Everything Else

Dear Portlandia, screw you.

Some people may be reading this because of the series Portlandia. I personally cannot stand the thing’s existence. It used to be my spot reserved for stuff like South Park or Family guy, but I have never felt more insulted of my home then watching an episode of what some people call a satire.

I have even had some people want me to calm down, and take it for the comedy it is supposed to be. The problem is that if it does not make me laugh then it is not comedy to me, it is people taking a subject close to my heart and makign themselves look like utter fools with it.

What if someone made a show about everyone in San Francisco was a bunch of overly emotional nymphomaniac with sever mental disorders. I bet some would laugh, but some would still be insulted because somewhere where they may have established close friendships or found their loved one, made memories is being turned in to the butt of bad jokes.

Now, some may think I am overly serious. Most likely that is true, but I am not against the idea of a show like Portlandia, but the comedy that is supposed to make the reflection upon oneself go smoothly is rough and feels painful. I have tried watching it and fans I have spoke with have said it gets better I just can’t spare another moment of time nor a modicum of my remaining energies to try and understand this.

You want comedy in Portland, how about a transvestite putting a smack down on three gang members on a night Max from Chinatown. Cooks trying to backstab each other for horribly paid positions because a lot of them are just damn good at what they do. How the service industry in the city could double as a minute militia if the city was ever deemed dry by one of the dimwitted politician or social justice group. How strikes shut everything down or just piss people off when one group has barbecues to get their point across by giving away burgers and fries so people listen. Each of those could be funny, but just the way it is delivered needs to show the good and the bad which maybe they changed from the parts and episodes I tried to watch but it just looked like insulting garbage taking the best parts of a city and mocking them because of one reason for another.

If you like it, then great, but for the whole series of Portlandia, 

Screw you.

 

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Nervous but Intrigued -Personal

Part of me is scared. I hit my head hard enough that I had a nice little ride to the emergency room. My balance seems like it is getting worse, but I cannot let this whole thing turn me into a hermit while there is so much to do, and there are still so many questions. Why did I gain 120 lbs in a week and not go up a size. Why is my balance and my back and shoulders shot to hell? Why do my limbs go numb for hours at a time making it harder to use them?

I have had to retrain my body to do things. I cannot cook like I want to without risking cuts or burns. If it wasn’t for the callouses my hands would look like charcoal by now, and all this bothers me because I felt I was so good at things. Despite how hard I pushed it was only looking back that the progress was seen. I hated how slow it went, but on the rare glances back I would have that monet of fleeting happiness before the next challenge lined up.

Some people said I was emotionally running away. I think it was more running to something. I always felt like my time had passed without me knowing, and since then I have felt like I have been in a constant battle against time. Not in the sake of life and death, but just getting that little bit more experience before moving to the next part of life that we all must face leaving this world to whatever is next. I guess it wouldn’t be a fight against the clock, but against the thought of total failure then now that I’m trying to put the thoughts to keyboard.

Rushing from one goal to another like I’m an old warrior looking fora fight, this way will not do me well to have it continue. That is where the intrigue comes in because I evolve to suit my conditions fairly well and I think it will get to the point soon because I am not just going to roll over and give it up. When I was 320 I could hit hard enough to break heavy bags enough to almost be banned from a gym after the third fix even off my bad leg I could stil do leg presses for reps at 600 which is not my original weight at about 900, but after a few years without trying to keep up with it you will lose some ability without bringing it back up.

I am intrigued to see where this wil leave me because maybe if I can get the balance things sorta settled maybe speed and endurance should be my next targets physically. After you train long enough in one thing it seems to stick better, and even now if I had to I could throw my weight around still it just cant happen so much since my balance has been shot so has my endurance or stamina. Still it may just be time to redesign myself with this new issues in mind, rebuild myself to the best of my ability before reclaiming what I think should be mine so to speak.

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I finished both major projects and still at 1600 words short with one day left. Luckily I still can’t sleep so off we go.

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Short Update

I had some recent problems that cracked my spirit a bit bu I managed to get within 4k words. it is so close that it could be done provided I get one more day of good rest which seems to escape me.

Recently my father, who has been helping me out as my condition worsens as been touted as someone living at the apartment despite him driving to and fro almost every day. On top of that, there was a recent letter telling us we had to leave on December the 1st because of it. It had to take three different people telling them that a provision in their contract is against city law especially on what accounts for a guest. Their determination to keep with their contract despite it impacting what the city counts as renters rights.

Far be it for anyone to actually read the law. It is hard enough to fact check them because many times when you ask for a copy of the contract they will not give you one until it is signing time and they rush you through as soon as possible. We are still doing the channel when the living conditions get hammered out which may be in a fair amount of time. Where things stand now, I can still record portions of it as well as work harder on my writing and be learning to make art from the computer.

I am going to try and sleep once again.

