the-most-golden-year - Tumblr blog

[the-most-golden-year]

she garlic on my bread until i'm-

My name is Anthony John, and for the past year, I was in a bit of an artistic slump. I worked on things, like this blog right here, and much like this blog, I put them all on the back burner. I felt demotivated that my work wasn't reaching a larger audience. Or at least, if it was, I wasn't satisfied with the results of it. But I've made it a promise of mine that this year, my golden year; it's gonna be my year. I have a lot of ideas I want to get out into the world, so I'm excited to start working on them. I'm also excited for whatever projects I've started already. The finishing process is only gonna go up from here, so expect major things. Unfortunately, while this blog might've not been the memoir journal that I hoped it to be, I still want to put out a collection of stories. Stay tuned for that.

Until then, this has been AJ from The Most Golden Year,

signing off.

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 29

To my father, for when he eventually passes:

I know I didn't turn out to be the ideal son that you always wanted. I never shared your love of baseball, and I couldn't quite cut it for the big leagues like you could. I couldn't bring your name to that stage like you always wanted.

But you and Mom, you guys always wanted me to be happy doing what I was doing no matter what it was. So I guess that's where I'm at now.

I've been stuck for quite a while, it feels like. Writing. Music. Jobs on the side, whether it be gardening, retail, janitorial work, it's all just been to get by because my aspirations require me to give before I get. And you may never get once you give.

Well, I am gonna get it. I have something. Something golden. Something nobody else has, and it's me. It's completely me. Nobody else can say it is, because they will never be me, try as they might.

I know I wasn't always the most sincere to be around. I could be way more brutally honest about things that I shouldn't need to be. I was a bit of an asshole.

I could say the same about you as you could say about me. That doesn't matter now, obviously. All of our beefs must be buried for good now. And I've always thought they were. I always wanted to break that barrier between us. I never once took your emotions for granted, and yet, that always seemed to bother you.

I naturally tend to let my guts spill, so much so I named an entire album after it. I'm sure you never heard it. I never really told you I was taking music seriously. I didn't tell you a lot of things out of a deep seeded trauma. When you seemed to fail and comfort me, I wanted to give you a second chance. But then you took my problems and made them your own.

You thought you were Jesus. But at that point, you were the fucking devil.

When people embody the worst of my mental, it makes me panic. I can't help it, and then I say shit that I immediately regret.

Hate is strong. Hate is something that you can't forget.

Well, maybe you can. But you're too old to hate.

It's hard to completely let go, knowing that you wanted to hurt me at those moments. But I knew something was slowly killing you. I chose the route that would help the both of us. Swallow my pride. Give in.

I chose peace. And yet grandeurs of fame and success still shroud it every day. So forgive me, if I didn't leave you on the note you wanted.

But for all the bad I may project, you were a great father. You raised me to be respectful, caring, and generous. You taught me to stand out, to voice my opinion even if it was unpopular and didn't fit in with the crowd. You taught me it was okay to be myself, to believe in things that maybe you didn't even believe yourself.

You gave me so many chances. And sometimes, I didn't know how to take them. So while this is a sorry, this is also a thank you.

I don't know if you were scared to say it, but I'm not:

I love you, Dad.

Good night, man. I'll see ya.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 28

The era of technology. Every nook and cranny at the tips of your fingers. I was born into it. I've lived through it for twenty years. And I've seen it change and take new shapes along the way.

With more changes, I seem to want to regress. One of my favorite hobbies is collecting physical forms of the media that I love. CDs. DVDs. VHS tapes. Vinyls. A lot of vinyls. More vinyls than my wallet would like to admit.

In my first year of college, I found a store called Reckless Records. I was recommended by a friend, as it was basically like a ten minute walk from campus. After class one day, I walked there and it would be a place I would frequent for that semester. It was a tiny store, shoulder to shoulder with a Dunkin Donuts and you probably wouldn't notice it if you weren't told about it.

But I was and I walked out of there with many a record that I enjoy to this day. And I would take the train home and play each one on my record player that had been sitting under piles of dust on top of my dresser for years and years.

