Failure isn't all that bad.

This past weekend I spent a somewhat larger-than-normal amount of time watching sports. I watched college football, end-of-season baseball, pro football, and even a few brief moments of professional rodeo, but that was just in passing, I swear.

Still, in watching these games, I came to a somewhat stunning realization: in our modern sports franchises, if someone does well: they hit the game-winning hit, they hit a home run, or they make just about any play in football that would be classified as "good", they almost always, without fail, get completely whalloped by their teammates. That's why nowadays when a baseball player sees his teammates waiting to congratulate him at home plate, he flings off his batting helmet: he knows with no helmet on, his teammates can't completely whomp him over the head. And don't get me started on the "we won" dogpiles that happen, though mostly in the playoffs. Just take a quick look at the picture at the top of this blog. Yeah, would you want to be on the bottom of that pile? If you sprinkled in a few players from the other team, wouldn't that much more closely resemble a giant fight where a bunch of players have to deal with a few weeks' worth of suspensions? Yeah, thought so.

Football is far worse. Part of it is that it seems like pretty much any time anyone makes a play that just five or ten years ago was considered routine, they have to jump around and wave their arms like they've never made a tackle or defended a pass before in their lives. But I digress. With football, there is a lot of congratulating going on with the other guys on your team. Yes, this is in part because you have plenty of time between plays to celebrate, but still. But the thing about these celebrations that get to me is that they're all violent. It's all headbutting, shoving, and smacking; and I swear sometimes if a guy makes a good play, he gets hit harder by his own teammates in congratulation than they get hit by the opposition. Yes, I know they're premier athletes, and they're in peak physical condition, and they have about four metric tons of pads and braces that make them about as strong (and as human) as Robocop, but there will be a day when someone dislocates their shoulder by shoving their teammate who made a huge tackle. Mark my words. We already had a pie-to-the-face injury in baseball this year.

So this is why I say: sometimes it's not so bad to screw up. Yes, I'm competitive as anyone else out there. I have a strong distaste for losing, and I love the thrill of the hunt. But, if you'll notice, if someone screws up in sports, whether it's dropping a pass, missing your defensive assignment, or giving up the game-ending walkoff home run, that guy becomes a total pariah. They put their head down, they walk to the opposite end of the bench, and nobody gets close to them for fear of catching their suck. You drop one fly ball, and suddenly you're a leper. Yes, it's rough, but you know what? Nobody ever got a concussion from being banished to the other end of the bench. But then again, maybe that's why my athletic career stopped after high school.

"Hey, You Seem Like a Nice Guy"

Saturday night I was out at the bars, as I am so often fond of doing. However, there was another semi-regular occurrence that I'm not quite as fond of: some incredibly odd, probably drugged-out gentleman came up to me outside the bar and dragged me through about fifteen minutes of odd chatter in which I couldn't exactly get a word in to either engage the person or dislodge myself from the conversational vice-grip this man held me in.

I listened to stories about his growing up in San Francisco, his grandfather, who was some kind of trailblazing pioneer, apparently. I learned about how he thought it was fine to steal a bicycle as long as you needed it but how you had to be careful about the bikes you stole, because he stole one that turned out to be a fixie, and he didn't realize it until he was approaching a busy intersection and couldn't find the brakes. I heard about his new interest in panting, how he loved to repair bikes, and how his brother was a wildly successful community college baseball coach.

And why did I find this out? Because I was standing there.

This would have been fine if it were an isolated occurrence, but I swear to you, crazy people have an incredible knack for finding me. Friends tell me it's because I look like a nice guy and am approachable, but I think I must put off some crazy person pheromone or something, because seriously, this shit is a little out of hand. So I will provide you with some highlights of the vast ocean of crazy person knowledge that I have gleaned in my years on this planet.

• From the crazy chain-smoking bum on Greyhound: "Don't smoke. heh heh heh Don't smoke don't smoke don'tsmokedon'tsmoke ahahhahahhahhaha" I proceeded to see him chain smoke six cigarettes in the fifteen minute stopover, all the while coughing some awful sound that resembled a car trying to start and backfiring.

