I'd get a better picture of how corrupt the state is.

Well, here's to another potential year working here and continuing to bitch about it.

Goals for my next year worth of work:

1. Not to buy a gun. I'll only hurt people.
2. Lie to my mom about making friends, wherever I end up.
3. Stop correcting the older people in the office by telling them that it was Kenny Rogers, not Roy Orbirson, who sang "Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)" and other such trivia about music, movies, TV shows, and books that were made before I was born.
4. Thank Bunny Christ, if he deems my humble tortilla for a visit, for the pay raise and "bonus" that will come with my pay check in October.
5. Other things that I haven't thought of, yet.

If I were A Rich Man

I'd buy a decent sized ranch near my hometown, but I wouldn't raise any animals. I'd have a garden and use much of it to make my own salsa each year. I'd grow lots of herbs and then dry the extra to give to friends and family. I'd have a cold smoke house so I could make salami, pepperoni, and other hard sausages. My dad could keep his bees on my ranch and we'd build a little work house where he could keep his equipment and spin and bottle honey each autumn. The fence at the roadside would be made of stone and somewhere along it would be a plaque with Robert Frost's "Mending Wall" because I don't think most people think it means what I think it means. The house would be specially built so that it'd truly be mine.

I'd pay the mortgages on my parents' and grandparents' houses so they'd have one less money thing to worry about. I'd help one brother pay for grad school and, if he wanted it, beyond. I'd help the other one with his art in any way I could. My cousins, who want to go to college, would be able to go, on certain conditions, of course. Future nieces and nephews would be buried in books and would have trusts for when they're old enough.

I'd spend my days reading and writing and riding my mower around the place. I'd go to New York City once a year and drown myself in the plays on and off Broadway. Once a year I'd travel out side of the US, starting with England and Tintagel to see where people say Arthur reigned. From there, the whole world until I've at least walked a mile on each continent.

I'd support charities that battle for first amendment rights. I'd support charities that are trying to bring vaccines and other treatments to the world. I'd support people's rights to vote. And I'd rage against the war machine so much of this world has become.

I'd do these things, that is, if I were a rich man.

Interview

A while ago, I conducted and interview with myself. Today, I did it again.

JtI: So, how are things?

JtA: Things are... okay, I guess.

JtI: And work?

JtA: Boring as… well, I don't think I've ever experienced anything as boring as this job, except for maybe my World Cultures class in high school and Geometry and Algebra II and Economics and lots of other things that I didn't choose to do but was stuck doing.

JtI: Isn't boring what you expected when you took the job?

JtA: Sort of. See, I was expecting the work that I do to be very repetitive, but I also expected that I'd be kept busy by the work. I thought that there'd be so much work that I wouldn't have to stop doing it. I thought that no matter how much I completed today there'd be more for me to do tomorrow. I never expected that I'd only be given enough work to, while working at my regular speed, fill two out of my eight hour work day. If I slow down, I can usually stretch my work to fill three or four hours total. Any slower than that and I'm reading crap on the internet more than actually working, which is actually how I spend most of my work day.

JtI: Then why are you working there?

JtA: The money and benefits. To pay off my student loans, mostly. And my credit card.

JtI: And after your loans are paid off?

JtA: To buy some land somewhere and build a decent house on. I'm so sick that I actually drew up a floor plan for the kitchen. I want one of those gas stoves with a big sheet of iron in the middle that can be a skillet and then flipped over to do some grilling, but not have the fat drip into the depths of the stove. Of course by the time I've paid off my loans and saved some money to buy some property, the price of land in California will be so artificially inflated that I'll never be able to afford even a smidge. I don't actually see that happening in my lifetime.

JtI: Then are you still going to be working for the state after your loans get paid off?

JtA: Probably.

JtI: Why?

JtA: I don't care for change?

JtI: Was that a question?

JtA: Yeah. I'm one of those weird people who don't really like to see things change, but I really don't like it when things are always the same, either. Ruts bore me. Alterations scare me. So I guess I'm saying that I'd be really happy if everything was always the same, but in a way that made it completely different. Does that make sense?

JtI: No. Moving on, other than paying off your loans, what would you like to do with the money you're now making?

