i just used the restroom. here at work in the "client" bathroom, the cleaning crew stocks a particular types of the little thin paper toilet seat covers. i say particular because in my extensive life experience, i've noticed two types: one with the center hole unattached from the outer ring, and one with the center hole attached in three places (12 o'clock, 3 o'clock, and 9 o'clock, if you are looking at the cover with the front facing down) by about a half-inch of paper that you have to rip before use. the "client" restroom has this latter type. almost every other restroom i've visited uses the former. with one memorable exception, and exception which causes me a reminiscence every time i use the "client" restroom: the whole state of oregon. i should say "seemingly" the whole state of oregon. why this is, i can't begin to wonder.
of course, as a well-adjusted human being, the question you are probably wont to ask is not "why oregon?" but instead "why do you remember oregon?" well, one day during my west coast trip last summer, i was stricken by a case of looseness, starting at the conclusion of a run and continuing several hours into the day. of course, this precipitated multiple trips to multiple restrooms--sometimes in a state of urgency--during which i wasn't terribly thrilled to have to take the extra three seconds to detach the middle hole of the toilet seat cover. you could say, then, that the oregon-style seat cover made a bit of an impression on me. any impression which continues to this day, thanks to the cleaning staff that stocks our "client" restroom with the damnable attached variety of toilet seat cover.
it's not all bad though: every time i use this restroom, i think of oregon, and by extension, of the whole trip. and it was an excellent trip indeed. and fortunately i remember the totality of the trip's excellence and not usually the specificity of the discomfort of that partial day in eugene, oregon.
so there might be a point in here somewhere. is it weird that i just brought up this silly semi-daily memory-jog? i don't really think so. for me, going to the bathroom is something that reminds me of a very nice vacation i took last year. non sequitor, perhaps, but it's a personal connection not an inherent one. people do this all the time. no, not shit. our lives today are just compilations of our experiences from yesterdays. i don't mean like deja vu or some kind of post-modern orginiality-is-dead thing, i only mean that everything we experience is necessarily founded in, or "biased" by (to use a loaded word in a nicely loaded way), everything in our past experiences. and this is good. this, from one perspective, is the essence of individuality, the essence of who we are as opposed to who they are. this is why we have and keep friends: they share and have shared so many past experiences with us, and so they tend to relate to us as we traipse our way through the world every day that we live in it.
at least, that's one way to look at it.
(as far as the weirdness question though: yeah, i'll give it to you that maybe it is weird in the sense that i've chose this many words to share the memory of my many loose movements in eugene in late august of 2006. i suppose that kind of forthrightness could be considered a little weird.)
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Lynch
Pathetic: I fell asleep while watching David Lynch's most recent film last night.
The excuses: 1) it's nearly a 3hr film, 2) I got through over two hours of it so it's not like I flaked twenty minutes in or something, and 3) I generally go to sleep around 12:30am every night, and the shameful act took place at approx 12:30am last night.
Even if I would have completed it last night, I would still not be writing about it to you now. You see, a Lynch film is not something that you watch and then make judgments about; you experience it, you dive in headfirst and then you wade around and soak in it for a while. You've got to give it time to fully marinate into you.
Anyway, I was thinking about this and it occurred to me that I never mentioned that I finally finished Lynch's short film collection a couple weeks ago. While there's not really much to say other than that if you like the man's work, you'll like his shorts. It's all about what you'd expect, including a good one called "The Grandmother" that is stylistically very reminiscent of Eraserhead. (Here's a question: do you italicize the names of short films, or do they only get quotes? I answer my own question in the previous sentence--I think shorts only get quotes--but by no means am I certain of this.)
In my opinion, there is one short in the small collection specifically worth mentioning, though: "The Amputee." This consists of a woman with both legs amputated above the knee sitting and writing while a nurse changes her dressings. There is a voice-over that we are to assume is the woman reading what she's written. As the nurse fumbles with the bandages, one of the stumps starts to more or less erupt with blood; it's a characteristically Lynchian disturbing image. But it interests me, as a sometime writer, in the way that it combines two separately disturbing sensory experiences: seeing the stump spew blood, and hearing the woman's letter-reading (the content of the letter is very spiteful, regretful, angry, accusatory, and basically any other kind of uncomfortable kind of human interactive state that you can think of). It takes these independent emotions and multiplies their intensity in a way that two more related emotions might not. Hearing the woman's pitiful letter is uncomfortable enough, but when complemented by the nurse's futile attempts, it becomes a very intense experience.
This personally interests me because when I write, or--more often--when I think about writing something, my seeming default mode of storytelling is to have a story intercut with sometimes disjointed or topically unrelated bits of story. So thanks, Mr Lynch, for helping to show my dense self the proper way to use multiple overlapping emotive triggers to escalate the overall feeling of a story.
And sorry both for failing to finish your film in one sitting and for failing to get myself to a theater to see it in the first place, even though it was playing for probably three months just three blocks from my apartment.
The excuses: 1) it's nearly a 3hr film, 2) I got through over two hours of it so it's not like I flaked twenty minutes in or something, and 3) I generally go to sleep around 12:30am every night, and the shameful act took place at approx 12:30am last night.
Even if I would have completed it last night, I would still not be writing about it to you now. You see, a Lynch film is not something that you watch and then make judgments about; you experience it, you dive in headfirst and then you wade around and soak in it for a while. You've got to give it time to fully marinate into you.
