patioman's Xanga

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Tue, 22 May 2007 02:10:03 GMT

Despite appearances, I have not died. I've merely moved. My new site is here: Patrick Stephenson. I may post occasionally here, though. Somehow, this place allows me to be more how you say CONFESSIONAL. Xanga has changed a lot since last I was here.

P.S. Please say hello if you visit my site. I miss ya face.

Happy Thanksgiving...

Thu, 23 Nov 2006 07:17:18 GMT

...and thanks to those subscribers who DID NOT abandon me during this four month silence. Only two "jumped ship," thankfully. I'll write more later. Baby steps are key.

Cop Out

Thu, 17 Aug 2006 07:41:56 GMT

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.

Cultural Creative

100%

Postmodernist

75%

Existentialist

69%

Idealist

69%

Modernist

56%

Romanticist

50%

Materialist

38%

Fundamentalist

31%

What is Your World View?
created with QuizFarm.com

I love this video so much, my face hurts.

Mon, 31 Jul 2006 06:22:47 GMT

"[We] presume we are above these prosaic comments."

Mon, 17 Jul 2006 04:36:23 GMT

Emily is gone—northward—and I'm alone in my (thankfully air conditioned) apartment. The next two weeks, she'll be there filming. Her original plan was Americorps, but when that fell through, she found this. She's interviewing farmers in Central Minnesota about organic farming. Pretty cool. So, I'm alone two weeks rather than three months. Any "I am a solitary guy" facade I had is crumbling now. I feel fine, mostly, but lonely. I'm not really solitary. I'm social but lazy re: maintaining friendships. I'm sure I'll find things to do (tonight, for instance, I played a lot of, uh, Splinter Cell). I have off on Tuesday. Work isn't bad. Keeps me busy, socialized, in the money.

Summer sure is passing quickly. As usual, I dread winter.

Other events from today: (1) While I ate an excellent $5 lasagna from Cossetta's (purchased earlier this afternoon), I watched the last 20 minutes of a movie (starring Tim Allen) on TV. The movie concerned businessman Tim Allen's run-in with (his son?) a native—but genetically American—kid from some tribe/group in South America. The native-son had instructed Tim Allen on killing flies with blow darts and, during those last twenty minutes, when the native-son decided to return home, leaving Tim Allen (his father?) and the pretty girl with whom he'd fallen in love behind, the movie became touching and not at all—despite its Disney roots—cloying. Also, when it came out, I was only 14.

(2) We (being Mom and Emily, with whom I'd eaten at Cossetta's in honor of the latter's trip north) went to Jane's (earlier in the day) and sat around in the heat. Aubrey arrived with Uncle Peter, and we three cousins (being Emily, Aubrey, me) walked to Starbucks and bought frapucinnos. Mine was Banana Creme, and excellent. A Starbucks survey asked, "If you could be any Starbucks drink, which would you be?" and I wrote "Venti Chocolate Chip Frapucinno." Someone else had written, "Water. I'm simple," so beside the "simple" I put "-minded," and was very amused. I apologize—Starbucks employees—for my transgression. (3) I listened to Bat Segundo's John Updike interview and was, for the most part, pleased.

Now, at 12:30am, I'm going out biking. I have three tasks before bed at 1:30am. I will (a) return Mr. Wrong, a horrible movie about Bill Pullman stalking Ellen Degeneres (during her "I'm a homely heterosexual" phase), (b) buy water and other groceries at Kowalski's, (c) do something else I can't remember—or I will go to bed, or play more Splinter Cell.

Who knows? I'm alone.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Fri, 14 Jul 2006 23:27:21 GMT

I'm working as I write. No, I'm at work, but hardly working. Hard at work or hardly working?! Choice #2, if "hardly" is removed and replaced by "not." The cat is away, the mice play. Tonight is a reading from the literary journal Mizna, and the bosses are gone, and the store is empty, so we're left with nothing to do. I have no one to watch, no store to guard. Nearly all of the store is in the dark, for the reading. I walked to where they're setting up and, after flipping through Tristram Shandy, I laid on the floor. "This," I thought, "is where I am now. This is what my life's led up to -- lying (on my back, against a shelf) on the floor in a lighted section of a dark bookstore." Also, Arabic music was playing.