JtA: Go on a vacation. I haven't been on a real vacation since spring break my last year of college. Sure, I didn't go anywhere exciting, but I also didn't have to think about anything that had to do with anything. Sure, I went and visited some friends in the East in August, but that was only a weekend and a weekend isn't really a vacation. Plus, I had just been hired by the job I have now, so that was on my mind the whole time and even though I didn't have to be back to work for a few days after my trip East I traveled to North Bay to look for a place to live and packed. I didn't really have any time off. I would really like a vacation.

JtI: Where would you go?

JtA: Right now, no where. I can't afford to go anywhere.

JtI: If money were no object?

JtA: Where wouldn't I go? Europe; England, France, and Italy mostly (I'd gorge myself on bread and cheese). Visit my friendish person who's still living in China and force him to show me the sites, but keep me from getting run over by tanks. Australia. Hawaii. Antarctica would be cool. (BOOO! HISSSS!) On a more realistic scale, Disneyworld or Disneyland would be a lot of fun. I want to go to New York and watch a bunch of plays on and off Broadway; it'd be really cool to see RENT on stage. Or maybe spend a week in Washington DC exploring the Smithsonian. I'd be willing to do all this on my own, but it'd be more fun to do them with someone coming along, though.

JtI: So why not just take the time and do something?

JtA: First, not enough money. Second, no one to do things with. Third, no drive or ambition. Fourth, no passion f--

JtI: No passion?

JtA: Not really.

JtI: Isn't there something that you want that drives you forward toward something better in life?

JtA: No.

JtI: Really?

JtA: Well, not that I can think of, at least.

JtI: Then think about it!

JtA: I have thought about it. I've thought about it a lot and the more I think about it the more I keep drawing a blank. There are some things that I like doing, but people don't get paid for doing those things, but I'm not really passionate about those things. Hell, I've tried to remember what I was passionate about when I was a little kid, tried to remember things I dreamed about being that lasted more than a week. I can't remember anything like that. There were times later in my life when I considered thing, but mainly because they seemed the practical thing to do, not because I really wanted to do them or felt any passion toward them. Last weekend, I finally admitted to my dad that I'm not going to go to grad school. I've known ever since I moved away from Cow City that I wasn't going to go back to school for a master's degree, but I continued to tell everyone else that I wanted to. I don't, though. I haven't for almost a year now.

JtI: So, what do you want?

JtA: Well, that's the multimillion, life altering question, isn't it? What the fuck do I want? Is it okay for me to say that I want nothing and I want everything? That I don't know what I want, but what I want is so unrealistic that I try not to think about it? My mom once mentioned giving me something that said “Dare To Dream” on it to help me to free my mind. Ignoring the fact that I think the idea is hokey, I don't think lack of dreaming is my problem, I think it's not having something to dream about that is.

JtI: So, what are you going to do?

JtA: Live my life like I'm living it until I find a way, a thing, or a person to make me want to live it in a different way.

JtI: That's not the happiest thought, is it?

JtA: No, but it's an honest one.

JtI: Thanks for the interview.

JtA: You're welcome.

No More November

Yesterday, I woke up with a horrible headache. The kind of headache that leaves the pit of your stomach gurgling, as if you’re going to throw up, even if you hadn’t eaten since two the afternoon before. I wish I could say it was from fun, but it wasn’t. It was from driving about 240 miles the day before, then closing, then getting up the next morning to be to work by seven. Aspirin and Tylenol had no effect. Nothing could counter the power of the aching head, except for sleep, which was had in a moderate amount, since it seems impossible for me to actually “sleep in,” whatever that is.

I spent my Thanksgiving time with my family. Drove to my parent’s house (120ish miles) on Wednesday; they drove me and one brother to my great-uncle’s house for dinner and familial harassment. Much food was consumed, by me. I got a headache from the junk turkeys get injected with, but the turkey was scrumptious. I ate two kinds of cheese cakes, which were disappointing but tasty at the same time. Friday, I drove back to Cowcity (120ish miles) ‘cause I had to open the freakin’ store on Saturday. Saturday was my grandma’s 80th birthday, but I just went to work, came back to my apartment, ate something, and slept. Sunday, I drove to my grandparent’s house (120ish miles) to see them, and my parents again, for a sort of birthday treat for my grandma. We hugged hello, talked, laughed, talked, ate chicken, talked, ate ice cream, talked, and hugged good-bye. I drove back to Cowcity (120ish miles) straight to work ‘cause I had the privilege of closing the store Sunday night. Loverly.

