Joe's Diary

Dear diary,

Wed, 15 Aug 2012 00:18:59 -0400

Sometimes things are poopy. Sometimes things are poopy multiple days in a row. This is one of those.

My schedule got a lot lighter for the next month. The live event we were gonna host has been postponed for a date sometime in the future.

I am severely disappointed about this.

I have a lot more I could say about all of this but it doesn’t really matter now. My pontificating can wait.

At least I had a good fish sandwich today.

Dear diary,

Tue, 14 Aug 2012 00:39:09 -0400

Today was mostly okay. It’s not that it was a good day or a bad day. It was simply a day.

That is, until the end of the day that simply was when I became encumbered with feelings and their ugly side effects.

Still, I made a pretty cool birthday picture for someone. That makes me happy. That makes me feel worthwhile.

I’m going to try again tomorrow. It’s all anyone can do, really.

Dear diary,

Mon, 13 Aug 2012 01:16:02 -0400

I should be in bed. It’s quite very late.

I had a good weekend. I mean, really, from beginning to end, all told, it was nice. It was good. I did fun things. Accomplished a little. I thought. A lot.

I need a haircut. Have I mentioned that? My hair has grown unwieldy once again. It’s so heavy. It’s so hot. Yet, I love it. I love it’s over-the-top-ness. I love it’s ridiculousness. It’s so big!

I watched two movies over the weekend and I don’t know that they could be further apart on the aww-to-grr scale.

The first was Morning Glory, a cute little movie starring Rachel McAdams as a spunky morning show producer who is doing her best to make her dreams come true! She is adorable and the movie is sweet and I had fun.

Tonight, I watched the testosterone-fueled fist-fest Warrior. It’s about HARD MEN trying to be GOOD MEN while doing MEN THINGS. The action was pretty damn good, if not for a last act which strained credulity (for people who follow mixed martial arts, I mean). Tom Hardy was great, Joel Edgerton was even better, and Jennifer Morrison was oh so pretty and, I mean, how could you not want to fight in a tournament to win five million dollars for her and your daughters?!

I read way too much into dumb things in movies that get me all up in my feelings.

Have a good night. Take care. Best of luck FORGIVING YOUR FATHER! HE’S DOING THE BEST HE CAN! I MEAN, COME ON.

Sincerely,
Adorably,
Manly,
Joe

Dear diary,

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 23:59:35 -0400

There is a car parked in front of my house. It has been there for days. Days! Tomorrow will be at least the fourth day it has not moved. This is greatly annoying as I also like to park in front of my house and I like my guests to be able to park in front of my house and these two things cannot be done with that car parked where it is!

This wouldn’t be as frustrating if it wasn’t at least the third time this has happened. It’s a different car than before, I believe, but the first two were the same one. I know the first couple of times, the car was being worked on. Or “worked on”. I don’t see any obvious work being done to this one. It’s just sitting there.

In front of my house.

Today was an okay day. Nothing special, nothing terrible. I felt kind of lonely in parts but not to any serious point. I also hung out with my mom, which was nice.

I can’t wait to talk about my big projects with people who aren’t me and the other folks directly involved. Oh, diary! Why am I so finicky?!

Tomorrow is Friday. I have nothing to do all weekend and I’m going to relish that experience like never before. I want to make lists, dearest diary! Lists out the wazoo!

Sincerely,
Listfully,
Lonely,
Joe

Dear diary,

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 01:00:37 -0400

Hey. S’up. It’s me.

Joe.

Yeah.

Today was an okay day. It was weird, too. At least the evening was.

I had a lot of plans to both do nothing (and relax) and do something (and be productive). I did a little bit of the nothing, getting ready to do some of the something, when I noticed my phone wasn’t working.

It stopped being able to send text messages and dial out. It could receive both texts and calls (with some interruption) but nothing got out. I spent a long time trying to troubleshoot it. I called Verizon and the guy was really helpful but, unfortunately, he couldn’t get me to a solution.

