Country Bumpkin Ding-Dang-Diddlies his Way to the Big City

So, this here yokel is damn near to deciding that he's going to move to New York City. Now, this doesn't imply that I've really given it much thought, cuz I haven't.

I've just decided.

Or, almost, kinda-sorta-maybe decided.

Now is the time in some blogs when the writer might ask for advice. But tell you what, I'm not going to do that, because honestly, I wouldn't listen. What the hell have you people done for me lately anyway, huh? (please, send money)

Not once in my life have I done something that really scared me, and in most cases I don't take chances. I played the lotto once, lost, it broke my heart, and I haven't been able to put myself out there like that again because I'm afraid of getting hurt. True story.


My current life in Alpine, Texas has not been bad, but that whole thing about not being able to go home again, well, I suppose I'm living the cliche. Things are strange and alien here, and in fear of keeping the cliches going, I feel like I'm losing myself. I don't even feel comfortable around old friends, ones I was sure with whom I could easily fall back into some sort of rhythm. But being back has me also questioning my own mind, who I am, and my abilities. An overall questionable mental health prevails. Paranoia, I fear, might have forced me into seclusion with my cats.

In their defense, they are pretty cool cats.

But this is not about the present. This is more about a radical future. Shit, for that matter, any future. Right now it's septic tanks, thousands of gallons of human waste week in and week out, sweat falling off me as this mama's boy struggles to maximize his shovel's efficiency.

On a side note, did you know you shouldn't flush condoms down the toilet? You should know that. Especially if you have a septic tank. Man, you'd be amazed what we find in the old ones we have to replace. (my boss told me about a lady who learned about her teenage daughter's sexual debauchery when she was able to see for herself the large amount of prophylactics in their septic tank. people are fucking stupid man)

But I wonder, are there gigs in New York City where i can participate in paid laboratory tests that are trying to get to the bottom of self-loathing, potentially using it as an alternative fuel source? I can power at least two boroughs. You know, if the science is available.


An old friend of mine lives there and his wife works for martha stewart. I'm thinking that's my in. That way I can seduce Martha and get her money. Plus, she can bake me a cake to get the awful taste of lost dignity out of my mouth, after doing the things (anything) I'm willing to do for that hot, sexy cash. And besides, she's not a bad lookin' lady. I'm sure she wouldn't say no to a young love slave of some sort.


Another point of concern: Are handlebar mustaches allowed in New York? Or did Guliani ban those as a part of his aggressive enforcement-deterrent strategy to crack down on crime?

That's a big concern for me, and a possible dealbreaker. (more on my mustache later. it's deserving of it's own blog post. maybe even it's own blog.)


If New York is indeed a decision I make, I figure I should have some sort of plan. You know, something to fall back on if Martha Stewart somehow manages to resist my advances, however dashing and gallant they would certainly be.


Already on my list of options is a well-paying freelance writing gig, as related to me by the same chap with the martha stewart-connected wife.

And how New York is this - it involves writing synopses of porno movies. It's funny because another friend, one who has rather philanthropically offered me futon rights in his apartment, had a similar first job, where he wrote product descriptions of sex toys to be sold online. Now, I'm not sure how resume-building such employment would be, but the pay is allegedly good. Plus I'm sure momma would be proud, along with every writing teacher who ever praised me.

It would certainly be a challenge. I mean, there are so many new writerly questions and obstacles. Do the back of porno movie DVDs follow AP style? Or the MLA format? I better get to researching these things, lest I embarrass myself while talking to a possible employer.

Mostly I fear that I would run out of synonyms for 'explosive cumshot.' (concussive orgasm? artilleryesque...umm...Pollock-esque.......I'll stop there.) But perhaps I'm projecting far too grammatical and literary eyes onto the fans of such entertainment. (Ha, I can see myself fretting over whether people were actually reading my work. Like: "But...but, do they understand me? Did they pick up on that Hemingway allusion in the last paragraph?")

All in all, I couldn't turn down a job that offered me the opportunity to, frustratingly stooped over a laptop trying to compose copy, yell to a roommate, "Quiet, dammit! I'm trying to work here!" over the background ambience moans of Gluteus to the Maximus.