Super Target Adventure!

Thu, 13 Jul 2006 07:18:56 GMT

Today—after work—I took the bus to Super Target. After I got off the 16 at Snelling, I waited on a bench for the 84 while a 12-year-old punched a trash can. It was roasting outside (nearly 90 degrees) and I felt heavy. Everywhere I sat I slouched: the bus station bench, the bus seat. This position is, according to the audiobook I'd downloaded, useless social input. Useless in that it isolates. A slouch says, "I'm miserable and tired. Don't bother me." The night before, I'd had only 5 hours of sleep, so the Slouch was preferred. The bus came and once on, I sat near the front surrounded by women/girls. The one in front of me kept staring at me, a full-on look back. How does one respond to this? I did by ignoring her. The heaviness of my head kept me staring at the floor. I imagined she'd fallen in love with me. Immediately, as soon as I'd stepped on. The staring was an attempt to gain my attention, so that I might reciprocate. I did not.

My ride ended at Har Mar, far from Super Target. I walked across Har Mar's parking lot, past a Subway where I'd once eaten a footlong meatball sandwich, and jaywalked across two lanes of traffic. Walking across Target's enormous lot, with cars and cars around me, I felt as though I were on an epic adventure. A voice in my head had, when I got off the 16 at Snelling, said, "Don't go home. Go to Target. Something amazing will happen." This isn't foreshadowing. Nothing amazing happened. So I walked across the lot, listening to "Paranoid Android" by Radiohead. These lines played as I walked in: "Ambition makes you look pretty ugly / Kicking, squealing gucci little piggy." Spending two gift cards I'd received was this adventure's purpose. I wanted to buy, to consume. I wanted to avoid home because I knew as soon as I got home my body would assume control and put me to sleep. (Later on, that's what happened.) Actually, I rolled—I didn't walk—into Target, because I had, before I got up, snatched a cart from the line. I was rolling in alone listening to Radiohead.

Profundity was the feeling. Previously, the bookstore had confined me. I'd been trapped on the floor, trapped at the door. Here I was, though, leaving a massive parking lot, entering an epical consumerist monument—ready to purchase. "I love the smell of commerce in the morning." Actually, this was in the afternoon. The problem with receiving gift cards is that I can't ever decide what to buy. On the upside, they're an excuse to spend money guilt-free. I can't spend this anywhere else. I must spend it here, and, oh, they have only movies/videogames/books. I will succumb. But... if I go somewhere without a clear idea of what I'm getting, I wander around like a dunce, looking at the same items over and over, weighing nothing against nothing. I spent—no kidding—an hour and a half doing exactly that in Target. I stared at videogame boxes while a blonde-haired boy playing Sonic said things like, "Yeah, I made it!" whenever I stood nearby. I checked my blood pressure in the Health section. I engaged a bald-headed Target employee in videogame conversation: what should I buy? is this game good? why does this game's box contain a picture of a monkey? Har har har.

A moisture ring formed around each eye. I almost cried. Shopping is much too painful. I bought a videogame, finally, only to escape. I couldn't stare at the same games any longer. I couldn't walk around Movies and look up at the security camera anymore. The game I bought, it turns out, is a good one. I'm glad I bought it. Splinter Cell, for only $20. Post-purchase, I went to the food section. I wanted something quick and easy. I waited for an attractive pair of Lesbiae—one lipstick, one butch—to finish pastry shopping, grabbed two jalapeño bagels and a cake donut. Then, I went to the back aisle and picked out an enormous jug of Lime Ade. I bought these from a purple haired register girl who smiled when, after she'd asked how many donuts, I answered with very specific information: "Two jalapeño, one chocolate cake." Her smile said, "You're a weirdo." I left Super Target, sat on the curb outside the store. Two cart-movers, discussing Nintendo, walked past. All of the old feeling is gone. While I watched heavy traffic pass on Snelling, I ate both jalapeño bagels, and drank straight from the Lime Ade jug.