I’ve now determined it’s either my SIM card or my phone. If it’s the former, it can be easily fixed. If it’s the latter… well, let’s hope it’s the former. The next step will be to reset my phone to the factory settings and lose all my text messages. It’s not like I have a ton of super sweet ones or anything. It’s not like it’s filled to the brim with odes of greatness and notes of love. Nah, it’s mostly just a bunch of smartass remarks going back and forth.

But they’re my smartass remarks!

We’ll see what happens tomorrow. Tonight, I’m left feeling disheveled and unaccomplished.

Oh, diary.

I need a haircut.

Sincerely,
Disconnectedly,
Follicly,
Joe

Dear diary,

Wed, 08 Aug 2012 00:04:43 -0400

Nothing much happened today. Today was, for the most part, boring.

I am super tuckered out, though. Goodness.

Before I go, diary, I want to talk about change. No, not errant pennies, nickels, and dimes. I’m talking about the kind of change we always want when things aren’t as we wish. I’m talking about the kind of change claim to need. The kind of change that fills your lungs in the middle of the night, waiting to burst free and infest the air around you. The kind of change that fades away as dark becomes dawn, where you forget your will and let routine reclaim the thrown it’s always had.

Why is change so difficult when it so obviously exudes the positives you desperately need?

I don’t know. I’m tired of it.

I’m tired of a lot of things.

Sincerely,
Discouragingly,
Defeatedly,
Joe

Dear diary,

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 00:53:42 -0400

Oh diary, let me tell you about today! Today was a good day. A really good day, actually.

I got to be super late and slept even later. Granted, it still amounted to about 8 hours of sleep but when it hits eight hours at 11am, it’s late no matter what.

After that, I got up and went out for lunch. Yeah! While there, I wrote letters to friends and then I mailed them! Yeah yeah! After that, I had dinner with some of my favorite people in the world. Yeah yeah yeah!

I also made my mom laugh so suddenly, she snorted food through nose. That’s a rare combination there, diary.

I’m starting to get nervous about next month, even though it’s a month away. I have so much planned, so many trips and projects and BIG HUGE THINGS packed into six or seven weeks.

It could be the end of me.

Let’s lay it all out there and see what’s what.

Early September (9/1 or 9/8): Rusty and I are going to be hosting a concert while simultaneously recording a video. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever done before. There’s going to be rehearsals! I mean, hell. I don’t even know what we’re going to do. So much to plan with this.
September 15-16: We’re going to be interviewing creators at the Small Press Expo again. I’ve said everything will be better this time around but I don’t even know what that means, honestly. I already have a better camera so that’s good. I guess I can work on the audio. I don’t know if I can be a better me at interviewing. We’ll see. I’m not too nervous about this one yet but it’s back there, waiting to stir.
September 22: We head north for a trip to Pittsburgh and the Pittsburgh Zine Fair. It’s mostly an excuse to see our friends in Pittsburgh but, still, it’s a show. I don’t think we need anything new for the show as we just did a new zine and it’s amazing. Maybe the mood will strike us.
September 29: I am on the wait-list for another show. I don’t think this one will work out but, if it does, it will be a neat trip. If it doesn’t, I will sleep.
October 6: We make our annual pilgrimage to Richmond for the Richmond Zine Fest! One of my favorite shows in one of my favorite places, the Gay Community Center of Richmond, hopefully beneath one of my favorite things, the rainbow disco ball! This is possibly the last year at the GCCR so I’m glad we’re getting to go. This is a trip I can do in my sleep. Always fun.
October 11-14: This is when the New York Comic Con takes place. It’s on the radar. I can’t imagine having the energy to go but, if we get in for free, it might be worth a trip up. We’ll see!
October 20: This is the tentative date for this year’s Meatfest! I take it very seriously because the most amazing people are involved. I have no idea what I’ll make for this year’s event but I never slack because I love it too much.

So that’s what I’m looking at.

Diary, between you and me, I need to be a lot better me than I’ve been. I can tackle this but it will be hard.

