On Todd and Trog and Doin' Your Thing...

On Todd and Trog and Doin' Your Thing...

by Adam Littlefield on Friday, April 15, 2011 at 4:27am

"I like people who don’t fit the general perception of what they’re supposed to be—like a jock who doesn’t think the game is the end-all/be-all of his life. I always admired that about Mike Tyson. He was the best boxer in the whole world, and boxing really wasn’t that important to him. And I feel connected that way, too—I feel like the less I care about my music, the more it comes out of me, and the more fun I have." - Todd Snider


    


     So I can not claim to be a huge Todd Snider fan. I have only been exposed to small portions of his work. I do know he's a huge badass, though, and a little fart of my brain led me to an interview featuring this lovely little ball of good spackle... Something yesterday, I have no idea what any more, brought to mind Snider's Infamous Buddy Trog, who I had first heard a tale of at a bbq at Erin C's maybe, and maybe it was five years ago, or something. Regardless of where I heard the tale, I was like, yeah, Trog's kinda like me, or I'm kinda like him, or something. Several people agreed at the time, and a few people over the course of those years have randomly asked me if I'd ever heard of Trog, and stated my resemblance to their mental picture or what not...
   
    Anyway, when Trog popped into my head yesterday, I was hit with a wave of introspection... Am I Trog?... Have I spent these last five years trying to emulate my general idea of his generality and filled in the blanks with Boomby?... Is he yet more of my as-seen-on-TV spackle?... And then I'm kinda like, 'well so-fucking-what if he is? Quit spazzing about whether you've turned into Trog, you're having a blast; and you're not all Trog, or all Hank Moody, or all Ignatius J. Reilley, or all Uncle Buck, or all Del Griffith, or all Bert Littlefield, or all... You're one fucking Boomby... So quit your spazzing and do your thing...' I'm paraphrasing tones of my thoughts here, in case it needs to be said, but my point to myself was that we all take pieces of people we identify with or admire... People shape our personas... We have our examples, and we choose which ones to take along for the ride... And the choices are endless and ever tricky...
   
     So I get de-railed quite easily in my Universal dealings. If I'm not careful, I can ruin a really good flow by focusing too much attention on, ahem, one thing or another. It drives me nuts, but I get a little better at controlling it with each bump in the road... So after getting some things back on track, and a couple of mini-de-railments, I was a little melancholy when I came across this quote up top. One mini-de-railment came after I'd spazzed for a few minutes in the car about the one part of my current flow that could be going a little smoother, and then the same thing, my id gave my ego a little pep talk about all the great things on the rise, and I did a mini-version of this new little meditation exercise I made up for myself... Half-way through the exercise, I hit a fucking squirrel. Believing in the flow of things as I do, I considered this not-so-good, and was sorta sad-and-chuckly-all-at-once at the irony of it all... It didn't really help my mood... But Todd put me back on track...
   
     Some people fight who they are. Why? Because of the perception of who they're supposed to be? Todd was asked this question in reference to a song he wrote about a Major League pitcher who threw a no-hitter tripping on acid... And it's the question that's been on my mind these past few months... At some point we have to realize who we are and make it work for us. If we stop fighting it, or pushing it, or pulling it, it goes. Any one of us is able to make our life whatever we want. I want to be a Good-Timin'-Good-Hearted-Countryghettohippie-Writer-Farmer-Gambler... And I am, and I will be, the best one of those I can; maybe that ever was, if there ever was one...
  
     Do your thing, people. Be that jumble of people that make you, you... Care less about your music, and the more it will come out of you...
Good day
~Boombalias
   

On Hank Moody, and other stuff...

On Hank Moody, and other stuff...

by Adam Littlefield on Wednesday, March 30, 2011 at 5:33am

Hank Moody...

Lovable, charming fuckup...

Lover of altered-states, women, and words...

 Blurred images of fantasy and reality...

Hank Moody, I salute you...

     So I just finished the season finale of Californication. It may be the greatest twenty-six-ish minutes of television I have ever watched. Or it may just be the greatest twenty-six-ish minutes of television I have ever watched right now. Either way, it was fucking awesome. I felt an instant kinship with Hank, maybe last year around this time, or whenever it was when I first encountered him. I was like, “Holy crap, I’m a hometown-amateur Hank Moody, save the fact that I have two-hundred-or-so pounds on him and I barely get laid and very few people passionately hate me.” I’m paraphrasing there, I don’t remember what the fuck I said to myself, but it was probably something like that. And Hank’s got a few years on me, so the whole 200lb-barely-laid-passionate-hate thing could work itself out… Regardless, the show was great, and Hank’s struggles and plights are things I relate to, definitely part of my as-seen-on-TV spackle…

     I just wanted to type something this morning… I re-read some of my January-February tear and felt like it was time for my fingers to move. I haven’t written much, Quincy is still stuck, but many things are happening, life things. The way things unfolded with our roadtrip was perfect, it couldn’t have gone smoother, and I came home feeling quite energized. I still felt lagged until this past weekend pretty much, but the trip led right into St. Patrick’s Day and my oldest friend’s amazing 35th-birthday-houseparty-bbq-extravaganza. It was two solid weeks of Adventure and great times, with friends old and new, all little stories of their own.

