While I'm Not On Facebook

Conclusion (for now)

2011-04-01T18:08:00.000-07:00

Well folks, it's been a little over a month without being on facebook. And I'm choosing to re-activate my account. The explanation is pretty simple. Watch as I make it more profound than it really is!

So, I started this whole facebooklessness with the feeling that too much of a part of me had become consumed by my online persona. Same guy, just animated and communicated in a different way via stati, sharing links, etc. So, I had enough of it and turned it off. The month that has passed has given me some insight as to what Facebook is and what it means to our lives.

Basically, it's 2011. I was born in 1981. I turn 30 at the end of the year. I've always adapted well to new technology. It's part of what makes me good at my job today. But the "organic" part of me is a bit perplexed by this online way of socializing. I've run with it for years, but maybe in my own time I managed to realize how "inorganic" or just straight up chemical it all started to feel. And that will never leave me. I remember the time when everything occurred offline. And everything worked out just fine. Segway to my conclusion.

Everything worked out just fine back then. And everything will work out just fine now and in the future. The difference is that we have this capability to be connected almost constantly (if we so choose). The thing about Facebook that I miss more than anything are the people that I care for, but are off in the world somewhere, if not even in my own town, that I never see, but I still like knowing that everything is working out for them. I can only hope people feel that way about me. So, I'm getting back on to rejoin the 21st Century, the people I know, and to let those people know that I am still alive and kicking doing the best I can.

Poke me or something....

One Week...

2011-03-04T19:29:00.000-08:00

Well, hello there! So, It's been one week since I've deactivated my facebook account. First, and foremost, I don't miss it. Granted, there are some things I would like to say, hilarious videos I'd like to post, and people I'd love to interact with. But, in only one week, I've found that my attention has become much more focused on my actual life. You know, that thing we have that exists almost entirely on our day-to-day interactions with people? And, honestly, I intended on sitting down and flowing... writing about this... but I don't want to. I want to close the lid of the laptop and ... who knows? Anything but.... :) Cheers!
-Bonn

In the beginning...

2011-02-24T18:42:00.000-08:00

... I grew up and had some of the most memorable moments of my life without facebook. Now, it seems as though one can't visit a single website without the temptation of sharing the article you just read (and found quite interesting) with your entire network of real-life friends, acquaintences, and the hot girl you don't know but befriended her just because she's hot. All it takes is a click. And I found myself sharing a lot. Videos from youtube of my newest favorite song, articles about the latest travesty born of politics, and fails. Lots of them. And then there are the countless times I've logged onto our little blue and white friend and spilled a number of drunken rants, aimed at everything from the foolishness of the state of our union, to an Incubus lyric that I found quite striking and fitting to describe the entire universe. Whatever it is, or was, I'm taking a break.

Last summer I went to the beach for a week like I have for several years now. I left my laptop at home this time. Granted, there were some laptops there, but I never touched one. Long story short, I came back from my vacation feeling incredible. I spent more time where I should have. And so began the beginning of my questioning; "Is all of this interconnection and technology good for us?" I still do not know the answer, and I don't think I'll ever know. What I do know is that I've grown incredibly bored with facebook. In a time where some peoples are using it as a tool to unite and overthrow dictators (Egypt, Tunisia, ...) .. and my 500+ friends are using it as a tool to post stati like "Ugggh. Still sick. FML," "I wish it were Friday. God, why can't today be over?!?," and "Look at my awesome vacation to Bermuda!" ... Well, I just don't see the point as an American in America to really care about it anymore. I've already gone through the trauma of deciding whether or not to befriend the kid from middle school that, at the time, I wanted to disembowel. And now it all seems so trivial. So, I've deactivated for now.

One last note before I post this first of many of my life without facebook: It's been a whole day now. And that's not much. But I swear it feels like the many times I've quit smoking cigarettes. Your instinct is to smoke.... to get online and post whatever rumination is fleeting through your mind at the time.... to make it all better...for a moment, anyway. And so far a day without facebook has been quite nice. I'll spare the philosophicals for later when/if I actually accomplish a facebookless period of time worthy of commentary.