Tardy Transmissions from Beyond the Bible Belt - Episode 1

As widely circulating reports have suggested, I, Josh Justice have indeed escaped the tyrannically tight belt that is Lubbock, and have tossed it along with its shiny buckle to the wayside. I can't say it was a a Great escape, certainly nothing of which Steve McQueen could be proud. Perhaps it was more of a whimpering crawl, a sort of duck and roll out of Lubbock and into...into...?


Alpine, Texas - population 5, 786, hometown of yours truly and site of such fame and infamy as, um...hmm...an Alco store? A True Value? I think one of the guys from Bonanza went to Sul Ross University, the college here, which locals sarcastically call Harvard on the Hill. I think they actually offer a major in Ropin'. But yeah, Dan Blocker.

Got his masters in drama here. Oh, and Arlo Guthrie (son of Woodie, grey-headed longhair, devourer of marijuana and mushrooms) once played the Railroad Blues bar, but demanded that nobody smoke. I asked my mom if there was anything I was forgetting, and all she could think of was that we may have had a minor league baseball team here many years ago.


I'm living with my parents again, moving into a room that greeted me with far too many scented Yankee candles and paintings of flowers on the walls. My stepdad constantly watches Fox News - won't watch any other news - but I'm eating far better than I deserve. If we talk about Iraq, it's seriously like we're talking about two completely different things. There's not even enough common ground to debate.

All over town there are signs posted in front yards that say SUPPORT THE TROOPS. LET THEM WIN!!

Yeah, two exclamation points on that last bit. I like to pretend that the signmaker(s) actually had to spend some time debating the perfect number. "One? Hmm, not enough, but three might be overkill. Better just to settle on two. That seems reasonable."

I'm considering writing a letter to the editor asking them exactly what we will win. I'm hoping it's our national dignity back, but since we can't blow the shit out of something for that, I figure that won't be the answer.

Why can't we support a victory over ambiguity and sloganeering? And also, sure, everybody's loves winning and hates losing, but isn't it also how you play the game? Why not post signs that say something like "GENEVA CONVENTIONS. LET THEM BE FOLLOWED!!"


But yeah, I digress. This is supposed to be about me, not politics.


I, a graduate of Texas Tech University, graduated with honors with a degree in Electronic Media and Communications. This qualifies me (barely I think) for my current job as...

...a ditch-digger. More precisely, I install septic tanks. Yeah, where waste (could have gone with all sorts of juvenalia here, but I tastefully refrain...for now) goes. It's hard labor, usually with a hand constantly on a shovel, a tape measure or piece of pipe waiting to be glued.

I certainly am unable to use anything I learned in college. But at the same time, I feel like I am gaining an education perhaps more valuable, one that brings with it useful and simple concepts of hard work, humility, concise communication, and on a side note, a greater appreciation for the outdoors. I mean seriously, who would have known I could have been a fan of the outdoors? I always considered myself an indoor kid. Damn, maybe I should have checked it out sooner.

We've been working in places like Study Butte, Terlingua and Lajitas, deep south of Texas...There is certainly something to be said for the wordless awe of the sheer geologic majesty of rock jutting out of the earth 6000 feet high, with white patches of salt deposits still lingering from the fact that it was once all under the ocean. I like to pretend that the air above highway 118 split by our vehicles was once an ocean depth split by sharks...after all, shark teeth are abundant here, especially around the tops of anthills, where the little bastards have brought up the dental evidence while making their elaborate tunnels.


Getting in better shape, gaining an understanding of beerdrinking with co-workers after a long day...these are things I like. Sometimes, as in the other weekend in Marfa, I am confronted with the concept of...hmm, maybe I'd call it shame or something, I'm not sure...but when asked, "So, what do you do?" by a not-unattractive female, I hesitate before boldly announcing, "I install septic tanks." If they grimace, I like to follow it up with, "Oh yeah, and I live with my parents."

That always makes them even more fascinated in me. I can tell.


I awake every morning to the television in the living room blaring Fox and Friends, the only show hosted by people that, honestly, if I had nothing left to lose in this world (i.e. I wouldn't feel guilty for going to prison/dying and leaving friends/family behind), would actually murder.

