Howard Hughes.

I am in complete seclusion.
I still sleep next to baby proofed light sockets.

4/28/2007

Music: "Life'll Kill Ya" - Warren Zevon (Album)

The desert was determined to swallow my Chevy. I was miles away from home, off-roading through the Apex, in a car that was obviously not built for the task. It was dark, I just kept my eyes on the sky ahead thinking "Follow the smoke." I did get stuck, but trudged through the mud- it was my best friend's birthday.

I caught a glimpse of a bon fire, breathing my third sigh of relief- the blaring Bob Marley proved that this one wasn't full of false hope.

Engine Off.
Parked.

Here's the hard part... where the fuck is Sid? The scattered groups had no apparent configuration, except that they grew larger as you got closer to the keg. The first familiar face I saw was Suzzy, who greeted me with a cup as if I were her father- surprising, considering she is my arch nemesis. Within' moments it was the fire, the sand, and one group. Myself, Reuben. Jorge, Suzzy, ___ (I leave a line, because Sid has a lot of friends that will not matter in this story) and the man of the night- Sid Vicious.

The Apex portion of the night ends as every get together- a cry of "the cops are coming, the cops are coming". Between my arrival, and the train of vehicles skidding through a swamp-textured desert... I did manage to hustle a listen of "I'll Never Fall In Love Again" - Elvis Costello & Burt Bacharach on notch 11 for everyone to hear. It was only party music to Sid and I.
"Oh great, Kevin" - Suzzy, without hesitation, or a need to confirm my location.

We sped down the highway as if we were chasing a tornado, racing one another with no fear of the alcohol in our blood.

We arrived collectively to a house belonging to all woman. A woman house. Lesbians I heard. I actually recognized it as the home I had been kicked out of a month earlier for arguing over their rule to put the seat down. Thankfully they forgot my face. They wouldn't after this night.

I snuck in my Graham Parker cd to counter-act the radio, and it went over really well. I made as many bathroom trips as possible, hoping somebody would notice the seat up and I would be able to reenact my Ron Bennington-inspired tirade. No such luck. That wouldn't stop Reuben and I from referencing it, reminiscing, and giggling every few seconds. People were in too good a mood.

All but one, a tall, big boned black man. Well, his skin color was whiter than me, but everything else about him would convince a radio audience otherwise. Dressed in camo shorts, and a "Somebody in Compton <3s Me" tee shirt- he wasn't a fan of my suit jacket.

"Why do you have a heart buttoned to your jacket, are you gay or sum'thin?"

The real story behind the heart- which looked great- I joked with Sid about smoothly removing it and handing it off slyly to a lovely woman. But to answer the soldier's question-

"Yeah it does. I'm gay. Is that a problem?"

We went on as such for ten minutes or so. I don't remember any of the dialogue, except that he couldn't keep up after a round or two and became frustrated. Sid had a stoic expression, which is very common for him after he consumes a lot of alcohol.

As the thug got serious, Suzzy removed her belt (which could best be described as Jon Rambo's gatling gun ammo) and stood between us. I was honored, as I'm sure she could handle herself better in an altercation, considering my 1-1 all time record in fighting.

I wanted to get hurt on this night. Feeling a lot like I do now, I wanted to feel it physically as well. I wasn't afraid of being broken, and this was a man capable of breaking.

The situation died down, minutes passed- Sid decided to leave. We made it as far as the living room.

The black Caucasian and a sidekick met us by the television. There was no 'Suzzy's belt' in this room- for all I knew she was in the bathroom with the seat up. He did the "towering over" gimmick,

Staring up, I did the smart thing...

I knocked his hat off.

The rest is hazy, we ended up in a bedroom with Sid on his back gouging his eyes.

What a friend.

We stormed out like Elvis Costello in '79, as I continued to foolishly antagonize his sidekick.

A few days later I was in jail over the reasons explained on the Jim & Them radio show.
I had the privelage of being arrested, fingerprinted, and mugshotted with a bruised eye.

"A buddy and I were throwing a football."

"Why being really lonely is sometimes super awesome..."

The past couple nights have been spent in a cloud- a polluted, musky, pirate ship coloured cloud. Sid stopped by the workplace last night, which added a slight skip to my step. He commented on my rapid weight loss, a subject I've sarcastically responded to with "I haven't been able to eat in three days". Not sarcastically because it's untrue, just because people seem to laugh about it as opposed to responding with horror when I add those inflections to my speech.

I have taken on the life of a fifteen year old girl. Loss of hunger, in her bedroom, waiting for a call.

I have always been a person who desires closure. Yet looking back, I can't recall a time that I have taken advantage of a closure opportunity. I insist on continuing things, through whatever muck we've rained ourselves into (thanks to the head I've been blessed with- I rain more, and for a longer period of time). This time I will not make the same mistakes- but this time I apparently will not have the opportunity to.

I have never been able to write while in pain, either. It's very odd, and would explain why a lot of my writings may have come off as phoney to Sara in the past. I will not be able to write anything of significance about this situation until I have completely moved on and committed sexual acts in a moving car with somebody else. Being a poet, I've still tried- some attempts can be found on that dreaded myspace blog of mine.

