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Twisting all the bad things into good

Oct 2, 2011

TO AVOID CRITICISM, DO NOTHING, SAY NOTHING, BE NOTHING.

          It really meant a lot to hear some encouraging words from a few of the people who took the time to read my first blog entry. If not even one person  read any of my blogs, I would still do it. It's a bit of an adventure to just start writing and have no idea where you are going and then  wonder  how you got there. I find it very rewarding when I reach a conclusion that I never knew I was looking for. I enjoy the journey from beginning to end, the improvisations along the way.  Getting lost and then finding your way home. Playing jazz. Writing just to write.
          I would be remiss to say I did not receive some criticism. That's fine. I suppose I'll have to try harder in the future. It was after all,  just a test. At least  it started out that way. I initially just wanted to preview how my blog would appear, but then I got into it. I didn't intend to get so "deep", but I'm a pretty deep guy. Saying that always makes me laugh because I wonder if there are people who would actually admit,"Nah, I'm not very deep, I'm actually incredibly shallow. Never had an honest moment of introspection in my life that did not involve the use of hallucinogenics." That being said, I was a little apprehensive to "expose" myself in such a way. I saw it as a good sign that I didn't wake up at 3am second guessing myself only to immediately delete it before it could be read by anyone, especially someone who may criticize it. The horror! I have done that in the past with a few of my Facebook statuses. Not because I was worried about embarrassing myself, but I thought that perhaps one overly sensitive person out of however many of my FB friends may be offended. Sometimes we forget who can read our posts. I once referred to myself as "Sinny Sinnerson" after I was asked to carry the cross on Good Friday. Then during service on Sunday, when the announcer asked us to greet those around us, one of the men from church shook my hand, smiled, and said,"Hey, it's Sinny Sinnerson". That's me.
        It's no secret that I get a kick out of myself, but as my mom always lovingly says to me,"there's something seriously wrong with you". Thank you, Mother. I guess we'll just have to agree to agree on that one. It's true, I keep myself entertained (no masturbation jokes, thank you), but you learn to do that went you leave 90% of your friends in Florida and move to Pennsylvania. When I say "that" I'm referring to "entertaining myself" , not the masturbation part (just to reiterate). I can't help but wonder if the "Sinny Sinnerson" guy from church is going to read this? If so, he may think twice about shaking my hand this time, or ever even looking me in the eye again. Well, you can't please everyone, you just have to please yourself . Damn, I did it again! What would Freud say? He'd probably find a way to bring my mother back into this. Sorry, Sigmund, never got that whole thing. Seriously, leaving Florida after 22 years was pretty much like switching from Facebook to Google+. I basically went from 236 friends to 4. And no matter how much I liked those 4 friends, I wasn't so sure I wanted to "friend" their friends. Back to my point of what a witty, clever, and charming (sometimes?) bastard I find myself to be on my better days. Besides the same 7 or 8 people who can always be depended on for a "LIKE" or "LOL"  at my jokes, there are WAY more people who have either already blocked me or simply do not find me the least bit witty, or clever, or charming, or any other quality that I delude myself into believing that I possess. I'm pretty sure I've had more people unsubscribe to me than Netflix in the last 2 months. I'm going out on a limb here, but I'm guessing "annoying" is what they say. Or maybe just a disapproving shake of the head and then on to a friend's post about how great their child's kindergarten is. "Seriously, it's the best school, and Mikey's teacher said (never happened) that he is the smartest kid in class". No doubt. I believe that you believe that. But as an ex-girlfriend of mine used to say, "Whatevz." (Come to think of it, I think that was the last thing she ever said to me. Oh well, whatevz)                                                          
                                                            
