1/1/11

Wow. It will never again be 1/1/11. I wonder how many other bloggers or check writers around the world realized that at just the moment they wrote it? It was a “wow” moment for me. There was nothing going around the internet about it or anything. I just kind of wrote it and went Oh!

I started the new year off realizing this blog started at birth. This is the book I have always been writing since I learned to write. I have been seeking my whole life for “what relevance does my story have?” For what purpose am I writing it or even living it? I finally realized, it has no relevance or purpose! It is just what I do. I write because I think. I live because I breath. But here’s the cherry on top: if I ever DO become relevant, if anyone anywhere at any time wants to find out more about me for any reason, even after I’m dead, well, here it is, my whole life story, written by the person who lived it, right here forever on the internet! Possibly to float in obscurity forever, or maybe to collect a cult following in the Year 3015, when Chinese anthropologists in an ancient dig in an African desert discover some old internet pipes, revive Google, and co-incidentally also cause a global Facebook climax. Ooh!

So, my blog finally has a new purpose, which is basically no purpose at all! If you are reading it, you are getting cheated, because all you are getting is what’s on my mind, which basically has no social relevance whatsoever, and possibly not even any redeeming attribute. I can barely stand to think the thoughts that are on my mind, and if not for writing they would never make it out of my mind, so be forewarned that you are reading my mind’s trash, all the stuff that would leave my mind and the world forever if I didn't write it down. Ok, here we go. Are you ready?? (In southern Baptist preacher style) - Are you READY for what’s ON MY MIND!?

I’ll tell you what’s on my mind. Men. I would like to have one in my life.

So, I’ll tell you about them, as they come to mind.

John was my first. I loved him so madly I wanted to create another one of him, which was apparently something he ran into a lot. For example, women would come up to him and kiss him while we were walking down the street holding hands. I would ask him, “who was that?” He wouldn’t know. You could fill a room with women he didn’t know. Well, it was the “free love” days. Anyway, I ended up with a hysterical pregnancy after he broke up with me. I was in Canada at the time, and the Canadian socialized medical psychiatrists wanted to make a study of me and I went running outta there in a panic.

That’s the beginning and the end. There’s a whole middle, of course. I’m trying to think of meeting John for the first time, but there just wasn’t one, which makes sense because the boundaries between us, where he began and I ended, were blurry. It’s like he created me. But my earliest moment of recollection of knowing who he was, was when he was taking pictures of Lary.

Lary lived in our dorm at the time, girls upstairs, guys downstairs. John didn’t live in the dorm, he would just show up there in the dorm lounge like every student would. There was a piano and couches, and it was a place to hang out near the cafeteria. Lary would play jazz piano in the lounge sometimes, and John, who always had a camera, came into the lounge one day while Lary was playing. He jumped up on the seat, on top of the piano, did all sorts of shenanigans taking pictures. Lary just kept playing. One day my roommate and I were sitting on a bench outside of Lary’s dorm room. Lary was inside behind the window working on some art piece. We waved but he didn’t notice, so we waved harder and started laughing. His window was open, but he didn’t hear us. We waved and giggled at him like idiots for about 20 minutes, but he never looked up.  So, watching John practically crawl all over Lary while he was playing the piano was pretty memorable, and people began to gather and "groove" on it.

It was a very small campus. I did not realize at the time I applied to this art college (I was just looking for a way to leave home) that it was known as a school for rich kids. My roommate was rich. But it was a very small campus of about 500 students, all studying art. And I was doing a drawing assignment one day on this small campus when John came over, stood a while, complimented my drawing, then sat down next to me and we maybe engaged in some idle chitchat, I don’t remember. He left after a few minutes. It was an unremarkable event that I most likely would not have ever remembered again if not for what happened some time later. And, I’m not sure if it was weeks or years later, honestly.

… and I’m realizing this could get to be a long story that will have to be continued.