Entry 5- You Cannot Truly Re-Live Your Youth, But You Can Try To

Last week (at a top secret location), I attended a house party with several different bands playing in the living room. I felt some kind of responsibility for the younger and/or smaller attendees who were getting knocked about like sock puppets in the mosh pit. So, I asked a friend of mine to hold one pair of my four eyes, and joined in the pit.

Much like when I had participated in mosh pits when I was younger, I was ceremoniously knocked about like a sock puppet. It was fun, though. In my late teens, at either a Sonic Youth or Ministry concert (does anyone else have a foggy memory of the mid-nineties?) at one of the pavilions in Del Mar, I lost a shoe and when I bent over to pick it up some dude's knee went right into my face. That is the only time I can remember actually getting some kind of injury while moshing. (Although, at a Primus concert I attended in Oakland one year, people from front row seating were throwing lit firecrackers down onto the audience on the floor. I didn't really get hurt. Just, almost.) Once again, it was fun. Getting hurt, or just tussled about in a mosh pit, is like a sports injury. You rub a little dirt on it, and then get right back into the scrum.

Participating in that kind of activity is unusual for me. Really, I love music but the older I get the more I hate crowded places where people are trying to feel you up. In this case, at the house party, I didn't mind getting knocked over and trampled. I guess, I'm just hungry for fun.

One thing about this period in my life (and I am hungry for fun almost every day) is I absolutely do not know how how to be single, or even how to go on a real date. In fact, I think I have only been on one or two "dates" in my life. I was trying to explain this to my grandmother one time, and she just didn't get it. She married my grandfather right after graduating high school. I mean, like, the next day after graduation. Now that she is single because he has passed, she uses me to import some wisdom about how younger generations go about meeting potential mates.

I don't want to "mate," and that is what seems to confuse her. I also, after recently getting out of a five year relationship, don't really want to go on dates, necessarily. I don't really know what I want out of a sexual partner, except definitely the sex. That makes sense, right?

Being unemployed is a big drag in the single scene. I have come up with clever ways to answer the question, "What do you do for a living?" Blimp pilot is my favorite. I just simply disappear whenever there is a major sporting event in town, and people who think they know me suppose I am hovering above in the Met Life craft. Professional beer drinker is another good one, though how it is someone actually gets paid to do that is a mystery I am out to solve. One time, when someone asked me what I do for a living, I told them I just hang out and have fun. That raised some suspicious eyebrows, but as you can tell, I am hungry for fun. Disprove that!

I decided to write this more light hearted entry here on my blog because I am a little sick of dwelling on fucked up shit that I have no power to solve. I get emails all the time from the Obama campaign (that I did volunteer with before the California primary) asking for donations or to make volunteer phone calls to whatever state is voting on the primaries week by week. I want to write Obama a letter, and just say, "Sorry, Bro. Love to help out, but I can't even get hired at a job making minimum wage. Maybe after the primaries."

(Calling Obama "Bro" is my new thing. I don't think he is a Jihadist, or has ever cheated on his wife, or is lacking experience to be President. He's my Bro, and that is how I think about things. In a similar way that Bill Clinton, during his Presidency, seemed like a weird, wealthy relative that would show up for dinner and impress everyone with his hillbillyness. Fuck off with the negative bullshit.)

By the way, a man named Floyd Morrow is running for Mayor of San Diego on the Democratic ticket. (morrowformayor.com) He's seventy-five years old, and of a humble, intelligent nature. So it would take a pretty low down individual to tell him to fuck off to his face for no reason. Okay, okay. Enough with the serious shit. I'm hungry again. And there is plenty of fun to be had around town, even completely for free, if you are willing to get down and dirty with real people.