A Survey

Mon, 03 Jul 2006 04:38:01 GMT

Four Jobs I Have Had in My LIfe
1. Security Guard at Coffman Bookstore
2. Customer Service at Best Buy/Suncoast Video/Carmike Cinemas
3. Freelance Writer
4. Film Developer at Ritz Camera (for all of four hours)

Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over
1. Dawn of the Dead (the original)
2. Billy Madison/Happy Gilmore
3. Trainspotting
4. Fight Club

Four Places I Have Lived
1. Rochester, MN
2. Dhahran, Saudi Arabia
3. Saint Paul, MN
4. Fountain Hills, Arizona

Four TV Shows I Love to Watch
1. The Office (British/American)
2. The Sopranos/Deadwood
3. Seinfeld
4. Scrubs

Four Places I Have Been On Vacation
1. New York City, NY (post-9/11)
2. Austria
3. France
4. Sanibel Island, FL

Four Websites I Visit Daily:
1. Xanga
2. Stereogum
3. Salon
4. Facebook

Four of My Favorite Foods
1. P-p-pizza, with jalapeños
2. Chocolate, in any form, as long as it's not cheap Hershey's
3. A huge cheeseburger, with jalapeños
4. Carbonated water

(Tasha, you must really like seafood.)

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now:
1. The Cabin
2. In the lake
3. Nowhere
4. Somewhere far away from the U

A Troll Takes a Shine to Patioman

Fri, 30 Jun 2006 06:14:45 GMT

Someone has created a site in my honor!

Patioman is a Flaming Gay Douchebag! Unfortunately, there's not much to read.

Home Alone

Wed, 28 Jun 2006 22:46:09 GMT

It's so lonely, like this. I have off from work and Emily is babysitting until 4pm. Andrew may be coming over at 4pm but I'm not sure so we'll see. On Monday, I imagined this dream day: "I will wake up whenever I want and finish my Thank You notes and query magazines and newspapers and I will lose this overwhelming sense of stasis I've taken on during the past few weeks, sense that I'm getting nowhere, am stuck." Instead, I'm on the couch reading with my shirt halfway up and my stomach exposed while the other people in my building bang in and out. Stasis is what drove me away from Rochester, finally, what drove my Dad and me into fist fights. I see only limits and limitations. Plans are made and then abandoned. Now is the time to remove what's unnecessary, what's hindersome instead of what helps. From my life, that is. I'm obsessed with simplicity. I don't want things more complicated than they should be.

A few days ago I bought The Warriors videogame, with a gift card George gave me for graduating. I asked George if I could shadow him. He fixes up around my building—toilets and the like. Random tasks, whatever's required. I want to shadow him because knowledge like this is—I think—the essence of maleness, knowing how things work sub-surface and what needs be done to ensure a home runs. I've been denied this knowledge. My dad was never interested in sharing, if he knew. My grandpa could, apparently, take apart an entire car and put it back together. I know how to structure sentences and arguments, but those are abstract, kind of useless, abilities, whereas all of George's stuff has concrete value. With a gift card George gave me, I bought The Warriors. I rode the 84 to Best Buy, got off at the end of a highway exit, walked under a bridge where homeless guys live and yell at each other, then crossed an intersection and a parking lot to Best Buy. I worked at BB a few years ago and it was miserable. The job I have now is much better, though trapped in the same income bracket.

A Few Hours Later

I showered eventually and rode to Kowalski's for lunch. I bought lemonade, water, a Snickers, a pizza whose cheese I scraped off and didn't eat. Once I'd eaten, I went out again. I rode down Portland to the stoplight, sat on a curb. I read while cars roared past behind me. Some guy in an SUV drove by, an inch from my face, at I would say 50mph in a 30mph zone. My parents were the only SUV drivers who didn't suck. I'm never surprised to see a Bush '04 sticker on the back of one. That affection for Bush? That love for the gas guzzlers, + cars that destroy others and intimidate with their size? Invariably, they're driven by people who go too fast, and drive too aggressively. Those traits go together: disregard for the world + misplaced aggression = Bush. Emily isn't home yet. Andrew is off work but I haven't called him. I talked to Ron outside. He told me about a fencer he knows at West Point. I had several sparks of inspiration while biking, and immediately pangs of self-doubt. I must work past these doubts.