Nervously,
Joe

Dear diary,

Sun, 05 Aug 2012 02:42:32 -0400

It’s your old pal, Joe. You know how I always joke with people that I’m going to write about any given incident in my diary and people laugh because they’re all “This dude said he was gonna write in his diary!” and how it’s funny because a) I’d write about it in my diary and b) a big dude like me has a diary?

Well, I’ve decided to take this tumblr dedicated to me writing stuff (which I don’t actually write in) and change it to be a diary. Of sorts. I mean, it’s called my diary but, between you and me, it’s not a real diary.

For example, there is no lock on the cover. There is also no cover. Still, I will use this as a diary. I will write every damn day. I promise you (me) this.

I thought of this tonight while talking to a nice gentleman named Ben. I met him at my friend Heather’s birthday party. He started talking to me because I was wearing my crown.

Yes, I wore my crown. I figured people would get a kick out of it. They did. Ben is a great example. The invitation also mentioned people should wear hats. This is my hat.

Anyway, when I told Ben I was wearing the crown because I figured people would think it was funny, he said it worked and was, in fact, pretty funny. I told him I was really happy it worked out for me and that I would mention him in my diary. Except I don’t actually have a diary. That’s how I got the idea to make one.

I also said I would have a court reporter do a recreation of our meeting. My crown would appear much larger in this picture. He asked that the picture also make it so he has a huge penis.

My regular court report was busy so I had to do it myself.

Note my reaction to Ben’s enormous penis. Also, note my huge crown.

So that’s what happened tonight, diary. Thanks for listening. Talk to you tomorrow.

Sincerely,
Respectively,
Lovely,
Joe

Not so secret any more

Fri, 29 Jun 2012 17:40:00 -0400

I wasn’t planning on writing anything tonight then I thought of something. It’s one of those things that pops into my head and I have to share it. I guess this is where those sorts of things will get shared.

I started feeling better about the things I felt bad about when I stopped keeping them to myself. The more I openly talked to people about the aspects of myself that I was embarrassed by or ashamed of or simply generally disliked, the less they concerned me. The more I talk about the things that bother me, the less they bother me.

I’ve known this for a while and I tend to always forget it. I almost forgot it again. Maybe this will help me remember next time.

(this was written last night but didn’t post for some reason)

Remember when I wrote stuff?

Tue, 26 Jun 2012 01:01:27 -0400

So… I missed the last two days of posting. Not even a week old and I blew the streak. I have excuses, though, and they are pretty darn great. The first is that I was out of town Saturday and couldn’t write anything. The only time I had to myself was at 4am Sunday morning and that was decidedly sleep time. Then, when I got home last night, I was far too tired to write. See, it’s not my fault, it’s circumstance!

This weekend, I (along with my pal, Rusty) took an impromptu road trip to Pittsburgh to visit our friends, Brad and Carrie. I had been thinking about making this trip for about a week or so but didn’t suggest it officially until Wednesday or Thursday. The impetus for the trip was that our friends are in a band, The Richards Family Bible, and were going to be performing Saturday night. They don’t perform often (this was the first time in a year) and I’d never had the chance to see them. I figured I should take advantage of this opportunity.

I also wanted to go because I thought they would get a kick out of their friends from Maryland driving 5 hours to watch them play. This was why I decided to keep the trip a secret. No one knew about this it except a few folks. It was important to me that it be a surprise because… Well, I’m not sure how best to explain it.

I think there is very little better in life than doing something for someone where you kind of tweak the world in a way to make it a more magical place. A place where people show up from out of nowhere to see you play. A place where an imaginary chimpanzee keeps a blog that only you know about. A place where you can give someone a treasure map of their apartment parking lot and have them find their gift.

I know how goofy this sounds but I believe in what I say. What better way to illustrate this than a story from my youth? None better way, I say.

The summer of my eleventh birthday, my grandmother, aunt, and cousin from Spain visited my family. This was the first time I had met any of them. It was, in fact, the first time I had met anyone from my father’s side of the family. They all, to this day, live in Spain while I most certainly do not. It was quite a big deal for all involved.

