... And Boy Are My Arms Tired

Hey, I'm back. Miss me? Me neither. A lot has happened over the last four days, and I haven't really digested most of it yet. Especially the Montana-sized breakfast burrito I had right before getting on the plane yesterday. I will try, however, to chip away at some of what I took away from my "Magical Journey out of the Basement!"

First off, here are the three things I learned while away:

1. Walking into a bathroom stall in the Detroit airport is exactly like walking into the rectum of the person who occupied the stall before you. And that person has a really smelly rectum.

B. I need to get back to listening to WAY more music.

3. Bozeman is the driest place in the universe and, no matter how much water you attempt to drink, you will still look and feel like this within 24 hours of your arrival:



K. Never eat a breakfast burrito in Montana one hour before getting on a plane, unless you want to produce your own bubbling, sulphur hot springs at 30,000 feet.

5. A job is just a job and that's all it should really ever be. It should be a means to spending more time with your family and friends and living your fucking life and eating good food and being creative and doing the shit that makes you happy. Unless, of course, your job is "Chief Bikini Inspector."

R. I really hate making lists.

You know, the trip was great but it really became more than just "getting away." It started to be more about finding my priorities and making connections with people who are interesting and complex and who go through the same bullshit I go through on a daily basis.

I know it sounds like I'm talking "all serious and shit" and it might be, as the kids say today, "harshing your mellow," but I just need to get this crap out there. I'm sure by tomorrow, I'll be back to BMs and penises and "Aargh! Me so crabby!"

I think the main thing I realized is that, if you want to do things traditionally (have a full-time job, hire a nanny, mostly spend time with your kids on the weekend, make a lot of money, etc.) things can be pretty simple. And I'm not editorializing on those who choose to do those kinds of things. In fact, I'm saying that the world is set up so that's pretty much the course you have to take if you want a fairly normal life. All the supporting infrastructure is there to help you "git 'er done."

If you fuck with the system, though, things get really complex, really fast. If, say, you decide "Well, we can split everything up 50/50, we won't make as much money, we'll have to create some totally complex schedule for work and for taking care of the kids that can and will change at any second, and it'll be crazy as shit but at least we'll have more time with the kids while they're still around the house and they still want something to do with us," then your life will basically be a complete pig-fuck.

But that's cool. So I chose pig-fuck over the simpler life. No problem. I just have to find a way to fit in some things that will help defuse the pig-fuckedness. Like listening to more music, or writing and recording more songs, or posting asinine ramblings on a blog, or drinking more martinis, or baking more, or swimming, or flying really long distances to see friends whose lives are as pig-fucked as mine, if not more pig-fucked, and talking about how pig-fucked-up life can be, but then getting really wasted and laughing for a half-an-hour about how Stalin tried to create a race of super-soldiers by attempting to breed humans and chimpanzees.

And that, my friends, is what it's all about: Humanzees.

So, I'm really glad I went away. And I'm really glad I'm back. And I'm going to try really hard not to spaz out as much as I was spazzing before I left. And I'm going to do everything in my power to dig as deep as I can in my backyard until I hit a hot spring. And then I'm going to sit in it. And while I'm sitting in my backyard hot spring, I'm going to win the Lotto. And with my Lotto winnings, I'm going to breed myself with a chimpanzee to create a Crabbanzee who will take over my job and let me hang out with my family and sit in my hot spring hole and do whatever the fuck I want.

And then I'll probably get arrested for fucking a chimpanzee, even though my plan is to merely artificially inseminate it, but no one will believe me because I'll be sitting naked in a hole in my backyard doing nothing but posting to my blog and eating "Take Five" candy bars. But you know what, none of that will matter. Why?

I have no idea. How the shit did I get from "I learned a lot in Bozeman" to artificially inseminating chimps? Goddamn you Stalin!