Black Cats Creep Across My Path Until I’m Almost Mad

I don’t really care much for Halloween, actually, but the title of this entry, “Black Cats Creep Across My Path Until I’m Almost Mad” is the first line of the intro of the song, “Everything Happens To Me.” It’s a funny song, really, not at all gloomy, because it’s funny, and I wish I could be the same way, but I’m not quite up to it at this point.

I haven’t written any entries in Henry Reed’s Journal for a couple of weeks, I guess, or longer, even. A couple of weeks ago, our cat Emu died. I guess for one thing, I’ve been too sad to write anything funny, or goofy, which is about all I’m capable of. A lack of enthusiasm has overtaken me. But I couldn’t really write anything else here, in this private journal, because how can you go on like nothing happened? I guess I figured the next thing I’d write would be about Emu, but I still don’t feel up to it. Even right now my words feel clumsy and cheap. I’d put a picture of him here, but I can’t even bear to look at pictures of him yet. I suppose someday. Anyway, there is nothing profound about this. I’m just sad, and it’s not a literary kind of sad, it’s just sad.

Just Today and Throw Away

I invented a new thing today. I always write notes for myself, lists of things to do, and then they sit around undone and the lists pile up on lists, and eventually I'm writing on my lists, "look at lists." So I had this idea, I'll make a NEW KIND OF LIST, and it's called "Just Today and Throw Away." That means it's a list of things I'm going to try to do today, and then I'm going to THROW THE LIST AWAY—whether the stuff is done or not. I think this might work... it has a nice ring to it... it's got that rhyming thing going for it... and it makes a lot of sense. I'm thinking this idea will likely put me on track for one of them Genius Grants, too. I'm pretty excited about it. Right now it seems like one of my best inventions, but then practical application sometimes has a way of putting these things in a different light.

Please Don't Even Read This

I spent the whole day yesterday watching college football. It was more than entertaining, it was like going to church and actually talking to God at church, or what I imagine that might be like if you go to church and actually talk to God, and aren't just going to church because you think maybe you should or you always did and are just in the habit or something. College football; Ohio State, the Alabama Crimson Tide, Florida and LSU, and Michigan and Iowa. Sometimes I think I just like the colors of the uniforms, the way I'm obsessed with pocket billiards and croquet because of the colors of the balls. But then, I'm reminded, it's just dumb sports on TV. Why do I like it so much? Is it a character flaw?

If your answer to that question is "yes"—please don't answer. If your answer to that question is "no"—also don't answer. Please don't think about it any further. Please just pretend you never read this.

Gone Nuts!

For the past couple of weeks, maybe, about fifty percent of the cats haven’t been able to sleep at night and instead keep poking me with a paw, sometimes even emitting a little verbal cat expression, saying, “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up.” It’s been kind of hard to get enough sleep, but worse, I have been worried about cat mental health, aging, demonic possession, etc. Then I remembered that it IS autumn, after all, and this is something that happens to some degree every year. Last night the wind was bending the trees over sideways, and while the leaves all pretty much held on, it reminded me how there is a particular day every fall where the wind comes in on a big cold front, and in one day half the remaining leaves are gone and there is a frost residue in the morning, and THAT’S the first day of winter.

Then I remembered back a few years ago when I lived in Wisconsin, and my cat, Louis, generally a calm individual, would go nuts for a few days every fall. I figured he could sense the weather changing and some deep instinctual programming turned him temporarily into a nutty squirrel. I would look out the windows as the wind whipped around and watch the squirrels run around like maniacs trying to gather food and hide it away for the long winter ahead. That’s when it occurred to me that the expression “gone nuts” most likely originated when describing squirrels or comparing the nut in question to a spastic, busy squirrel. “Going nuts is about running around like a madman trying to hide away nuts for the winter!” I told Louis excitedly. “And you, sir, are acting like a squirrel.”

He didn’t seem to care, as his activity was deeply rooted and unconscious, and he was soon back to normal, sleeping most of the day. It’s not just cats, though. I encounter thousands of people a day as a walk around the city, and I can’t help but notice patterns I would never see if I saw only ten people a day. Today there was testiness, fear, panic even, as some survival instincts from generations past pushed people toward rude self-centeredness and longing for isolation. I shouldn’t judge them, but then we’re supposed to be civilized. Maybe fifty percent of their cats were keeping them up all night and they were just sleep deprived. It’s okay, though; soon they will be tired from the harvest and will settle into mending drafty things and making acorn squash soup and hot cider with brandy and watching sports. Who of them cannot be happy that they’re human beings?