They stayed with us for about a month. During this time, we took them to every conceivable tourist trap in DC we could find. You name it, we visited it. When we weren’t going shopping, sight-seeing, or having t-shirts made for the folks back home (we did this A LOT), we hung around the apartment. Since I didn’t have school and both of my parents worked, days were filled with broken conversations between myself and my relatives about any number of subjects (as long as they could be easily illustrated via pantomime).

We also took them to visit our local family, including my other grandmother and her many, many children and grandchildren. One such gathering was at my aunt and uncle’s place. Relatives from all over came to meet my family from afar, including my favorite cousins, Melanie and Robbie.

I remember talking with Robbie about something an eleven year old would talk about with his cousin (an excellent chance it was He-Man related) and walking out to the backyard patio. It was a big deck but, because of the furor over our special guests, we had it to ourselves. I remember we only had a few minutes out there before we got called back in for dinner.

When I walked in the back door, I came face to face with everyone at the party. Before I could begin to understand why everyone had gathered in the kitchen or why they were all looking right at me, they screamed “SURPRISE!” As if from some secret bakery worm hole, a cake appeared adorned in candles and frosting.

This whole deal wasn’t for my family from Spain. It was for me. It was for my birthday.

I couldn’t believe so many people would come for my birthday. I was astonished. Granted, I know it made it easier that everyone got to meet the mysterious Spaniards but, still, this was for me. I’ll never forget that feeling.

Sometimes, things can happen that make the world seem a little more magical and I hope one happens to you.

Inky black ramblings

Sat, 23 Jun 2012 00:18:00 -0400

I said I would write something everyday and I’m going to stick to it.

I sit here in my car, outside of my house, typing away on my phone as it charges. The power is out thanks a short but mighty storm which pounded the windows with hail and took down trees all around. I will write, nonetheless.

I want to change my life. I am far from content with things as they are and have designs on how I want them to be. The challenge… or should I say, my challenge is I have trouble enacting the changes I want to make. I allow complications to stop me. Really, I allow excuses to stop me. Really, for real, I allow me to stop me.

I was reminded today of something I want to change as it smacked me full force right in the face. My resolve is renewed but that does little for actually accomplishing anything. No, that depends on more than resolve.

I hope to someday live up to the potential everyone apparently sees in me. I don’t know if many experience this but I feel like people see more in me than I am. It’s an odd feeling, both complimentary and weighing.

It’s dark on my street, surrounded by silhouettes lit by the echoes of light from afar. The night drags through, leaving a sense of timelessness in its wake. I need to retire so morning arrives because I don’t think I can get there from here without it.

The one where I talk about Franklin

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 00:43:41 -0400

What’s the best thing you’ve ever written? Whether you measure by how much you liked it, or someone else liked it, or even its sentimental value, what’s the best thing you’ve ever written?

For me, the answer is easy. I wish it weren’t. I wish I could wake up tomorrow and feel that the best thing I’d written was something new, something different, something not what it actually is. Alas, I cannot.

In 2007, I had a friend who would go on to become a friend and who then went on to become a “friend”. Such is life. I loved talking to this friend because of how exact her brain was. She was smart and sharp and would stomp over a stupid joke if it was too stupid. I enjoyed that.

One day, she mentioned in an email how much she wanted to go to the National Zoo. I countered that it was probably too cold to go to the zoo as the chimpanzees wouldn’t appreciate performing in such conditions. That is when I learned there were no chimpanzees at the National Zoo (at least at the time - I must admit I haven’t kept up on their status).

I’m not one to let facts get in the way of a story so I told her

“You can say that the National Zoo doesn’t have any chimpanzees and that the animals don’t perform but that’s not what I heard. I know a chimpanzee who lives at the zoo, outdoors, and he regularly does bar mitzvahs and holiday parties. He once got sun burn from a Fourth of July cookout. I warned him about you.

His name is Franklin Forge.”

