Posts Tagged ‘maturity’

(I missed the memo that liking this show isn’t cool anymore, but if I abandoned every fandom ruined by neckbeards, I’d have none left)

With the sun setting on 2018, many people, myself included, are looking to the daybreak of 2019 with equal parts existential dread and necessary-for-the-sake-of-survival-but-nonetheless-tentative hopefulness. Our rotations around the sun seem to be getting more difficult, what with the deep political and ideological schisms in the country, the abysmal state of job availability and wage earning, and the fact that mentioning either of those issues immediately labeling you all manner of juvenile insults conjured up by the hard-at-work minds happily continuing to get back-doored by the powers that be. Regardless of the memes floating around regarding and oversimplifying the issues presented us this year (“2018 DIDNT SUCK U JUST DIDNT BETTUR URSELF LOLOLOL”), I know for many of us it’s been an endurance test for the ages.

But I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. Hi, I’m Jeff. Some of you might remember me as the dude that used to do shit. I used to be an avid writer and sometimes-publisher of fiction. I used to be a regularly gigging musician in a multitude of different genres. I used to dabble in podcasting and (poor) voice acting. I used to be a Literature major at Chadron State College – then was a janitor at that same college after graduating (yeah that degree was money well spent, sorry Mom and Dad), then a prep-cook at a restaurant in BFN Wyoming, and for the last year and a half I’ve been a delivery boy at a Chinese restaurant in Fort Collins, Colorado. My track record seems remarkably lackluster in my opinion, but here I am, still kicking despite it all.

Rather than further vomit my unwarranted and unneeded opinion into the endless ether of the I N T E R N E T in 2018, I’ve opted for the greater majority of this year to sit back and watch the calamity from a safe distance; a pale gargoyle perched high atop the clocktower of brooding, watching the series of tubes below descend into complete bedlam. There was once a time where I was either so conceited or so deluded by grandeur as to think my opinion held any merit or could at least serve as a form of passing entertainment for some, but anymore opinions are a lot like the assholes spouting them: completely undesired, wholly run-of-the-mill, one of several billion, and completely and totally full of shit.

Any cynicisms or frustrations I expressed in years prior have only compounded since then. For the most part, I’ve tried to opt out of keyboard jockeying and dinner-table debate — a far cry from the militant ‘anyone, anywhere, anytime’ bullshit-spouting I once championed. Spewing stupid fucking bullshit with zero fact sourcing has become a national pastime in the years since I’ve left this old blog up on the shelf, even moreso than when I first stepped away. It seems like all you need now to have people agree with you and shower you in digital high-fives is to record a vlog in a lift-kit truck, have a large red beard with an American-flag baseball cap, and just grumble out a half-cocked opinion sprinkled with politically charged insults akin to 5th grade playground fuckery. I got squeezed out of my own market (see: bitching) by the world over in 2018. That’s a bit disappointing.

Since I’ve graduated I’ve had more important considerations than calling strangers on the internet and mild acquaintances in life pants-on-head genetic tragedies. Student loan payments, inflating rent costs, and dead-end-gun-in-my-mouth jobs have taken up most of my time, and one by one all my hobbies and pastimes have fallen by the wayside in favor of THC-assisted escapism. It’s a problem I’ve been aware of and one I’ve tried to curtail, but no amount of optimistic outlook or “living for today” can seem to quell the anxieties in my brain. Is it normal to get up in the morning and feel literally physically sick at the thought of having to endure another day of work? Should it be?

I’ve had lots of accusations levied at me over the past few years. I’m lazy, unmotivated, unambitious, lacking direction, squandering my potential, and any number of other generic criticisms you receive when you’re sailing dead reckoning on the tumultuous waves of life. “When are you going to grad school?” “Are you planning on getting a real job?” and all sorts of other well-meaning but backhanded questions have me rolling my eyes so hard I can get a full view of my own brain. There was once a time when I dreamed of silly shit like being a professionally gigging musician, or writing in a style that could sustain me financially, but those things really just file me away into one of another million and two people who wish for more out of their day-to-day, but don’t have the means or the drive to seal the deal. I don’t see those goals as impossible to attain, but I do see them as something I have neither the time nor the energy for right this minute. I forsook each and every one of those things in the grind of just getting my god damn bills paid. I love Colorado, but JFC, the cost of living seems more determined by a roulette spin more than any actual rhyme or reason.