I figure those are the same people who post stuff like "depressed " with the obligatory sad face (get a therapist), or who first take and then actually post a picture of their breakfast. I'm not sure which is worse, the motivation to take the picture in the first place or the inevitable sharing of said picture. I'm going to make an executive decision and say the picture taking of the breakfast has to be more disconcerting only because, as we all know, (say it with me) when the initial action is wrong, everything that follows is wrong. I'm the first to admit, I think up some crazy shit, but I have never once looked at my breakfast and thought, "Oh yeah, people need to see this. Let me take the time to post it while my Special K gets soggy and my egg beaters get cold." Never have I thought so highly of my first meal of the day. Then again, my daily breakfast includes Sunny D, so how delicious can it really be? Maybe I should switch it up? Whatevz, I'm a creature of habit.
          I was at my aunt's funeral a few months back (what's a segue?), and I looked around the room to see a lot of people I had not seen in a long time, like 20+ years. Let me put it this way, last time I saw most of them, I was wearing one of my Michael Jackson jackets. Yes, "jackets". I had 2. I had the one from Thriller and the Beat It one. You know, the one with all the zippers. If I'm going to be honest in my blogging, I may as well start now. (Deep breath, you can do this, Jim. Just say it. Ok, here it goes)  I had The Glove too. Yup. Basically, my favorite store was Merry Go Round, the ever trendy clothing store where guys would buy clothes that in 10 months they would never admit to having ever purchased, worn, or roller skated in. Even if you busted them with a picture of them in costume, they would say something like, "Those pants? I stayed over Jimmy's house and that's what they gave me to wear the next day."  Right. And I suppose I also forcefully cut the back of your hair into a tail on this same night that never actually happened. Oh, yeah. Merry Go Round was the shiznit. Can't believe they're not around anymore. You probably remember buying your ZCavarricis (sp?), Skidz (no sp?) or maybe your favorite pair of parachute pants there? Oh yeah, right, I guess I was the only trendy douchebag keeping these things in style for those 8 months.
            Wow, I get a bit tangential when I start talking "fashion", if you can call it that? My point is that the people who had actually met me before, in this current incarnation, remembered me as "Jimmy Jackson". Over the years, I would also come to be known as "Jimmy Beatle", "Jimmy Osbourne", "Jimmy Doors", my aptly named mafia moniker, "Jimmy the Prick" (I was kind of a dick) and if I were a Native American Indian, "Smells Like Beer" (I drank lots of beer). (I guess I went through a few phases) Of course, there were also several people at the funeral who despite never having met before, were naturally Facebook friends. As I scoped the room for talent, I suddenly realized that half of the people really only knew me from what they saw on Facebook. Super. Kind of a toss up of which is worse since the other half remembered me as a kid who styled himself after the world's most famous pedophile (alleged). (I always preferred "pedophile" as opposed to "pederast", phonetically speaking of course. I think it's the "t" at the end of "pederast" that throws me off? They should really drop that "t" and add another "s". Pedderass. Pedderass. It just sounds better, don't you think? Hmm, I wonder if I'm the only person without a lisp who has a problem with that word?)  As I realized how many "friends" I had in the room that did not know anything about me, or hopefully just forgot what they once knew about me (The Glove is what haunts me the most), I suddenly found myself doing a mental inventory of some of my more "hilarious" posts. As I would wave across the room to long lost cousins, they would follow their 25 years in the making hand gesture with a covert whisper to their significant other. A "normal" person would have assumed that they were saying something like,"That's my cousin Jimmy. I haven't seen him since he was a kid." But this begs the question, what is "normal"? I'm not sure, but I think I'm about to mention a couple "funnies" that most likely would keep me out of the "normal" club. As quietly as I could, I leaned into my brother and said, "Dude, I wonder how many people here only know me from Facebook?"  I could only imagine what they could be saying, "You know who that is! That's that psycho from Facebook. The one with all the crazy status updates. The one who said that he would rather marry a whore than a hoarder? You remember me showing you the pics of the guy who took pictures of himself with his hair and sideburns done like Wolverine? That's him! What? No, it wasn't from a Halloween party, it was March and there was nobody else in any of the pictures. Huh? I don't know, maybe he has a self timer on his camera or something. Worst part is that you know he must have really put some thought into it too because he juxtaposed every one of his pictures with a corresponding picture of Hugh Jackman as Wolverine in the same exact pose! How could you forget?  We made fun of him for like an hour."
                                                                           
                                                                                   Hugh Jackass                                
        
         I naturally assumed there was more than one of these type conversations going on. Something along the lines of, "That's my nephew Jimmy, the one who posted the picture of himself under the covers with his arm around a life size cardboard cutout of the Joker? No, not the Nicholson Joker, the Heath Ledger Joker.
                                                                                Don't judge me               

Then he had another one where he was standing next to the Joker with his arm around it looking all sad. He titled it "All My Friends Live in Florida". What did you say? Oh, good question, I guess he has a self timer on his camera or something. Yes, exactly, the one who used to dress like Michael Jackson. Yeah, he's gotta be in his 30's now, and he's still doing the same kind of weird shit. Yeah, really, grow up, dude. He's looking over here. Now smile and wave and try not to laugh." Smile. Wave. Silently judge.