And thus was born Franklin Forge, the chimpanzee who lived at the National Zoo where they had chimpanzees and didn’t not have chimpanzees.

What happened next was, by most accounts, unusual. It was an odd move to make but, at the time, it made perfect sense.

Franklin Forge started a blog.

Now, Franklin didn’t just start a blog, it turned out to be the continuation of a blog that had since been taken off line. Every so often, he would conclude his posts with excerpts from this now defunct blog. He would also end his posts with updates, generally epilogues and codas to things he had just discussed. The best updates were ones that explained something the reader wouldn’t know otherwise. The updates were easily my favorite thing about the blog.

You have to understand: this blog, it became the best thing I’ve ever written.

And write it, I did. I wrote it for almost a year. And no one read it except for one friend. Writing for an audience of one was never so much fun.

Eventually friend became “friend” and the lure of Franklin was no lure at all. While writing for one could be surprisingly fun, writing for none was about as much fun as you can imagine.

Franklin stopped updating his blog. No longer could anyone be kept abreast of his adventures with Feathers, Pietro, Carrots, and the rest of the gang. It was not the happiest time in my life.

I tried to start it up again but couldn’t get it to click. After a couple of updates, Franklin Forge, the chimpanzee with a habit for haberdashery, went away, seemingly, for good.

Since Franklin stopped updating, I would, every so often, send someone the link to his blog. I never told anyone about it as it was being made because it was this thing that only existed in part of the world, only for a select few. As time wore on, I grew more proud of it and wished for others to know about it. Even still, I’d say that the amount of people who ever knew about it could be counted on two hands. That might not be the case any more.

I’ve thought about old Franklin a lot recently. It really is the best thing I’ve ever written. I would like to connect to something the way I did that but I don’t know if I can.

What I’ve found is I am inspired by people, that I make the best things I can make on the wings of someone awesome igniting a flame in me. In fact, the very conversation that pushed me to start this blog featured me explaining this concept.

Almost everything awesome I’ve made was made because of someone else. Maybe that’s normal. Maybe that’s absurd. Regardless, it is.

Maybe someday Franklin will get his laptop out of the closet and let everyone know how he’s doing. Maybe he’ll even start a tumblr!

You can find Franklin’s blog at franklinforge.blogspot.com. It’s not perfect. Reading over it recently, I noticed a lot of small errors here and there but that’s how it was so, for now, that’s how it is. I recommend you start at the beginning because, well, that’s how life is lived.

Grammar is for consciousness

Thu, 21 Jun 2012 00:43:00 -0400

Today, I am, as the kids say (and when I say kids, I mean me), “all up in my feelings”.

It was a challenging day although I’m not entirely sure why. Work was kind of a pain but not as much of one as I anticipated. Still, as the day wore on, my mood grew morose. It could easily have been due to lack of sleep but, after an unplanned nap (the only kind I will abide!), I’m still left all up in my feelings, hanging out in the finest of doldrums.

I’ve just now put an eye patch on. I found it on my desk and it found itself on my head. This is how things roll on Wednesday.

I’m not going to continue the story from yesterday. It will be expanded upon but not now, not tonight. No, instead, let’s talk about dreams.

There are commonly two types of dreams: the ones you have when you are asleep and the ones you have when you are awake. We all have plenty of both, although the former ones are much more difficult to control than the latter.

I found a note written in one of many spiral-bound notebooks I keep at any given time. I can only assume that I wrote this after a dream (the asleep variety). I say that because, if I wrote this when I was of sound mind, I’m not sure what the hell is going on.

So that’s (presumably) one type of dream. Then there’s the other sort.

I was going to write about dreams I have but I can’t really think of any. Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true. I do have some dreams but, mostly, I don’t have many grand aspirations. There are things I want but very few that I would consider dreams.

Maybe I need more dreams in my life. Not necessarily more of the “kids drunk at birthday party” kind but who am I to be so picky?

A slippery slope

Tue, 19 Jun 2012 19:39:00 -0400

Yesterday was easy. Yesterday was the introduction. I could spend untold minutes talking about talking instead of having to come up with anything of particular importance. I don’t have that luxury today. Unless, of course, I talk about not having that luxury.

