Day 18: Guitar Making!

Day 18 on the artofmanliness.com’s 30 Day blogger challenge calls me to identify a project I’d like to make with my hands and describe the steps to completing it.  This one’s REAL easy for me as I’m already in the first stages of moving forward with it.

I’ve finally started making my very own guitar, designed by……why Elias Cresh, that’s who!

When I say I’m making my own guitar, I don’t mean I’m buying a kit and putting one together.  I’m muthafucking making one from the ground up.  I’m even forging and crafting the metal.  I’m for reals about it.

A variety of guitar picks

I’m making guitar picks out of the bones of sacrificed children.  You’ve got to go the extra mile for your passion.

Continue reading

Day 16: The Blurb of the Cresh Life

Deutsch: Steve Jobs auf der Macworld in San Fr...

If you’re not Steve Jobs.  The world will end according to self-help exercises.

Day 16 of the blogger challenge wants me to write a blurb about my life for the cover of my book.

As always, I tend to look at things in reverse than intended.  At least I think I do.

My blurb would likely say something like: Continue reading

Day 13: Level of Worry

stressed and worried

Worried or amazing mind powers?

It’s Day 14 of the 30 day blogger challenge.     Today, I’m once again cheating.  The original “blogger” challenge was actually a journaling challenge and so everything wasn’t meant for public consumption. I’m changing it up to make it so.

Today’s challenge is about “worries”.   You’re supposed to do a worry dump where you write out all your worries.  I already do this as part of a mental health check up so, it seems a bit repetitive for me as well as a little too creepily revealing. It’s fine for blogs to be all like that if they’re consistent, but jumping back and forth between dramatics and fun is a bit like that obnoxious friend on Facebook that won’t stop telling you how pissed off they are about this or that or how upset they are about life.  I mean, it’s sort of honest, I guess, but it’s also sort of tiresome.

facebook engancha

“No one understands how much it hurts to see her with someone else.”

I thought instead I would write for another 10 minutes on how worry affects me and what worry means to me and how I handle it.  I think that topic might well be more important than what I’m actually worry about, because, let’s face it, the worries change, but the worrying stays the same.  Here goes.

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Worry: The Favorite Pasttime of My Youth

If there was one thing I would tell myself as a younger person, it’s not to worry so much.   That’s something odd to say too because just look around you; it’s a freakshow out their and tons of worry probably needs to be had about the latest blow up du jour.

But really, what was there to worry about?  I mean, sure, if you’re starving and you don’t know where you’re next meal is coming from, then yes, that’s something truly to fret over.  But I’m talking about middle class white kid problems.  What out there is there really to worry about?   That girl that doesn’t like you?  There will be another one along soon enough, and she’ll respect you and like you a lot more if you don’t just date any ol troll that shows you affection.

That job you got fired from as a teenager?  Who cares? Do you really think they’re not going to hire you at the law firm one day because your weed dealer Pizza Hut manager couldn’t decide if it was you or one of the other three people that stole a hundred dollars one night, and so fired all of you?

That prick teacher/professor who gets off on showing 8th graders who’s boss while totally avoiding teaching them anything?  Fuck that guy.  He’s a sad sack if getting over on 8th graders is the pinnacle of his life?

Lonely?  Yes, 15 year-olds will always be alone forever and nobody will ever talk to them and they’ll never go out of their house and people really are laughing at them behind their backs even though they don’t really know them.  That makes a lot of sense.

Mark Zuckerberg, founder and CEO of Facebook

“Speak for yourself, losers.”

It’s kind of ridiculous when you think about all of it.  And that’s both angering and sad looking back from my current vantage point.   I just want to scream, “Stop with the angst you overpriviledged dbag!’  Things would’ve been a lot easier to deal with.   Without all the worry, you can genuinely focus on the strengths and weaknesses to improve upon because you have more clarity and more energy to direct.  I could kick myself for the countless nights I couldn’t sleep because of nonsense.