Anyway, I was thinking about this and it occurred to me that I never mentioned that I finally finished Lynch's short film collection a couple weeks ago. While there's not really much to say other than that if you like the man's work, you'll like his shorts. It's all about what you'd expect, including a good one called "The Grandmother" that is stylistically very reminiscent of Eraserhead. (Here's a question: do you italicize the names of short films, or do they only get quotes? I answer my own question in the previous sentence--I think shorts only get quotes--but by no means am I certain of this.)
In my opinion, there is one short in the small collection specifically worth mentioning, though: "The Amputee." This consists of a woman with both legs amputated above the knee sitting and writing while a nurse changes her dressings. There is a voice-over that we are to assume is the woman reading what she's written. As the nurse fumbles with the bandages, one of the stumps starts to more or less erupt with blood; it's a characteristically Lynchian disturbing image. But it interests me, as a sometime writer, in the way that it combines two separately disturbing sensory experiences: seeing the stump spew blood, and hearing the woman's letter-reading (the content of the letter is very spiteful, regretful, angry, accusatory, and basically any other kind of uncomfortable kind of human interactive state that you can think of). It takes these independent emotions and multiplies their intensity in a way that two more related emotions might not. Hearing the woman's pitiful letter is uncomfortable enough, but when complemented by the nurse's futile attempts, it becomes a very intense experience.
This personally interests me because when I write, or--more often--when I think about writing something, my seeming default mode of storytelling is to have a story intercut with sometimes disjointed or topically unrelated bits of story. So thanks, Mr Lynch, for helping to show my dense self the proper way to use multiple overlapping emotive triggers to escalate the overall feeling of a story.
And sorry both for failing to finish your film in one sitting and for failing to get myself to a theater to see it in the first place, even though it was playing for probably three months just three blocks from my apartment.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Film Review: Down By Law
i should call this "impressions of a film," because i'm not really doing anything academic or responsibly critical. and it's certainly not terribly thorough.
but before i get to last night's feature, i'd like to bum you out by sharing the utterly depressing observation i made last night: the sun is setting around 7:00pm now. in another short month, it will be 6:00, and then, god save us, on november 4th, it will be dark before 5:00. you go to hell, nature. you go straight to hell.
Down By Law, 1986, Jim Jarmusch. Fairly early in this film I decided that the visual style was decidedly Japanese, at least so far as I am familiar with Japanese. The long sideways tracking shots of the opening and the almost always excellent composition of the people within the frames, usually just sitting and talking, reminded me of everything that I like so much about older Japanese films. Of course the fact that this film is shot in black and white only serves to heighten the recognition.
You could also say that the film is gritty, but it's not necessarily shot that way; I think the grittiness comes almost solely from the settings: the swamps of Louisiana and the run-down streets of New Orleans. These settings are so rich though that they really do serve as another character, never fading into the distance or simply serving as a canvas. For instance, the escapees are almost constantly wading through the swamp, or along the water, or in a boat, making comments about their surroundings. Or earlier in the film, Tom Waits is shown for a fairly long time outside in the street sitting on the garbage-(his garbage)-strewn curb. To me, this stuff was obviously put in on purpose, to make this film not just about the story but about the place, and to pit the characters not just against themselves but against the world around them. There is not anything abstract or even metaphorical about these settings.
To me, this film seems like a particular snapshot of Americana, and within that, it gives an odd kind of perverse sense of the American Dream. I say "perverse" because it's not really the cliched American Dream, more the Outsider's American Dream (in fact, it's anti-cliche in another way: you could also call this a buddy movie but the two buddies in this film spend the whole time antagonizing each other and refusing ever to acknowledge their buddy-ness. They want only to separate and at the end that's exactly what they do, without any melodrama or sentimentality). The two protagonists don't want any kind of domestic happiness or social acceptance or comfort; all they seem to want is freedom. Freedom from the law, freedom from money, freedom from women. Actually--freedom from what would traditionally be considered the American Dream.
When Tom Waits's girlfriend is yelling at him and telling him it's finished, he is silent. It doesn't seem to bother him that she's leaving, or even that all his possessions are scattered on the street. He simply picks up his shoes and goes. Similarly, when John Lurie's prostitute (girlfriend?) is giving him a dissertation on his failed life, he is unconcerned and isn't even paying attention, relieved when the phone rings.
I haven't yet mentioned who I consider the antagonist of this film--Roberto Benigni's character--but he plays a very important role. (This is the same Roberto Benigni of Life is Beautiful and Oscar-speech fame.) See, this character is pining for the traditional American Dream: in the middle of their fugitive run, he decides to settle down, get married, run a restaurant with his wife, and generally live happily ever after in his own personal slice of heaven. He's also the catalyst for the friendship of the two protagonists. And he rather obviously helps to prove my earlier point when the protagonists refuse his offers to stay with him and quite literally walk away from his American Dream. Beyond all that, he's just damned entertaining. You've heard it before, but you really can't take your eyes off of him while he's on screen. Let's just say I was very impressed.
I've said a lot of bad things about American film of the 1980s, so this might not be much coming from me, but I'd have to put this fairly high on my list of best 80s movies. It's only my second Jarmusch film, but it's quite a lot better than Broken Flowers.
but before i get to last night's feature, i'd like to bum you out by sharing the utterly depressing observation i made last night: the sun is setting around 7:00pm now. in another short month, it will be 6:00, and then, god save us, on november 4th, it will be dark before 5:00. you go to hell, nature. you go straight to hell.