I want to tell a story I’ve never told before. I figure it’ll be more interesting for me that way and maybe make it a bit more challenging. You know, make it harder to hit the spots I might be used to.

In December, 1992, I slipped on ice on the parking lot of my family’s apartment building. I was off school that day due to snow and my mom and I were going to walk to 7-11 for hot chocolate. When I slipped, I broke my left ankle. This break, this fall, this trip, this day off, all changed my life for the worse. At least for a little while, that is.

I remember falling and feeling a pop. I also remember hearing it. I wonder if I actually heard it with my ears, from outside my body, or if it was all internal. Searing pain radiated through my lower leg. I probably rolled around in agony. I don’t think I screamed.

I remember, or at least feel like I do, an instant sense of weakness in my ankle. I knew it was bad. It was not a sprain. It was a break. I felt it. I heard it.

My mom tried to help me up as the pain got worse. Unfortunately for her, and unfortunately for me, I’m far too large to be easily helped to my feet. I remember someone else coming over and helping. I remember getting up and not being able to walk on it.

We hurried into my mom’s car and drove to the closest emergency room. Luckily, there is one only about 10 minutes away. She pulled up and they helped me into a wheelchair.

I don’t remember much of them checking me out. I do remember being very sad, almost despondent. They told me it was broken, confirming what I already suspected but still finding a way to disappoint.

I can picture myself sitting in the wheelchair as the nurse or attendant or whoever it is they assign to such tasks began wrapping my foot, ankle, and calf area in wet bandages. They grew extremely hot, past the point of discomfort. I complained, more so as a way to express my frustration with the whole thing more so than because of the actual pain from the heated mixture.

The cast hardened. We filled out paperwork. They gave me crutches. I’d never had to use crutches before. My balance is dubious even on my best days so having to learn to walk in a completely new way (all the while being mindful of My Damn Ankle) was very difficult for me.

After some number of hours, more than a couple and fewer than a ton, my mom took me home.

I was 14. It was my freshman year of high school. I had a broken ankle.

I thought myself too awkward and weird already and couldn’t face the prospect of having to go to school this way. I talked my way into staying home. I would not return to school for over a month.

It was a horrible mistake and I would feel its repercussions for years to come.

Apparently...

Tue, 19 Jun 2012 01:11:00 -0400

…I write stuff now.

Earlier today, I came up with a title that a friend particularly liked. I do this sometimes. After marveling at my genius (or something like that), she asked me,

“Why don’t you ever write?”

I didn’t have a good answer. I still don’t. I have reasons (or excuses, if you will) but, honestly, they’re not really applicable to the me I am today. They might have made sense before but I’m not the same person I was last year, let alone years ago when I was but a wee child who told people he wanted to grow up to be a writer and, yet, never wrote anything. I’m not him.

I’m not the me I was 15 years ago when I tried my damnedest to force something out of my brain that could conceivably be considered a story.

I’m not the me I was 5 years ago when I started realizing my talents for what they were, when I began to intentionally stretch the mental muscles that allow me to make nonsense that’s fun to say (and, presumably, fun to read).

I’m not the me I was last year when, as part of a creative writing class, I actually began and finished multiple stories. Granted, they were pretty darn short. Still, they were fully formed stories and they were mine.

What I am is the me I am now. I’m the me that feels these ridiculous creative urges but can’t always find a way to express them satisfyingly. I’m the me that finds absolutely zero challenge in weaving a handful of words together that can strike a chord, either in myself or another. I’m the me that, when I’m most stressed and nervous and grasping for a handhold that offers reassurance, relies upon my words to prop me up until I can stand on my own.

What I am now is the me that will be writing something here every day. I don’t know what form it will take, and I certainly don’t know if it will be any good, but it will be and that’s most important to me right now.

My friend asked me why I don’t ever write. Since I don’t have an answer, let’s invalidate the question.

I do write and I write stuff here.