     The Universe is still at work, the good spackle outweighing the bad more-and-more. I feel my life changing for the good by the day, and feel like, for the first time maybe ever, I have a clear vision of what I want my life to be. I don’t really want to get into that right now, I’m just trying to get something out there before I fall asleep. But things become clearer and clearer by the day…

     I will say that this past weekend was a trip, filled with several important interactions with some very important people in my life, also including a very fresh-and-refreshing interaction I’m trying hard not to be all spazzy about. Jesus, this sounds vague, but I have a point… Things are going exactly as they should… One important but weird interaction came from a friend I rarely see any more… The situation was weird and the details are not necessary, but she helped me speak a truth that is a good truth for me right now. I had said in the Valentine’s Day ramble that the day I got my ass kicked eight years ago was a big move, and something I did for me and no one else. Anyway, I had said something-or-other to this girl, and she replied, “Yeah, but aren’t you still in love with that one girl?...” To which I replied, “ Nope, the only person I’m in love with right now is myself...” The power of that verbalization was immediate; it was a good truth… The girl was puking ten minutes later and I was continuing on a fantastic adventure, but she was a catalyst for realization, and I was grateful for that truth…

     So yeah, the Universe is most certainly working. One of the other interactions involved my being asked why I feel the need to share my thoughts like this, or why I feel the need to say exactly what I want to whomever I choose when the notion grabs me, such as saying too much via-finger-spew to a girl I may like at the risk of alienation… Couldn’t I just write it and keep it to myself?... The answer to that is no, not right at this moment… I say what I say, and it is what it is, and I fucking love it… To re-use the Immortal words of Hank Moody, “I drink. I think. I write. Lather. Rinse. Repeat…”

Good day, People…
Boombalias

Toilet Philosophy...

Toilet Philosophy...

by Adam Littlefield on Saturday, March 5, 2011 at 2:17pm

Writing from the road to come, but a friend inadvertently reminded me of this entry from '07, and I thought I'd share it right quick... The perishable talk fits with other stuff I've been talking about lately, and farting whilst peeing is good, healthy spackle... Happy trails, people...

June 26, 2007

     Ugh...Man, I haven't felt like writing a fucking thing lately. Blogs and lyrics and rambly emails are just piling up in my brain. The perishables are growing moldy, and some rather smell; and the non-perishables are collecting dust. Stink though they may, the perishables linger, and my brain seems to be hoarding them for some stinky-rotten rant fight instead of chucking them into the bin or sending them out into the world. I wish I was the type who just wrote; wherever, whenever, whatever, but I'm just not. Especially when I find myself in a funkier-than-normal funk, which I do of late. There are several reasons for this funk. Often my reasons will latch onto eachother and form this big ball of yuck. The yuck varies in degree, and lately the yuck levels are high. I could blather on with specifics, but that's boring and goddamned depressing. And my intent is to come round to something uplifting or entertaining by the time I'm done typing.
            
      Having said that, by show of hands, who loves to fart while they pee? I do I do. I have an iron bladder, so when in bars it's not uncommon for me to be there several hours before 'breaking the seal'. Depending upon the company I'm keeping, I may or may not have been holding a fart for whole said duration. I suppose that, more often than not, I let 'em fly anyway. But the best by far is  when I've got one saved up for my seal-breaking. I stroll back to the loo. My buzz is starting to come on strong. I commence the stream and then 'HRRRRRRRNNTTTTTT' my ass horn sounds a baritone medley for all in attendance to hear. This blowing is most usually followed (the loudness of which coinciding with the level of intoxication, of course) by a Randy 'Macho Man' Savage-esque 'OHHHHH YEEEEEAAAAAH,' all in the midst of a raucous pee. It is a splendiferous biological multi-tasking, a beautiful release from the front and the rear. Other occupants may sneer, but what can I say, they just aren't in tune with the simple pleasures. Those who are, even if they don't rip one of their own, will at least respond in kind with an empathetic chuckle or a slightly subdued 'OH YEAH.'
   
      I'm certainly not the first  person to ponder this subject. Louie Anderson did a great bit in the eighties about idolizing his father as a youngster because he farted while he peed and consequently sang it's praises as one of life's simple pleasures as an adult. And I'm sure he wasn't the first. It's very base, ya know? Like several other root human pleasures. Just as we've been fucking and eating and scratching ourselves for thousands of years, we too have been farting while we pee. At any given moment, around the world, hundreds of thousands of people are experiencing the same beautiful functions. Don't it make you feel all warm n' fuzzy?

      I've often wondered if women take the same pleasure, I've even asked a few. I don't think I've recieved any definitive answers, perhaps because I only vaguely remember asking in a few late-night ramblings, but I do remeber pontificating my theories on the matter. I definitely believe that they take the same pleasure, though only in very private and/or comfortable environs. The main factor for their hesitancy, aside from being, ya know, ladylike, is the resounding accoustics of a fart inside a toilet bowl. Women must sit to pee, and thus must sit to fart while peeing. And although the Horn Resounding (I'll take obscure late 80s movie references for a thousand, Alex) bellow of a fart in a toilet bowl may be music to our ears, I believe the ladies find it quite distasteful. Oh well, I know you ladies love it when no one's listening.

     So yeah, I had a little rant planned on an idea I've been gnawing on lately about what I like to call 'friendshipical hierarchies', but I've watched three movies over the course of this rambling and it's nearing bedtime. It centers around my tedency to, as I get older, take people at face value; and all the pros and cons of that, but it seemed a bit blah considering the early tone of this entry. So I opted for farting when you pee. Either way, they were both non-perishable. They may collect dust, but they'll get out there eventually. The perishables are mostly personal interactions that will get out there or won't, and may or may not matter. I guess if you wait too long to serve up your thoughts or ideas and they go all moldy and funky on you, it's your own goddamned fault and it is what it be. It all comes out in the wash. Incidentally, I just watched Magnolia for the first time in awhile, what a cool flick. I feel better.......Take pleasure in the simple things people. Fart, pee, and be merry.....And so it goes, and so it goes...
~Boombalias

On Bert and Bernie...