Down By Law, 1986, Jim Jarmusch. Fairly early in this film I decided that the visual style was decidedly Japanese, at least so far as I am familiar with Japanese. The long sideways tracking shots of the opening and the almost always excellent composition of the people within the frames, usually just sitting and talking, reminded me of everything that I like so much about older Japanese films. Of course the fact that this film is shot in black and white only serves to heighten the recognition.
You could also say that the film is gritty, but it's not necessarily shot that way; I think the grittiness comes almost solely from the settings: the swamps of Louisiana and the run-down streets of New Orleans. These settings are so rich though that they really do serve as another character, never fading into the distance or simply serving as a canvas. For instance, the escapees are almost constantly wading through the swamp, or along the water, or in a boat, making comments about their surroundings. Or earlier in the film, Tom Waits is shown for a fairly long time outside in the street sitting on the garbage-(his garbage)-strewn curb. To me, this stuff was obviously put in on purpose, to make this film not just about the story but about the place, and to pit the characters not just against themselves but against the world around them. There is not anything abstract or even metaphorical about these settings.
To me, this film seems like a particular snapshot of Americana, and within that, it gives an odd kind of perverse sense of the American Dream. I say "perverse" because it's not really the cliched American Dream, more the Outsider's American Dream (in fact, it's anti-cliche in another way: you could also call this a buddy movie but the two buddies in this film spend the whole time antagonizing each other and refusing ever to acknowledge their buddy-ness. They want only to separate and at the end that's exactly what they do, without any melodrama or sentimentality). The two protagonists don't want any kind of domestic happiness or social acceptance or comfort; all they seem to want is freedom. Freedom from the law, freedom from money, freedom from women. Actually--freedom from what would traditionally be considered the American Dream.
When Tom Waits's girlfriend is yelling at him and telling him it's finished, he is silent. It doesn't seem to bother him that she's leaving, or even that all his possessions are scattered on the street. He simply picks up his shoes and goes. Similarly, when John Lurie's prostitute (girlfriend?) is giving him a dissertation on his failed life, he is unconcerned and isn't even paying attention, relieved when the phone rings.
I haven't yet mentioned who I consider the antagonist of this film--Roberto Benigni's character--but he plays a very important role. (This is the same Roberto Benigni of Life is Beautiful and Oscar-speech fame.) See, this character is pining for the traditional American Dream: in the middle of their fugitive run, he decides to settle down, get married, run a restaurant with his wife, and generally live happily ever after in his own personal slice of heaven. He's also the catalyst for the friendship of the two protagonists. And he rather obviously helps to prove my earlier point when the protagonists refuse his offers to stay with him and quite literally walk away from his American Dream. Beyond all that, he's just damned entertaining. You've heard it before, but you really can't take your eyes off of him while he's on screen. Let's just say I was very impressed.
I've said a lot of bad things about American film of the 1980s, so this might not be much coming from me, but I'd have to put this fairly high on my list of best 80s movies. It's only my second Jarmusch film, but it's quite a lot better than Broken Flowers.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
A Very Short Story
Life to b4
John had just been castled: scorned and sent away by his friends. His queen had long since flown the coop; fate had sent her along with a dashing and daring young knight. John was afraid and disconsolate. He decided to lie down and take a nap. When he awoke his queen--indeed his whole kingdom--had returned to how it had always been. He was confused. And extremely disappointed.
John had just been castled: scorned and sent away by his friends. His queen had long since flown the coop; fate had sent her along with a dashing and daring young knight. John was afraid and disconsolate. He decided to lie down and take a nap. When he awoke his queen--indeed his whole kingdom--had returned to how it had always been. He was confused. And extremely disappointed.
Read This
http://www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com/catalog/titledetail.cfm?textType=excerpt&titleNumber=689793
i hope that link works for you. i'll admit that i was first tipped off to the existence of this in New York Magazine's Approval Matrix. however, seeing as Mr David Foster Wallace is both my favorite and most in-awe-of living writer, i would surely have stumbled across this fairly soon anyway.
sometimes you read something and it's less that the words on the page (or screen) project your eyes forward through the piece, but more that your almost mystic recognition of the idea and its presentation is so innate that it's as if you're looking in a mirror--not really seeing anything particular because it's always been there--but instead swimming around in it, comprehending all of it at once.
here is the conclusion, because he's a better communicator than myself:
".......the revelation that most of what you’ve believed and revered turns out to be self-indulgent crap.
That [idea]’s of especial value, I think. As exquisite verbal art, yes, but also as a model for what free, informed adulthood might look like in the context of Total Noise: not just the intelligence to discern one’s own error or stupidity, but the humility to address it, absorb it, and move on and out there from, bravely, toward the next revealed error. This is probably the sincerest, most biased account of ‘Best’ [I] can give: these pieces are models — not templates, but models — of ways I wish I could think and live in what seems to me this world."
i hope that link works for you. i'll admit that i was first tipped off to the existence of this in New York Magazine's Approval Matrix. however, seeing as Mr David Foster Wallace is both my favorite and most in-awe-of living writer, i would surely have stumbled across this fairly soon anyway.
sometimes you read something and it's less that the words on the page (or screen) project your eyes forward through the piece, but more that your almost mystic recognition of the idea and its presentation is so innate that it's as if you're looking in a mirror--not really seeing anything particular because it's always been there--but instead swimming around in it, comprehending all of it at once.
here is the conclusion, because he's a better communicator than myself:
".......the revelation that most of what you’ve believed and revered turns out to be self-indulgent crap.