Even if I stood naked, I couldn’t count the times I was asked what I want to do on my visible appendages. I pride myself on being honest, I try to always tell the truth, but I rarely tell everything. (I think I’ve written of this before, someone will have to check to be sure, though.) I had two stock answers: 1. The joke: “I want to win the Lotto and never have to worry about money again.” and 2. The avoid: “I don’t know what I want to do.” with an eye roll, if the person wasn’t watching. Here’s the problem: both are true and false. The first, I know will never happen. I don’t gamble, unless it’s with friends, and never win anything, so I never play the Lotto. (When I turned 18 and got some lottery tickets, I was disappointed because I didn’t want them. I let my brother scratch ‘em off and didn’t win.) The second is partially true because I have an idea for something that I’d like to do, but if I told anyone (and I mean anyone out there) I’d just worry them, which is why I won’t be specific in telling them and which is why I wouldn’t do it until I’m sure it wouldn’t worry them. When would that be? Never, so it’ll never be done.

So, any family and friends curious, as long as you keep asking me what I want to do, or simply asking what I want, I’ll continue to tow the Me Party line. “I want to win the Lotto.” and “I don’t know.” I understand that even with this warning, the next time I see you, I’ll be asked, but now you can’t say I haven’t warned you, unless, of course, you don’t actually read this, then you don’t know. Oh, well.

When I was little, probably seven or eight, I decided that, unless I was sick, I wasn’t allowed to complain about the weather being cold until there was frost on the ground. Why did I do this to myself? I don’t know, but it’s one of the few rules I’ve lived by for a long, long time. Anyway, this morning, I found my car coated in the frozen water we call frost. I could finally complain about the cold, if I felt the need. Great. I turned on the car, pulled out a bottle of water, always in the back, and washed the frost off the windows. I settled into the seat, shifted into drive, and started off. I watched the window fog up, and turned on the heater. Nothing. I twisted the knob from 1 to 4, maybe the fan was too low. Nothing. I pulled my sleeve over my hand and wiped the fog off. Stop light. I hit the dash board, pushed the button for the AC. Nothing. No heat in my car for the drive to work. Fingers going numb by the time I got there.

I think, on the way back to the apartment, the heater worked. I think. I didn’t have to use it, the car had been sitting in the sun the whole day. I suppose I’ll have to find out early Wednesday when I go to work early, early, early again.

So, like September before it, November has come to its end in only thirty days. Now it is no more. And I won’t be shedding a tear.

What day?

I woke up this morning to the belligerent buzzing of my alarm. I sat up and asked, "What day is it?" I slid out of bed and groped at the drawers under it so I could get some clean clothes.

"What day is it?" I asked myself again, out loud, as I headed off to the shower, where I sung songs from Annie. (It's a sickness, I know.) Eventually, the sun came up, and I stepped out.

I dressed, combed my hair, and headed back to my room. The light was off, so I flicked the switch. Finally, the calendar was visible, Thursday. Work first then straight to school.

Work is... well, I'm not sure how to explain it when I'm not miserable. It just is. I go, make coffee-based drinks, try to please people who don't want to be pleased, sing songs to myself, and hold back the urge to throw beans at everyone. Work is like--Have all of you seen Garden State yet? Did anyone else watch that new show Veronica Mars last night? They both have perfect examples of what I'm going to describe.--these scenes in movies and TV shows where there's one person sitting on a couch or a bench staring and the people around this person are in fast-forward, obviously doing something, going somewhere, moving. That's what work is like, me standing still and everyone else in fast-forward. Once in a while, the world slows down to my pace, breaks into my thoughts, but only for an instant before it whizzes away without me. In the end, I make sure to say good-bye to everyone working, using each person's name, before I walk out the door. I'm not sure why I do it. I sometimes fantasize that maybe I'll disappear if I don't remind people that I do exist, maybe that's why.