Each one of them is a physical reminder of my passion for music. And everything I own a physical copy of means something very special to me. Every photograph and paint stroke of cover art. I treat it all like bloodline. Something special. If anybody were to ever handle them with disregard or disrespect, it's out the door for them.

Part of the fun in having them is the journey too. Not much of a journey, per say, but I like to think of the process of thumbing through copies upon copies of vinyls and comic books and things like that as part of the fun. I can literally spend an hour in a place and come out with like one thing. It doesn't matter to me.

I think we should all own things outside of the cloud. Sure, you shouldn't throw all your money away, there are cheaper options nowadays for sure, but if you truly love something, you're gonna want to represent and respect that passion.

The Internet may last forever, but its contents are always cycling and temporary. When you buy something, you have that. That is yours. That is something you can feel with your hands, maybe even with a distinct smell to it.

What you buy says a lot about you. And I hope my collection does the same for me.

I hope you all find happiness as well in the things you collect and find peace in your hobbies.

"You're my favorite customer" or whatever that cashier in The Room says.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 27

I realize I never really did a prologue to this project, so uhh...

TURNING 21: THE MOST GOLDEN YEAR

On November 21, 2023, I will have my 21st birthday. An age that not only transitions me into full adulthood, but happens to be my golden birthday too.

With 20 years behind me, my first thought as a writer was to chronicle it. And then my second thought was to maybe even publish it. I know, scary thoughts, very, very scary thoughts, especially for someone who hasn't published a single thing yet in his life.

But I figure this is just a nice open slate for me to get my ideas and experiences out without having to worry about the pacing or theming.

I'm mainly making this for myself to read, so in a way it is a diary, but I also know that my friends are gonna read this too, so it's a bit different. Really all this is will be an online, archived version of what the eventual finished and edited version is gonna look like. I figure that everybody should have access to the realest version of me and my art. I'm not above anybody else, and I'm not gonna act like it either.

I'm just like you. You're just like me.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 26

So one of the things I've been trying to start doing at the same time of this writing project is start focusing more on what I eat. My actual diet really hasn't changed much; I've mainly just focused on portions. Trying to watch how much of something I take in a sitting, no matter if it's a meal or a snack.

The one thing that has changed is I've started watching the quality of what I eat. I've cut out a lot of options I used to fall back on, fast food being one of the big ones. There are times where I've had to fall back on it a little bit, but I'm very selective about the fast food I choose. I've practically dropped McDonald's, Taco Bell, all that shit.

The main place I go if I have to choose fast food now is Culver's. I realize not everybody is gonna know what that is, because it's not global, and to my knowledge, it's not even national in the US.

Culver's is essentially this burger joint around the Midwest that actually makes their burgers fresh. Like actually fresh, not the McDonald's, Burger King bullshit that everybody is used to. It's good shit, but again, I try to be selective about what I get. Like I've practically dropped their signature cheese curds and concrete mixers (their form of malt ice cream) entirely, because I know that shit is gonna fill up my stomach way too much.

But I'm also not falling back on it all the time. If and when I have Culver's, it's usually every other week now. Before I started being observant of my intake, that was like a once a week, sometimes even twice a week ordeal.

My point is it is easy to get unhealthily attached to simple things, especially when they're easily appetizing. And I'm not gonna sit here like I've cut down all my weight. Truth be told, I'm a bit chubby still. I've tried doing some cardio to run it off, but my appearance really hasn't changed much over the years.

But outward appearance comes second to the inner body, and if you're not treating your stomach right, no matter if you're skinny, fat, whatever, you're only hurting yourself.

Food, in a lot of ways, connects people too, both in good and bad ways. Some people only eat when they're high. Some people are social eaters, others can't eat around people at all.

But one thing is a universal; fake food will get you nowhere. Think of it like fake people. You ever have a "friend" that anytime you're around them, they make every problem in the world revolve around them exclusively?

That's what fake food does to you. You take one piece of it, and all one a sudden, all the other food takes second place, because there's a significant acquirability to something made fast and ready in seconds and minutes, rather than larger increments of time.

We are all also like food in that we all have shelf lives. It's important to keep ourselves clean, in order to let that life last longer. There's always time to be a better person and go out with a bang, rather than limping through life on Easy Street. That shit will make you sick at some point.