That [idea]’s of especial value, I think. As exquisite verbal art, yes, but also as a model for what free, informed adulthood might look like in the context of Total Noise: not just the intelligence to discern one’s own error or stupidity, but the humility to address it, absorb it, and move on and out there from, bravely, toward the next revealed error. This is probably the sincerest, most biased account of ‘Best’ [I] can give: these pieces are models — not templates, but models — of ways I wish I could think and live in what seems to me this world."
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Film Review
i was watching the NewsHour last night and they had an interview with a guy who wrote a book about how the internet is destroying our culture, mainly because blogs and the like are cluttering our consciousness with mindless crap, unfortunately taking the place of more traditional cultural mainstays. i think i agree with his point; however, one point that i do not agree with him on: he thinks that people should be passive consumers or absorbers of culture rather than having a hand in it's production. i might be taking his view very slightly out of context but that's the nut and quite obviously i don't share that viewpoint.
nonetheless, to respond to his first point, i'd like to provide you with a review of the film i watched last night, The Man With the Movie Camera. to be honest, this isn't completely a response to the interviewee whose name i can't now recall, but actually a longstanding idea i've had that was catalyzed by him. i tend to watch a lot of movies, and read a fair share of books, so why not share my thoughts? also, i'm terribly presumptuous and, worse, sometimes pretentious. can't think of better qualifiers to produce "cultural" reviews.
so, the first thing to know about this film (snobs don't watch "movies." (pathetic irony how that word appears in the title of this particular film--yes)) is that it was made in 1929. the second thing to know is that, in spite of its status as a silent film, it should be considered quite a bit ahead of its time. the third is that i always like to play the commentary track of a film and rewatch the whole thing right after completing it sans-commentary the first time, but in this instance i was dead tired and fell asleep right at the beginning of a delightful frenchman's thoughts on the film; therefore, whatever i say here has no reference point and might be way off base.
anyway, i'd heartily recommend this to anyone who appreciates editing or notices camerawork. the director, Dziga Vertov, states very plainly at the opening credits that this is an "experiment" in filmmaking, and the results are suitably excellent. i don't know how much mr Vertov produced prior to this but i got the feeling that he was simply fascinated by the ability to film things moving. there is a small section in the middle of the film where he stops and goes through a procession of still images, then loops back through and puts those images into motion. this played to me as some kind of exhilaratory action by the director, and probably reinforced to the audiences at the time just how amazing what they were watching was.
in fact, regarding the audience in 1929: i can't help but imagine that for them, watching this film must have been akin to sitting through a high-tech magic show--images constantly flashing across the screen, trains seemingly running into each other, buildings moving kaleidoscopically--all set to a rather rousing if disorienting soundtrack. not to offend mr internet-blathering-is-bad, but i've got to say my favorite scene is one where the camera is mounted on a moving car and filming another cameraman shooting mounted on another moving car at people riding in a third moving car. it's excellent and as good as anything you see even today.
the film is only just over an hour but feels longer thanks to the almost infinite amount of things happening on the screen and the very very short length of most of the shots. there is much to see and not much time to see it so you end up becoming more passive and giving up looking for plot or themes or emotion and you see the film only as what it is and what it is intended to be: an experiment in a then-relatively-new artistic medium.
there is a lot more to say but i don't feel like boring you, but generally don't think too hard about this one and just appreciate the craft. if you're into this sort of thing, it will be very hard not to want to go get your own camera and have at it like mr Vertov.
nonetheless, to respond to his first point, i'd like to provide you with a review of the film i watched last night, The Man With the Movie Camera. to be honest, this isn't completely a response to the interviewee whose name i can't now recall, but actually a longstanding idea i've had that was catalyzed by him. i tend to watch a lot of movies, and read a fair share of books, so why not share my thoughts? also, i'm terribly presumptuous and, worse, sometimes pretentious. can't think of better qualifiers to produce "cultural" reviews.
so, the first thing to know about this film (snobs don't watch "movies." (pathetic irony how that word appears in the title of this particular film--yes)) is that it was made in 1929. the second thing to know is that, in spite of its status as a silent film, it should be considered quite a bit ahead of its time. the third is that i always like to play the commentary track of a film and rewatch the whole thing right after completing it sans-commentary the first time, but in this instance i was dead tired and fell asleep right at the beginning of a delightful frenchman's thoughts on the film; therefore, whatever i say here has no reference point and might be way off base.
anyway, i'd heartily recommend this to anyone who appreciates editing or notices camerawork. the director, Dziga Vertov, states very plainly at the opening credits that this is an "experiment" in filmmaking, and the results are suitably excellent. i don't know how much mr Vertov produced prior to this but i got the feeling that he was simply fascinated by the ability to film things moving. there is a small section in the middle of the film where he stops and goes through a procession of still images, then loops back through and puts those images into motion. this played to me as some kind of exhilaratory action by the director, and probably reinforced to the audiences at the time just how amazing what they were watching was.
in fact, regarding the audience in 1929: i can't help but imagine that for them, watching this film must have been akin to sitting through a high-tech magic show--images constantly flashing across the screen, trains seemingly running into each other, buildings moving kaleidoscopically--all set to a rather rousing if disorienting soundtrack. not to offend mr internet-blathering-is-bad, but i've got to say my favorite scene is one where the camera is mounted on a moving car and filming another cameraman shooting mounted on another moving car at people riding in a third moving car. it's excellent and as good as anything you see even today.
the film is only just over an hour but feels longer thanks to the almost infinite amount of things happening on the screen and the very very short length of most of the shots. there is much to see and not much time to see it so you end up becoming more passive and giving up looking for plot or themes or emotion and you see the film only as what it is and what it is intended to be: an experiment in a then-relatively-new artistic medium.
there is a lot more to say but i don't feel like boring you, but generally don't think too hard about this one and just appreciate the craft. if you're into this sort of thing, it will be very hard not to want to go get your own camera and have at it like mr Vertov.