So, for now, that's all I have. And yeah, I see the irony in the fact that I AM online writing a blog about this. But at least I am writing. And that is something that not many people actually do on our blue and white friend.

Until next time... cheers!
-Bonn

Pets

2010-08-13T17:57:00.000-07:00

As you may be aware of from the last post, I like death. I don't "like" it. I'm not a fan of it on facebook. But to live life, everyone comes to the realization that death is part of the process. To quote George Carlin, "Some say that life begins at conception. I say that life began a LOOOONG time ago and it's a continuous process. It just keeps moving along, moving along." That interests me. That, mixed with Einstein's theory that energy is never lost, it's just transferred... well, you get the idea. My mom has told me that I was so fascinated with death, and especially the dead at funerals as a kid. I was full of questions. Just as I still am today. I think it's healthy for kids to have questions and wonder about death. Sooner or later, they are going to experience losing a pet (probably a goldfish at first) and a person they know, and worst of all, someone they love. But it has a certain beauty to it, in that it is such a shared experience for everyone, no matter who you are, where you come from, what you believe, etc. It just happens. "Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel was just a freight train coming your way" ('No Leaf Clover' - Metallica). So, I try not to dwell on death too much, along with anything else, but it's got a strong influence in who I am, and I'm guessing that it has quite an impact on most people, if not everyone.

So, that brings me to the title topic: pets. I love every pet that I've ever had. I've had 3 cats (as main pets...I'm not counting goldfish because...well... meh). My first cat was Slippers. She was the cat I grew up with. When she died, I was sad, but relieved. She lived to be 16 or 17... which is pretty damn good for a cat! And she was big too! But I could tell when her time was running out. And so, on her last day she went to the basement, under the staircase, found a peaceful quiet place to lay down, and died. My second cat was named Dog. I rescued him from Lowe's #1068 in Shallotte, NC where I used to work. He was my first cat that I took care of myself, and I did a good job up until we moved back to WV and he ran away. Sigh. I think he just wanted to go back to the coast. And finally, I have a cat named Vladimir. He's a pound cat. Rescued and rehabilitated from near-death thanks to the good people at the Humane Society in Frederick, MD. I've had him now for a little over two years, and he's my only family in my little house. This is all, by the way, a segue for the final paragraph.

Today was a good day. It's Friday. I don't mind that it's also the 13th because I'm not superstitious. Lots of bad things have happened on every day/number combination that has ever occurred. They are a matter of coincidence. So, back to the fucking story. Work was fine. Laid back. But right before leaving for the day my co-worker told me that they were going to put their dog down tomorrow. Although it is the most humane thing to do, and I'm glad I've never had to do it to a pet, I quickly learned through her tears just how really painful this was to go through with. We never share emotions, so it really struck me like lightning just how sad she was. It was sobering. I felt so bad for her, but we shared a little bit of a smile knowing that the poor guy would no longer be in suffering. So the whole ride home all I could think of was Vladimir. I got to dwelling on just how much I love him, and how sad I would be if I lost him. He's like my child. It was such a sobering ride home. So, when I got home, and he walked over to my truck to greet me like he does every day, I picked him up and gave him a big hug. He hates being held, so he quickly squirmed in discomfort and I let him go. But just looking at him, and stopping for a second to think about how much a pet can improve the quality of your life, I felt happy to have him right there next to me, licking beer off of the mouth of my bottle. Like father, like son.
Until next time....
-Bonn

...And New Beginnings Are?