I’ve spent more than my fair share of 2018 being angry. Shocking, I know, that’s kind of been the gimmick since day one, but it’s been different lately. Being angry used to be a shtick for me; I had something to say, and a man I respect very much once told me that people are more keen to listen if you’re funny rather than just bitching incessantly and offering little alternative. This new anger has been poisonous to my psyche and my attitude: the kind that makes me walk around with a sneer on my face and wish ill upon the most non-assuming inconveniencers in my daily life. I discovered quickly that arguing with the cultitsts who support our current presidential administration was akin to beating my head against a brick wall, that people will desperately go out of their way to take a shit on anything even remotely popular in modern art and culture, and that levying any criticism at those who would rather share dank memes than actually contribute to their community in any way quickly ostracizes you from the conventional spheres of the Internet. That’s okay, though, because I don’t feel like I’m missing out on much from a Facebook feed clogged with all talk and zero action from people stuck in their college years in both personal taste and mental fortitude. Accuse me of ‘vaguebooking’ if you will, one thing remains the same about me: I’ll say it to your fucking face if you name me a date, time, and location to meet up. I’ll even bring beer. I like beer!

2018 wasn’t complete garbage, though. Mostly, but not completely. I punched way above my weight class and got married on Halloween to a lovely, patient woman who serves as the yin to my moody, overly-aggressive yang. We married in a cemetery just to really sell the whole “edgy kids” bit. I look forward to it putting a grin on my face during the Octobers to come. I’ve made quite a few new friends, something I was expecting to have difficulty with given my super friendly and approachable demeanor, and I did manage to squeeze in a few concerts (both performed in and witnessed) before all was said and done. I got to sit out on my balcony and watch the fireworks on the 4th of July with a loaded bong in my hand, and it really doesn’t get much more American than that, now does it? There’s been plenty of good in 2018 in all honesty, it just seems to get obscured by copious amounts of stupid fucking bullshit more often than I’d like.

So now we’re headed down the road, literally and figuratively. My apartment currently looks like some shitty caricature of a college student’s dorm room in a lackluster, ham-fisted sitcom about millennials — on account of our getting ready to move to the ‘big city’. The Chinese food delivery is in my rearview mirror, much to the relief of both my sanity and my nagging desire to stab shitty tippers in the eye with a set of chopsticks. The future seems murky as it always does, lending credence to those who question my motivations and my sense of direction, but if there’s one skill I’ve mastered in my short quarter-century on this planet, it’s flying by the seat of my pants. Thanks to the kindness and diligence of family members and close friends alike, we will be neither homeless nor completely broke for the first month of 2019. Hopefully, that’ll grant me the breathing room I need to land face-first into whatever godawful bill-paying, time-sucking, braindead-manager-having place of work comes next. In between whatever that is, I hope to get back on a few proverbial horses – maybe pick my guitar back up, put the pen to paper a little bit more, carve out a few more plastic models of giant Japanese robots (because at the end of the day I really am just another fucking nerd). The American Dream seems alive and well if you have enough NyQuil and naivety to get to sleep long enough to believe it. 

This is all a gross oversimplifying of a complex, difficult, and exhausting couple years, but at the behest of a few good women in my life, I decided that vomiting this series of letters and punctuation marks out into the world would maybe do me some good. Maybe that’s the key to all that I’ve been overlooking; maybe I just needed to fully embrace the art of not giving a fucking shit about the opinions of idiots, assholes, fuckfaces, and morons who are neither paying my bills nor boosting me up in any way that isn’t just a roundabout degradation of my motives or my reasoning.

So, expect to hear a little more from me in 2019. Because I’ve had a lot to say that I’ve kept pretty close to the chest for fear of kicking the beehive or screaming needlessly into the void. The scientists say that unless humanity collectively pulls head from ass, we’ve only got another two or three good decades on this spinning ball of shit, and as little as my opinion matters or as unremarkable it is in the scheme of things, its still something that’s uniquely my own. If someone can find it relatable or crack a smile at my crude, uninformed flapping about, than I’ve already done more for the collective human race than most of the dildos who went out and bought a Tesla and subsequently crashed it watching a Harry Potter film while cruising down the interstate. To any doubters, critics, or those otherwise disapproving of my motivations and my methods: buckle up, fuckers, cause it’s the end of the world as we know it, and that’s the best news I’ve heard all year.

