Hi, my name is Jay Ouderkirk, and welcome to (of course) my Livejournal. There's quite a bit of public material on here to read from the past which, really, could provide enough reading material for quite some time. However, if you want to add me as a friend, that's okay too. I like getting to know new people..and as long as you have a pulse, I'm pretty much down with it. Just speak up and let me know what's going on, and I'll add you back. And then, you know..hot damn!

Right now my current incarnation is as an aspiring writer, currently residing in the American Northeast..although people who know me realize that I can be anywhere, pretty much at any time. Next week, for all anyone (including myself) knows, I could be a professional bowler living in Alabama. It's apparently a source of great endearment as well as frustration for others, but anymore I'm normally guided by my own conscience, and what I'll have to live with in the wrong run.

I try to be a good friend when I can, and try to put as little obligation as anyone else as possible. Live and let live, that sort of stuff.

Anyway, thank you for your interest, and I hope this message finds you well.

Mood: tour guide-ish
Music: probably some alt-country or something

"plan c (quiz show)"


Basically, as my mood states. Drawn and quartered from the recent events that seem almost criminal to omit at this conjecture, I'm faced first and foremost with the decision to either simply state my recent goings-on in a bland, deadpan narrative (which is almost impossible for me to do, as you all probably well know) or tell the story like I'm actually..telling a story, thereby eliminating any trace of personalization and alienating anybody who gives a rat's ass. I don't feel comfortable doing either. Is there a way for me to balance things out without vomiting from overexertion? I don't know. I just don't know. But I'm going to try. Because everything right now seems so peculiar, almost scripted by somebody else, not from the hand of God but from the hand of some cynical thirtysomething writer living in Manhattan (the kind of writer I HATE). And I swear upon the ghost of Mel Carnahan that if I turn a corner and surprise a guerilla trio of cameraman, sound guy, and director, I'm turning around, packing all my shit up and moving back to Missouri. However, before I completely raise hell, I'm still doing just fine, thank you. In the big scheme of things, none of what I'm about to write is really all that important. Or, like my father used to say during times of chaos, or mutter between the plastic filter of a Swisher Sweet, rather, "Shit, none of this is gonna matter in a hundred years anyway."

Still, it obviously matters to me now..doesn't it?

( BUT IT AIN'T WHAT YOU MAY THINK )

Mood: karate explosion
Music: the shins, "gone for good"

"plan c (that long letter home)"

To all those out there who have endeared themselves to me as I have endeared myself to you, I ask you to consider these Livejournal entries as the equivalent of a postcard or a phone call; in spite of an aching need for me to personalize my correspondences, this is truly the best I can do at the moment. My reasons aren't necessarily grounded in a certain lack of anything, like time or resources or energy..this is actually one of those rare times in my life where I have an abundance of all three, at once, like some kind of favorable alignment of planets. When I need something, the opportunities materialze almost out of thin air. When I think I might be running late for something, I find a clock and realize that I have plenty of time. Autumn's now beginning to make the salty air thicker and colder and the reds and yellows and oranges, even in this huge city, silently burst in all directions around me like popcorn. It's beautiful, like life can be at times, and it makes me feel good inside and oddly enough, confident.

Strangely, the one thing I find myself deprived of are words, more often than not the one thing I'm never at a loss for. Caught between the still present need to preserve my now ex-roommate's anonymity in this forum (or any other, for that matter) and everybody else from California to the Carolinas who continuously ask me exactly what the hell's going on anyway, choosing the words to convey exactly why I uprooted myself yet again, and shot out east down Interstate 90 to dock temporarily and regroup in Boston has been one of those problems that become more complex the more I think about it. I feel like I'm in the middle of some kind of tug-of-war match; a curiosity in itself considering my proximity from everybody involved, and even though it feels good - very good - especially these days, to know that I'm still so asked-about and thought-about and actually cared for by so many, sometimes the weight of that reciprocation bears down on me and I end up considering myself undeserving of any of it. Ultimately, the reasons are nobody else's business, other than my own, and hers.

But for the sake of goodwill and..continuity to everyone, I will say this..there are people we know in this world where we can resolve all our issues with them, seemingly, only to have more materalize and reload and cause further tension. I know we both wanted the situation to work out, but it became quickly and critically apparent that it wasn't. Promises on both sides were broken, and in the end, neither one of us are so much angry at one another, as confused.

Is the friendship dead? I don't know. From experience, I don't think it's that easy and I don't want it to be, and from what I gather I don't think she necessarily wants that herself. What needs to be done, I would think, is for the both of us to be able to pinpoint exactly what we do for and represent to each other. In the immediate future, whether or not either one of us is going to have that time, that opportunity, and that sheer inclination to be able to do so is another thing entirely.

In any event, I hope everybody finds this explanation acceptable.

( continue with not-as-important but less privileged information )

Mood: hungover
Music: the autumn defense, "iowa city adieu"

"plan c (temporary respite)"

So I'm over my "problems" that I had last week..which ended up with me not shaving for several days, constructing a fort out of books and cds in my bedroom and listening to talk radio almost constantly because I needed to hear voices. Suffice to say, there was something amiss and things were pretty rough, but the moment has passed and I'm (relatively) clean-shaven again. Also, to all the fellas out there, that new Old Spice 8-hour liquid deodorant soap will make all the ladies fall in line and behave themselves.

Worried about me? Don't be. Too late for that, anyway.

I'd like to thank all those who cared, you know who you are and I appreciate you very much. Also, ashaballzlee, a special message for you..thank you for talking with me on the phone. I will always love you like Whitney Houston loves Kevin Costner. To all those who didn't care, I call bullshit on you. I'm going to take you to the ring like Little Mac did to Mike Tyson. No, I'm not. I just need to inhale and let it all go, I think.

Regardless, I think everybody should think long and hard about visiting Buffalo. If you don't want to see me while you're here, that's okay I guess. There's all sorts of crap to do around here. Besides, does your town have The Lion King for six weeks at the performing arts center? MOTHERFUCKER I DIDN'T THINK SO.

Mood: (special)
Music: doobie brothers, "what a fool believes"

"plan c (septembering)"

I didn't know John very well. Unlike his close friends - who are also close friends of mine - geography prevented me from helping to clean out his house and pick up the pieces of his shattered life. In place of that, and in place of mourning and its accompanying grief, I have been asking myself questions and attempting to answer them. John's life, to be honest, never made quite an impression on me (I suppose I can't be friends with everyone). His suicide, however, affected me in more ways than I had initially thought.

( pass, crow )

Mood: dour
Music: sunny day real estate, "days were golden"