I like school.

For those who don't know, and since I can't remember if I've actually written it in this experiment in narcissism, I earned myself a BA in English some two and a quarter years ago. I seriously thought about teaching High School for a while there. I didn't really want to teach, I didn't think it would give me the energy most teacher seemed to get. I thought it would sap my strength, test my patience, and increase my stress without any personal or monetary rewards. At the time, though, I thought it was my only real option (since I fear that great standardized test we call the GRE). I went to the university (that didn't end in the phrase "of Phoenix") to my parent's house, since I was living there at the time, to discuss this teaching thing with a professional. In the end, she asked me if I wanted her honest opinion. I always prefer honesty, I said. She told me that she thought that I could make an excellent High School English teacher because I had an obvious passion for literature and a desire to see this passion spread to other. This made me happy. Then she said that she didn't think I should be a High School teacher because it didn't seem like the place for me. She recognized that I am a person who doesn't really have a lot a patience for people who don't want to be where they are. "The kids in High Schools are forced to be there," she said. "If you're lucky, three out of the thirty will be interested in what you're teaching, and I don't think those are the kinds of odds a person like you would need to stick with this profession. Honestly, Josh, I don't think you should pursue a career in teaching."

I shook her hand, thanked her for her time, and left. Everything she said was right and, most importantly, she gave me a good reason to stop thinking about my teaching credential.

That fall, while living with my parents and working at 'Bucks, I started attending the local JC part time. I took ceramics (my artistic passion that I have neither the money nor the truly astounding skill to pursue) and a class learning to draw on the computer with Adobe Illustrator. Illustrator is probably my favorite computer program. I like it more than my word processor. I like it more than QuickTime. I like it more than my internet browser. There's something so wonderfully artistic and mathematical about the program that captures my imagination. It's what I create all those weird comics about me in. I liked the class, I liked the teacher, and something inside me said I could turn it into a way to make money without serving evil.

Okay, I've gone off topic and I'm leaving it all there. Anyhow...

I like school. The class I have on Tuesday and Thursday is called Digital Painting. We're using Correl Painter and it's hundreds of different brushes to create odd drawings. (On assignment was to use a brush that has the illusion of heavy paint strokes, think of van Gogh's paintings, using complementary tertiary colors using the strokes to create depth. I drew a blue-green t-shirt on a field of red-orange, then used a tool to pull the "paint" in such a way that it look like it's on fire. I like it more each time I look at it.) The teacher gives really boring lectures that feel more like art history than anything else, and I'm not looking forward to the obligatory self portrait, but the rest is fun. How can I be so sure? Today, class started at 2:45 and ten minutes later it was 4:45 and time to go. A good time was had by me.

Today was Thursday. I went to work and school. I'm here now and going to watch mediocre television and eat ginormous, frozen grapes.

You have a good night as well.

Day 10 of the ties-for-the-longest work week ever has come to an end.

That means it's almost over. Tomorrow is the last. I think that toward the end of my shift today my coworkers thought I was a little bit drunk. I was wobbley, giddy, flushed, and talking to myself. Maybe they thought I was spiking my hot chocolate with something. Who knows? Who cares? I'm off this weekend and they can all kiss my ass.

Here are some things that I'd like to do in my life, a short list of goals I suppose, oh and the order isn't how it has to happen, but the most likely way:

• Write a novel.


• Achieve critical success.


• Quit Starbucks.


• Appear on Fresh Air with Terry Gross.


• Be picked as an Oprah Book Club book (or whatever woman takes her place as queen of the talk shows).


• Make lots of money.


• Quit Starbucks.


• Get my Master's and maybe PhD.


• Write the first issue to my Max Kurtz Chronicles comic.


• Get a good artist.


• Quit Starbucks.


• Submit and get accepted by Image Comics (since I don't have the patience for self publishing).


• Publish the first miniseries on time.


• Quit Starbucks.


• Go to a comic book convention as a speaker instead of a paying geek.


• Write and, perhaps, draw my MOONBILL$ comic strip.


• Quit Starbucks

Thats for tonight, more tomorrow then I'm off to the Bay on Saturday.

I wish I didn't have to wait.