Receperint Retro


Hey boys and girls, did you miss me?

Yes, yes, the prodigal son returns much to the chagrin of all 20 or so people that actually follow me. I haven’t updated this blog since roughly September, when my first publication(s) were headed out. Annnnd a lot of new things have happened in my life since then. With a little encouragement from a certain special someone, I decided I should breathe some life into this. Especially considering that I haven’t written for “The Eagle” (our College’s newspaper) more than once this whole semester.

above: semi-accurate representation of me this semester

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say, “holy shit I’m almost a senior in college.” When I walk out of this place next year with a Bachelor’s in Literature with a minor in Music, how unemployable do you think I’m going to be? Here’s a shocker for you (that some people will hate me for), I’m pretty sure I’m going to get my first few B’s of my college career. Granted, that doesn’t upset me. There are people that will be disgusted with the fact that I’ve lasted this long with all A’s, because, you know, <sarcasm> I wake up every morning with the thought “I’m just going to put everyone else to shame.” That’s just how I operate. I’m kind of a dick. </sarcasm> I knew going into this semester it would be a transitional one for me.

My relationship of 4 years ended back in November, and with that came an entire paradigm shift that most people probably experience once or twice in their lives. It started back when I was in high school, persisted through some rocky times, and stupidly, I proposed because of the promise of a false sense of security. But, as a good friend of mine says, “a ring never plugged no hole,” and indeed, it did not. It takes two to tango, folks, but three’s a crowd. On the bright side, that paradigm shift allowed me to pursue a 2-year-long crush that happens to double as the love of my life, so, there’s that. Am I sharing too much with you people?

the above statement is false

In terms of writing, I’m in a really strange place. I have ideas for miles and miles, and unlike when I was just starting off, I actually believe I can do these ideas justice. That was why I never wrote before, I was afraid of the “loss-of-self” that would happen to the idea between my brain and the paper. To any other writers in this predicament, my best piece of advice is: get the fuck over it. Write it down. If you hate it, you can edit it and edit it until you don’t, or sometimes you just have to hate it. H.P. Lovecraft loathed some of his most famous works. Anyway, point being, I have ideas, and I have (enough) confidence to give them a whirl… I just need to actually sit down and write them out. Typically, about the time I feel “inspired” to write is the time when I’m tired enough to want to pass out. This is called creative insomnia, and I feel no strong desire to be an insomniac. As well as it would work with my “brooding author” image, I like sleep.

Since September, I’ve had 5 short stories published. 4 in the Demonic Visions series, books 1, 2, and 3, editted and compiled by Chris Robertson. 1 by the lovely ladies at Sirens Call Publications, a few of which join me in said Demonic Visions books. In June, Demonic Visions 4 will come out, and provided I can pull my head out of my ass, I’ll have a story or two featured in there as well. My goal over the summer, as far as my writing career goes, is to branch out a bit. I love the DV series, but I feel like I need to get around a bit more with my writing, so that I might not seem like a one-trick pony. Hopefully I’ve impressed a reader (*cough* publisher) or two with my work.

Is anyone really surprised that I have work in a book with this kind of cover? You knew what you were getting into.

Recently, I feel as though adulthood has slowly settled its way into my brain. I haven’t necessarily felt ostracized from my friends, just like we are growing in separate directions. I no longer feel the need to empty my wallet during each Steam sale. Instead, payday usually brings a new slew of books onto my shelf. This year, I made it a point to be sociable and a party kind of person. Now that I’ve experienced that and found my happy medium, I’m retreating back into cynic-mode. People here at Chadron are really big fans of compromising their beliefs or opinions depending on who’s around, and I hate that shit. I have a Metallica tattoo on my left shoulder, but don’t tell the music department. They’ll all laugh heartily and scoff at me, despite the fact that half of them are most likely Metallica fans themselves. But it isn’t the cool thing to do. Apparently, high school mentality dies hard.

Thoughts of post-college life used to petrify me. Now, I’m excited to see what it holds. Even if it’s sorrow or rage or whathaveyou, at least I will have lived and learned outside of the realm of my hometown. I’m gonna pass the mic to my man William Blake to close this one off: “Expect poison from the standing water.”


Vola libere, sed semper domum redi