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Utter Disappointment

For those who somehow missed the title. This blog is called One Guy In Portland, and that is because my home city was Portland, OR. I loved it and my home state and I thought we did not get a whole lot of respect from a lot of other ‘hubs’ of industries. We were the food cart city, the weird one, and most of all the one where anything could be found or done.

Imagination ran through this city and the state like the blood in your veins, and I loved it. Growth, loss, highs, lows from the gentrification of the east side back to the smokey bars and speakeasy gambling rooms. I loved it because it had an authenticity to whatever it did making it seem just for a moment that there was a magic about it.

You could go and learn tea from the monks of China, gamble with some of the best in Vegas, learn from minds in every field, eat and swap stories with some of the best chefs coming up, and learn so much. I have spent days navigating the back roads and alleys just to see what little thing could be found.

There was always bad moments. Running down Burnside right after y2k at 3 in the morning, gang shootings against the LGBTQ community, drug deals from some of the smaller towns funneling in, and those people never really getting a chance they can understand to just try. Try to do something positive, and maybe they can just stop. I used to boast how Oregon was a grat place to live and Portland was the jewel of the crown.

Now, though I must say I am more than a little hurt because what started off as a branded “resistance” brought the wrong people to the dance. The crown is tarnished, and the jewel that once held some magic may have grown duller. That does not mean that efforts should stop, though. One does not get by moping about, and even though it has wavered, I will still make my home a better place, and then move outwards because that is the plan, the goal , and the dream. It does not matter now, who won or who lost. We must work with what we got and sometimes it takes a group of misfits to make something greater than the sum of the parts.

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22,000 words on the writing. Videos still going. Back to work for me and good luck on yours.

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Shattered Reflections – Excerpt

Hospital Rules and Back to School

Janet was in the hospital again, and I was being dragged out of school to show our support for another surgery where more of my sister’s innards would actually be put together properly.

I hate hospitals. Back then they were boring and dismal places that one would think would have something for people to do while waiting for something to happen. That is all that happens in a hospital though, waiting for something to happen. Pokemon Red would get me through the dullest moments plugged on top of my electric purple Game Boy Color. When it was my turn to see her while everyone was getting all emotional my turn had come with madre. While mom got all teary eyed over the next surgery and how she looked in the hospital bed because that scared Janet most of all.

She wanted things to seem as normal as possible while in the hospital, and seeing me like that the first time she had to ask if I was worried.

“Should I be?”

“Well I don’t think so, but everyone is acting like it is bad.” She wondered.

“People are stupid Janet, they do not think with logic.”

“Is that why people cry all the time in hospitals?”

“No, they cry because although it is a small risk it is still a risk. That and people are just stupid sometimes.” I rebutted.

“How come you’re not scared?”

“Because even the doctors say this is low risk versus some of the other ones in the hospital. I think if it were to happen then it would be on something the doctors are a little more fearful of.”

Playing through the safari zone for a Kangaskhan she wanted to have a Pokemon of her own. After madre got involved saying the next one I caught had to be hers. She would get to name it while my opinions got return fire out in the hall. Only for after a while we walked back in to see her acting like her dyed blonde ditzy self again.

“Bro, your not scared are you?”

“Nope, you will know when I am scared when I show up of my own volition, and not dragged here.”

“You really think I will be okay?” She questioned.

Putting down the game boy our mother watched Janet calm down as my answer was explained before being shepherded out of the room. Our father would be watching the next shift passing us before we left the hall. Madre just ruffled my hair while asking how things worked in my head before we started our way to the car. School was coming back, and it was better to be in school then be out of it.

Sylvia waited less then five minutes before hugging me in front of most of the class. Twirling lightly it was a bad dance we were inseparable again in the first week especially catching up about the various things of our summers.

The warm autumn sun and smell of decaying walnuts, her hair under my chin with the darker tones of her skin on mine before we giggled happily at one of our stupid jokes. We had a wonderful surprise as half of the school would be heading out with both of our groups in the same period. Thoughts of sleeping in the same campground made us blush slightly.

The happy kids we were catching up we would just enjoy the moment.

We even talked at night on the phone whenever we had the time. It was just better because we didn’t have set guidelines to our relationship. We were each others friend. We ere each others confidant. Just her and just me enjoying each others presence to the point that our other friends were comfortable. Everyone should have someone like that in their life, and it surprised me that she was happy with me.

Outdoor school was camp for two weeks with various activities supposedly to help us learn about the different sciences. It also helped us to keep our focus away from everything that we could have been doing. Walking in the forest with our counselor and teacher for different classes. The rest of the time we would go to the various extra activities where different cabins would meet up while different counselors supervised.

We would meet only a handful of times outside of lunch at camp wide announcements. One each week and whatever time we could see each other which was an additional four times. Lunch was something our groups would have in common and most of the time we would eat together. Other kids would always say we were like a married couple that would get a blush from both of us. Sylvia’s ears would go red in case any of her friends brought up any dream wedding plans always gravitating towards grabbing my hand while arguing with others about why she was blushing so hard.