On Bert and Bernie...

by Adam Littlefield on Sunday, February 20, 2011 at 8:17am

    So I just watched Soul Men. Aside from a small role in Old Dogs, it was Bernie Mac's last movie... I think I tried to watch it drunk the other night, or maybe I was just nodding off to sleep, I don't really recall. Either way, it was exactly the perfect movie at exactly the perfect time. I had just watched Life as We Know It, and it was good, but I was kind of having that heebie-jeebie restless feeling tonight, and it failed to squelch it. So I hit up OnDemand to look for just the right movie to watch or re-watch, as I often do when I have that funky feeling and am not feeding it booze, and after scrolling through a hundred or so, I found Soul Men.

     I will forever associate Bernie Mac with my Old Man. They didn't look or talk or dress the same, but they were both oldschool, they both had Class, they were near the same age and they died fourteen days apart. I don't remember specifics, but I remember there being talk around the house about his death. Here is another part where I could try to replicate something Bert said about 'ol Bernie, lord knows he had a spiel on it, and I could probably spew some shit that would be remotely Bert-esque, but I'm not ready to do that.

     If you've been reading, it goes back to the whole cheapening/over-aggrandizing thing. For the most part, my memory works in tones, I am fairly fucking worthless when it comes to specifics, but I'm also very anal about detail and explaining myself properly and such. I dunno how the fuck that works, but it creates a shitstorm in my head on a regular basis. So my portrayal of other peoples' words will either come to me in time, or they won't. Digression... The point is, I don't remember what was said, but I know Bert, in a sense, felt kinda like he lost another buddy, a peer, an acquaintance; like the dozens that had gone too early before him, on the screen and in the flesh.

     They both had Class. Charisma. Soul... Granted, Bernie's was flashier and infinitely more lucrative, he'd have given Bert mad shit about his more-often-than-not bedraggled appearance, but had they met, they'd have seen eachother. They'd have sat and talked like players do about gettin' old, swappin' stories; and realized that either one of them, given a different fart of the Universe, could have been in the place of the other. They both had a way with words, sometimes misused, but always poignant, and people always wanted to listen. People wanted to be around them...

     So yeah, when I started to watch that movie the other night, drunk or tired, I realized that it's kind of odd that I never watched it before. It has two of my favorite actors sharing the screen the whole way and I never watched it? It's probably a pattymelt thing. I think I might have heard it was kinda shitty, but maybe I was just waiting til today to watch it, right at the very perfect time.

     The movie is fucking great. An instant favorite. I laughed, I got misty-eyed, and it brought to mind so many times, good and bad, happy and sad, and all points in between. It brought to mind my roadtrip home from Costa Rica via Florida with my oldest friend in the world the day that Michael Jackson died. It brought to mind the Dark Tower series because a woman named Odetta was the woman they had fought over in the movie, and I had just seen a show earlier with a woman named Odetta, and how fucking often do you hear the name Odetta on TV, let alone twice in a couple hours. Odetta Holmes is the woman gunslinger in the Dark Tower series, where everything's 19, and there'll be water if god wills it, and the gunslingers Remember the Faces of their Fathers, and the Universe is always at work. And it brought to mind Bert and Bernie, two amazing souls whose work here was done, and are on to other adventures...

      It was like any of my favorite movies, books, albums, a spiritual experience. Something that spawns real thoughts, memories, emotions. It was my daily reminder that the Universe is  at work. It was good fucking spackle...

Good day to you, people...
~Boombalias

Ice Karma Part duhh... Sandbagged...

Ice Karma Part duhh... Sandbagged...

by Adam Littlefield on Friday, February 18, 2011 at 8:03pm

     We were three hours in to a snow storm. Nate and I had somehow ended up in a tavern we rarely frequented any more, perhaps entertaining out-of-town guests. The details are foggy, it was awhile back, but I am quite sure there was Ice Karma involved. It was still early when we got started, maybe eight o’clock, and it had just started to snow. Heavy, wet snow it was. I may have taken weird drugs before we left my house, I was drinking voraciously. The other sinners in the place were eating my dust. We were ‘suuuuup-ing’ and ‘laaaaaaaater-ing’ left and right. At the time, I think we were still doing the Doug and Steve Butabi thing and actually bouncing girls in between us, mocking the brothers’ silly little dance. The ladies loved it. Really…
              
      As we stepped outside to move on to bigger-and-better things, I wondered if the drugs were playing a trick on me. It had snowed a seemingly-inordinate-fuck-ton of snow in a very short time, as snow storms go; three hours and at least nine inches. I was steaming, literally. I had been sweating profusely inside, and some sort of science dictated that my sweaty body heat turn to steam as I stood in awe of the inordinate-fuck-ton. Everything was fine until we reached our home bar.
             
     On the way, we had seen someone fall, and laughed profusely. I hesitated to laugh because I knew all about Ice Karma, but the laughs came regardless. I was giggly and babbly from the drugs.

      The alley behind our usual hangout is treacherous in the winter. The Ice mixes with the mud of the gravel-needy alley and it becomes glacial back there. When the snow and ice start to melt, sandbags are placed in the gaps of the cement wall that runs along the alley to prevent further erosion of its already dilapidated state. Said sandbags just happened to be covered with several inches of wet, fluffy snow that night…

     The sweat had finally dried, and I was babbling fluidly to Nate on our way toward the door. I usually just step over the wall, it is only three feet high or so, but with snow covering the unknown glacial formations of the alley, I opted to go through the gap in the wall. So I was babbling along, something about the Universe at work probably, and BOOM… I was flat on my face in the snow. The sandbag was craftily, carefully concealed by aforementioned wet, heavy snow, and I had tripped right over the damned thing.