• A woman outside Annie's Social Club kept informing me that I was the supervisor, that I knew a vast list of names that she began to rattle off, that I was definitely that muthafuckin supervisor, wasn't I? Also, that my friend and drummer Taylor was on his last strike. Mmm mmm mm, and he better look out, because you KNOW what happen when he get that last strike. Mmmm mmm. Supervisor man gonna have to deal with that. And supervisor man can't be bothered with that, because he's such good friends with (some name I have no idea about that apparently I was good friends with).

• Some crunk in the Boom-Boom Room wisely informed me that the problem with the Fillmore neighborhood is that it went to shit because there were no more "corner bums". See, back in the days, if kids were screwing up and causing trouble, there was a bum down on the corner who knew everyone, and he would narc the kids out to their parents. Nowadays that we got no corner bums, we got nobody keeping these damn kids in check.

• An unfortunate soul who happened to be leaning on my car after I left band practice down in the Tenderloin spent a long, long time laboriously explaining to me what had gone wrong with his life, why he couldn't get a job, the best way to lift weights, why you have to be good at lifting weights if you're going to prison, why you should love your family, and how he was going to get back on his feet in no time. He was also convinced that I'd just walked out from playing a gig at the Warfield, so I'm not sure he was quite all together.

• A very standoff-ish person in the Inner Sunset informed a group of friends and myself that us damn kids have no sense of respect, and that's why the world is in its current state. It was entirely our fault, and if us damn kids couldn't show some respect, we could just go straight to hell and stop being cruel. "Us damn kids" were all 28-32 years old.

• A happy-go-lucky gent approached myself and a friend simply to tell us that his personal definition of a psychopath is someone who starts laughing at their own joke as a means of making other people laugh, rather than letting the joke be the reason for the laughter. He proceeded not only to break his own rule a number of times via random interruptions of conversation, but he also claimed that I was exempt from this rule, because I "was already a pretty upbeat guy" so apparently I couldn't be a psychopath.

The list goes on and on, but those are a few of the highlights. Somehow they flock to me, and everyone tells me it's because I seem like a nice guy. Here's my problem and curiosity: if I am apparently such a friendly and approachable guy, why is it that I mainly tend to draw in and interact with people who are completely fucknuggets crazy, but not cute girls? Damn universe.

Complacency

Wow. This is kind of sad. I can't believe I haven't written a blog post in like 75 days. That's borderline unfathomable. But I was thinking about this the other day, and I realized that I've just kind of settled into life recently, and I can't say that I've been that content with it. Yes, I see my friends a lot, yes I go out, and I've even been working the last month, so that has taken up a reasonable amount of time. Still, other than that, I realize that a lot of my time has been spent just killing time. Yes, it's fun to watch TV or fart around on the internet, and it can be really, really fun to play video games. A lot. But still, when you're doing all that, you're not doing things to improve yourself or your situation, and in that way, I feel like August in particular was kind of like quicksand. I haven't read enough recently, I haven't blogged, I haven't been actively pursuing finding new full-time work. I've been kind of a bum.

Yes, it's been nice, but looking back now, I really do have to ask myself: what have I been on vacation from? I began the official "unemployed" status way back at the end of May, and the final few weeks at the job were mostly a matter of me showing up and keeping my seat warm and keeping my computer from going into standby mode - I'm not saying I tanked the job, or that I was slacking off, it's just that more and more tasks that used to keep me busy at work were being moved to other people. So it's not like I was burned out from being so taxed at the workplace. Yes, I was mentally burned out by being stuck in a job that I fully realized wasn't interested in keeping me around, but that was about it.

So, my freelance job officially ended yesterday (due primarily to the possibility of new full-time employment, but more on that as it develops) and I am trying to mentally challenge myself (and aid that fact by stating it on the internet) that I want to get back in the swing of things. I want to go to the coffee shop and read. I want to write more music. I want to look for a job that will not only support the true Bill lifestyle, but will excite me enough to convince me that I will actually be there for more than a year or two until I figure out what I really, really want to do.

