Midnight meanderings.

(Don’t you hate it when something you know turns out to be a lie?
I very recently discovered that Teardrop by Newton Faulkner, a song I’ve been telling everyone to listen to just to prove that he’s not a one-hit wonder, is *actually* a Massive Attack song. Apparently, the lead singer wrote it when she heard about Jeff Buckley or something.
Man. That sucks.)
(But, back to our regularly scheduled programme.)

“Life hasn’t turned out quite the way I wanted it to be.”
“Tell me what you want.”

Hello all. It’s been quite a while. I didn’t think I’d ever write again, to tell the truth. Having recently vowed to not complain anymore (yeah, I know), I’ve been left with nothing to say, and quite honestly, the personality of a goldfish.
(I’ve been told that’s a good line, and I keep using it whenever I get the chance. My apologies if you’ve heard me say it a dozen times already.)
Sadly, this has also affected my ability to have conversations. Apparently, bitching had become the cornerstone of my small talk. It was all I ever had to contribute to a conversation. Now, dialogues tend to end very quickly now (“Hey, how you been?” “Can’t complain” *awkward silence* “So, I’ll see you later!”).
This may or may not be a good thing; I haven’t decided yet.
It does give me a lot more free time though.

We’re coming down to the ground. There’s no better place to go.

I recently watched Wall-E. Fan-f*cking-tastic. For a movie with almost no dialogue, it does a surprisingly good job of keeping you attentive all through; you barely notice how long the movie is. I didn’t even look at my watch once!
I love it when animated movies reach you as well as, um, ‘real’ movies do. It helps me validate my childhood, and the many, many, many arguments I had with Mom about comics and cartoons being important for my development.
(I rarely won those arguments.)
(In fact, I think I rarely even completed those arguments.)
(*sigh*)

(Although this does remind me of a discussion I had with a friend in college about how he’s “in touch with his inner child”…)
(…)
(Yeah, I didn’t want to hear anymore about it then either.)

I’m starting with the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to change his ways.

Finally watched American Psycho. What can I say? The name really says it all. Strangely disturbing. I say “strangely” because it’s not the psychotic murders that really disturb you, but the incredibly shallow world everyone seems to live in. I don’t know, maybe it’s just a guy thing; maybe we just wrap ourselves up in what we think because we don’t really want to know what others do, lest it shatter our fragile egos.
…
I get the feeling that women everywhere are cheering silently.

I won’t hesitate no more, no more.

I went to the F Bar & Lounge today. Alone.
(No, I’m nowhere near that successful to make the F Bar my watering hole. My company was associated with a running event happening there. I had to go because of work.)
(And the f*ckers made me pay too.)
But it was a surreal experience. I suddenly knew exactly what Bill Murray (and countless other actors in similar situations in the movies) must have felt like. Sitting there, alone, at the bar. Not a friend in the world. Just me and my Bloody Marys.
(Incidentally, if you’re looking at drinking a lot after a tiring day, and you like Vodka (that ought to narrow it down quite a bit), I *strongly* recommend a good Bloody Mary: A dash of lemon juice, a dash of Worcestershire sauce, pepper to taste, a dash of Tabasco sauce, vodka (I prefer Smirnoff in a cocktail – Absolut and Grey Goose ought to be had simple, with lime), topped off with tomato juice. Serve in an old-fashioned glass rimmed with salt. It’s a helluva pick-me-up, goes well with snacks, and doesn’t give you a hangover the next day – or at least, hasn’t given me one yet *crosses fingers*)
But anyway, while initially I was wallowing in self-pity (“Dear God, what have I been reduced to?! I’m pathetic.”), after a while, I realized I *love* being alone. The live act was good, some nice slow jazz – covers, to be sure, but done in ways you’d never imagined. The singer was fantastic, and the keyboardist was incredible (eat your heart out, Raven). Hell, I only realized she was doing covers when she belted out Rooo-xanne, and I vaguely remember hearing at least 2 lines from Use Me (I was not in one of the ‘better’ seats).

And I had these studly Bloody Marys in front of me!

(You can see a bit of the same duo – singer and keyboards – in this youtube clip (they’re “Sonia & Harmeet”, by the way): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZxAIS-zahU)

So as it turns out, I love me. I know how narcissistic that sounds, but I truly ended up having a better time just sitting there by my lonesome rather than spending time with some people I know.
Does this imply that I’m a closet sociopath? That all I want to do is sit in bars by my lonesome, sipping happy drinks, and listen to nice off-beat music? I mean, this would explain a lot – why I don’t meet up with anybody, for instance.
(Somewhere, fireflies is shaking a fist at me.)
But is it wrong to like spending time with yourself? I’ve always been the kind of guy who enjoys sitting in the quiet of his room, nice music playing (loud enough to hear from all corners of the room, not loud enough to disturb the neighbours) and reading something, or mulling over how to better myself.
(My mom tells me that I am effectively asking the nice men in white coats to show up with their funny jacket and electrodes, but what does she know…)

…

Crap, is that the time? I have work tomorrow.
Will continue this later.

…

P.S: I highly recommend everybody read Post Office by Charles Bukowski. Short, disturbing and yet entertaining.
It also gives you an insight into the phrase “going postal”.