     As soon as we realized I was not injured, we burst in to laughter. I rolled over on my back and tried to catch my breath amidst wheezy guffaws. I am normally quite graceful when getting to my feet, but the booze and drugs made it a process. The area where I fell in the freshly fallen snow looked like a twelve-foot demon snow angel, and I looked like the abominable snowman. The laughs ebbed temporarily, and we went in to tell the tale…

     This is just another example of karma at work. A fun reminder that our thoughts and actions have consequences, however small or large. Something to think about the next time we see someone fall or get dogged out in public, or any number of ugly things. Be careful, you could be next…

Good Friday to you, people…
~Boombalias

Ice Karma... A Short Narrative...

Ice Karma... A Short Narrative

by Adam Littlefield on Friday, May 21, 2010 at 1:22am

Yeah, so since I can't seem to write anything new lately, I thought I'd bring over a few old gems from Crickets-Chirping-Space that never made it over here for some reason... More to come...

A few weeks ago, I had an amusing encounter with bad karma. I'm sure that we've all had our experiences with karma, whether we believe in it or not. You do something good, something good comes back to you, and likewise for things of a more negative nature. It is ever present in our day-to-day lives; restaurant karma, driving karma, dating/flirting karma, the list could go on. I could speak at length on many of the more inane types of karma, but today I'll speak of an evil, dangerous type; Ice karma.

     We were three days into an ice storm. It was my cousin Dusti's last night in town before returning to school, and we were in our favorite drinking establishment spreading the good word to legions of sinners. In truth, we had succumbed to the masses and joined into their pagan rituals not long after we'd entered. Outside was an icy hell, we'd risked life and limb to get there, and inside the air and drink were warming. At some point, I realized that I was out of cigarettes and would have to skate to the car to retrieve a fresh deck. This sounded like great fun.

     I was negotiating the parking lot with much joy and ease when I heard a scuffling, skidding sound from behind me. I turned in time to see some sinner shimmy-slide-shuffle on the ice, but right himself at the very last moment. A cackling, almost girlish giggle, no doubt brought on by the evil spirits, sprung from my depths. By the time my giggle had subsided, I was flat on my back and looking up at the stars. I had taken the spill meant for the sinner. And in the midst of my fresh onslaught of giggles, I knew that karma was at work. It was a meticulous process, hauling my considerable mass to a standing position without falling repeatedly. Afterward, I brushed myself off, fetched my cigarettes, and went back inside to tell the tale.

     Sometimes small things, no matter how insignificant, can remind us about the simple lessons in life. No matter what we believe, there are basic rules that apply. How we interpret or learn from them is each person's struggle. Some of us never learn.

On Valentine's Day... And writer's block...

On Valentine's Day... And writer's block...

by Adam Littlefield on Monday, February 14, 2011 at 6:42pm

     Eight years ago today, Valentine's day 2003, I checked in to the hotel at the Davenport River Center. I had no Valentine, I was there to fight in front of hundreds of people. Nearly two years of a quest to get my head outta my ass and develop an active lifestyle was culminating with my crazy decision to box in the Toughman Contest...

     The night of the fight, and the events leading up to it, is the subject of my first official Quincy Fields story. And right now, I am stuck 3500ish words in, trying to decide how deep to delve in to the details of the girl I was getting over at the time...

     I am not sure as to the degree of her relevance to the story. Although this girl is a trusted friend now who I have an amazing, hours-long rant-session with every few months, she is not really a part of my life, and only really became a part of my life at that time out of circumstance. But she was the first girl I ever really had a deep-seated connection with, a connection born of circumstance and intoxication, but raised in a mutual faith in eachother that we were better than the sum of our present actions and respective stations in life. She inspired me to write. She was in love with my typed words, if nothing else, and I was in love with her strength in the face of adversity. It was dysfunctional, as all of my loves have been, but it was also very raw and real, as all of my loves have also been...

     So that is my quandary, I am stuck trying to convey and remember feelings I'm not really sure about any more. And the depth of said feelings, or lack thereof, scares me. As much as I want to just trust whatever my brain gives my fingers and know that it will be good enough, I can't help but worry that I will either cheapen or over-aggrandize sacred things in the halls of my brain.

     How much or little of myself or the people who have meant something to me do I put on the page? That is the quandary in general. I will encounter the same problem when I get back to writing about my months in the jungle and the lovesick months that followed, or my dysfunctional relationship with my father, my mother, my sister... Fuck...

     I choose this, and in the times to come, all of these things will come to pass, for better or worse, cheaply or over-aggrandizingly. Because I am a writer. In the paraphrased words of Hank Moody when asked whether he was an artist or a pretender, " I'm neither, I'm a writer. I think. I drink. I write. Lather, rinse, repeat..." I accept it, and I will  make it work...

     That Valentine's day eight years ago, I had lost nearly two hundred pounds, and had decided months before that I either needed to kick someone's ass, or get my ass kicked... I got my ass kicked; by an ex-marine a little shorter and quite a bit fitter. But I loved every fucking second of it. It was exhilarating... And, like the only real moves I've made in life, it was BIG...

     I think that, that night, I really got over the girl. I found no Valentine. I drank many draft beers as soon as I left the ring, did drugs through a broken nose, and gambled degenerately... Spackle... My many years-long backslide could possibly be attributed to my loss in the ring, but could just as well be attributed my becoming too comfortable with my progress and reverting back to the full-time raging wildman, rather than the occasional raging wildman I had become accustomed to... Either way, that was one of the greatest nights of my life, and it involved no Valentine...

     As for now, I sit here today completely over another girl. She's a girl I can't for certain say I won't have another chapter with, but our lives do not concern eachother in the present. There is a girl I like, but like most every girl I decide I really like and am not just trying to spoon, I fear I have gone way over-the-top with her. There are girls I try to spoon, but not terribly hard... C'est la vie, like I've been saying, all we can do is be honest, and be who we are...

