San Francisco Morning

Standard

Just a taste of what it’s like being me.

I woke up at 4:30 am this morning, did my usual exercises, and walked out into the chilly air to get the paper. I settled down with coffee, Special K, Cheerios, and Honey Smacks cereals all mixed together, and a banana. I fired up iTunes, leaving it on shuffle, so it becomes my not so little radio station, over 40,000 songs at this point. It always begins with 2120 South Michigan Ave by the Rolling Stones. I worry a bit as I read about Iran being warned not to block the Hormuz Strait. The last thing we need is another war. Buddy stakes out my lap for ten minutes, and then I take off for work. It takes me forty-five minutes to get to work. I walk down Van Ness Ave, and cross over to Polk. The air is thick with fog, and it is cold. The sound of fog horns fill the air. I love that sound. It makes me feel like I’m in the middle of a movie. The lights around me all look big and fuzzy, due to my cataracts. I think about how I can lie down later, after work, and catch up on my sleep. (but I rarely do). I feel pains in my chest occasionally and wonder if it is my heart, or just acid reflux. I think about how short life is, and how I won’t get to do the things I’d like to do, bccause I’m poor. I worry if I will be able to keep my job. I worry about worry.

As soon as I arrive for work, it is non-stop working from 7 am to noon. I lug the magazines in, I check them in. I strip the old magazines, so the covers can be returned for credit. I ring up customers. Finally I go to the bank on my way home, to make a deposit. This morning was far too busy for my usual coffee and bagel, so I grab coffee and a low-fat peach and cranberry muffin at Peet’s before going home, and read in a stripped copy of Foreign Affairs about how America got into the huge disparity in incomes that it is in today. Those rich bastards have really managed to fuck the rest of us over. I hope Newt Gingrich, or whoever the Republicans come up with, goes down to defeat by a very large margin. We need to send a very clear message to the rich. Lest you want to go the way of the Bourbons, give up some of your ridiculous wealth so that the rest of us can survive.

I was very surprised that my niece asked to be my friend, on Facebook. I don’t even know her. I have been out of touch with my family for about thirty years. Well,actually that is an exaggeration. I have talked to my brother for hours on the phone, and there were some rare visits to brothers over the years. but for the most part, there has been no contact. It felt strange hearing from her, because we have almost nothing in common, so far as I know. Of course, I’m her Uncle, I guess that’s a start. Because her father was very conservative, I assume she is as well, but I could be mistaken. But it feels good to hear from family, even if it is family I don’t know. That’s sounds so sad. What a pathetic life I lead. Don’t you feel sorry for me? No? Did I hear you say that you have your own life to cry over? Fair enough. One thing is for sure,. it can always get better, and it can always get worse. That’s the sort of folk wisdom I still carry around from my childhood in the Midwest. Sort of a Midwestern Zen.

I guess the point of this particular post is just to give my followers (provided they are still followers after this boring ass post!) an idea of what I am like, what my day is like. I like to get a sense of what the person is like, when I read their blog. Of course, in the case of Margaret Cho, I already have a clear idea, because she is a big important celebrity. I am so over it!!!  I can understand why she doesn’t ever respond to comments left on her blog. She doesn’t want to encourage us to get all wrapped up in her, after all it isn’t practical for her to be friends with her fans. There must be an impenetrable wall between fan and celebrity. But it still sucks. So, why do I continue to leave comments? Very good question. I guess because I enjoy it, other people see them, and hopefully, enjoy them.  I hope Margaret enjoys her motorcycle. Fucking celebrities, I hate them. That’s right! Enjoy your bread!

On a final note, I am pleased that there are people out there that follow my blog. I do wish they would comment on it, though. Because I’ll tell you what it’s like. Imagine someone waving at you from a distance, not talking to you at all, but acknowledging your existence. It piques your interest, but you never get to meet that person, you never know what they think. How much fun is that?  So, go ahead, be like Margaret Cho and say “Eat Shit and Die”. At least then, I know I have made some sort of contact.

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