2010-08-11T20:00:00.000-07:00

Who the fuck knows? New beginnings are about as unpredictable as the color of your shit the next day. Unless, of course, you are well aware that you ate a Chipotle burrito followed by 13 Guinness. Then, you'll know what to expect. But all that shit aside, pun intended, nobody ever REALLY knows. That's what makes life so fun. I've been thinking for a while now that death isn't so scary. I think when you die, you die. There is no afterlife. And if there is.... I don't think I want to be a part of it. Everlasting life? No thanks! I'd rather be out like I am after a night of heavy drinking where I just don't remember anything and I sure as hell don't have any dreams. Lights out. Can you imagine dying and then floating around in heaven for eternity? I don't think it would be much fun. Most of the thrill of living is at LEAST indirectly involved with the knowledge that you know one day you will die. So, if you're "living" in the afterlife... with no death to fear or think of... what can be so great? And for THE REST OF TIME?!! I mean, even the best experiences I've ever had could never hold up for eternity. There are so many of them, and they all felt different. Suppose you wanted to switch from, say, non-stop orgasm to the first time you appreciated lightning bugs. Can you do that? Wouldn't it get old though? I mean, you have all of eternity. It seems like it would get old. So, enough death-rant... let's talk about new beginnings.

I wanted to set this blog up for something a little different. And thus, I've created a "new beginning." It sounds pretty gay. And on second thought, it's redundant. But grammar aside, I think it's good. Too much of the same thing will eventually become an anchor on your soul that drags you below the level of a real person with genuine thoughts, feelings, ideas, and anything otherwise. Sadly, I see it all around me. I see it in myself from time to time. I even told myself a few weeks ago... "Bonn, you need an attitude adjustment." I'm so glad I'm always looking out for myself. It must be my inner parent or something.

To try and wrap this nonsense up... I must first apologize for my lack of substance......which I instantly retract because, hey! It's a new beginning! Anything is possible! Hands Across America. As with anything, a new idea needs a little time to become something worthwhile. Ever seen an episode of Seinfeld from the first season? You'll know what I mean if you have. So, with that, I'll let it rest tonight and start again with fresh wit. Until next time....
-Bonn

The End Makes Way for a New Beginning

2010-08-11T18:10:00.000-07:00

Well, my lovely followers, this is the end of "The Old Man 'n Me." Not to worry, I will keep writing, and probably more often. I'll get to that in a minute. First, I'm sorry for the crazy blocking of readers, etc... Long story short, my father met the Old Man. And, although he didn't mention the blog, the Old Man is quite fond of me. I would never have known that. In our awesomely individualistic world, where we never talk to our neighbors, and people just write about them online, or sit at the table with a bottle of whiskey and tell their wife of 50 years just how cool the new young-guy neighbor is.... we become out of touch with reality. So, the Old Man is fond of me. He recalled how I "gave him a thumbs up" last winter as he was snowblowing the street. Actually, I shot him the devil horns, as in "rock the fuck on, old man!!" ... but a thumbs up will suffice. So, my gig is up. The Old Man is cool with me, and me with him. I'll still continue to appreciate the similarities... the shared hours in our respective yards..... and the parallel existence we share. And while we'll probably never get drunk together so I can hear his war stories, I'll be content with having a great neighbor that will go out of his way....or MAKE it his way to blow two feet of snow off of my sidewalk. I thank him, and my back thanks him too! Next chapter in this story??? The little house between us was in forclosure, sold, and is now for rent. My boss gave me great advice. "Good fences make good neighbors." And from the looks of the people who have checked this place out, I can only agree. More as the story develops....

SO!!! With that out of the way, it's time to move on. I spent a week in the Outer Banks, North Carolina a few weeks ago for vacation. I didn't even touch a computer for at least 8 days. I came back feeling totally refreshed. On a side note, I recommend that you turn off the phone and leave the laptop at home, and do without for the time. It REALLY has a positive effect. So, I came back, and got back into the daily grind of work, news, interwebs, etc. etc.... and I was having some beers and thought that the interwebs needs an oasis of sorts. There are plenty out there, which I will eventually point out in future entries, but I want to contribute and write about good things. Don't worry, I will still be critical as ever, but the world is so negative as is. There are funny things, beautiful things, anything.... out there. And my favorite is the feeling you get when reading something.... as if you were a child again.... and it makes you feel so good, intrigued, and just happy to be alive. So, I'm gonna rename my blog "It's Not All Bad." And it'll be my take on life as I'm trying so hard to see it. We're all gonna die, folks. Let's enjoy this motherfucker, eh? So... until next time!
-Bonn

The Return To Rosemont, Part Two

2010-06-10T17:01:00.000-07:00

The old man has been sighted. He was rinsing off his truck. Clad in a denim shirt, denim jeans, and white high-tops. With his white hair on top, he almost resembled a q-tip. A denim-shafted q-tip. So, in the wake of his vacation, he's starting to come around like the rest of us do by getting back to what he does best. Good for him.