Monday, September 17, 2007
damnit. i'm a moody son of a bitch. lately.
yesterday i was scribbling in my little notebook for some reason about how i felt like i was on acid and everything was perfectly obvious and slow and peaceful. i felt completely content but yet simultaneously there was a profound sense of disappointment and emptiness. i was experiencing seemingly diametric emotions at the same time. i'd taken moodiness into some higher level. over-moodiness. over-emotion. over-loaded.
i wrote a few little bits over the weekend but i don't really feel like posting them here so blugh, blah, bleggghh.
while i was jotting some random crap down saturday night a fairly cute girl sat down with a friend next to me on the ledge against the window. she seemed curious and started talking to me at odd intervals. she was intrigued by something: me, evidently. i was polite and returned words then excused myself when it was time to leave by declaring the pleasantness of the slight conversation and then kissing her hand like someone in an awful Jane Austen novel. i should just say "Jane Austen novel" as the adjective there is superfluous. but the gesture wasn't chivalric; it was perfectly natural. and now i wonder if i should have done more.
also saturday night: i caught a girl "checking me out" and then overheard her tell her friend that she thought i had an "awesome outfit." that is both terrible and great and i am same for thinking it is so. this one didn't come up and talk to me like the one in the last paragraph did. probably for the best.
i should be at the gym now or at least running but i just don't feel like it. i don't think i'm simply having a weekend hangover now either, as is usually the case on mondays. my life is quite full three days out of a week.
i feel like a dandelion that a five year old just blew to pieces. it was quite a rush but now there's nothing left, nothing but seeds drifting floating lonely out across the world perhaps never to take root at all. but perhaps yes. who knows? i'm sick of metaphors for now and don't much care anyway.
yesterday i was scribbling in my little notebook for some reason about how i felt like i was on acid and everything was perfectly obvious and slow and peaceful. i felt completely content but yet simultaneously there was a profound sense of disappointment and emptiness. i was experiencing seemingly diametric emotions at the same time. i'd taken moodiness into some higher level. over-moodiness. over-emotion. over-loaded.
i wrote a few little bits over the weekend but i don't really feel like posting them here so blugh, blah, bleggghh.
while i was jotting some random crap down saturday night a fairly cute girl sat down with a friend next to me on the ledge against the window. she seemed curious and started talking to me at odd intervals. she was intrigued by something: me, evidently. i was polite and returned words then excused myself when it was time to leave by declaring the pleasantness of the slight conversation and then kissing her hand like someone in an awful Jane Austen novel. i should just say "Jane Austen novel" as the adjective there is superfluous. but the gesture wasn't chivalric; it was perfectly natural. and now i wonder if i should have done more.
also saturday night: i caught a girl "checking me out" and then overheard her tell her friend that she thought i had an "awesome outfit." that is both terrible and great and i am same for thinking it is so. this one didn't come up and talk to me like the one in the last paragraph did. probably for the best.
i should be at the gym now or at least running but i just don't feel like it. i don't think i'm simply having a weekend hangover now either, as is usually the case on mondays. my life is quite full three days out of a week.
i feel like a dandelion that a five year old just blew to pieces. it was quite a rush but now there's nothing left, nothing but seeds drifting floating lonely out across the world perhaps never to take root at all. but perhaps yes. who knows? i'm sick of metaphors for now and don't much care anyway.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
on love
who's in a good mood today? josh folger, that's who. the weather this morning walking to the subway was just perfect: no wind, no humidity, sun, maybe just over 60 degrees. just a sublime pre-fall morning. makes someone like me wish he were running--fast, feeling the vacant hollow air as he creates his own headwind, getting warm, sweating a little but not ridiculously, only so much that the manufactured breeze just slightly chills his clammy skin. just perfect.
someone here at work spilled a cup of coffee in front of the reception desk and i was helping clean it up and now the fingertips of my right hand smell like gingerbread cookies. i'm not going to wash them until absolutely necessary.
a girl came into the F train this morning and occupied the seat directly below where i was standing and reading a printed six-page article concerning the poor season of Atlanta Braves centerfielder Andruw Jones. even within the glaze of usual morning fogginess, the subway blank stare phenomenon, and the absorption of reading materials, a man can always instinctively recognize exactly when a very attractive woman boards a train in his vicinity. he is always thus instantly snapped out of meditation into anticipation. i can't really compare this to anything else; quite surely nature is full of analagous involuntary events, what with the universal dispossession of large swaths of minutae-filled, distracted human brain power. anyway, this girl/woman was certainly attractive, and she chose to sit right in front of me, directly behind my studious (you can "study" baseball) field of vision.
more about the girl now: she was maybe 5'8" or 9" in normal heels, she had short very black very smooth hair that fell around her face like parentheses, she was on the skinny side but not annoyingly so, she had smallish facial features, beautifully lush lips, and a mouth that didn't quite seem to close all the way as she read, and she had a marvellously dark and textured skin, as if the richness of the color produced the smoothness of its texture. all in all, but mostly judging on the skin color, she had the look of a Thai or Vietnamese or even New Guinean person. somewhere southeast asian, most likely. actually her skin had definite olive tones as well, and so maybe she could be Egyptian or Persian or that type. i'm not sure. the important thing to know is that the sum of her was beauty--reserved, graceful, dignified, effortless, and comfortable beauty.
