My Birthday and Henry Rollins

Last week was my birthday. We got so much snow, we were unable to leave the house for the first part of the day and unwilling to leave for the rest of the day.

I received no gifts that day, but I was buried with birthday wishes on my facebook, which is nice.

My father didn't call me. I haven't spoken with him for about a year. This is fairly common for me. I often wonder how I was born to a person so disinterested in my welfare. It was difficult growing up under his tyrannical rule. He tore apart the family several times, and it's at one of those points now. But I don't think it is ever going to be together again. I haven't spoken with my brother in many years. Something like seven or eight. My mother doesn't speak with him either. Neither does my father.

This year I felt like a commercial for an iPad because I "facetimed" with my mother in California. The technology is only 10 years too late, but that's OK. It was interesting to feel closer to someone because I could see her face over a distance of thousands of miles over a hand-held device. 

The next day I received the only birthday card I received this year. It was from my employer, the company, Virginia Eagle.

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I have been working out poetry in my mind. I'm trying to write a book called the Chris Hemsworth Sonnets. Sometimes I think it's genius. Other times I feel like it will not be taken seriously because of how funny it is at parts. I feel like the Glen Danzig of poetry. No one ever knew how to take the Misfits, and maybe the Misfits didn't know how they wanted to be taken. But my cult following is nowhere near as big.

I met Henry Rollins. I said something about Sons of Anarchy and we had a short conversation. We met at a gallery/art museum in DC that was showing old Punk and GoGo artifacts. It was amazing. There are pictures. When Henry Rollins was done DJ-ing and the party was over he walked out alone and waited for a taxi. I said "good-bye Henry Rollins, and thank you." He looked at me like he was trying to figure out if he knew me. He said "thank you" and got in a cab alone. I wish I did know Henry Rollins. I think he would appreciate my writing and my music. People these days have so many buffers around them. I'm not sure how I know as many people as I do.

After that, we met this guy named Jared, and we went to the after party, another gallery-cum-discotheque. The after after party was great, too. But the night was dissolving, so Mary and I bugged out and went to the hotel. 

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My birthday makes me somber. Sorry about this sad post after so long being away. I'm trying to work blogging back into my regular routine again. These flaws and starts are killing my writing.