He's probably noticed by now that I've started a little project in my own yard, which is about 50 yards away, if he can see that far. After two weeks of some of the strangest people stopping by to look at the house in between the old man and me... I decided that it's time to step up the privacy. So, I bought a 6x8' fence panel and some arborvitae from Lowes, my former employer. Good for me that I know the plant specialist, so I got 50% off of these fuckers. Right. So, everything is in place. I've measured and contemplated exactly how I want to block future scumbags from seeing and hearing what I do in my yard and on my patio, and vice versa. See, the house is in (or is it "under") foreclosure now, so that means that just about any fucking asshole with some drug money income can move in next door and fuck up this whole good thing I have going on here. But I'm missing a very key tool at the moment. A post hole digger. I've asked around... texting friends, asking in text-speak if they have a "p-hole digger," which I immediately realized was pretty funny because I was talking about p-holes. So, just for fun, when each person has replied "no, sorry" I've replied, "well, what about just a p-hole?" Hardy fucking harrrr. Now, my dad has chimed in because he found out about this blog through his fiancee. Hi Lisa! And yesterday he started to grill me... "Why don't you just give it some time and you'll meet this old man and blah blah blah blah....." And of course, "I bet HE has a post hole digger." Of course he does. But I don't want to use his. I doubt he wants me using his. Lisa, if you're reading, please reiterate to my old man that I DON'T WANT TO KNOW HIM NOW!! I have way more fun imagining who he is and writing about it! He's a fucking Q-tip for God's sake!!!!

So, pretty soon the p-hole digger will come along and my privacy scheme will be complete. Those future motherfucking neighbor assholes with their clandestine activity can keep it on their side of the god damn fence. And they can leave my cat alone too. I'm preparing for the worst. And as I do, I realize how quickly a neighborhood can change. And it's a reality that my old man neighbor counterpart knows too well ever since I moved in. As for now, I'll continue to be the motherfucking neighbor asshole with my clandestine activities. Cheers!

Until next time...

The Return To Rosemont, Part One

2010-06-09T18:13:00.000-07:00

Being the awesome homeowner I am, I just tracked mud all over my off-white carpet in order to fetch my computer. Yes. These things happen when an idea arrives and common sense is suspended. Happens all the time. Anyway, I had two good ideas for writing about the old man, so I'm doing a part one and two, you know, just to be cool like that.

Part One of "The Return to Rosemont"

I was somewhat glad to see the Subaru Outback drive up to the carport. All decked out with a luggage carrier or ski carrier, whatever the hell that thing is. Although I doubt the old man's knees are able to handle even the bunniest of slopes. He returned from vacation. And I haven't seen him out much. If he's like me, then he's a little depressed when he gets home from a good vacation. Back to the reality of daily life. Back to his little compound-fortress of a house. Back to a hellion for a neighbor. Back to Rosemont. God Bless America.

So, the old man isn't out these days. He's probably spending this time riding the couch, watching History Channel. I saw a pretty decent documentary on History Channel myself called "The Story of Us" ... all about the history of the United States. I angrily stopped watching it though when I realized that I had sat through a 10 minute segment about how big of an influence Bank of America was on our early days as a country. As it turns out, they were the main sponsor, and consequently hired the same producers/directors/etc. to create an historical ad that seamlessly fit in with the program itself. Puke. I hate advertising. Albeit clever, I still hate it. So, the old man watched a lot of BOA ads with a little bit of American History on the side. Good for him. He needs to get off his ass and water his patch of grass that he started. I kept up with mine, and it's doing fine. You GOTTA water it!