why do i now spend so much time on this girl (it's now been longer in the recounting than the actual time spent admiring this morning)? because she taught me something about love.
when your senses are attuned correctly, it's very easy to fall in love. i suppose i'm cheating by adding that qualifier, but it's really much easier to fall for someone than nearly everyone in this world would have you believe.
i think i fell in love with that girl this morning in just the five to ten minutes we shared a piece of physical existence. i think that this could happen relatively often, and i don't think there is any shame in this, or that it renders more meaningless any previous emotional relationships you or i or anyone may have had. the difference is in the next step: the communication; if you can carry over that initial burst of emotive joy into discussion with a person, then you're starting to go places. and if that then carries over into physicality, and then into comfort, and then into some kind of effortless mutual existence, and so on, well then you've got all you need, the only person you'll ever need (i won't say "wife" cause marriage is silly and arbitrary). so of course all those progressive steps are important, but perhaps the first step, not simply the attraction but the production of love, is the most important. and it's the easiest to achieve, by far. isn't that wonderful?
thank you girl on the subway. thank you whatever put me in the right status of being. thank you to all the numerous future Aphrodites in my life.
someone here at work spilled a cup of coffee in front of the reception desk and i was helping clean it up and now the fingertips of my right hand smell like gingerbread cookies. i'm not going to wash them until absolutely necessary.
a girl came into the F train this morning and occupied the seat directly below where i was standing and reading a printed six-page article concerning the poor season of Atlanta Braves centerfielder Andruw Jones. even within the glaze of usual morning fogginess, the subway blank stare phenomenon, and the absorption of reading materials, a man can always instinctively recognize exactly when a very attractive woman boards a train in his vicinity. he is always thus instantly snapped out of meditation into anticipation. i can't really compare this to anything else; quite surely nature is full of analagous involuntary events, what with the universal dispossession of large swaths of minutae-filled, distracted human brain power. anyway, this girl/woman was certainly attractive, and she chose to sit right in front of me, directly behind my studious (you can "study" baseball) field of vision.
more about the girl now: she was maybe 5'8" or 9" in normal heels, she had short very black very smooth hair that fell around her face like parentheses, she was on the skinny side but not annoyingly so, she had smallish facial features, beautifully lush lips, and a mouth that didn't quite seem to close all the way as she read, and she had a marvellously dark and textured skin, as if the richness of the color produced the smoothness of its texture. all in all, but mostly judging on the skin color, she had the look of a Thai or Vietnamese or even New Guinean person. somewhere southeast asian, most likely. actually her skin had definite olive tones as well, and so maybe she could be Egyptian or Persian or that type. i'm not sure. the important thing to know is that the sum of her was beauty--reserved, graceful, dignified, effortless, and comfortable beauty.
why do i now spend so much time on this girl (it's now been longer in the recounting than the actual time spent admiring this morning)? because she taught me something about love.
when your senses are attuned correctly, it's very easy to fall in love. i suppose i'm cheating by adding that qualifier, but it's really much easier to fall for someone than nearly everyone in this world would have you believe.
i think i fell in love with that girl this morning in just the five to ten minutes we shared a piece of physical existence. i think that this could happen relatively often, and i don't think there is any shame in this, or that it renders more meaningless any previous emotional relationships you or i or anyone may have had. the difference is in the next step: the communication; if you can carry over that initial burst of emotive joy into discussion with a person, then you're starting to go places. and if that then carries over into physicality, and then into comfort, and then into some kind of effortless mutual existence, and so on, well then you've got all you need, the only person you'll ever need (i won't say "wife" cause marriage is silly and arbitrary). so of course all those progressive steps are important, but perhaps the first step, not simply the attraction but the production of love, is the most important. and it's the easiest to achieve, by far. isn't that wonderful?
thank you girl on the subway. thank you whatever put me in the right status of being. thank you to all the numerous future Aphrodites in my life.
Monday, September 10, 2007
A Lyrical Log
Friday, September 7, 2007
9:05pm
Words and noise
Poets everywhere but I'm square.
The blacks do it best,
I don't know why, they rise and fly.
Under a tree,
Disappointed?--No, unannointed.
Tuck away my pipe,
Unable to think, may need a drink.
I'm a poet?
But don't know it?
I think it's best
to live and love--live laugh bleed cry and love love love.
1:20am
So now I'm left alone,
Fifth of a Guinness
Staring at me like a gnome.
I'm terrified.
It can cause me great joy,
A fifth of a Guinness,
Or at least a pining for a sharp Rob Roy.
I'm excited.
The solitude lets me hear things,
Jealousy of my Guinness.
Everyone else wants to have wings.
I'm confused.
Consensus here states I'm awesome.
Respect for the Guinness.
Women expect me to make them come.
I'm transcendent.
3:58am
Ooooooooooohhh jeez.
Walking home, just perved a beav.
Hot hot bitch she's smokin.
I don't know whether she's jokin,
But she smiled at me--
--with her mouth--
And I took my time,
But I made her a rhyme.
Now she's more than just a smiling crotch,
She's a friend, a lover,
Enough to make you cut a notch
Into your bed..........stead.
Ya I'm loving this wild one,
She's a smiling quiet one,
A jezebel in a striped dress,
Makes me sit like a ruined mess.
