I’m sitting here looking down the eastern direction of Lake Ontario and it’s pretty much impossible to distinguish the horizon, where the lake meets the sky. It all just “fades to grey”.
So many negative realities manifested today, and they’re all a boost to my ego, as yet another day comes and goes that comfirms the nasty refusal of kindness that exists, in this world, or possibly at least just this country, where social posturing is disguised as friendliness, and friendliness to strangers being cast as weird.
So many thoughts buzzing aroundy head, it’s good, but I really get them into writing, but it’s just too much to put down, especially when they’re all interrelated and need to be correlated in the form of the story it tells.
Here I am at that local hipster coffee shop. I do not come here very often at all anymore, I got sick of the hipsters’s unwelcoming vibe, especially in the form of the hipsters and young kids working here that very often forget to treat their customers with the slightest amount of respect or friendliness. I got sick of the cramped crowdiness of the place, and its muggy heat inside in the summer. Not to mention it really is kind of reserved for, in the sense always packed with, the kids that go to the nationally renowned music school just down the street and the wider also nationally renowned school it is part of, that also happened to be my dream school and I never had a farball shot of going to. I’m not jealous, but I would say envy applies. But I don’t relate, because by default these kids have no idea what it is like to throw away your future in the name of ganja, LSD, and narcotics fueled unrealistic hippy pipe dreams.
It is in that sense of their straightness and social normalcy that there is something lurking in this young hip enclave that I think I don’t get. When I first got in tonight and waited for my coffee, I read something that I hadn’t ever seen, “Roasted locally since 1992,˝ at the sametime realizing the music was clearly early alternative singer/song writer, and then shortly afterwards what was clearly alternative rock. This connection I saw of the place and its people to the creativity to the alternative era, while there are plenty of different and unique people, the straight ones have taken it as their own coolness where once again non conformity and deviation from social standard is unwelcome. But the thing about the alternative world when it thrived is that many of the people were disturbed, and socially especially. Being a strange, mentally reclusive, peculiar, and quirky person was pretty much good shit by friends, and understood.
Why would you not do this? It can still get tangled when you try to undo it too fast but still.
First off let me say, my dad cracks me up pretty much all the time. Just because he is weird, and his mannerisms and confused stupors, which sometimes annoy me, just make me laugh at him all the time. But from that same place he cracks me the fuck up when he makes jokes.
I was just cooking breakfast for myself, as he did his usual sitting at the kitchen counter drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. We had on our common weekend morning news talk show on MSNBC, and at the moment the show was talking about the NFL and Roger Goodell’s recent press conference. My dad said something along the lines that he disagreed with the host’s defense of Roger Goodell’s lame and out of touch performance.
This reminded me of a CNN show I was watching yesterday. The guy that hosts it, his last name is Smerconish, and that is actually the name of his relatively new CNN show. My dad and I knew him from standing in for Chris Matthews on MSNBC.
I brought up to my dad how I was pissed off and disgusted by what was Smerconish using most of his show to bring up things in defense of Roger Goodell and the NFL in its current controversy. I told my dad that while Smerconish was presenting the statistics showing that NFL players actually committed less crime like domestic abuse than the rest of society and using that to obviously brush off any significance of the current controversy, he had a huge self-pleased smirk on his face. Without a moment’s hesitation, like he had it in his back pocket all along, my dad said in his obvious teasing voice “Well that’s his name!”
At first I stopped silent, acting confused, but with a huge uncontrollable smile as I was trying to stop the floodgates of laughter, and was like “What are you talking about?” I of course knew what he was talking about. He said “His name is SMERConish. That’s probably what they called him as a kid, ‘smerc.’”
My dad was pleased with himself and had a huge smirk himself, and I couldn’t not laugh anymore. I just cracked up, really hard, and I don’t like to give in to my dad’s jokes and show him I thought what he said was hilarious.
I kept laughing hard but silently as I faced away from him, finishing cooking my breakfast.
I don’t know how he is with his friends, but it seems whenever he is with his kids, one or together, he is always cracking legitimately funny jokes. One of my funniest and and best memories, unfortunately was during a bad memory for many people. We were watching live news coverage the morning after the night “superstorm/hurricane” Sandy hit the North East coast. It wasn’t that everything we were seeing was funny, and easy to make fun off. It was just the individual reporters out among the disaster area were doing things that were easy to make fun off and genuinely laugh at. I don’t remember everything we laughed at, but I believe it started with a reporter acting as if she was stranded on this porch she was standing on because she said the neighborhood was inundated with water, as someone was walking down the street in water only up to their ankles. And that reminded my dad off the classic viral video of a local news report with the guy in a kayak in flood water as two guys walked right by him with water only up to their shins. And it just snowballed from there, and we found all we could to make fun of in the rest of the mornings new coverage. Overall, it all probably wasn’t that funny, but just the way my dad jokes is.
I always loved the tall buildings of a big city disappearing into fog. This is some of my early childhood memories of Chicago, and also as a young kid staying at a very tall hotel in Atlanta, where in the morning out our high floor room window there was only fog.