Ten Years Later

It's been 10 years since the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. The media, and all social media for that matter, is all atwitter about it. "Remember, Never forget, etc." I'm not feeling this collective sadness. Is my extreme liberalism preventing me from honoring the dead? Can my ingrained cynical outlook on politics and world events overpower the national tragedy that Americans call 9/11? Or is it something more banal, like my hateristic nature towards the east coast vs. the west side? WEST SIDE!

The terrorist attacks launched America's War on Terror. Has terror been defeated in 10 years? Did we really believe that it would? American corporate hegemony has been the true terror these past 10 years. While 9/11 events killed thousands of people, it has been the actions of our elite class which have thrown millions of Americans in hell.

How much safer do you feel today? Do you think improved TSA screenings have reduced your chances of being turned into a flying rocket? Or, are you more worried about losing your job and being pushed into poverty?

I don't know that answers to these rhetorical questions. All I feel is dumbness, not because of the events of 9/11, but because this is how I feel everyday.

Happy Birthday Paulo

Paulo turned 3 today and we celebrated by going out to Fresh Eats in Colma with a coupon.

We had ice cream, pizza, mac and cheese, and a bunch of other supposedly healthy foods. As usual, I of course had the coffee at the end of the meal. They must have just made it because it was very strong. So strong that earlier tonight I actually felt my heart start beating a little bit faster and I was, if I dare to admit it, a little short of breath.

Is that healthy for a man of my age? I've never had to worry about my mortality before. However, as I age and my body starts to feel just a little bit more sore each morning I wake up, and my knees start to feel tight, and the balls of my feet start bruising, I have to consider my own mortality - it's a harsh reality that weighs on my back.

So instead of doing anything about my impending doom, instead of some carpe diem type shit, I'm typing and tweeting and blogging and computing and networking and all that fucking shit to stay "connected." To what exactly, I'm not so sure. I say this because living lives and long distance loves, online, will get you nowhere. I want to physically interact with my environments and touch the people around me. And when I finished touching them and inevitably getting slapped, I would then proceed to touching myself just to make people feel uncomfortable.

Aheeeeem, "but that's my life as Neil Hamburger!!!"

Shutdown and Restart

I was once hit by a car around the age of 13. Paulo was almost hit by a car today. He's going to be 3 next month. Are kids today growing up too fast? Our inquiring minds would like to know.

My weekends are active, there's never a moments rest, and the sleep is sporadic. The latest world events are irrelevant to my daily life, yet I follow them and want to believe they somehow shape my economic status. Instead, they serve as distractions to the grind which I call my life. This slow, long march into nothingness.

I'm only consoled by the knowledge that I'm alive and able to type on the go. Things really aren't that bad, but the comfort in sad feelings is an addiction. It's always a passing phase, but relishing in it, if only for a minute, makes me feel good.

Tweets (random thoughts)

Here are a few that I want to post, but not so much all over the twitterverse.

I'm constantly asking myself, "Do you think you made the right decision this time?"

I recently watched a movie from the 90s called, "And then there was one," about an upper class Caucasian couple who try all the fertility methods to get pregnant. When they're finally successful, the baby is born with AIDS. Dum Dum Duuuumb! And the bigger kicker is that the mother gave it to the entire family. No, she wasn't creeping around being promiscuous; instead, she got AIDS from a blood transfusion. No shit?!? Talk about AIDS panic.

So the movie goes on about their slow deaths, breakdowns, and their poor baby daughter who suffers strokes and brain damage. Yes, this movie from the 90s is that extreme. The only one left is the mother, "and then there was one." OMG!!! So, so dramatic.

Really, have I made the right decision this time? I'm continuously asking myself this as I spend my free time watching Netflix movies and trying to come up with clever hashtags. My life is a brown, chipped tooth that protrudes from your measly mouth. And somehow, I'm happy with it.

Skyfalling

OK, new band in the works and we've recorded something! Also, we're about the go into the studio next, next Monday to record another one. I'm super excited to be playing music again, and even though it isn't in a "banding" setting with music spaces, brews, sweaty practices, gear bates, etc...I'm happy to say that I'm at least creating music once again.

And to be real, I just don't know how capable I am to be doing the two practices a week, a show every two weeks, and promoting non-stop band model. That model works for sure, and lord knows I had a blast when I was doing it, but now, with the family, extra work, and a general lack of funds and free time, the way Skyfalling is shaping up is feeling like it could be sustainable.

Here's the link to our stuff, check it out and enjoy: http://www.skyfalling.bandcamp.com/

http://rocketsciencerecords.blogspot.com/

This is the BEST blog out there right now, still: http://rocketsciencerecords.blogspot.com

Work Guilt

I would consider myself to be a hard worker. I think I do more than what's required for the job. That being said, I can't help but feel guilty for leaving work right now and leaving one of my co-workers having to complete mundane tasks on her own.

Should I feel guilty? Or is this just my typical, unfounded, liberal, bleeding heart guilt? This isn't technically my responsibility, but that "leadership" Jimmy Cricket yapping in my ear is telling me I should have stayed and helped out. My emotional tendencies are to make others happy at the expense of my own happiness. Typical middle child syndrome.

You know what? I'd like to give a big middle finger to guilty feelings as I have things I want to do for myself. I'm not owned and I have free will, so whatever.

Ah, I feel better. On to the L train to head back to my San Francisco Suburb.