But it's love, love,
Some weird kind of love.
I can't stop staring into the depths of that mouth.
You got to have it,
Not just a habit.
Older ladies crying shames mysterious games jealous flames.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Time unknown
Sitting on a chair thank you stranger.
Looking at Doc's I'll get there eventually.
Can't write straight--regrets--drinking--
Not entirely me.
I think I'm a hack but what do I know,
Just sitting here watching the hos.......
Pass by.........my face.
Not interested.
E Village artists are impressing my senses,
Much more than this G-2 can present it.
Sorry.
Wish I were a natural.
Would jot and scratch my way to an immortal--
--ity. On my knee. Give it to me. With glee.
Unknown vibrations,
Waiting, searching, for the essential libations.
Stop. Here.
I'll be back in a minute.
Got to pee then
Happenstance will finish it.
1:51am
In the window at Doc's.
Asian chicks with crocs.
AC dripping on my cock.
Wish that i were a grandfather clock.
No stop.
I'm going to flip the switch,
To be the muse
To project the music
And not to hear it.
Fuck you.
2:20am
Now I've stopped being the jester.
Over in the crack-ho seat
Feeling light as a feather.
Goddamn you goddamn
I'm a fucking poet
I just can't sit here and ignore it.
Sometimes life takes you by the hand
Sometimes life take you by the balls
Sometimes life takes you up up up up and a-fucking-way.
I'm gone--
Beyond, flown on.
Shit happens.
Sometimes I happen to you.
Sometimes you happen to me.
It's free.
It's quietly astronomy
I don't believe in voodoo
But you do
And since I love you
I guess I do too.
9:05pm
Words and noise
Poets everywhere but I'm square.
The blacks do it best,
I don't know why, they rise and fly.
Under a tree,
Disappointed?--No, unannointed.
Tuck away my pipe,
Unable to think, may need a drink.
I'm a poet?
But don't know it?
I think it's best
to live and love--live laugh bleed cry and love love love.
1:20am
So now I'm left alone,
Fifth of a Guinness
Staring at me like a gnome.
I'm terrified.
It can cause me great joy,
A fifth of a Guinness,
Or at least a pining for a sharp Rob Roy.
I'm excited.
The solitude lets me hear things,
Jealousy of my Guinness.
Everyone else wants to have wings.
I'm confused.
Consensus here states I'm awesome.
Respect for the Guinness.
Women expect me to make them come.
I'm transcendent.
3:58am
Ooooooooooohhh jeez.
Walking home, just perved a beav.
Hot hot bitch she's smokin.
I don't know whether she's jokin,
But she smiled at me--
--with her mouth--
And I took my time,
But I made her a rhyme.
Now she's more than just a smiling crotch,
She's a friend, a lover,
Enough to make you cut a notch
Into your bed..........stead.
Ya I'm loving this wild one,
She's a smiling quiet one,
A jezebel in a striped dress,
Makes me sit like a ruined mess.
But it's love, love,
Some weird kind of love.
I can't stop staring into the depths of that mouth.
You got to have it,
Not just a habit.
Older ladies crying shames mysterious games jealous flames.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Time unknown
Sitting on a chair thank you stranger.
Looking at Doc's I'll get there eventually.
Can't write straight--regrets--drinking--
Not entirely me.
I think I'm a hack but what do I know,
Just sitting here watching the hos.......
Pass by.........my face.
Not interested.
E Village artists are impressing my senses,
Much more than this G-2 can present it.
Sorry.
Wish I were a natural.
Would jot and scratch my way to an immortal--
--ity. On my knee. Give it to me. With glee.
Unknown vibrations,
Waiting, searching, for the essential libations.
Stop. Here.
I'll be back in a minute.
Got to pee then
Happenstance will finish it.
1:51am
In the window at Doc's.
Asian chicks with crocs.
AC dripping on my cock.
Wish that i were a grandfather clock.
No stop.
I'm going to flip the switch,
To be the muse
To project the music
And not to hear it.
Fuck you.
2:20am
Now I've stopped being the jester.
Over in the crack-ho seat
Feeling light as a feather.
Goddamn you goddamn
I'm a fucking poet
I just can't sit here and ignore it.
Sometimes life takes you by the hand
Sometimes life take you by the balls
Sometimes life takes you up up up up and a-fucking-way.
I'm gone--
Beyond, flown on.
Shit happens.
Sometimes I happen to you.
Sometimes you happen to me.
It's free.
It's quietly astronomy
I don't believe in voodoo
But you do
And since I love you
I guess I do too.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Drunk log
Friday, August 31, 2007
11:55pm - Well we've made it out this evening and the recovery of me seems fairly legit at the moment. God Bless Dave. That's all I'll say about that.
Times are so far good. I feel bad about Ellie. Here she is, always asking us to hang out with her on her early-off day (which is Monday) and lo and behold we were partying hard this very Monday but nowhere near her place. Sorry, legitimately. Better foresight next time.
Natalie, my former fiancee, seems very much disinterested. I don't blame her: I'm a disinteresting person sometimes. It's okay though--we weren't really right for each other anyway. You gotta try though, you gotta try. Alack and alas.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
12:20pm - I just can't say no right now. Can't say no to the events of my life as they unfold organically in front of my face and over my head.
12:23pm - I'm thinking the 'boats against the currents' line from Gatsby now but not quite morose--or douche--enough to transcribe it fully.