While we were being driven back we would just sit and chat while the clouds began to darken. She had taken to training my Raichu while I wasn’t playing. Trying to catch her off guard one quick peck one her cheek got her attention turning towards me slowly before draping herself over me.

“Muk attack..”

The smile on her face as well as her proximity making both of us blush.

“You know for how often this happens one would think we were used to it.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Not really, I’m just sure we would both be over it by now.” Pulling her close to me we both could smile.

Wrapping my arm around her we both sat back against the window.

Hearing the clicking sounds of a camera woke me up. We were back at the school where I threatened one of my classmates about stomping the camera to dust before hearing them snicker off. She shifted on tome of me muttering how warm I was. Which took of all my strength not to face wide blush. Having her snuggle against my chest was my trigger to as my teacher would say “blushing so brightly he could be a substitute stoplight.”

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An Emotional Thing

This is something difficult for me. I was never known to be openly emotional. It was something that always was found in my work, but never was there something to go read like this. Past coworkers would usually just say I am a guarded individual, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have them. It is just strange for me to show them in such a fashion.

Those who had guessed Shattered Reflections was based on someone would be correct. It is based on the experiences of my life, and one of the reasons I have not come out to be so honest with it is more about trying to remember everything and feeling that I failed. I wouldn’t to put a partial product and I had taken enough shots to the head over the years that having it in as fiction would at least cover for anything I may have missed.

Lately my health has been declining and it has been doing so slowly over a period of about a year. Now it has gotten to the point where my hands and arms will go numb for hours, and while they find things on every test they just cannot put everything together. I used to be fairly active despite my size, and it showed when I wanted to do something that people would think impossible. I can’t even walk without swaying, bumping in to the walls, and falling in to things. It makes me so mad on top of my usual plate of angry feelings. Every day seems to take something more from me making it for the first time in years all I can do is try without any major plan except ‘survive’.

I wanted the world to be a better place. People to be happy from a company with the resources to really make some changes in the processes that so many people seem lost doing in day to day jobs. It was someone’s last wish to make this world a better place. Knowing that every day my health is getting worse despite my efforts, and that her dream may not come to fruition really hurts. I define myself on what I do, what could be learned, and how to do it in the most effective fashion. Changes have been made because of my knowledge base in more then a half dozen different businesses from training of employees, to specials in restaurants, and calculations in quality management.

All of that does not mean a whole lot to me though. The job was to make the world a little better. Without her a lot of things just don’t bring a whole lot of happiness. I can put the mask on though, and sometimes fool myself to be someone else for a moment. When I get back to reality though it is the same reflection of someone who has no real meaning within himself to live. My family life is in shambles, and I feel like I cannot even be friendly at times to the only people in my extended family without money because I am so out of place in their social circles it just has to be grating to them. My brother is stuck living with my mother who will most likely lose their car again because she has a relationship with money like most bars of soap have a relationship with a tight grip. My father has found out after his own tragedy that I had been stewing in the pool of depression for most of my life while he just got used to the temperature, and he already wants to not exist anymore.

I have nothing to contribute to my friends so I try to stay out of their lives for the most part because I don;t want them to be weighed down with my problems. I may say one or two, but those are small and my list is long. What can I do when there are no successes with someone who is defined by them. I have been feeling worse and worse over the past few year especially. It seems like every effort is worthless. Every try just another small failure to mock me in a world stacked with them.

So I sit in my room trying to wring a couple pieces of mirth out of a world that just seems to be so much wasted potential, and all of this just weighs on you until you just get tired. Tired of everything. Tired of every problem, of every dunce blasting their mouth off without thinking, of every time you tried to not be in the previous group and failed, trying to grow to have a spirited debate only for people to cut me short despite not learning the previous immeasurable number of times. Tired of not having money to go hang out with my uncle so I don’t have to look like the charity case to him or his friends. I guess is what I really want is just to be respected. It struck me I never really felt respected in my life at least not as a real person. If anything the identity at my job or the person someone would go drinking with or the person who yaps a lot on a blog would be, but it never felt like it was just me.

I’m the mad scientist, the bloody brawler, the crying boy, the cagey thief, the android, the try hard, the tactician, the gamer, the competitor, the budding young entrepreneur, the hired help in school, the teen from the wrong side of town, the despicable destroyer, the villain, the evil, the good, the strange, the bizarre one, the man who will fight, the man who will step in, the person who made the promise, the angel in some rare occasion and each of those things just does not feel like me. Like it was a fragmented mask that somehow got the respect or the accolades while I remain back at square one just wanting something to know that I can get that respect at least. Maybe, it was because of that I never really felt like I belonged? Who knows.

I don’t really have a nice turn of phrase to end this, but I said I would do something to at least get some emotional thing on paper on this blog. I held to my word.

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