Of course, you can't tell anybody how to live, and everybody's body is different. So at the end of the day, if you're healthy in the relative sense, that's all that matters.

As for me, I plan to stick to my routine for a long time. Let's hope my efforts pull through.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 24 and 25

Yesterday was supposed to be my last day of the semester. My last day to go to the city and spend time in class with the peers I've made, reflecting on the short-lived memories that have baked over the course of the last three months.

Unfortunately, due to some complications back at home, I didn't hop on the 10:55 am Metra train that day like I usually do. I, disappointingly to myself, skipped class. It was the only writing class that I had skipped. And as I laid in my bed yesterday, on a gloomy, rainy day like no other, I felt complete. It was weird because it felt like an anticlimax, to be sure. I didn't get that final fanfare of walking past Grant Park and taking in the smorgasbord of architecture and nature around me. I didn't get to formally part ways with the professor that I've had for like three different classes now, all of which have helped me immensely in this process.

Instead, I started work on another project of mine, which is why I haven't updated this in the last couple of days like I promised I would. Journaling is not exactly my forte. I'm trying not to go all out with it this time, because the last time I did, it really got to me in a very negatively time-consuming way.

Truth be told, I'd love to spend more time in the city. I'd love to move out there, see shows and concerts more often, go to parties, live discussions, art exhibitions, wherever the creative braincells move towards.

But until then, I'm homebound. And being homebound isn't so bad. But I know it's not all.

"I want more out of life than this,"

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 23 (I'm gonna catch up, I promise)

Life is gonna feel like shit. There’s no way around it; you’re probably gonna have more mundane days than great ones, which is why when the great ones come up, they ignite that little spark in an creative’s mind to start crafting. Writing a story, making a song, scripting a scene for a movie or a TV show or theatre even.

It sucks. Just like this entry. This entry sucks and I don’t know why I’m writing it when I could be writing something with actual power and meaning to it instead.

Truth is, I’m young. I don’t have a lot to give yet. I haven’t given it all, but I wanna separate the pieces. I want to develop just how I want to tell the story in my own time, so I can copy it, put it on the paper, and call it a day.

What stays true on the paper is me. I’ll talk to you about my vices, my addictions, my habits, my dark spots, all of that. And at the same time, I’ll give you nostalgia, memories with friends, what my favorite things in life mean to me on an individual level.

I am yet another writer. And in his first stage at that. I’m still in my first Pokemon stage. Haven’t quite evolved to whatever the next level of me is.

Life right now is quiet. Nothing really happens, even if my anxiety says otherwise. My anxiety is sorta the driving force behind a lot of the things I do, and it’s largely tied to my work. In a way, I’m a workaholic when it comes to art. If I don’t make something, or attempt to make something within the day, I feel like shit. However, if I force it, I feel burnt out.

I remember hearing “Musician” by Porter Robinson for the first time back when it came out, and the lyrics hit me like a truck, echoing a lot of the sentiments I had been feeling my whole life. I’ll leave you with the hook from the song:

Oh it’s calling

I just can’t stop, I’m sorry

I can feel a new day dawning

I burn up, burn out

I shouldn’t do this to myself.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 22

It goes something like this:

Johnny had been repeating the last four years of his life ever since he grabbed his diploma and shook hands with the men that taught him for just as long. Johnny had gone to sleep as a graduate and woke up the next day on his first day of high school. He had walked out the fire exit labeled ‘2021’ and entered back in the front double glass doors that said ‘2017.’ He then made his way to a classroom numbered ‘2019.’ He’s seen the beginning and end of it all too many times, he claims, and he never knows where he’s going to show up next.

So he claims.

The trips through time used to be fun at one point, but eventually became tiresome and damaging to his soul. Johnny says he feels his life is like one big improv performance.

His adolescence began in 2015, but he insists it began in 2017, when he entered his freshman year of high school in a class with only 30 people, in a small school that taught about some guy with long hair and a beard. Yes, it was a school about Kevin Parker, the frontman (and only man) of the Australian psych-rock band Tame Impala.