I know I've been Scrubs-happy (I knew I could muster a positive word) lately, only because it is hands down my most reliable collection of DVDs. Rory doesn't understand- she's a girl!

In that clip, not only does JD get it- but Cox with his baby jealousy, and Turk because of the engagement. It hits on all ends, what a success rate.

Epic.

Heart Broken.
Epic.
Tortured. Summer.

'Video court was the tits...'

Jim & Them Episode 3: Jail Special
Featuring Kevin Scampoli
-
Direct Link (Mp3)
Myspace Link
Official Jim & Them Site

Jim & Them is a talk radio podcast that specializes in tickling your funny bone. For their third show this season they decided to let me sit in and tell the story of my seventy hours in the clink.

Want to hear about the heroin addicts?
Want to hear about the inspirational words of a big black man in a wheelchair?

Regardless of whether you do or not, check out the show to hear a candid, betrayed Kevin Scampoli make three other gentlemen laugh, cry, and cheer. Hopefully their reactions are contagious through internet sound waves.

Have the lawyers, the guns, and the money standing by.

She's watching the detectives.

Drink: Steel Reserve

To the woman whom just called me:

The last phrase you said to me, which I was responding to for at least three minutes after you hung up, was completely out of line.

Why am I doing this to you? In regards to me talking to a good friend whom I just so happen to meet through you? He and I are buddies, have been- regardless of how or when we met.

For your information, I was nothing but positive when I talked to the sister. My exact words: "Is she happy? (kinda) Great, that's all that matters. Tell her, well she wont want to hear it, but I'll tell her through you- I hope she stays happy."

One of us is going through legal hell. The other is 'happily' married with a child.

The statement "Why are you doing this to me?" is completely out of place. What you need to be asking is "Why does his desire for a child make me cry?"

Like I said to her, I hope you stay happy. But there were many telling signs in our one hour conversation that say this will not happen. As an atheist, I still pray that things work for you two (not him, I mean you and the device that holds ships in place).

Things really didn't turn out as we thought when we were filling out apps, eh?

"What fucking Ian guy?"

There has been a subject that I've intentionally avoided on this blog.

As of a month and a half ago, I was to be wed to a woman who was pregnant with my child.

As of just under one month ago, she was wed to an older private investigator.

I don't know what's more shocking- the fact that they had their honeymoon in less than 30 days after her and I had broken up, or that it took me this long to hear the news.

When she and I got together, she was obsessed with marrying me within' a week. Given my stance on marriage (elaborated upon a few entries ago)- it was delayed, but still a plan. I got her a $700 dollar wedding ring- yes, I know I can't afford that, that's why my phone rings every five minutes from Quebec- a ring that is either still lost, pawned, or the new guy's for all I know.

After all of the speeches, all of the bullshit- it is recycled and regurgitated onto a new sap's lap. I heard it all from this one... and believed it.

Now I have no doubts about the cheating, and most importantly I have no doubts about the woman.

There is a good chance I will have the next seven years of my life tarnished over said woman as well, due to nonsensical charges and a female's court room.

I can't even be satisfied by her inevitable divorce- because I know she'll just be given money as the marriage prize.

And to think one of the more painful things for me was hearing her thoughts that we moved too fast.

For all that's going on in my head... I got nothing to type. I'm not going to let this situation turn me into Dr. Cox.

Unlike the others involved, my life will be put back together. My child will be a love child. My spouse will not be a rebound. I will graduate, and I will begin my climb of this wonderful system we call capitalism.

I wish you all nothing but happiness.

I get by.

Music: "Sgt. Pepper's..." - The Beatles


I remember when Sara first became pregnant, I couldn't stop touching her stomach.

1:02pm:

I just did a slight makeover of the room. Replaced some images in their frames, adjusted the overall setup. It was nice, and 8 weeks overdue.

Okay late-period John Lennon.

Last night my brother and I went to see Knocked Up, which did not disappoint. The greatest cast I've ever seen in a comedy, and one of the funniest movies I've seen in years. It's great that the Freaks & Geeks and Undeclared crew are getting all of this publicity- Desario even made an appearance, but played himself (James Franco). Seth Rogen absolutely killed, and ofcourse Paul Rudd, Jay Baruchel, and Jason Segel were hilarious. I recommend it to everybody, especially the racially wrong who feel that loud black people are funnier than white people.

Superbad is coming in August and my hopes for this one are even higher.

When I got home there were some very surprising messages awaiting me from Katy:

yo--gotgreeneyes (9:22:43 PM): uh oh
yo--gotgreeneyes (9:23:01 PM): being drunk is dangerous

yo--gotgreeneyes (9:33:33 PM): i hope you find a beautiful wonderful girl who treats you right and you the same and its great and the end

Katy is a woman I met back in 2002. The story spread into late 2003 and beyond. We met through a mutual friend, the dreaded Allison. Having a thing for Allison, I delayed things with Katy for nothing, and for a long time. She really liked me from the moment we met, yet I didn't reciprocate things for over a year.

