Santa is a Whore. I love you. Nachos for Holidays?

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I am not being “ironic” or “cool” or “caring what people think of me,” or any of that shit that destroys the early years/imagination in all of us.

It is Christmas Eve and I would like to thank my mom for all the traditions: making homemade cookies, drinking only 10 ounce Cokes (hard to find now), driving past Elvis’s house (this in Memphis, TN) to see the lights of Graceland. In my stupidity, I thought all of this was “corny” for years. Now I know it was more valuable than heroin. It was my brain, the inlaying memories of my synapses, dendrites–it was the highway capillaries of my life, the sparks I remember of those holidays. It was myrrh and glow.

It is Christmas Eve. And why did Einstein need to tell us Time is relative? Do you remember how LONG it took Christmas to arrive? That’s why you have kids, maybe. I don’t want to lose my excitement over Christmas Eve. I don’t. If I lose my excitement over Christmas I feel it would be like losing my arm. Sure, I’d go on, but not really. Later tonight I’ll set up a Play Station for my 5 year old. I’ll inflate some toast. I’ll have my Christmas, damn you!! Then again, I’m a little drunk and with a big-ass mortgage. But still. We try.

It is Christmas Eve and I really want to say: I would like to thank all the blogger/writers. I read you, your work, and it makes my life better. Glimmer in the morning. I feel like part of a community, though I have only blogged since summer. I don’t “know” these people, but I “know” them; and mostly admire them, and certainly their work. They pass my test: I would quaff a beer with all of them.

Shout out to KGM!

(I would drink 14 beers with her)

Shout out to “Tao Lin” (note the Tao Lin quotes)

Shout out to Poker Grub.

(Wow. I vote him Most Honest Blog. Gamblers usually inflate wins, minimize losses in conversation. There is a whole level of bullshit involved in gambler talk. Poker Grub just drops the straight dope, and it’s so bad it’s good, like gas station coffee.)

And naturally the insomniac blur of publishing goat of bolt/oar.

(He can write. He’s kinda clever. Etc. BUT. Seems like he has a good heart. I can “feel” this. I have a good-inside radar. Really, in the larger picture, that’s all that matters, to me. I have read a lot and learned a lot and thought a lot, because of Blake.)

I can’t believe he wrote a running text!!! Damn him! I am going to write a running text next! I fucking KNOW running. You want some, Blake? You want to race?

But I digress…

Thank you all (and other bloggers/writers)  for making me less existentially alone. Maybe one purpose of the internet, or a byproduct?

I remember a story about how BEFORE the internet, this guy from Nebraska collected Barf Bags from every airline possible, all his flights, any contacts he had (every airline had a unique Barf Bag–its own logo, etc.). Why in the hell would a human do such a thing? Weird, right? No one could understand–a guy that collects vomit bags from airline flights? HE felt so very, very alone. He felt weird. BUT, then the internet came along. You know what happened? That guy got online. And guess what he found out? He wasn’t weird, he was human.

Sam collects Barf bags, too.

There is even a museum.

Buy this Venezuelan bag right now for $20.

Etc

The internet opened the throat of the world. The voice. WE ARE ALL WEIRD.

*

Tonight, I can not complain. I won $60 bucks at the horse track. I ran 5 decent miles. I walked my dog. I met a guy named, “Sam the Beer Man.”  He sold me beer. I began an essay on Road Head. I can’t believe nobody has written a good Road Head essay yet. I guess I’ll just do it.

I edited a story today.

Here is an excerpt from my story:

14. The Best Weekend: We smoked anchovies and laid garments on a counter and slipped our arms through pineapples (not made of pine, not apples) and drove to stay the night at the exact place the sea and the sky embrace.

15. Another One: Bad drugs done in the library stacks.

16. Another One: Also words, puckered red and ugly; drunken Ebaying; drywall wounds in the form of clouds.

17. Massive Debt: She told me that we abdicate our own free will, act in bad faith, when we avoid difficult, honest decisions, when we make excuses to deny conflict, etc.

18. Co-Workers: I respect a man who can read a river.

19. Co-workers: Ask me how the grant is going one more time, I fucking dare you.

I took a bath while drinking beer and reading a novel. There is something about drinking and bathing and reading I really enjoy. Maybe it’s the way I can do three things at once?

I wish more people in the world were faster. I am a fast walker, big-time. I blow by people, I weave and stutter and plan routes several yards ahead of my walking. Jesus I can’t stand slow-walkers. But that’s just me.

*

I spent the night in a Comfort Inn that REALLY would make a person re-think Comfort Inn. It was 121 years old. This was Warren, Ohio. Here it is, and please note my Baby-Baby Subaru in the foreground. This car purrs like Ativan or a table saw.

hotel

*

What the fuck am I going to eat while way up here in New York??

It spleens me.

Oh, then the in-laws bought me tortillas, cheese, black olives, jalapenos. They heard something about my diet, apparently.

nachos

Holy shit I love nachos.

Happy holidays, all.

Seriously.

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5 responses to “Santa is a Whore. I love you. Nachos for Holidays?

  1. i like sean. merry christmas or other all around

  2. i assure you that you are correct about blake. he is the sweetest mush ball love fest in real life. also, the MOST excellent hugger in the blog-o-sphere.

    oh and right back at you.

  3. happy hols, sean. more hugs from the blogosphere.

  4. Ditto to you. I am glad we possess mutual admiration for each other’s blogs. You are nice and supportive. happy holidays.

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