Listening to Tiny Cities Made of Ashes by Sun Kil Moon

Hey. Long time. Yesterday was my birthday. I'm 28. Not quite sure how that makes me feel. Well...that's a lie - it makes me feel like I am getting older.
There is certainly a difference between how I felt a year ago about my life/career/etc and how I feel now. I have been surrounded by my family for the past week in South Carolina. It's awkward to see us all try to fumble around with one another as adults but be unable to transcend the childhood relationships that we find so familiar yet ill-fitting. I swear, my brothers still pick on me about things that happened over a decade ago. In some cases even longer. And I am at a loss as to how this still manages to find entertainment value.
Recently read an interview with Merv Griffin. That is one weird dude.
Have another wedding coming up this September. Not nearly as dramatic as the one that passed. It should be noted that the wedding that just passed was far from dramatic once it occurred. the only residual effect has been a couple strange voyeuristic dreams.
Watched Larry King interview Jon Bon Jovi. Larry King is one weird fucking dude.
I don't know why ocean water is so significant. It really feels like it heals me in a lot of ways. Maybe it's the salt water. Maybe it's the natural rhythm of the waves. Not really sure.
The woman who did that psychic writing for me last year still haunts my waking thoughts. I keep hearing her say "You are a doubting Thomas - always on the wrong track at the wrong time." I remember things that people said to me a million years ago even though they are hardly credible. I had this borderline goth kid read my Tarot cards when I was 14 years old. He told me that I would be tremendously successful but lonely my entire life. I still remember that. Thirteen - wait, scratch that - fourteen years ago. He's at least half right. I guess it;s only natural to reflect a little on your life over the course of the past year. Especially on your birthday. But part of me doesn't want to. Part of me is just plain sick and tired of all this reflecting and empty sentiment. The contrived hashing and re-hashing of who I am and where I am and blah blah blah just kind of makes me sick.
I guess we all have to do our damndest to make ourselves feel a little bit more individualistic in the face of so much international apathy and social homogenization. This is especially more apparent in New York City. In South Carolina every place serves chicken wings. And grown men wear visors all the time. Like, to go out to eat. All the women look identical. Everyone wears pastel three-button knit polo shirts. and, like, funky shorts or a mini-skirt. Have you ever wondered where all the croakies went after the eighties? They're all down here. Holding sunglasses to guys necks. It's a crime. It's a Goddamn crime. I mean visors! Come on.
But everyone is really nice. And polite. And accommodating. I just realized that a "commode" is a bathroom, right? And that's also a major part of accommodating, right?
Sigh.
Now I have to go back to work. As a 28 year old. As a 28 year old with pain in his knees, no savings account, an incredibly perseverant case of athlete's foot, and a severe addiction to cheese. And probably liquor and beer. And maybe cigarettes. And masturbation.
Double sigh.
I included a picture of me that my friend Courtney took. It's just moments after I have careened over the end of a slip and slide. It slid on gravel for a good yard or two. I think it's a pretty steady metaphor for life in general. There's a good story that goes along with it. But you'll have to buy me a beer to get it out of me. And if you know me, it's pretty damn hard to buy me a beer.