Crash

Sly little thing… July thought she could just slip away without seeing anything new from me? Whatta bitch.

Well, it’s July, (actually it’s almost August) a month I dislike even more than December. July brings the beginning of another year for me, but thankfully, another year less from the magic number in the big book. And now I’m 23. So what? Plenty of people are.
I honestly don’t get the whole ‘celebrate your Birthday’ thing. What’s to celebrate? You popped out from a person some years ago, causing said person great anguish for multiple hours. After that you were a burden of puke and other much less pretty bodily expulsions for a couple of years until you actually began to eat. Then you became a financial burden, pushing away the thought of a hot new car to drive through the midlife crisis. And after putting your folks through at least these many years, you want to celebrate? Are you out of your freakin’ mind???
Of course I know that people have opinions, of course I know that these are my own views on birthdays, which are not necessarily subscribed to by others and I respect that fact. Hence, I’m happy for anyone who’s got reason to be happy about his or her own Birthday. If that’s the way you want to think about it, then that’s how I’ll play the game, just for the day. And now, before I get carried into another boringsome tirade, the end.

I saw Crash the other day, you know, the movie that won the award(s) for whatever. And I was pretty happy. Not happy after watching the movie, happy that I was able to watch it. Obviously I didn’t know if this was a realistic depiction of the current racial relations situation in the world (read USofA) but I thought it was pretty darned good as a work of fiction at least. There was no clear central character, no clearly defined good, no lush sets, no fast cars, no fast women, no single defining moment and no outstanding moral. It just was. And like everyday life, in the end there’s always change. For better or for worse.
Two scenes really had me going for a bit though. First, the one where the would-be-carjackers walk out of the diner and Chris complains that he wasn’t served any coffee that he hadn’t ordered and never wanted anyway and refused to tip the waitress because he assumed that she had assumed that they wouldn’t tip because they were black, although the coffee was the reason he didn’t tip. That makes a lot of sense when I read it. You can try to figure it out if you haven’t watched the movie yet.
The second was Sandra Bullock talking to her friend on the phone. This really hit me so here’s the main portion:

I just thought that I would wake up today and I would feel better, you know?
But I was still mad. And I realized... I realized that it had nothing to do with my car being stolen.

I wake up like this every morning!

I am angry all the time, and I don't know why.

I wish I could have said this was just another line from just another movie. But it wasn’t. It may be, but not to me. To me it is my reality. Every day runs a similar route until I find myself going through the same door once again. It becomes so that I am angry all the time. I could say that even the little annoyances add up, but that’s not an acceptable reason. And I don’t know why.


Have I mentioned how much I do not like the rain? If I haven’t then I just have. This rain has an uncanny ability to begin as soon as I decide to leave the house. It is completely unfuckingbelievable how it can start pouring in just a few moments after I leave the dryness of my home.
This year I decided to go prepared so I bought myself no, not a body condom… a rain-proof suit. Of course it’s not sane to wear the hot pants all the time (Not hot-pants... hot as in they don’t breathe!) so I need to carry around an extra bag, a mild annoyance compared to having to sit in an air conditioned room with wet pants. So, having bought it, for 2 weeks I carried it everywhere I went without ever needing to wear it. The day it finally rained at an inopportune time and I pulled on the protection, it stopped raining within minutes of my stepping out the door. Since then I have only carried the jacket. Of course it only rains hard and long enough to soak me in moments and as soon as the jacket is on there isn’t a drop in sight. You may argue that I should wear the jacket at all times, but you see, that would prevent me from proving my point!
Some may call it coincidence, bad luck, or even ordinary precipitation and although I’m sorely tempted to call it a conspiracy, I’m more level headed than that: seeing as how the rain is so apparently brought forth by my presence, if there is a Rain God, surely it is I!


This was never meant to be made public, but seems like it would fit in properly here, so, out of the archives comes my little poem.

I don’t like rain
I always get
Wet
I don’t like rain

I don’t like rain
So de-press-ing
Ann-oy-ing
I don’t like rain

I don’t like rain
Water proofing
The roofing
I don’t like rain

I don’t like rain
I hate the muck
Fuck!
I don’t like rain

I don’t like rain
End the monsoon
Soon
I don’t like rain


Roy Orbison and k.d. lang – Crying Over You
Creed – With Arms Wide Open