So, the next time you see me, or talk to me, or email me, give me some shit. Ask me what I'm reading, and what I read before that. Check my GoodReads account to see how often I start a new book. Check and see if I'm working on some new songs for the band. Ask me how the job hunt is going. Pull the Stewie Griffin and ask how the novel is coming (it isn't right now, so don't get all worked up). I may sigh, I may look all sad if things aren't going according to plan, but dammit, that's how I stay on task. That and making lists. Lots of lists. So I hope not to be complacent; not to sit around playing XBox or scratching myself, or whatever it is I do when I'm doing absolutely nothing, and I'm asking all of you who read this to help keep me good to my word. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a comic book to read.

A-Poppin'

The other night, my friend and I were out at the bars, and as tends to be the case, we were having an incredibly random discussion about a number of different things. Among so many of these random points we made, we were discussing what would have to be the greatest monkey movie that Homer Simpson ever watched. While I was a big fan of Hail to the Chimp, we decided that it ultimately had to be the classic Apes-A-Poppin'. This line of discourse led us to another deeply insightful realization about the world in which we live, and this immensely complex English language that we speak:

No matter what noun you choose, if you pair it in a phrase with "a-poppin'", it will always be hilarious. Go ahead and try it in your head a little bit, it's fantastic. You can do it with cute animals, like "Kittens-A-Poppin" or "Goldfish-A-Poppin". You can do it with a city "San Francisco-A-Poppin" or "Chicago-A-Poppin". I find it's almost better with food: "Hamburgers-A-Poppin" or "Filet Mignon-A-Poppin", even "Popovers-A-Poppin".

So now, a bit of a history lesson for you: this fantastic cinematic voyage that is both The Simpsons and their fine dancing monkeys started all the way back in 1941. There was a movie called "Hellzapoppin'" which chronicled the grand proliferation of the Lindy Hop dance craze. So, the Simpsons, geniuses that they are, re-imagined this fine film as a monkeys in tuxedos comedic romp. I tell you this much: I sure as hell would buy a copy of this fine movie if I were given the chance.


Now, one other point, another idea to ponder: imagine how hilarious and fantastic some of the greatest movies would be if they were re-imagined starring monkeys. I mean, just let your mind wonder and dream up some possibilities: "Pulp Monkeys", "The Big Chimpanzee", "Superbad Monkeys", "Rear Window Ape", "South by Southmonkey". Just awe-inspiring.

Got thoughts? Lay them on me....

Funemployment

That's right kiddies, your friend and humble narrator is currently sans employment, but to be completely honest, I'm kind of thrilled about it. Not that I didn't like getting a paycheck, and the stability in life that full-time employment provides, but it sure is nice to stay up until four in the morning when you so desire, and to wake up to the sun coming in your window at two in the afternoon. So, while the termination wasn't exactly my idea, I still hold that it's a blessing in disguise.

So this means I am now rife with free time; I finally have time to write some music, to update all sorts of social media, including this blog, my Twitter, my Tumblr, my band's blog, my band's YouTube account, and all sorts of other things. You know how that goes. I also finally have time to read again as much or as little as I want, so if you have a GoodReads account that I'm not aware of, by all means let me know!

So begins the "Summer of Bill" - I have a modest severance check coming my way, I just finished filing for unemployment, and I should be able to at least spend the rest of the summer just relaxing and doing what I do best: being Bill. I'm back to that excited, well-rested, over-caffeinated ball of fun that most of you may remember from the good old days of grad school and even the undergrad years. Still, if you know a good place to work that is on the lookout for a copywriter or editor type person, let me know, a good job is totally worth sacrificing the tail end of the Summer of Bill for.