World's Largest Gothic Pig Nipple ICBM Six Pack

I spent the last three days during my lunch hour trying to find this building I saw from a distance—I could only see the top of the skyscraper, so it was hard to tell how far away it was. This is one of those dramatic structures I’ve noticed from time to time but only when I’m on the right street or at the right angle. It’s a spectacular building with, I think, six pointy gothic towers extending majestically out of the top. I wanted to find out what it was, but I didn’t know how to search for it on the internet. I guess there are some new image recognition search engines, but as far as I could tell you have to pay to use them, or be registered or something. I tried to search for something like "world's largest Beneath the Planet of the Apes Missile six pack"... also with no luck. My best bet seemed to be to walk toward the structure, and whenever it disappeared keep trying different angles. This was not so easy, however, because once lost it was not so easily found.

Something about what I just typed reminded me of a dream I had last night. I haven’t been remembering dreams lately, except when something triggers the memory like that. But then I’m not even sure, because I don’t remember them.

I looked for the building for three whole lunch breaks, and while I didn’t have much success finding it, I did see a lot of strange sights, like hidden grottoes and alcoves, accidental waterfalls, back stairways, blind alleys, the tryout line for “Lost Idol,” mysterious liquid nitrogen tanks, Pagan Idolatry and wine miniature golf, Serena van der Woodsen and DeVier Posey studying on the library steps, a fake dog poop, a man biting a dog, a three breasted man with a John Holmes Churchill, someone in a Bugs Bunny suit, a houndstooth free zone, one dollar sushi, ten dollar bread, a haunted yacht club, and the singer of Het Dagelijks Brood. I finally did find the building at the end of today’s lunch break, but I’ve already written enough, so I’ll have to talk about it later.

Red Monday

I was walking through this miracle of advertising today, as usual, at lunch, so much advertising it disappears like all the people. The odd thing is that I noticed a billboard for a show called "The Mentalist" which I'd never heard of (I probably haven't heard of 99% of the TV shows). I think I noticed it because it was black and white and simple and seemed like it was really out of place. I guess it looked like it could be an ad for a movie from 40 years ago. It got my attention-- I guess this is what you'd call "effective advertising"-- at least if your target was me, which, I don't know why it would be. Anyway, I made mental note of it, but then quickly forgot about it. Later, I remembered the billboard and wanted to look up the show, but I couldn't remember the name of it. I should have made a mental note that it was a "mental" note-- that might have worked. It eventually took me a half hour of browsing over TV schedules to find the name of the show and look it up. I guess it was on last season-- though I never heard of it-- and this is its second year. I looked up a listing of episodes and ALL of them have the word red in the title. It pains me a little that while I was working in this crummy mailroom minimum wage job for the past year, I could have been sitting around thinking up episode titles that use the word red. When I thought about it a little more, I was glad I wasn't sitting around thinking of episode titles, though I won't go as far as to say I savor my memories of the mailroom. Anyway, I considered maybe watching the show, so I looked up something about it, and it's about police and heinous criminals. Can't watch it. There's a serial killer at the center of it all, or maybe not the center, but certainly driving that whole "red" business. Apparently, he's an "unseen" killer, at least thus far, which means there is still an opportunity to land that roll... I mean as an actor. But then, no. I have to be able to live with myself. Plus, I've already given this whole ugly world way too much of my thought.

Freaky Friday

It was a rough day at work because I was training a new guy which always makes me hyper-aware of every last detail, from the passing of the minutes to the absurdity of the work, from the minuteness of the details to the absurdity of the pay. My habit at lunchtime now is to walk around eating rice cakes in order to save money. Tuesday is soylent red, Wednesday is soylent yellow, etc. So today I treated myself to lunch at my favorite current Manhattan lunch spot, the Cafe Edison at the Edison Hotel. I sat at the counter and had my usual, the Hard Boiled Egg Plate Egg Salad Platter. As usual, the place did not disappoint me; there is just some kind of energy there I can't put my finger on, but I think it has to do with regulars and old-timers.

As I was leaving I took a few diner mints with me that are in this little plastic sphere by the cash register that I think might have once been a device to dole out the numbers in a large bingo game. No one notices those mints except for a warped few, and they seem like they could be several years old. But they're good. I ate a couple which were licorice flavored, but then the third... it was crazy. There was some flavor I couldn't place. I thought of roast beef, but no, something else. It was like those sick jelly beans that have flavors like buttered popcorn and snot. The flavor kept haunting me, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I swallowed it finally and it was all over, that flavor lost forever.

After that I started to feel very strange indeed. I noticed the temperature rising and the humidity coming out of nowhere, the moods of the crowded streets were somewhere between elated and dangerous. Colors became more vivid and sounds disappeared. "I've been drugged!" I thought, but before I had a chance to panic I pretty much mellowed out and got back to the office. But before I got quite back to normal I entered the building lobby of where I work. There were pots of flowers by the elevators, and there never have been before. I turned to the guard to confirm this oddity, and she smiled and said something about it looking nice in the lobby, but I couldn't understand her. Then I noticed there were HUGE ferns and potted plants along the far wall. How could I have missed those when I entered the lobby? Unless they... weren’t there... and all these plants were materializing in front of me. Before I knew it the lobby had become a jungle. I escaped to the elevator.