But that's dark. I had hoped there would be some hope in this blog. Or at least some hopeful twist on my current status. All I know is that I'm not unhappy. I miss friends from Lubbock. I do. And I'm not one to really admit, even to myself, that I need people. After years of considering myself a lover of solitude, I am ready to admit that maybe I'm a little restless with solitude.

My life is work, sleep, work, sleep, read, sleep, work. That "read" is valued ever more for its dwindled opportunities.


Oh, and in conclusion, besides the septic tank installing job, I have a job on the side with my mom. Yes, my own Mommy Dearest. We mow lawns. No shit. And she has a serious, legit job with the government - ICE, to be exact, ICE being Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

I call our little venture Mama's Boy Mowin'. We do good work.


Damn! How could I forget this? For those that know me as a bespectacled cynic in love with music, air conditioning, and watching b-movies while under the influence, you might be surprised to know that I've been driving one of these:



It's true. One of my first days on the job involved me driving that up a mountain to a job site. I also was wearing a cowboy hat and boots. That being said, my boss is a bit of an extravagant spender, so we have XM radio in the tractor. So, while I was driving this damn thing, I was able to listen to Morrissey's "Every Day is Like Sunday," which left me, possibly quite egotistically, with the notion that such a scenario had never quite occurred before. I mean really, how many people listen to mopey British dudes while driving a backhoe on the way to dig a 6-foot deep hole in which to put a septic tank?


Of course, immediately following Morrissey, I found and listened to a Creedence song. I basked in the feeling of appropriateness.

You gotta love the weather in Lubbock

So, god is pretty much rocking the shit out of us in Lubbock, TX today. I was going to have a drink...or five...at a local pub with some fellow work mates. We decided a place to go and then left the building of Mass Communications.

Now, before I continue with this, I want to remind all of you lovely readers than I work in the basement of said building. The other gentleman that was going to journey with me to the pub also works in the basement. So, basically I never know what the weather is doing until I leave to go home...or like today, the bar.

We walk out and notice it's starting to rain and it's pretty damn windy. And cloudy. Since there is construction pretty much surrounding Texas Tech campus, the wind also carries dirt. So, we are walking to our cars, being blown sideways by the wind, getting wet from the rain, and getting dirt in our eyes and mouth - also thanks to the wind. We leave to meet at the bar. While driving, it begins to rain harder and faster. Their is debris flying all over the place from the wind. Also, while trying to get to the bar, I notice several trees have been knocked down. The rain is coming down much harder and faster now; In fact, I can barely see anything and my wipers were on the fastest wipe setting. I thought about pulling over till it clears up...now, before I continue, let me tell you that storms in Lubbock either last for days or a few seconds...so I thought if I pulled over and waited, I could eventually continue driving when things cleared up a little.

Well, this would normally be a great idea. But Lubbock has a HUGE problem with flooding. So, if I pulled over anywhere along the way, it probably would have been worse, ie: my car could have gotten stuck or flooded out or something.

Oh, and did I mention the hail. Yeah, it also started hailing. So hard I was afraid my windows would crack and break and then it would raining (actually flooding) in my car.

So, I called my co-worker and we decided to take a rain check. Probably a good idea, given the hail, rain and winds.

Since I was heading towards my house anyway (the pub we were going to is close to my house) I headed on home. Well, I could still barely see anything. I was pretty scared. Finally I made it home to find the power had gone out twice. It went out twice more since I have been home. We (Eric and I) watched the news to figure out anything we could. Well, they were saying the storm was "blanketing" Lubbock with pea to marble size hail, massive amounts of rain, and 50-60 mile an hour winds. The best thing, they never really mentioned where this god-shitting on lubbock-type storm came from. It was a miracle storm. A shit-miracle storm.

I'm not saying storms like this don't happen elsewhere. But here in Lubbock, TX, one of the claimed buckles of the Bible Belt, we tend to get storms out of nowhere and then within minutes, they are gone. Actually,as I am finishing this, I can see the clouds moving on. This afternoon when I went to lunch it was great...well it was clear and sunny (I am a fan of cool, cold, cloudy weather).