Not to be unsympathetic, because I know how bad it sucks to come home from vacation. Who doesn't? So I've gotten to thinking of just WHAT his vacation was and where he went. This is the best I can do. Florida. First of all, I'm sure he has plenty of friends already living out there retirement there. Second, staying in a friend's beach house is cheaper than renting a home or getting a hotel room. Third, golf. He seems like an asshole golfer. That's probably what the racks on his Subaru are for. Fourth, old people are thick-as-thieves! Ever been to Denny's at 4 in the afternoon? No? Well, don't! Old people, in their wisdom, naturally associate with all other old people. They've all been in a war, are members of AARP, complain a lot, and share the reality that most of the people they've ever known are now dead. Did I mention they despise the youth of America? Even the near-thirtysomethings that live next door that didn't quite seem to grow up the same way that THEY used to? Hahah, keep in mind that I do not know this man. This is my imagination doing imationationalistic-isms because I'm just that bored at the moment.

So, the old man's vacation must have surely been a hoot. And now it's over. But the good thing is that he seems to be in decent health, what with all of his shirtless yardwork and snow-blowing he does, so he'll probably live to enjoy another Floridian vacation next summer. And with my vacation still a month away, I hope he wonders the same about me and why I won't be out tending to my yard like usual. The same shared depression of that which is coming home, back to reality, back to the same-old, and knowing that this year's vacation is gone.

...Until next time (and Part Two!)

Shirts

2010-06-04T17:47:00.000-07:00

I was running through an alley and dove behind a parked car. I changed my clip and emerged, when I was shot *BAM* BAM* BAM* in the chest. I woke up in a panic. "I'm good," I thought. This was just another of many dreams I've had where I've been in the heat of a gunfight, and I always lose! Damnit. I always lose. So, I call it a dream because what young man doesn't want to have a simulated and seemingly-real gunfight and wake up completely healthy and bullet-hole-less? So I lost. No big deal. I always do in these dreams. But, like Neo, I rise up from the fatal shooting and continue... Where is the old man in this? Well, in my dream, which is about as fantastic in the truest sense of the word (look up "fantastic," it's not just an interjection) as one could have, my chest was ripped! I'm talking about a "I just spent 40 hours a week in a gym with a personal trainer and doing P90x when I get home" kind of chest! Sadly, folks, I am not the owner of such a chest in real life. I look like a "stud" actor would have from one of those old ass movies from the 1940's. People were a lot more realistic in those days, weren't they? I bet the old man knows this. SO, I could really care less about looking "great," and therefore I have no problem working in my yard without a shirt. Hell, I'd do it in my underwear if the law would let me. But I've always done this. Mow the grass, but first, lose the shirt. Dig holes, but lose the shirt first. Water the grass, but first you gotta lose that shirt. You get the idea. I don't like to wear shirts. So, since the weather started to be accommodating to my likes, I've been in the yard almost every day pulling weeds, planting grass, mowing grass, playing guitar, drinking, and peeing. ALL without a shirt! C'est la vie! So, about three weeks ago I noticed that the old man started going shirtless too! Of course I thought, "motherfucking copy-cat!"

Now, I don't know if you've ever heard of the "7 stages of loss" or whatever the hell it's called, but a similar version of this shit happened in my imagination. The first stage was anger. "Motherfucking copy-cat!!!" Which quickly turned into disgust. "He's got moobs! (man-boobs) Get him a manzier!" And then I remembered hearing that mimicry is the highest form of flattery. So I started to think, "Hey, that's awesome! He want's to be like me! You GO old man! You're only as old as you feel, so LOSE THAT FUCKING SHIRT!!!" And then I started to get a little creative and maybe a little manipulative by thinking of other "young" things I could get this old guy to do just by modeling the behavior myself. Some of these things included (but not limited to): wearing a speedo, American flag Hammer-pants, knee-high striped tube socks, eyeball vodka shots, and lastly, jorts (jean shorts). However, it suddenly came to my attention that he already rocks the jorts on the regular. And so, in the last of these stages, I thought of this. I, Bonn, will copy one of his styles. I am cutting off a pair of jeans to make my own jorts. They're gonna be at least 2 inches above the knee. And this will be my belated Memorial Day salute to my old man neighbor that hates me (I assume he was in a war at some point). The next step will be to get some HD-vision sunglasses. Either way, he's in for some flattery. And the best part? We won't be wearing any stupid fucking shirts!!

