If someone asked me what I believe to be the world’s biggest problem is aside from war, hunger, and Kanye West; I would say it’s distraction. That’s why I haven’t been able to write a new blog post or a pilot that isn’t total crap. So society I have some questions for you!
How do you expect me to lose weight/stay in shape when you keep inventing new delicious meals?Meals like maple apple wood smoked bacon wrapped burgers, with sirracha lime queso sauce.
How do you expect me to workout regularly…?When you create 88 seasons of ‘Breaking Bad’ quality like shows that prevent me from leaving my
housebed for weeks?How do you expect me to focus on writing or anything with all the technology you have built to distract me?I’ve spent HOURS reading motivational quotes on Pinterest, ironically about procrastination. Then there’s Instagram, Facebook, dating apps, gaming apps, and random apps that…
* Takes 10 mins to play addicting game app *Annnd I’m back. So you (society) want me to workout hard, eat clean, and pursue my passions while being a full time internet crack head?I should just start a cult. A cult of people determined to finish something. We live in a small village cut off from society, have limited internet access, eat food from the land we live on (and Trader Joes), and have mandatory P.E.- because working out is obviously more effective when done in groups and it’s forced. It will be like an Amish community but not quite.As much as I would love to live like this and be a cult leader, I can’t. The trick is that you have to stay focused no matter what life and society throws at you. However, you have to envy people who made it pre-internet days. How much easier it must have been to sit and write by candle light because what the fu*k else was there to do?
Being a good writer requires you have good observational skills, which at times I think I lack. I think it’s because the things I observe are usually really weird and I feel like they only make sense to me. One thing I have noticed is that homeless/crazy people ALWAYS talk to me. Something about me makes them feel like they should say something. Maybe crazy people and I are kindred spirits. In my neighborhood there are a few regulars that I frequently interact with.
Mr. Beige Flannel:
This is the guy that can be seen
walking strutting down the mean streets of Palms. His uniform is a beige flannel shirt and cargo pants. When I first met Mr. Beige Flannel I was walking to my car. He complimented my outfit and made some comment about women wearing heels. This has led to a long relationship of us waving or saying hello whenever we saw each other. He has even directed me into difficult parking spots. The other day when I locked my keys in my car for the 100 millionth time, Mr. Beige Flannel walked by and gave me a friendly lecture about how I need to keep a spare key on me at all times. He said, “I know I sound like your white uncle but…” This made me realize that he kind of was. That awkward uncle you don’t really know but he always looks out for you. Your conversations are short but you know he cares. Henceforth Mr. Beige Flannel will be referred to as ‘My White Uncle’.
I met trivia man one evening coming home from work. He was either taking out the trash or digging for recyclables. He wore a wife beater with an opened button down, jeans, and a wave cap (probably a cut stocking) on his head. He stopped me and asked me how long I’d been living here. I told him I just moved in I assumed he was my new neighbor or something. Nope turns out he was just your local, neighborhood, crazy person. He proceeded to tell me how long he had lived here (years) and in a strange turn of events started asking me a series of questions about American history and pop culture. He went from telling me he lives in the building where Marvin Gaye was shot to asking me what famous singer’s daughter married Michael Jackson. I found myself struggling to answer his questions and feeling bad for getting them wrong. Ten minutes go by and I think, “Wait, why the hell was I still answering his questions?!” I slowly started exiting the conversation then briskly walked to my door. I laugh when I see Trivia Man cornering some unsuspecting passerby’s with his barge of questions. Questions of both facts and shit he made up.
Those are just a two of the “characters” in my hood. I’m sure there are people who don’t stop to speak to Trivia Man and My White Uncle. Maybe that’s what crazy people see in me, my good nature. Or they look at me and think, “Yup I can go be all types of crazy with her and she will listen.”