                                                 
              At least that is what I imagined what was going on. My inquisitive mind (some may call it paranoia), finally came to a screeching halt considerably more abrupt than a Mayflower Truck whose driver just realized he is about to blow through a crosswalk full of nuns (  the sudden panic  is not necessarily because he is "religious" , he just knows that he doesn't want to lose his CDL. Not in this economy). During the funeral, my father spoke and tried to comfort my deceased aunt's family. They were upset that one of her daughters was nowhere to be found after causing some serious problems for her family. They had not seen her in months and she was not even aware that her mother had died. There were understandably a lot of hurt feelings as a result. My father tried to quell their anger by explaining that the missing daughter had a disease: She is an addict. He said not to hate her, to instead pray for her, and if anything, hate the addiction, but not the addict. Apparently, "the addict's" 10 year old daughter, was not aware of the fact that her mother had a drug problem and that was the real reason she had been MIA.  I don't know, maybe she thought her mom had been at Sandals Resort in Antigua for the last 8 months, where phone calls are strictly prohibited. She burst into tears and ran out of the room.The "addict's" sister yelled at my dad, she stormed out after the child, calling my father a mother fucker all the way out the door. I remind you, this is during the funeral. My dad stood there in shock.  He apologized if he had said anything hurtful. The daughter was the only one who did not know the truth about her mom. Well, she did now. So basically, we were uninvited to the luncheon after wards. Unfortunately, we were already there by the time we got that call. My dad went inside and sat down like nothing happened. My brother and I refused to go inside the banquet hall. We stood out front, him pretending to text while I pretended to check my messages. We decided to poke our heads inside. We didn't have the balls to go further than that. I actually hid in the cloak closet when I heard people coming. I guess I had an inkling of how Casey Anthony must feel everyday.
                                       
         Finally, my dad figured we would just leave since 15 minutes had passed and my brother, my mom and I had still not gone inside. On the way to the car, here comes my cousin who starts calling my dad a mother fucker again. I can honestly say, after the " addict" and "mother fucker" talk started, I really wasn't too preoccupied about what people may or may not have thought about my Facebook antics. I was more concerned about getting out alive.

           I have carried that same feeling with me ever since ( the feeling of having no concern with what someone else thinks of me, not the fearing for my life part. That would be exhausting).  If I can make myself laugh and get a "LOL", great. A "LMAO", even better. A "ROTFLMFAO", then a wasted day it is not. Sometimes, I do believe that the person may have actually laughed out loud. And depending on how "funny" a particular status update may be, I can buy the fact that they may in fact be laughing their ass off (not literally of course). But you could never convince me that I tickled your funny bone enough to make you stop, drop and roll around the floor like your ass was on fire while in hysterics. Sorry, but nothing is that funny. Doesn't stop me from trying though. Hits and misses. That is life. Instead of worrying about the 346 "friends" who never "LOL" and never seem to "LIKE" anything no matter how much of a laugh riot it may be, I have learned to concern myself with the 6 or 7 people who can appreciate an occasional clever pop culture observation or a somewhat profound Hemingway quote or a random BellBivDevoe lyric. Most of all, I appreciate the friends who took the time to read my first blog entry and especially the ones who had such encouraging words. It honestly meant more than I could put into words. And if I tried, I would probably blow any well intended sentiment with an off color attempt at humor.
        Writing is cathartic for me. It has truly become it's own reward. Once again in my meandering,  I have made mention of topics that I had no intention on discussing.  Why these stories or themes came up in this particular entry, well I'm just as confused as you in that regard  (that is if you have even read this far after the whole pedophile vs pederast thing). But that is part of the fun. You begin on a certain path and never know where you are going to end up. I have never read another blog. I'm not sure if I write too long or if I am too tangential. I do not care though. I have chosen to follow my own lead and see where it takes me. Maybe I share too much personal stuff. I hope not because this is just the beginning. Can being honest with yourself and others ever be wrong? I would say "definitely" when it comes to other people. But I'm pretty confident that being honest with yourself is never wrong. But who am I to say? Maybe I need to draw a line in the sand that I should always remind myself never to cross. So far, the only boundary that I have even considered is to not betray someone's trust. As for my own experiences, I guess I won't know the answer to that until I get down to the nitty gritty, which is just a matter of time, because those times made me who I am today. Someone who can honestly say that he is just beginning to become the person he always wanted to be. I feel that writing, and perhaps even this blog can be an integral part of that. But maybe I'm just crazy. Whatevz.
                                                       

2 comments:

  1. I learned "whatevs" from Bex. I proceeded to use it as a reply to a state trooper. Pretty sure you can imagine how that ended.

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