A Visit to The Met

So Cindy and I ended up going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Sunday, and I just felt all wrong. First of all, it was incredibly crowded. It seems like every time I go to a museum it's ten times more crowded than the least time, leading me to believe that there really is a cultural crisis upon us, and our society is like a sinking ocean liner, and the museums are the last remaining part of the boat sticking up above the water and everyone is congregating there like rats. Or else, this bad economy business really is a scam.

Unfortunately, I just got in a worse and worse mood as the day went along. The museum started to feel to me like the world's largest and tackiest thrift store. Or those times when you go to a thrift store and don't see one thing you want to buy and just get depressed about all the crap people have owned but no one wants. I started to feel like I was unable anymore to keep perpetuating this lie that any of this art is at all good. The only thing any of it ever accomplished was to survive. And maybe what future dead artists should invest in is a lot of plastic containers and waterproof tape, or even lead containers. Your art will survive future generations simply because it was all that was left after the earth was made uninhabitable. And even if a few people do make it into the future somehow, digital files sure aren't going to. Maybe I should get back my typewriter.

Finally, however, before staggering out into the park, we looked at this little suite of rooms all the way in the back of the museum directly behind a kind of sunken lounge that looks like it could be an abandoned 1980's food court in the atrium of a downtown Indianapolis bank complex. These few rooms were there, apparently, to exhibit some of the Robert Lehman collection in a unique, intimate setting that reminded me of a movie whorehouse—or perhaps the offices of Ernest Angley Ministries in Akron, Ohio. There were no people AT ALL back there, and the light was low, windows cracked, vines coming through the wall like the park wanted to take back its rightful space. This was the Met's secret museum! And the paintings here were the best I'd seen, so I've included some pictures. You'll recognize Rembrandt's famous "Dog Face Larry"— but unfortunately I don't remember the names or the painters of the other two: the "surreal landscape with dead trees and an old guy" and my very favorite, the Lynchian "stern woman who won't sit in the chair in a much too large empty space." So for all my complaining, after all, I left the museum inspired!

Depressing

I’m back to work after a nice weekend and I feel that usual Monday feeling that is so much worse because it’s so common. I feel like a complete failure in every way. Mostly because I feel boring. There are people working in crappy, dreadful jobs, but they have some kind of vital quality or unique quirkiness, even on bad days, and even on Mondays. Those people are my heroes.

The good thing is I had a delivery today, just an envelope to an office across town, but it was walking, and took about an hour round trip. Then I walked around for an hour at lunch. Any day I can walk for two hours is a good day.

I’m going to go home and try to work on writing in about an hour. Most days I try and most days I fail. We’ll see about this one.

Googlle

Like every other morning of my life I woke up, turned on the computer, firefox, and the basic Google page so I could, first thing, search for the things I had dreams/nightmares about. (On this particular day it was the spelling of the name: "Jeffrey.") But something caught my eye: Google had two l's! Googlle. Of course Google likes to do this from time to time, change the logo for a day, commemorating something, and usually you can pass the cursor over the logo and it will tell you what it is. (The other day the logo looked like either a hairball or a crushed pastry, and I can't remember what that one was about.) To my relief, it was just about Google's 11th birthday. (It wasn't actually two l's, it was the number 11.)

Still, I felt shaken. Please don't do that to me. I want to open my basic Google page and see the primary colors, the big white page, the familiar font logo. Seeing the word "Googlle" is like going out to your car and having it say Cheevy, or Furd. That's the first comparison that came to my mind, even though I don't own a car. And this got me thinking about a lot of things, like the relationship of the automobile in our culture to the internet, suburbs in postwar United States and comparing them to our present day "virtual suburbs", and comparisons of God and Google. Which led me to think about the Ten Commandments, and realizing I don't even know what the Ten Commandments are, or their origin. Thinking about moving to a remote location with no internet and instead a sizable library of actual books. And finally, thinking about this new online journal I wanted to start.

All of this before my first cup of coffee. This is the beginning of my Sunday, when I should be working on correcting my manuscript. Or I should be resting. Or I should be watching NFL football. I just can't get into NFL football, though, I just don't like it. I'm having trouble caring much about baseball, either. I can't seem to rest on Sunday, yet I can't seem to get anything done. I'm worried about the internet the way people in post-World War ll United States should have been worried about automobiles and the suburbs. I feel like I'm lucky to even have these things to worry about, and not bigger concerns at the moment. Maybe I need to go to church today. Or maybe an art museum.