Johnny was a goofy lookin’ ass child. He was average height, but a bit pudgy for people his age. Kinda like a Haribo gummy bear. He graduated in the year 2021 to go on to an art school, pursuing studies in writing and becoming unsure that this was the career path he wanted to take. His father and him had finally mended their long-broken relationship. Or something like that.

Johnny had initially found work in the school’s yearbook club, and was put under the clutches of Spanish teacher Mrs. Espinoza. After a year, he decided to quit and put his focus back into his studies. During his junior year, he entered a relationship with Sonya Il-Arai, a sophomore. They broke up shortly after.

His heart was broken, and he spent his time wallowing at cafes and parks around friends who didn’t really wanna hear all that. He moved on eventually when Sonya started dating a tall farmer named Cleetus. That didn’t last long either, so Johnny got back together with her, and fucked around all the way until the end of his first semester of college. He only met her parents once.

Relationships are inconveniences to a memorable adolescence, or so Johnny says, and that’s why he spent most of his budding romantic time on the cusp of potential, but never acting on it. This would go on for months with some women he became great friends with. Specifically two. Two is too many. Two many.

Three is when you get something special.

Johnny was also infatuated with fame, and at this point in his life, it was SoundCloud rap that really struck a chord with him. He had two friends, Deion and Zach, who also had the dream of becoming successful performers. Deion was also infatuated with his girlfriend, Alexa, at the time, so many of the studio sessions would just be Johnny and Zach third and fourth wheeling respectively. Zach hated high school, because he sucked at a lot of his classes. Then he became interested in photography, and that straightened his act out. He went to college for graphic design.

In his freshman year, Johnny joined a track team, and they drove their bus all across the state. Johnny would sit next to Beth-Anne, and she would lay her head on his shoulder. Johnny swore it was strictly platonic. Johnny was a bit more than a little dense.

Over the summer, Beth-Anne started dating some guy with curly hair and braces named Mike. Or something like that.

When junior year started up, Johnny was some kind of bummed out. He started working harder than he ever had in his life. He would come home to his grandmother and nobody else most nights. He was able to sneak Sonya into the house and they would sleep together.

-AJ (not Kurt Vonnegut, I swear)

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 21

A rant. A rumination.

Allow me to abide in my head for a moment. Maybe it's selfish. maybe it's poorly thought out. But that doesn't really matter to me right now.

It feels like my peer's response to a conflict is just machismo and nothing else. No discussion. No thinking it through. No deliberation or picking of battles. Instead, it's always a fight and it's always a rise or thrill that comes from the aggression.

And don't get me wrong. Some people deserve to get their asses kicked. Corrupt politicians. Scammers. Abusive partners and parents. School bullies. Murderers. Rapists. Pedophiles. The list can go on and on, and if somebody in this category was absolutely bloodied to a pulp, I wouldn't feel any sympathy for them at all.

But it's always just day to day normal people who aren't really doing anything. Yeah, sure, a snide comment here or there, maybe a misstep. But if someone said something mildly negative to me that wasn't calling me a f*g or something that directly affects me, I wouldn't do anything to that person.

With those same peers, though, it feels like whenever I try to emulate this level of aggression, I'm held to a higher standard. "You need to be more patient and tolerant of people. You could get the cops called on you. What would that say about you as a person?"

Is it because I try to carry a heavy head? Is it because I'm a bisexual writer kid from the suburbs so I'm automatically expected to be all peace love and hippie shit? No disrespect to hippies, though. They were at least self-aware.

Moderation. That's how I want to end this. Take it all step by step. Stop trying to do too much. And furthermore, don't hold anybody to some kind of high standard that you yourself can't reach.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 20

Holy shit, I made it to twenty. This is, of course, a fraction in the goal I have yet to accomplish (and technically I didn't post one last night, but who's counting), but I'm not necessarily gonna write anything super profound for this one. I just want to personally thank anybody that has read these so far. I'm really just doing this for myself, but it does bring a smile to my face whenever somebody shouts out their support towards me.

Sometimes, it's hard to find the right words to write in a day, but somehow, I've kept it going. I think that's personally because of the peers that I am around and how they inspire me every day.