     So, Happy Valentine's Day, people. I treat it with warm indifference, and fond recollections of something I did for me, and no one else... If you hate Valentine's Day, like my video said, do like the rest of us; get drunk, and shut the fuck up...

Good day, you beautiful people...
~Boombalias

On Television...

On Television...

by Adam Littlefield on Saturday, February 5, 2011 at 8:29pm

     So I was just given shit by my oldest friend in the world about the fact that I still watch some of the stuff on MTV… It's a product of our age, I think... I watched a shit-ton all through my teens, when it made the transition to being less-and-less about music, and when maybe other people were waaaay busier than I was. So MTV is kinda like an old friend, who you hate some of the shit that they do and what not, but you also still love in many ways, and has always been there... They were one of the pioneers of reality television, and as a student of the social sciences and human interaction and such, I very much enjoy reality television, however contrived…

     It’s kinda like when we were kids. I know my Mom and Dad were sure to be very clear to us at a very young age that TV and movies were make-believe, and purely for entertainment. And I really think that a lot of people are striving for some as-seen-on-TV life, and of course this creates a symbiotic, mutually-parasitic relationship between them and the people who are cranking all of this stuff out. But I think that intelligent people, who know that all of the crap they watch is purely for entertainment, can gain little nuggets of insight from the most trivial of places. I was looking at an old entry of mine the other day about human interaction, as well as humans’ interactions with books, movies and television. And it essentially stated that no two people are going to take the exact same thing from a book or movie or talk with a friend. Generalities can be observed, but perspectives are endless. So I don’t necessarily think that watching perceived garbage automatically makes you a mindless fop. It surely turns out its share of mindless fops, but perspective and intent and the realization that it’s all make-believe with tidbits of reality rather than reality with tidbits of make-believe, can make for intelligent viewing of nearly anything…

     So yeah, I don’t watch TV nearly as much as I used to. But I still watch it, and I am not ashamed in the least to admit it. A lot of people are all blah blah blah, I don’t watch TV, I’m too busy, I’m too smart, I have a life, yadda yadda yadda. And that’s fine, good for them. I realize this started with MTV and turned in to TV in general and the vague defense of my watching it. But I kind of take issue with the fact that some people tend to judge others on very trivial matters such as this, not necessarily my friend who initially sparked this rant, but they’re out there…

     So to wrap it up, I’ll say this… MTV has always been there, and it has never judged me, so I’ll never fully turn my back on it. It may judge you, but only if you let it…

Good day to you, people…
~Boombalias

On Loneliness...

On Loneliness...

by Adam Littlefield on Thursday, February 3, 2011 at 5:02am

     The Universe at work... So I sat down here after a long-distance talk with one of my very best girls. She's having a rough time of it and needed to vent. We didn't discuss our love lives, or lack thereof, but a hefty portion of our talk centered on what I deemed at its root loneliness, loneliness and uncertainty about the future. I mainly listened and stuck my two-cents in at appropriate times, but she made me realize that I was feeling a little loneliness today myself. Once a week or so, I'll have this tense, restless feeling where I feel like I should be doing something, saying something. It rarely lasts more than a day any more, because I have begun to figure out what I need to do or say to fix it, at least temporarily. Truthfully, it most always involves getting something off of my chest, whether it be to a person, to everyone, to myself. But yeah, I feel like the root of these feelings is loneliness.

     I have known times of deep, steaming loneliness... We all have. It's only occasional for me now because I have some great people in my life who I know I truly love and truly love me back. And I have gotten way better at dealing with it, knowing the things I need to do to keep myself on an even keel, which as stated usually involves typing something to someone. But you can't deal with something you won't acknowledge. I talked in an earlier entry about the fact that in your quest for answers in life, it helps a shitload to know the questions... So maybe we should all ask ourselves if we're lonely, and if so, why? What's missing?

     Of course, the most common missing element is a significant other. For some, it can even be a non-significant other, or several non-significant others. The gaps are spackled with all sorts of shit; sex, drugs, booze, clothes, food, big-screen TVs, etc... There is nothing wrong with the spackle, we all do what and how we do to get by. But as someone who has never really had an official significant other, I can tell you that it's really easy to end up with more spackle than there is wall... Did I take the spackle thing a little too far??... Either way man, at the end of the day, it's all you. You can have people in your life that enrich it, including significant others. Of course I want a strong woman who will stand by me and put up with my passive-aggressive, self-entitled bullshit and love every minute of it because I put up with all of her bullshit too. I used to think I wanted someone who made me a better person, but guess what? Only we can make ourselves better people... And only we can choose not to be lonely, because we have ourselves, and when that's good enough, everything else will be goddamned peachy...

    So my original thought about the Universe at work came from my realization that it's okay to feel lonely as long as you find better ways of dealing with it... Right before I started this, I came across a Temple of the Dog  reference in my newsfeed. That full album is still my favorite of the 90s, and that list is long. I immediately thought of the song Call me a Dog, and realized that it fit perfectly with my mood today, and the hour-long phone call I had literally just hung up from...

     Things are very synchronicitous for me right now, and they can be for you if you're paying attention.. A month ago today, I cut my nappy hair, quit biting my fingernails, and started writing every day... That is my mission right now, and I choose to accept it... We hit walls all the time, but each time it gets easier to avoid them...

 If you need a change, take it, make it...

 Walk your path in the moment, and follow the signs, wherever they lead...

Good day to you, people
~Boombalias

Early-morning finger exercise...