I suppose that's all for today, I plan on heading out to the coffee shop a little more regularly soon, and that always makes for excellent blog fodder. I'm also thinking that I might finally dust off "Godspeed You White Blogger", my music blog, and get that thing up and running a bit more regularly too.

Excelsior!

Quiet, Please.

Yeah yeah, it's been a long time. Yeah, I'm trying to work towards updating this blog more regularly. You've heard it before because I write it at the beginning of almost every entry.

Still, today I was disturbed enough to be moved to blog.

I will preface this whole story by saying this: when using a public restroom, if I have to pop a squat, I am incredibly self-conscious to the point of OCD avoidance. Especially around the office, where our entire floor has a shared public restroom, I have put off trips if there is someone in the restroom who might see me enter a stall instead of approaching a urinal. It's crazy, yes, but that's just how I roll. Everybody poops, but I don't when it's public knowledge that it's me in there. I will wait for people leave before exiting a stall, and if someone is in the stall next to mine, I'll crowd away from the divider so my shoe isn't there to tip anyone off. I have issues, but it's okay. My issues are part of what keep this blog going, infrequently as it may be.

So, back to the case at hand. I'm in the restroom at work, which as I said is shared with the entire floor of our office complex and any guests that these businesses might have. I'm quietly sitting in a stall, making myself invisibile and inaudible if at all possible. Someone comes in and sits down in the other stall. This is fine. This happens every day. Again, everybody poops. It's life. I am sitting there, doing everything in my power not to shift or make other noises. Then all of a sudden I hear it. Something nobody should ever have to hear.

The poop moan.

You all know what I'm talking about. That slightly relaxing exhalation of satisfaction when "legislation has been pushed through" if you catch my drift. Mortified, I sit there in mild shock, bug-eyed at the fact that some random dude would just let that out in a public restroom, especially knowing that there'someone sitting there a few scant feet from him with nothing but three quarters of an inch of particle board keeping us apart. As I'm sitting there staring straight ahead, trying to plot my move, it happens again, but worse. So I immediately finish up and get the hell out of there with the maximum possible speed.

But this experience got me thinking - is it me? Do normal people just make themselves at home when they're on the throne, no matter where the throne may be? Am I over-reacting? I know this whole entry is a wee bit of an overshare, and what happens in the bathroom should stay in the bathroom, but the fact that now, hours later I am still kind of shivering about the whole situation, I had to get it out there. I think the other guy in there, knowing that there was someone in the stall next door, was way out of line. You don't just go into a public space and start making rampant noises of personal satisfaction with your bowel movements. At least you shouldn't, because that shit's nasty. Literally and figuratively.

Another Generic Update Post

Yeah, I know. My lack of updates is pretty disgraceful, and I agree. But see, there's stuff brewing at the moment that I'm not necessarily at leisure to discuss at the moment. Nothing too earth-shattering or life changing at the moment, but still, exciting nonetheless for me.

Anyhow, let'a go through a little laundry list of what Bill has been up to over the past little while since he last wrote a passable blog:

- Been to a handful of shows, the Morning Benders and Spoon being the highlights of the past few weeks

- I've watched almost the entirety of Cowboy Bebop again (I'm just three episodes from the end of the series as I write this)

- got new glasses finally. Don't get me started on that one. All I'll say at this point is to be wary if you happen to do your eyewear shopping at West Portal Optical. The glasses are fantastic and well-constructed, but I'll be damned if I didn't wait for about a month longer than promised for the damn things to show up.

- Caught the A's home opener, which unfortunately they lost, but we still had a real ball. Gotta love how the season has started for the old boys in the green and gold

- Music, music, music - as if that were any different. I'm averaging three band practices a week, and a whole mess of other band duties outside of that. Speaking of which - if you want to get your hands on the new Hello Monster buttons, be sure and let me know.

Generally speaking, you can keep up more with the minutiae and links that my life are filled with, check out the Twitter feed or my Tumblr account, both links are off to the left. I do miss having a more regular blog, but when you're hardly ever home, it's hard to find the time to churn out compelling content. Hopefully soon enough...