Not every entry is gonna be some great bit of knowledge or a really cool story. But I hope that the consistency of each writing can sorta forgive that in a way. So again, sorry if I'm late on some entries, I got a life too, but I think things are looking up right now.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 19

My mom and dad, bless their souls, I truly do love them, but they kinda gave the game away when it came to Santa Claus. They initially just went with it cause it was like cute or whatever. Wanted me to have the same childhood experience they had of believing this magical old guy with all the gifts that you wanted was real. And so every year up until I was like 6 or 7, I believe, my parents always designated one box that would say from Santa. It was clearly in my mother’s handwriting. I’m not saying I was the smartest kid by any means, but I knew something fishy was up already.

By that time when I was 6 or 7, my “Santa” gift was a bunch of LEGOs. Like literally a box of just LEGO bricks and my parents were just like “Hey, go nuts with it. Knock yourself out. Don’t eat them.” Like yeah, yeah, whatever, so I would build with those bricks like every day. Just sit out on the living room carpet, stacking one brick on top of the next, maybe making a big ol’ tower or a house, some kind of creature, a car model, whatever. I had the little LEGO figures too so I could put them on these cool little displays that I made. And one afternoon, as I’m doing so, my mom is just walking from one room to the next, minding her business. She quickly asks something along the lines of “Oh, how do you like those LEGOs we got you?”

Now, most kids would’ve been bawling their eyes out at the idea that this fat bastard that eats cookies and milk from your own fucking kitchen every year is suddenly not real. Me? I had been trying to catch her red-handed for the longest time. I didn’t believe any of this holiday hogwash. I remember fighting tooth and nail to get my mom to admit that the tooth fairy wasn’t real. What tooth fairy slips under the pillow and gives a kid ten bucks? What the fuck is a seven year old scrawny little kid like me supposed to do with ten bucks?

And in that same fight I fought with her about the Easter Bunny. Yeah right, some big ass rabbit hops around the house and lays plastic eggs everywhere. You realize how creepy all of this shit sounds now as adults? What was actually so cute about the idea of grown, mythical beasts storming into our houses in the middle of the night, just so they could leave what, a bicycle? A new pair of pants? A Playstation? And don’t even get me started with that reindeer food nonsense. 

So yeah, soon as she said that, I whipped around with my pointer finger out like “Ha! Got you!” And my mom was fully red in the face, and not even trying to fight it, she said, “Yeah, I guess you did.” 

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 18 

People love the Joker to a scary amount. Don't get me wrong; I love the Batman franchise. Always have, always will. One of my favorite movies, The Dark Knight, is in that genre, and that Joker is one of the greatest villains in all cinema. But I think people let that portrayal of the Joker affect them too much.

Let me put it this way: when I watch movies, I try my best to put myself in the director's shoes and ask myself, "Why does it need to be done this way?" Essentially, what makes a movie good? And when it comes to characters, it's what makes a character good. You get the picture.

For the Joker, it's how he taps into the psyche. He fights people using head games unlike anybody else in Gotham, and for Batman, that makes at odds with himself. Why does he do what he does? Why does it have to be done this way?

The Joker's mind games are essentially supposed to make you, the viewer, reflect, rather than be a dictating force on your personality. Why are these common citizens and political figures getting murdered left and right?

In all the best Batman movies, the city hates Batman. They either think he can't save the day or they pin the crime on him directly. Because of that, I look at them like Bruce Wayne movies instead. No longer are they movies about a mysterious guy in a cape that beats up bad guys, they are a complete commentary on systemic and societal pressures.

The way crime is approached in these movies is very upfront, and I think that's why a lot of people are pulled towards the Joker or whoever the bad guy is; it's the closest thing they'll get to a look on the inside. It's because of that why Joker is so beloved more than any other villain in cinema.

Who else corrupted the entire system from the inside out? Who else was devious enough to do it in the first place?

But above all, it's more than a good guy vs. bad guy struggle. It's strategy. It's eloquence. It's the matter in which these moral coats are put on.

To save someone else, you must first save yourself.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 17

One me. Two car crashes. Three years apart.

I like driving. At times, depending on the destination, I fucking hate it. I feel like at those times I'm trapped in this death-box on wheels. Like what if Jigsaw made his next horrific trap out of a Ford Escape? The victim of course being me.