Early-morning finger exercise...

by Adam Littlefield on Tuesday, February 1, 2011 at 5:39am

     So I found a lengthy quote in my Newsfeed a few minutes ago, and since every attempt at typing on either of the two works I have in progress has proved fruitless once again today, I figured I'd pontificate on someone elses shit for a few minutes... I figure it's the Universe at work, because the quote was a scan of a piece of paper with the words typed on it, and several people were tagged in the picture... So some surfer I met in a bar in Costa Rica was tagged in this picture, and the only reason I clicked on it was because it was clearly just itty-bitty lines of text and I wanted to see what they said... I read it, and it struck a powerful chord, because it has to do a lot with how I've been been feeling lately... I feel empowered, and there are many kinks to be worked out, but my fingers moving on these keys with some sort of regularity is the beginning of my letting my own light fully shine... I know it just as sure as I know that when I looked at the name of the person who tagged my once-met-Costa-Rican-surfer-friend, his name was Kelvin, which is also the name of my favorite attorney-wingman-co-pilot, and not a common name at that... Small things, but the Universe at work, regardless... It's all around when you start to see it, and we must sometimes take unconventional routes or blather on mumbo-jumbo-style to keep it all moving along... So here comes my little inspiration for the day...

Know your self... Be your self...

Happy Snow Day, people...
~Boombalias

     " Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others..." *

*Quote attributed to Nelson Mandela, but according to several websites, falsely so. So he either wrote it, or this health-and-wellness/spirituality writer Marianne Williamson did... Kinda like that music video from the 90s commonly mis-attributed to Kurt Vonnegut, but actually wirtten by some chick from Philly, or something... Doesn't matter, the words is the words, and they's good words...

Rant it Out...

Rant it Out...

by Adam Littlefield on Monday, January 31, 2011 at 4:51am

     So there's not much happening in Quincy's world today, he's kinda stuck... It might have something to do with my brain still feeling fairly mooshy from SatUrday night, an excessive end to a fabulasticular weekend; that and the fact that I keep going off on tangents and losing my scope. I've never attempted to write short stories before, and in turn have never been instructed on their structure or what not, so I'm having trouble figuring out how deep to delve in to things that need mentioned in one story, but are actually stories all their own. I find myself actually mentioning that something-or-other is a story for another time, and then writing four paragraphs on the subject anyway... And don't get me started on dialogue, what a clusterfuck that is... When I'm writing like this, it's essentially all dialogue, just me, talking to you; so writing in the third-person and trying to decide who says what, when,  is blowing my fucking mind... In the story I'm presently working on, there are roughly 3500 words and barely a line of dialogue, and that shit's not gonna fly, so I gotta figure it out... So in lieu of trying to deicde how deep to get in to the details of Quincy's first dysfunctional love, which is only partially pertinent to this particular story, I decided my writing for the day would be to rant it out... I think it's good, and I feel a little stuck, but not the least bit discouraged...





     I must say that I feel fucking great... As January comes to a close, I know that good things are coming, and that my life and the people in it are good. And I am not the only one, other people are feeling it too in their respective plights and travels and such. And if you're not, you can be, all you have to do is make the decision, know  it... If you start to feel stuck, rant it out, chico, and be done with it, and keep on with it...

 Good day to you, people...


 ~Boombalias

On Quiz shows...

On Quiz shows...

by Adam Littlefield on Thursday, January 27, 2011 at 1:14pm

     An Alex Trebek thread in my Newsfeed today brought this oldie to mind... It also made me peruse several old Myspace Blogs that are just as pertinent and relevant to my situation, for the most part, as they were when I wrote them... Fair warning, as I am writing new stuff, said entries may find their way in to this forum, just to continue building this body of work and re-examining the issues that plague and bless me continually through the years... Also, fun little factoid: This entry is classified in the halls of my mind, as my first piece of writing to ever technically, round-aboutly, eventually, get me ass... You're welcome... Happy Thursday...


Jul 26, 2006

     Mannnn, I'm watching this World Series of Pop Culture on VH1... How the hell could I have not known about this? I literally missed like four questions for the whole hour long show... I mean, what better forum to showcase the fruits of my indolent labors is there? I'm super pissed that myself and two other fat, lazy fucks aren't up on that stage going after 250k... You even get to pick which fat, lazy fuck is best suited for each category... Put me with the right two people and we be breezin' through that shit yo... It's probably a different story standing up there with all those lights and cameras all up in your face and what not... No doubt I'd be sweating like a whore in church, but hot damn it'd be fun, and think of all the respect you'd garner by being King of the Founts of Useless Knowledge... Uhh yeah... Okay, so maybe I'll just continue to play quietly from home and wish I knew enough about Shakespeare and classical music and a bajillion other shit categories to go on Jeopardy... Now there's a show... I mean, anyone can get a couple batches of nice questions and stay on there for two or three days, make a nice chunk o' change, and be outta there and in high standing with all their intellectual friends... I've had plenty of days where I'd have been in contention heading into final jeopardy, but just as many days where I'd have looked like a total fucking idiot... Which is why Ken Jennings is a ridiculous pimp... 74 times this guy won... Over 3 million dollars, jack... Ridiculous... The mofo knew about literally everything, had huge balls too, wasn't afraid to gamble... Okay, I have no idea why the fuck I just rambled about the world series of pop culture and Ken Jennings, or what redeeming value it might have to anyone who reads it...What can I say, I was bored, I started typing....Here ya go...
 ~Boombalias

Burrrrrrrrrrp... Oooh, that was a good one...