The Turn

But at some point, maybe somewhere in my mid 20’s, the worry became somewhat legitimate.  People are keeping score then, even if you’re a bit too reckless to realize it.  People really are looking at your grades, how you dress, your work history, your credit score, your relationship history, your accomplishments.  You go from things being written off and people hoping you turn it around to this sense of being judge and that judgement having consequences.  Anyone that’s a hard time finding a job will quickly attest to that fact.

English: Act of giving the finger.

“We’ve got your resume. I’m really going to look it over carefully.”

Even then though, the stuff I tended to worry about was the same stuff I worried about at 15.   Does this girl really have a future with me?  Am I not doing enough with my life?  What if I miss out on the best years of my life and wake up with nothing but regret?   What if I make a mistake I can never recover from?

It’s certainly true that any one of those could’ve been quite real:  I spent 6 years with a girl that, in hindsight, I could’ve broken up with earlier and saved myself some sanity and focus as well as opening a door for better opportunities to come along.  I could’ve gotten caught doing drugs and gone to jail.    There’s  a lot of serious ….stuff….I could’ve gotten into that could’ve had drastic effects on my life.

But mostly I had that feeling that I was missing out on things.  And the weird part about that was twofold; a) in some ways, I actually was missing out on some things that I regret missing out on.  Certain nights with certain girls on certain trips doing certain activities.  But I realized that everybody has that issue (except Jack White apparently), because you can’t do everything.  It’s like going to a bookstore and reading a great book and getting a lot out of it. Part of you can’t help but think,  what about all those other books I didn’t get to read?  What if one of them was even better or at least something that would’ve made my thinking even better and more meaningful?    B)I was missing out on things because I was worrying about missing out on things instead of doing things.

Jack White

“Dude,  you totally DID miss out.” –signed Jack White (aka Baller)

I’m overstating the case a bit. i worried a lot and I still do, but I was no Woody Allen or anything.

Real Life

At some point, you make a true mistake you can never return from.  Perhaps you have a child with someone you don’t really love or get along with.  Perhaps you go severely into debt for reasons beyond your control.  Perhaps you get a drug problem.  Perhaps you have to move home and take care of your sick mother or father.  Something real happens, something truly worthy of your worry. Ironically, it’s usually the thing you were only vaguely ever worried about.

After having my own version(s) of such events, these days I try to limit the worrying.  It does me no good.  And there is something freeing about destroying possible futures.  Like the guy that made a porno or something and so can never be the Pope.  You open yourself up to other possibilities.

 

I did say “try”.  Cause I’m horrible at it.  I worry all the time, but I think I’ve become a master of suppressing it.  Or just living with it.  I’m not sure how to put it.  Like when you’re younger and you feel like you’re about to get hit with something you might tense up.  When I was younger, worry kind of gave me that tensed up feeling.  Now I don’t tense up because I know I’m screwed if “it” is coming.  That might actually be worse; i’ll let you decide.

 

 

Day 12: Stream of Consciousness

As though nobody notices…..

Today for the 30 day blogger challenge, I’m supposed to write a stream of consciousness post. Whatever comes into my mind for 10 to 15 minutes. I think fast, so I’ll try 10 minutes and see how it goes.  Be warned, I may think about penises.  Not saying I will.  But you never know.  So, warning, there may be penises (peni?).