Until next time...

M.I.A.

2010-06-03T17:36:00.000-07:00

Wouldn't you know it? The days after my first post about the Old Man, and he's nowhere to be seen. Could it be the fact of life known as the ever-awaiting certainty of death? Nah, I think he's just on vacation. Good for him. I wish I were on vacation, but I'm still a month and a half away. So, there's not much current stuff to write about, so I thought I'd write a few of my observations from the past. One in particular. This past winter we had "Snowmageddon." Spellcheck tells me that "snowmageddon" is misspelled, and also "spellcheck," but that will change one day. So, we had two blizzards in one week. Blizzards are a lot of fun. They're one of my favorite natural phenomena to experience. But I'll be quite honest; two in one week was way too much fucking snow! Regardless, I prepared for the first one and had a bit of buyer's remorse when I got home to unload and realized how much food, booze, and cigarettes I'd bought. As usual, the luck of the Irish (? I have no idea if I'm Irish?) was with me and I was SET for two consecutive blizzards. So what does this have to do with the old man? Well, since I bought my house in November '09, I've accumulated a few things. A snow shovel, other shovels, a trowel, a garden hose, etc. Imagine a really old dude and the shit that he's probably got in his big shed. If you're thinking "snow-blower," you are correct! So, as the snow fell, I shoveled every hour or so, trying to keep my sidewalk clear in small increments as opposed to the back-breaking task of clearing a walkway covered in 3 feet of snow. Did I mention all of the booze I'd bought? Well, one can assume how long my "every hour clearing effort" went. I quit, and subsequently woke up sometime mid afternoon to a perfectly chiseled walkway. The culprit? My old man neighbor. I didn't know this at the time. I walked through the neighborhood later that day, screwdriver in hand (of the oj variety), looking for someone with a snowblower that I could thank. With no luck of the Irish this time, but who cared? My work had been done for me, leaving me lots of time to play hockey in my basement.

Days passed. The second blizzard hit. And it happened. I witnessed the old man clearing my sidewalk with his snowblower. This was a great opportunity to thank him and introduce myself. I walked out towards him and with a wave and a loud "hello!" he turned and headed back towards his house. I shouted at him. "THANK YOU!!!!" While shaking my fist at the heavens above.

The man saved me a lot of blood, sweat, and probably spinal column injury. And he was either being an asshole or Christ-like by doing something nice, and then not receiving the thank you he deserved. Either way, I had a good idea that day that this man has a good heart that, in times of natural disaster, outweigh his deep hatred for the bastardly new neighbor.

Until next time...

In the beginning...

2010-05-29T10:32:00.000-07:00

I decided to start this blog today. I've been thinking about it for a long time, and here it is. This old man next door intrigues the hell out of me. He seems like the old "Get the hell off of my lawn, you damned kids" stereotype. And here I am. A kid. Loud music, heavy drinking, and batshit crazy. Ruining this man's retirement. There goes the neighborhood. I moved in back in December, and I'm sure his blood pressure is suffering the consequences. The beauty of living in the city limits on this quiet street in the nicest neighborhood in town is that there is no homeowner's society. No rules. Just the law. Which I've broken. I'm not necessarily white-trash, although I get the feeling that this man is furious every time I park my truck in the yard or drink Bud Light on my front stoop. Every time I take out the trash and the plastic bag clangs with bottles or crunches with cans as it's dropped in the trashcan. Then there's my cat. Vladimir. Wandering around, killing small animals, and probably napping on his property. He has no pets. None that are ever outside anyway. He must hate animals. The best part of this existence in time and space that we share is that I don't give a fuck about him. The old man in myself is set in my ways and there's no turning back. We're neighbors. And now he's got his own blog. :) Until next time....