Burrrrrrrrrrp... Oooh, that was a good one...

by Adam Littlefield on Tuesday, January 25, 2011 at 8:07pm

      Mmmm, patty melts... Sad story, I had no bacon, but I substituted with my new favorite burger topping, a fried egg... It is splendiferous... Crispy thin-fried burger, cheese, caramelized onions, and the egg fried and then mashed up and spread between the burger, cheese and top bread, all fried up like a toasted cheese?? Oh yeah, I'm serious... I'm sure the whole sandwich was about three-thousand calories or so, but you know you want one... Well, I can think of a few of you that don't, but you're outnumbered...

     Of all the things I cook, patty melts were my old man's very favorite... I thought really hard, and I really don't think I"ve made one since he died... I have no idea why. I didn't make a secret pact with myself to never make a patty melt again or anything. It just sorta shook out that way... And I also don't think he ever knew the sheer joy of a fried egg on a burger. It totally got me warm in the shorts... The egg on the burger part, that is...

     Life is good, people... Don't feel it... Don't hope it... Know it...

Good day to you
~Boombalias

Champagne Taste on a Beer Budget...

Champagne Taste on a Beer Budget...

by Adam Littlefield on Saturday, September 4, 2010 at 7:59pm

So I've been wanting to write something lately, well, and at different times in other entries, about all of us single 20-and-30-somethings and the way we all treat eachother... This is a broad and general topic that of course seeps in to and is pertinent to all other aspects of our lives. It can not be whittled down in to just a few paragraphs, but I was thinking about something I wrote years ago, an un-finished rant of sorts, that might be a good lead-in to a possible string of entries. It follows along with versions of the same conversation I have lately had with at least a dozen people... This was written at a very tumultuous point in my life where I was actively pursuing the removal of my head from my ass once and for all. And during the following months, it looked like I might actually do it, but here I am nearly eight years later struggling with the same shit... So here goes... As stated, it is quite rough and was never finished, and speaks more on the generality of this life so many of us are living, but it feels like as good a place to start as any...





10-7-02





Champagne taste on a beer budget... That's what grandpa Chuck used to say. It's odd looking on it now, the way I always had, yet not quite ever did fathom the reality of that statement. Chuck was a sharp dresser. He liked jewelry and slicking his hair back. He liked to look like he had money. He walked it and talked it. Hell, I didn't even know him til he was in his 70s, and I still sat in awe through the most of my teens at the totality and smoothality of his swagger (especially knowing as I got older that he didn't really have much, but he made what he had work for him in a spectacular way) . My old man is(was) the third-to-last of eleven kids spanning three wives and four decades. Ol' Chuck liked to get around, and get around while he got around, I'm told. He was a lover of wine, women and song, so-to-speak. Which brings me back to my original thoughts this morning...





Champagne taste on a beer budget. It's a catch-22. The beer budget is inevitably due to the love of the "Beer". The "Beer" comes in all shapes and sizes. And more and more, it would seem that we all have a taste for champagne. This, too, is a broad area to be sure, because the champagne comes in various forms as well.





Is anyone happy?


Is anyone satisfied??


I guess the answer is yes.


People get satisfaction from being dissatisfied.


People get happiness from being unhappy.


We're all sick fucks.


Could we please complicate things more?





I dunno man, maybe we were all born to live outside our means, but I'm not thinking so. I'm thinking it's good in certain aspects of our lives, but is a double-edged sword and an unwinnable race in others. Some people need that, I guess, because there's always that chance...





*****





So that's it... It's kinda choppy and all over the place, and we're not sure what is good or bad or the difference between beer and champagne... I was probably on drugs when I when I wrote it... It can mean whatever you want. For me it raises some interesting questions...


Where do we draw the line?...


When does wanting better for yourself cross over into greed and creation of unnecessary drama and/or financial and/or emoitional ruin?


Is it better to slake this greed we all have with wine, women and song, or cars and homes and clothes, or whatever the fuck fuels your tank? For some, it is a combination of any or all, and we all think we're on the right side...


What's your Beer?


What's your Champagne?


What can you have that you can live with?


What do you want that you can get?


Do you want it, or do you just think that you do?


What will you want next?





These are just some of the questions. They can basically be asked of all apects of your life, including the games we all play with eachother*. And my answer is that I haven't a fucking clue any more than you do. As far as I can see, we are all right, and none of us is right. But I think that in the task of finding your answers, it helps to know your questions...





Enjoy your night, people


Boombalias

*There's the tie-in with the single-in-the-teens theme, more to come on that fucked up shit :D...

Hot, Sweaty, Stankin' Bloggin'... For all the guys who blah, blah blah... An old re-post with a minty-fresh new foreword...

Hot, Sweaty, Stankin' Bloggin'... For all the guys who blah, blah blah... An old re-post with a minty-fresh new foreword...

by Adam Littlefield on Monday, January 24, 2011 at 9:59pm

     So a couple different conversations I have had in the past few days, and countless statuses I see on the subject, led me back to this entry from '08. It also, like my last entry however many months ago, follows along with a theme I have intended to expound on more on all of us getting-older-by-the-day single people... This entry still rings true for me, for the most part. And I have indeed been a pathetic, spineless asshole on several occasions since, but I've also had some great times. It's all a learning experience, and I have no problems dusting myself off and getting back to it... And the bottom line, the thing I've expressed most in dealing with these situations, my own and others, is that it's TOTALLY FUCKING BORING to just curl up in a ball and not try... Be yourself.... Be honest... If you're completely honest, then you have done your job... You say, "This is me, like it or not, take it or fucking leave it..." You keep on keepin' on, dangit...

Here goes:


Apr 5, 2008 

      Okay, so I found this little tidbit on my board this lovely morning, and I gotta say, I’m getting tired of seeing the goddamned thing, regardless of how long it’s been since I’ve seen someone post it or bothered to look at it. Every time I see it I get this overwhelming urge to puke garden gnomes. I’ve commented on it before in surveys and bars and here and there, but it’s been awhile since I blogged a bit, so I am oddly inspired to rant (anti-rant? rant-the-rant?) a bit about it…..Let’s have a look:
 
To every guy that’s said, "You’re beautiful"

To every guy that was never too busy to drive across town to see her

To every guy who has given her flowers just because thats how he rolls.