Everything came to a head in late '03, we had a one month relationship that I ended for some ridiculous reason. Of course I grew to regret the decision and spent a long while trying to rekindle things, attempts she initially entertained yet eventually rejected. We continued phone conversations into early '04, but she was beginning a new relationship and did not feel that we talking would help her matters.

The last time I saw her was a surprise visit I made to her house with coffee. I was heavily into The Byrds and Gram Parsons at the time, so I brought a cd of classic country and Elvis Costello to play for her. It was an hour visit where the only highlight was Katy being so tired that she was half-wearing her hooded sweatshirt.

Our latest conversation was actually last month. I called her in May and we talked for nearly two hours. She is with the same boy she began dating after we broke up and everything appears to be going great for her. She and Allison ended their friendship a short time after our relationship.

Katy has a very distinctive voice. I tend to fall for people over their phone voices. She's great to listen to and easy to talk to with an incredible sense of humor. Even when we talked within' the last month our conversation didn't have any dead spots, and it was full of laughter. The odd thing about Katy and I is that if we hang out we will have fun 100% of the time, when we talk it'll be a great conversation 100% of the time, yet she is very cautious over getting too involved (even by phone) with me. I am now across the country and she is reluctant to continue a speaking relationship. She ended that last phone talk with "this will be the last time we ever speak". 'Reluctant' may have been an understatement.

Apparently she got drunk, went through the trouble of seeking out my new screen name and blog, and decided to wish me luck in life.

Generous, I suppose.

Best of luck to you, as well.

I can saw a woman in two,

Music: "Life'll Kill Ya" - Warren Zevon (Album) / Ron & Fez
Drink: Arbor Mist




Thankfully the weekend is here. The last couple nights of work have been terrible, with my mind stuck on subjects that shouldn't be elaborated upon on the internet. Don't take it personally, it's not as if I am keeping secrets from you, these are just overly depressing topics that are not ready for blogging copyright. This isn't "I can't grow a beard, bleh" or "I wish I could speak a foreign language, bleh"... this is more along the lines of "The bomb really went off in Heroes, bleh".

But the time will come when I will be able to write in depth about it- whether it be because my drunk science fiction twin stumbles upon a keyboard, or because I finally discovered another person's stance and involvement in the situation.

In somewhat related news, I made an appearance on the Jim & Them radio podcast. It was recorded last Monday, and will be available online within' the next week. I came on to discuss my time spent in the slammer. We did a great job of making the entire experience hilarious, while maintaining the true horror of the three days. I'll post a link once the show is made available.

January 16, 2004.
I was thinking about the night Ricky, the closest friend I'll ever have, and I decided to take a train to North Attleboro in hopes of women. This story takes place in the outskirts of Boston, MA. For those who aren't familiar with the area- Rockland (my then home) and North Attleboro are fifty miles from one another.

We went to the house of a friend of his- an asian girl named Melissa, where she was with her friend Brandy. I remember watching Day Of The Dead and pretending that a 'movie fest' was the reason we were all there. It all took place in her basement, and it was the first time I ever saw an organ in person. Before that I thought the organ was a flute/recorder/ocarena type instrument (based solely on its name). "Where do you blow?" was a question met with confused laughs.

We got there on a freezing, snowy night... but we were all teenagers (Brandy being much younger than I thought) so of course we had to sneak by the asian mother. On more than one occasion Ricky and I were hidden in a closet, shivering and giggling like young, cold criminals.

The sleeping arrangements were: Ricky & Melissa on the couch, Brandy & I on the nearby bed. I was very interested in Brandy, and apparently she thought I was less annoying than most people as well. I did not know at the time just how inexperienced she was- I just knew she had recently broken up with a boy. I remember the odd side positioning that we attempted in order to stay discreet, and the nerves of steel we both had. Her for being physical for the first time with a basic stranger in her militaristic asian friend's mother's basement along her friend on the couch feet away. Me just because the last thing.

Ricky and I were kicked out into the freezing morning at around 5:00am. It took two cab rides and multiple trains to save our lives that night. I remember writing my phone number for Brandy on an Altoids case- though we didn't talk or see eachother again for many months. We still talk these days, and type over visiting each other, though the lack of money keeps it unlikely. We've hung out only once in the years since then, a Gilmore Girls night spent with some of her friends. One of her female friends actually assaulted me that night. I wasn't an easy boy to meet back then.

Ricky and I shared four years of lifelong memories as best friends. I definitely hope to fly back to MA and visit him as soon as I can afford it. He is well missed.

This is basically a small update of an entry. I'm still a man of good health, bad wealth, and a depressing, dull forty-eight hours. Hopefully tonight's combination of Knocked Up and Appletinis will provide a more positive night.

To keep some theme to this post- Let It Be has been in constant rotation lately.

With that, I leave you with a song from the album recorded live on rooftop, followed by a favorite quote about me.

I chose this song, because as a woman was crying her eyes out to me a couple of a months ago, she belted out the title and chorus a couple of times. She then proceeded to let me down.

ssix --- siq (8:37:08 AM): You were like
ssix --- siq (8:37:28 AM): Because the wine wouldn't open or whatever you go "Well we have to get use to eachother on a sober level then." and you grabbed my hand