I am sure there is an explanation for this...god likes pissing on Lubbock. Really, I mean this happens all the time. We will have a storm, within minutes it will clear up and it will look like nothing happened. Last winter, it started snowing one morning. By the end of that same day it was bright, warm and sunny. No more snow on the ground. It looked like there was never any snow on the ground anywhere.

My point is this...Lubbock's weather is fucking crazy. It changed hourly; by the minute even. There is no explanation for it...well I am sure there is, but no one around here seems to know it.

As much as I love cold, cloudy weather, I can not wait to get to a place where there is some standard on weather. A place that actually experiences all four seasons. It must be nice to know what the weather be like for days to come. I can not wait to leave the buckle, to leave Lubbock...to escape the Bible Belt.

The Gangly Arms of My Inner Child, Mid-Flail in a Temper Tantrum for the Ages

I found a job in Austin, and essentially, I could have my first day of work on July 9. That being said, I continue to look for other things, especially considering the doubts I have with the one I've found.

The job is with Texas Campaign for the Environment, a non-profit activist group, and I would basically be a canvasser. I would go door-to-door talking to people about the organization and health/environmental issues, and I would gather signatures, contributions to letter campaigns, and of course, financial contributions.

The last item there actually comes with certain required goals, and not meeting them means you may not get your full paycheck.

But even that may not explain my feelings of hesitation.

It may be the thought that I would have to take myself far too seriously and be bound to a memorized script.

I understand that in order to optimize the organization's reach and effectiveness, they train their workers to stick to a script, a script that has understandably undergone years (TCE Founded in 1991) of crafting, fine-tuning, editing and compacting into a tight message for maximum efficiency in minimum time. But I don't know if I would care to stick to it. We'll see. They are mailing it and other information to me so I can make a more informed decision in the following days.

I'm probably just making excuses. I'm sure the job would be better than some of the abominations I've found. And I can get behind the organization/my employer on a personal level. I mean, I wouldn't be working for a Corporate Multinational Globo-Chem-Pharma-No-Bid-Government-Contracting-Military-Industrial-
Complex-Bureau-Dept.-of-Greed. That's kinda nice.

Really though,
I'm just tired of looking for a job. (I realize I'm not alone in these feelings, and I am also aware I'm not entitled to any special sympathy just because I've written about it; I just need a brief reprieve from the soul-crushing drudgery of online jobhunting)

Apparently, I'm just going to have to get rich the old fashioned way.

Marrying a rich woman.

Hmmm...


What are my chances?

And besides being rich, she is improving her reading suggestions.

(Faulkner? Touche, Harpo Productions. But what about the latest Nicholas Spark's offering? ...No?)


Instead of job hunting, I've been thinking I could maybe make a video resume with me doing cool Patrick Swayze-Roadhouse shit mixed in with some state-of-the-art, multimedia tomfoolery and some friends providing inspiring testimonials about how I saved Christmas, went to school, joined the army, slam-dunked, went to camp, and also, Rode Again.

Wait, that last part may have been Ernest's career filmography, not actually anything to do with me. Sorry Jim Varney.

Anyway, then I could put it on youtube and wait til' the offers from Hollywood, Bollywood, Dollywood and James Woods come pouring in. Followed shortly by of course, the money.

Stay tuned for said video resume...

Job Possibility in Austin, TX

Here's a posting I found on craigslist. I think maybe I'm qualified. Perhaps...overqualified?

This, of course, was a job found under the "et cetera" category:

Semen Donors Needed

Fairfax Cryobank was established in 1986 and provides infertile
patients with anonymous donor semen in the United States and many foreign
countries. We are currently seeking healthy college educated men of all
backgrounds between the ages of 18 - 39. Donors earn approximately $150.00
per acceptable ejaculate. This program requires a six month commitment
and each donor is expected to produce one specimen per week on site.
The semen donation hours are Monday - Friday from 7:30 - 1:30 PM.
Apply online at www.123donate.com


"Expected to produce one specimen per week on site." That's all?

Do they pay time-and-a-half for overtime?

Sorry for the dick jokes. I swear there will be something a little higher brow later. But not today. It's Friday.