That's not the car I crashed in, thank God. One of them was a Honda Odyssey. I'll save that story.

The second one happened just earlier this year. A bit strange to think about considering how fast all this time shit moves. But anyways, my friend Trey, he got into a situation where he had no car ride from the place he was staying at, and he had to get to some important meeting for his job. He was all the way out in like Harvey or something. I live very far from there, but I'm also one of the only friends he knew with a car and no job, so I was the last resort.

I initially just sent him Uber money that he payed me back for, but inevitably, the rides, they were getting too expensive. I knew I just had to bite the bullet and drive there.

So I got in my car, turned on Mr. Morale to make an attempt to get the blood flowing, and I drove to my friend Daniel's place to pick him up, because I was not about to go to this place by myself.

Picked him up after a long train stop. Little did I know it would be the last one I waited for in that hand-me-down Camry.

The crash happened on a turn in Hazel Crest. Wide intersection. I guess I missed my left side, because I pulled out and wouldn't you know it, two cars are headed directly at me. One of them speeds right by, the other smacks right into the driver-side door. Things in the car go flying. If it were in slow-motion, it would look like the anti-gravity inside of a space shuttle, food wrappers, old papers, a brush to use in the winter, water bottles, all levitating in the Toyota Camry for just a half-minute.

Admittedly, my heart was racing, and when that happens, I typically lose control of myself. But I guess it was just the reality of the situation that guided me through calm. My head was low, however. Couldn't believe that my attempt to help a friend out like that just stopped right in its tracks. Wasn't even really worried about the car itself.

The call to my mother was daunting, but she took it better than expected. I guess because I had gotten in one three years prior, that time in the passenger seat.

Daniel was unscathed. My left arm was sore as shit, but I was practically fine too. The other party as well. I put the blame on me at the time, but in hindsight, it was probably them.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 16

So where do I go from here? No, I don't mean I'm stuck writing things, completely run dry of material. Not quite.

What I mean is that once I rise to the challenge of who I want to be, and therefore engulf that bright burning star, letting each bit of space dust radiate throughout my body; what do I do then? Nothing? Almost nothing? What am I to expect? I don't know how to meet an expectation if I don't know what to expect.

This is only a fraction of why it's hard to let go. On top of "where do I go from here," there's many other thoughts, all of them which come from a sense of grieving. Something is lost. Something is in the past. But it's hard to accept that when you're still finding your way in the world.

I think all the big, money-making industries see my generation as just that: money. We are no longer human to them, and we might never have been to begin with. So, in turn, we're just kinda forced to "get through" life, rather than stop and enjoy it. I mean, how can we? How are we supposed to talk to each other when things keep moving as fast as they do? How are we supposed to know anything?

That's really what it comes down to. All this, all this shit; it's confusing. And yet, when something goes right, those neurons, they fire like pinballs in my mind.

That's what being human is. We are all kept down, tethered to the crust beneath our shoes (unless you're like Criss Angel or something), but we're still trying to make it to the stars, the moon, outer space.

I try my best not to be cynical and let the emotions speak true to themselves. I try to let my actions speak louder than my words, which is like career suicide for a writer.

I still don't know where I go from here, and yet, I keep moving on, day after day, night after night, 24 hours, 365 days.

And that's how all of us live. I see a little bit of me in everybody I glance at, walking down the streets of South Michigan Avenue, one train station to the next. That one in the brown coat with the handbag could be the president one day. And that guy in the Chicago Bears cap might be a famous musician.

But usually, once our story starts one way, it tends to stay in that same motion, from here on out.

I hope that these writings can invoke that spirit in you, whether it's someone else reading this, or me going back and looking at this entry. I hope that if nothing else lights a fire under your ass, maybe this will yet.

A lot of these entries sound like motivational diatribes, but I promise there's a lot of different sides to me, more than just that. Right now, I'm just trying to put that best version of me out there.

I can't break down. Not yet. We're just getting started.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 15

There's another thing from a young age that I've always loved that I failed to mention before in any of my previous entries. That's comedy. The genre of just being funny. I always appreciated that because it can be simple, sure, but there is an art to it, to be certain.