To every guy that said he would die for her.

To every guy that really would.

To every guy that did what she wanted to do.

To every guy that cried in front of her.

To every guy that she cried in front of.

To every guy that holds hands with her.

To every guy that kisses her with meaning.

To every guy that hugs her when she’s sad.

To every guy who would give their jacket up for her.

To every guy that would sit and wait for her for hours just to see her for ten minutes.

To every guy that would give his seat up.

To every guy that just wants to cuddle.


To every guy that reassured her that she is beautiful no matter what.

To every guy who told his secrets to her.

To every guy that tried to show how much he cared through every word and every breath.

To every guy that believed in her dreams.

To every guy that would have done anything so she could achieve them.

To every guy that never laughed at her when she told him her dreams

To every guy that walked her to her car and opened the door.

To every guy that gave his heart.

To every guy who hopes that she is happy even if you are not with her.

To every guy that loves her for who she is and not what she looks like

To every guy who has listened and never complained.

To every guy who has the balls to repost this.

Not many girls appreciate nice guys anymore.

And because of this, there are not many left out there.

I guarantee 90% of the men on your page will not repost this b/c they care more about their image.
If you are a nice guy repost this with: "Nice guys STILL finish last "

 

      Okay okay okay… It’s cute right? Isn’t it cute? It’s cuuuttttte…. Yarf... Seriously though, I’m reminded of this old comedy sketch (Chris Rock I think) where he talks about someone bragging because they take care of their kids, pay their bills, don’t beat their spouse, whatever… And Chris is all like, ’Muthafucka, whaddya want, a medal? A cookie? You sposed ta do that shit. You sposed ta take care o’ yo kids. You sposed ta pay yo bills. You sposed ta do YO SHIT (exclamation point deleted).’ In case it needs to be said, I’m paraphrasing there, and much love to all the people out there holdin’ down their end and doin’ they shit, but the ones constantly bragging about it are often being needlessly defensive or just plain trying to convince themselves by way of their own whacked-out ideologies. Either way, this whiney doctrine strikes me as similar. Granted, I’m for all this shit, except for the crying in front of them thing and maybe the flowers thing*; however, I’m staunchly against all this pissing and moaning. This post should be labeled "For every guy that tries too hard or tries to date someone waaaay out of his league**" Yeah, that has a good ring to it, slap it on a bumper sticker.
     
      Alrighty, so trying too hard or being too agreeable is an easy thing to do, and an easy repellant. Is that limburger cheese in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? We’re all guilty of it at some time or another to varying degrees, I know I have been and will inevitably be again. It’s surely not an exact formula***. But you can be a nice guy and still not be a pushover or a driveling sap. The point is that it is a process, a trial-and-error process that frustrates some men to the point of bitter cynicism. I have also spent long stretches of time over the years being a bitter asshole. But you know what it got me? Doodly-effin’-squat man. Not a fucking thing but more pissed off… And how attractive is that?
     
     Yeah, so I’m a fat guy. A tall, interesting, loveable, reasonably handsome fat guy, but a big-fat-fatty nonetheless. I guess somewhere around 89.7% of women are out of my league physically. Does that keep me from talking to them or hoping to spoon them? Hell no. Have I pined over girls who loved everything about me except the fact that I’m a big-fat-broke-lazy-fatty? Hell yes. Countless times… And I will again… But I’ve realized some time in the past couple years that this is most often the result of trying to date out of your league, and must be dealt with accordingly. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a woman who is your whole package, but one must be prepared for the consequences and be willing to keep on keepin’ on. You can’t sit around whining about it. You take your lumps and get back out there. Or you do something to remedy whatever it is that is making you unattractive to whomever it may be. Change the things you can. What you don’t do is blame it on being nice.
     
     This may seem harsh. It may seem self-deprecating; but trust me, I’m fine, just doin’ how I do. It may seem like I’m being one of Chris Rock’s people needlessly defending their actions (or lack thereof). But as a former bitter asshole who used to blame the fact that I wasn’t getting laid on being too nice, I felt the need to address the issue. It’s one of those non-perishable rants in my brain that I blew the dust off and sent to my fingers. I had intended to break down some of the actual statements made in this bulletin-that-should-be-erased-from-the-world, but alas I’ve been typing for way too long and I think you all get the idea. To the person who posted the niceguy rant, should you happen to read this, I assure you that this is not personally directed at you in any way, shape, or form. You are not alone out there, brother.
     
      We all feel like the world (or some scallawag) shits on us from time to time, but we must be who we are… If you’re a niceguy or gal or whatever, just be one . With no expectations or lamentations. Stay the course, good things will happen… Do YO SHIT (exclamation point deleted). Good morning people
~Boombalias


*Perhaps if I weren’t such a poor cracker, though I’d rather show my affection by cooking her a good meal, you can make some bomb-ass shit for the cost of a dozen roses.
**Most often times physically.
***Not exactly true. A very close friend, who is very much a nice guy (though also good-looking with a good career and education), has an exact formula that seems to work well for him and others he chooses to share this formula with. Results may vary, and it mostly only works if you’re working reasonably realistically within your optimal, ummm potential-mate/partner-in-sex-zone we’ll say. And no, you may not know this formula, as it would automatically give certain nice guys an undeserved asshole label, as well as break an unspoken confidence. 
If you are a girl that thinks every guy should treat a girl this way
repost this with: "To Every Guy"