Livin' Like a Family of One: Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off

It's 2 minutes shy of midnight on Wednesday, October 10, the year of our Gourd 2012. I sit in my APT in a shirt, slacks and a hiking hat I found in the hiking mountains (whilst hiking) just a little bit under the glass and satisfyingly under the shrimp. That's right, Children, someone else was buyin'!

It's a good day today. And this "Good Day" is not measured in quantity of stresses encountered, number of guitars I was able to play today or hours of sleep had ('cause in that case I'd be feeling right sour), but moreso in knowing that I'm conquering. I'm stretching and trying and jumping and failing and learning and persevering and and and and...I'm stressed, but I'm good. Had I not left LA, I'd still be working at a photo lab, wearing whatever I wanted, acquiescing to the smallest minds imaginable, remaining just barely above water financially and ultimately upset with myself for what I'm becoming. ***by the by, Liberty taught me how to spell "becoming." Weird, right?*** But here I am: fucking up, sweating bullets, incapable of communicating with my community fluently...and I'm stoked. I dig it. Not because that's an acceptable state of things, but because I'm getting better. And better. And meeting beautiful people. And gaining all sorts of goodness that I'll eventually be able to bring to my permanent profession as a poetic gas station attendant.

Last night I had pizza. I don't doubt that many of my strident legion of fans did also, but for me this was huge. Well, not "huge," but big. 'Cause I had been having pizza dreams for a while and I was becoming (see that Liberty?) ravenous in my quest. But last night James told me how to do it and Rebecca called me a pussy and the combination of confidence and degradation resulted in me eating an entire Hawaiian pizza at a bar and all the while retaining all self-respect and Studliness Factor. Had anyone given me shit for that, I'd've surely broken them in thirds.

This song has been my mantra the last few days. If you don't know The Janks, you're an imbecile for not attempting to do so. I love The Janks. I love The Janks. I do. Listen.

I miss Marco. He means more to me than anyone in the world. My love to him is constant and unconditional.

Sometimes you lose control of a classroom of 7-12 year olds. I know, I know-you wouldn't think it! But it happens. And that's when you have to get creative. Me? Well, I act the fool. I act the clown. I do this for 2 reasons:
1. They're fucking kids. They don't want a stodgy old den maurm, they want to be entertained. So I give them that Suha Jamb Style that keeps them engaged and all the while thinking they're at a circus. And
2. Because it's all the more powerful when I say "Okay, STOP!" 9 lives were halted today when I put down the hammer and for those 20 minutes I was Zeus. Say what you will, it was powerful. You fucking try it.

Oh, and I have a smart phone now. I hateyouloveyouhateyouloveyouhateyouloveyouyoustupidfuckingbeast.

In conclusion, if you have pita bread, a guitar, interesting shirts or an exfoliating luffa, please send them to me. If not, please tell Shayne "Hello" for me and find the Cancunian who stole my video camera in 2002. Or do nothing, and be a part of what's wrong with the world.

That is all. Be well. More later.

-LS^2