I remember feeling that way for the first time when my mother showed me Ghostbusters for the first time. I thought the concept itself was really exciting and there was a lot of fun action scenes and stuff like that. But beyond that, it was the quips. It was the quotables, the performances from the actual cast of people.

Comedy that could be done in a genre-bending way, since that moment, became one of my biggest fascinations, which is why some of my favorite actors to this day are guys like Jim Carrey and Adam Sandler and Jonah Hill, who all play simple roles most of the time, but they have versatility, and when they switch it up to play a serious part, they crush it.

It's not just comedy in movies that I love, though a large chunk of it is. As for standup, it's kind of a mixed bag. I feel like the limelight of the genre nowadays is kinda lame and boring. And what's weird about that is I like typically boring and unassuming comedians. Norm MacDonald was one of my favorites of all time, for example, and that was his whole shtick; sounding like a drunk old man every time he spoke. But he still sounded true to himself.

There's a lot of old comedy that aged like wine and some that didn't really, but I still don't think there's a reason to be offended by it. If you don't like something, you don't have to let it affect you deeply, because at the end of the day, comedy is a genre that's meaningless. There's an art to it, for sure, but it's ultimately just made with the purpose to entertain. All comedy, in its simplest fundamental structure, is like watching the DVD logo until it bounces off the corner of the TV screen and changes colors.

I think where comedy becomes brilliant is in its storytelling. If I ever did comedy, that would be my focus, because it can truly be a writer's dream if they don't let it consume them. But at the end of the day, it's all about how you come off on stage. You gotta be open to a crowd. You can't alienate people for the sake of a laugh, because at the end of the day, that says more about your personality than the jokes themselves.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 14

High expectations. Low outcomes.

It’s easy not to have a heart. It’s stunning how many people become outraged at your lack of one.

I don’t know. Plain and simple, I don’t know.

I don’t know how my children are going to turn out. I know I’m different. I’m hurt. I’m heartbroken.

I remember being nine years old and watching Pinocchio with my mom. The story of a puppet, a toy, an inanimate object wanting to be a real boy.

And so do I.

It’s taken me fourteen entries to realize a good lot of you don’t know who I am. Of course, that’s the point of a memoir. But you’ve never seen my face. My imperfections. The color of my eyes, the length of my hair, the width of my waist. You’ll never know if I’m clean or if I look like filth.

But would you still love me?

I believe in love without attention. I believe in love on a budget. I believe you can get stuck in attention without finding love.

Attention can trap you. It can be hard to get out. Depending on who you are, it might be impossible.

These emotions are unspoken by many, but when you find the words, you’ll be glad you did.

Keep your love. Don’t be so afraid of it.

Keep warm this time of year and get some rest.

-AJ

[the-most-golden-year]

Entry No. 13

My kids' kids are gonna know all about this crazy choose-your-own-adventure story that we call life. That's a surreal thought to me. It makes me feel like McConaughey in the 5th dimension. That kinda feeling of infinite hope. The hope that my children have enough courage and strength left in their soul to carry on the torch.

This life can batter you. This life will leave you with more questions than answers. No doubt about it.

I didn't know how hard things would be back then. I wish I could go back to being 16 years old, sitting on the cold metal bench on my front porch and looking up at all the stars, moons, planets, planes. I remember my deepest thoughts were the fear of romantic loneliness. Now I yearn for that somedays.

It's incredible how I've never gotten tired of the night sky. Even after the magic and innocence of life had gone away, I still sit outside for an hour or so, earbuds plugged in, and for just a moment, I don't feel weak.

Life is a phenomenon for sure, because it won't last forever, but it's still fun while it lasts. Maybe we aren't all made of money, but we make it through and we figure it out. There's so much variety, whether it be the slums, the lowest of lives, the urgency of the city, the hustle and bustle of it all. Or life could be one big party. You're either out there mingling, or you're stuck on the wall.

I'll let you decide what I am.

Don't be afraid to get deep. Don't be afraid to say something corny and stupid when you're high on whatever. I think deep down, we all have a Teddy Perkins side of our personality.

But don't be afraid to have fun either. Joy is just as real as pain.

Both of those emotions are worth your time.

"Staring at the sky ain't gon' fix my problem..."

-AJ