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I can’t believe I bought those mirror covers for my phone.  Every time I click off the screen I’m just glaring at myself and I’m all like, “AHHH!”  Damn you cheap price and poor description on Amazon.  I’ve got to stop drinking these zero calorie sports drinks.  Zero calories sure, but it’s like sodium magic in this biiiiiiitch.  Ack, I’ve got to clean my mouse.  It looks like I’ve been having a “good time” with myself a bit too much (i.e. pants around the ankles in front of the computer by 5:30).  My dog, gone but not forgotten.  A memory of him remains.  It’s like the worst haiku ever written.  Like in that movie last Samurai when he keeps smacking Tom Cruise for picking up the sword; that would be me, but it would be for every time I tried to write a haiku.  “Put the poetry pen down, damn you!”  Jesus, I’ve got to clean this office up.  I wish my walls were more silver and less blue. It didn’t come out quite like I thought it would.  Hey, there’s my life mantra.  Hey yo!  She just went into the bathroom.  She’ll be going to work soon. I hope she does well. I bet she doesn’t realize that.  Maybe she does. People are complex. It’s a good thing.  It’s a bad thing too. Some people are just too much one way or another.  I saw my old supervisor.  Man, she’s just a prototypical dbag; one of those feminists that is SOOOO sure she’s right about everything. Then again, this is the same person that told me people that are offended get to decide if an offense actually took place and what is owed to the person, so, you know, no need for a judicial system anymore. Just ask people if they feel like someone should go to jail or something because of something they perceived.  What could go wrong.   This little holding thing by my desk is kind of crappy but kind of nice too. I got that nice armoire. I wonder what my high falutin cousin would think of it?  Envy?  Would she show me the nicer one she and her husband are getting?  450k for a house?  I mean, it’s nice, but really?  450 for THAT house?  If it were LA or something, sure…but it’s nice.  Maybe I’m just hating.  They like it and that’s what counts (the more you know).  I don’t know why but for some reason I just thought of Felicia Day.  Did I ever mention redheads really do it for me.  My girlfriend has somewhat red hair, but not too much.  Redheads are dying out according to the data.  That’s a sad thing, cause there are some for real hot redhead women in the world.  I’m looking your way Mad Men actress whose name I can’t remember but who I may or may not have done unmentionable things with in my mind. I’m a cheap whore in my own mind apparently, not even bothering to remember my “conquests'” names.  Can one be sexist in one’s dreams?  Sexism is a basic dichotomy of oppressor group and oppressed group, and is there really an oppressor one’s dreams?  Or more importantly, is there an oppressed?  Do imaginary women count?  They say you can’t dream up new faces, so does that mean the women you imagine in your dreams are actually real people in a way and therefore count as potentially oppressed people?  Who knows these things, but I smell a sitcom from all this.  I wonder if that Strain show will be any good.  We don’t need another goddamn zombie.  Seriously…zombies….I’m over it.  I get it; with zombies we can take out our aggression on people-like things that aren’t really people.  So we get to murder but not really.  That why aliens are always a good stand in as well.  But seriously the zombie thing is played out. I mean, it’s been a long time and all we have is zombie movies that entail an apocalypse.  Why is the apocalypse necessary?  Are zombies not scary enough?  I guess the other story would just be people kind of being a mindless zombie and then being put out of their misery, which is basically the infection story of all these runaway disease movies.  Oh, my times up, great.  Penis and titty sprinkles.

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So what did I learn about myself?  Hmmmm.  Let me go reread this bad boy?

Wow, I guess I would suggest 2 things, both of which are not all that surprising.

1.  My topics actually do flow from one to another, even if I don’t perceive it initially. For instance, I realize I was thinking of Felicia Day because my cousin lives somewhat near her.  Or the zombies thing because I think the Strain might be somehow connected with zombies.  Again, not that earth shattering of a realization.

2.  I kind of think in this manner anyway. I’m sort of aware of how I’m thinking. I don’t know if I’ve trained myself to notice it or what. I suspect so, because that’s what keeps me on track when I’m doing things.

I do have a lot of worries though, and I notice that none of them really entered in there.  Perhaps I was suppressing them.  Or editing myself. I don’t think so, but since it’s so noticeable It’s certainly worth considering or even suspecting.

Freudian free association relies on non-editing. By writing, we naturally edit because we can’t write as fast as we think.  So I wonder if that gets in the way of having any profound realization.  A better version of the task would be for people to take a tape recorder and for five minutes just start talking as fast as possible.  The 5 minutes would start only after 2 minutes of focusing and clearing one’s mind Zen style.

So, back on the grind.  Nobody mention the obvious thing about this post. Let’s see if anybody else notices.