Fingers crossed

Sunday 3/15/26

America: Where there's no problem so big that 5000 more photos of yourself can't solve it.

Did it ever really happen if you didn't say that it did on social media? That's where reality comes from, right? Rubber stamp that reality!

Most interests for most people come down to two things: the mouth and the genitals. What can I put in my mouth? What can I do with my genitals?

And that's going to be it. They're not going to read something, listen to something, think about something, learn anything.

What can I put in my mouth? What can I do with my genitals?

They'll do other things around those two things. Drop the kids off somewhere. Go to work. Binge a bad show (but hey, it's not like they can tell anyway). But this ultimately is what it's all about for most people. And getting attention and having their turn to say whatever they wish like it's the truest, most needs-be-said thing ever no matter how uninformed it is, how bad they are at talking and/or writing, how boring they are, how little they have to contribute to anything in any kind of vaguely productive, informative, entertaining, or genuine way.

We'll be getting into a run of writing/publishing--and art--entries on here. Been putting things together over the past week and planning additional things yesterday and today.

Thursday night I was up until almost midnight. Then, I began my Saturday at 10 PM on Friday when I woke up. My hours are unpredictable. I began here today on Sunday shortly after midnight. Looked out the window to see that it was snowing as I did my push-ups in the hallway in the first few minutes of Saturday.

Not doing great with the stairs. Ran five circuits in the Bunker Hill Monument on Thursday but none since. That's okay, though--I can get right back on track with ten circuits today, which would give me twenty-five for this first official week back. That's what you're looking for--twenty-five circuit weeks. This week is a touch harder given I'm ramping back up. I'll make sure to get this done today.

Walked seven miles and did 100 push-ups on Friday. Walked three miles and did 100 push-ups yesterday.

Today marks 3528 days, or 504 weeks, without a drink.

I've been working reasonably hard and need to work harder.

I had a moment yesterday between some things, so I ordered a birthday gift for my niece Lilah who turns ten next month. I texted my sister and asked her to set it aside for me until the big day. The present is this really cool beanie from the Aquarium--which I've visited with her a couple times--that has this whale on it. It's a conservation cap. Lilah likes conservation and I thought this would be perfect.

Providence lost to Merrimack last night which was surprising. That means BC plays UConn Friday night at the Garden. BC seems due for a loss against them. UMass is the other team. They had no problem with Northeastern yesterday afternoon. I was going to say that I got lazy and sort of just watched a bunch of hockey games (while doing other things, of course), but I had been working for like fourteen hours straight by one o'clock when that first game began.

Another update was made to that curated project pertaining to the Beatles recording sessions so I downloaded the updated fifth volume this morning. Grabbing a couple different versions of Cecil Taylor's Nefertiti, the Beautiful One Has Come now. I have the Revenant set somewhere but I don't know where.

Didn't see any of it but the Bruins came away with two points against the Caps yesterday on account of prevailing in a nine-round shootout. The loss really hurt Washington. Columbus also won in a shootout. If the Bruins hadn't, the teams would be tied for the final playoff spot in the East, but as it is, the Bruins maintain their slim one-point lead.

The WBC tournament is similar to Olympic hockey in that people who never watch the sport, who won't watch the sport again, do their creepy parasocial thing and whore themselves for internet points and post about how they're a "baseball girlie now and who should I root for I'm trying to pick a team for this season" and it's just more insincere idiot shit in an insincere idiot world.

To me, this is a daft tournament. It's spring training. Guys leave to get back to their teams, players often aren't born in the country they play for. Revolving door. Is no one serious about anything anymore? I know the answer. How could you not? Oh, that's right--you'd need to be the moron that nearly everyone is.

It's gone back to cold here. Thirty-two degrees right now. No spring-like days on the horizon. I check because of the Monument and whether or not I'll be able to wear shorts. Going to be sweatpants, sweatshirt, and fleece for a bit, though.

What's more tiresome: People going on about their age and how old they are or people doing the generation thing? "You know you're Generation X if..." Shut the fuck up. You are so uninteresting. Does it never enter anyone's mind to try and say something interesting?

It’s been almost 2 years since I’ve gone out to see bands play. Tonight I’m breaking that streak. Fingers crossed I don’t seem like the weird old dude at the local emo/punk show.

Lots of questions today. Questions I already have the answers to. Rhetorical questions, then. But yeah, fingers crossed, dickhead. That'll rack up them social media likes, though. Mediocre people love mediocre people. What a brave person you are going to a show. Fucking hero, son. Get home safe.

It's exhausting to me seeing person after person do the age thing. People of all ages doing it. You know who does less of it? Older people. They're likelier to just go about things.

There are a number of stores in the North End whose outside signs telling you what they sell include apostrophes in their illiterate-person attempt to make things plural. Shirt's, for instance. These aren't signs painted by a seven-year-old on a torn piece of cardboard. These are the actual permanent signs.

Illiterate fucking America. This is a world where people can't correctly pluralize the word "apple." Good thing that just about everyone calls themselves a writer because where would we be without those 500 million writers who are almost always borderline illiterate and don't and can't read anything themselves, and never have, to satisfy the demand for reading materials?

There's a roar of drunken boobs coming down my street from 10 PM, say, to four in the morning. I see these idiots outside of the breakfast place I had mentioned for their noon breakfasts on weekend mornings. I look at them, and I just see the stupidity in their eyes. I see how simple they are, how little they have in their heads to think about. Food, sex, the night out. There's nothing else there. They spill out of this joint, which doesn't hold many. Big group of all these other groups on the sidewalk. Wait however long to get in there and make their orders. Need that bacon. Gotta have that drippy egg sandwich and whatever other bad-for-you shit to soak up the booze. "Yeah, I'll literally call you later." I don't have this impulse to cover my ears in a subway stop as a train screeches, but walking past these simpletons I have to fight the urge. I hear everything. Individually and all at once.

It's crazy how much many people tonally resemble chickens, but at least with chickens you don't know what they're saying.