12:28pm - On from Camelot, for love, for fear, with regret or not, The Lady of Shalott.
There's some fucking morosity for you. Probably some Double-D Douche, too.
I spite myself in sickness and in health.
5:17pm - So what did we learn from the OSU bar earlier?
1. I am not, in fact, a poet.
2. Semi-hot waitresses like to hit on Hudik and I.
3. I'm so awesome that I didn't even solicit a number.
7:05pm - Well shit. A wonderfully attractive African Queen has been making eyes at me here at Rudy's. Believe it or not but I might actually be a little embarrassed. First I thought she was alone so I eye-d back at her and was 10 seconds from walking over and making it happen. Then I noticed the second beer at her table. She was not ashamed and kept the intoxicatingly obvious distance-flirt going. Then I noticed the ridiculously thuggish dude finally appear at her table. Then I pondered what it would be like to get in a fight at 7 on a Saturday afternoon in Hell's Kitchen. With a thug. Then I enlisted Tony to take out his legs for me. Of course, because she's a woman and I'm a man, she kept up the game. God bless her. So it's fun.
7:12pm - D-bags just questioned my write-itude. Called my shit "chicken scratch." I said no it's my very own kind of Chinese characters.
7:20pm- I just was talking to Tony about his nice New Balance kicks. He's proud of the blue on them. I thought they looked suspiciously big so I put my thumb on the toe like a guy at Foot Locker.....and........what do you fucking know but he's cheating by a good inch. I don't think I blame him what with those freakishly tiny feet.........but, lo............here's the rub.........he takes off the shoe...........and he's cheating in a SIZE SEVEN. God Bless Tony. It's nice to know a (fully grown) human being who has to cheat his way into a size 7.
11:26pm - dba pony tail john lennon glasses good luck with life. I've been feeling much more asshole-ish in the last couple hours. I guess that's a bad thing. People aren't necessarily reacting poorly yet.
11:33pm - You know I've been having some seriously f-ed up dreams lately. Can't even transcribe the one from last night. Suffice to say I was acting unconsciously obnoxious and seriously seriously angering a few people whom I would reall really not want to anger. So it's weird cause it didn't actually happen but it felt real so still I feel bad. Shame, I suppose.
Time unknown - Thank goodness for Ellie, that wonderful SOB. If it weren't for her, I'd still be bleeding like a madman, unconsciously waiting for others to say hell yeah. Ellie allows me to be totally drunk in an E Village park, twixt 1st and A. Good luck to you. I used to barf in here, but thankfully not tonight. My shame tonight is that I might start bleeding like a fountain any moment. Good Luck, Go Drunk my dad is off his tree right now.
Time unknown - I fight and beg to be within the line. I wrote a poem for the girl at Tonic. Love happens.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
9:38pm - Feeling.............I'm definitely-------------feeling the Sweater Song now.
Ode to Snatch incarnating itself. Supagood. I yearn for a flowering cornucopia of cunt.
11:55pm - Well we've made it out this evening and the recovery of me seems fairly legit at the moment. God Bless Dave. That's all I'll say about that.
Times are so far good. I feel bad about Ellie. Here she is, always asking us to hang out with her on her early-off day (which is Monday) and lo and behold we were partying hard this very Monday but nowhere near her place. Sorry, legitimately. Better foresight next time.
Natalie, my former fiancee, seems very much disinterested. I don't blame her: I'm a disinteresting person sometimes. It's okay though--we weren't really right for each other anyway. You gotta try though, you gotta try. Alack and alas.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
12:20pm - I just can't say no right now. Can't say no to the events of my life as they unfold organically in front of my face and over my head.
12:23pm - I'm thinking the 'boats against the currents' line from Gatsby now but not quite morose--or douche--enough to transcribe it fully.
12:28pm - On from Camelot, for love, for fear, with regret or not, The Lady of Shalott.
There's some fucking morosity for you. Probably some Double-D Douche, too.
I spite myself in sickness and in health.
5:17pm - So what did we learn from the OSU bar earlier?
1. I am not, in fact, a poet.
2. Semi-hot waitresses like to hit on Hudik and I.
3. I'm so awesome that I didn't even solicit a number.
7:05pm - Well shit. A wonderfully attractive African Queen has been making eyes at me here at Rudy's. Believe it or not but I might actually be a little embarrassed. First I thought she was alone so I eye-d back at her and was 10 seconds from walking over and making it happen. Then I noticed the second beer at her table. She was not ashamed and kept the intoxicatingly obvious distance-flirt going. Then I noticed the ridiculously thuggish dude finally appear at her table. Then I pondered what it would be like to get in a fight at 7 on a Saturday afternoon in Hell's Kitchen. With a thug. Then I enlisted Tony to take out his legs for me. Of course, because she's a woman and I'm a man, she kept up the game. God bless her. So it's fun.
7:12pm - D-bags just questioned my write-itude. Called my shit "chicken scratch." I said no it's my very own kind of Chinese characters.
7:20pm- I just was talking to Tony about his nice New Balance kicks. He's proud of the blue on them. I thought they looked suspiciously big so I put my thumb on the toe like a guy at Foot Locker.....and........what do you fucking know but he's cheating by a good inch. I don't think I blame him what with those freakishly tiny feet.........but, lo............here's the rub.........he takes off the shoe...........and he's cheating in a SIZE SEVEN. God Bless Tony. It's nice to know a (fully grown) human being who has to cheat his way into a size 7.
11:26pm - dba pony tail john lennon glasses good luck with life. I've been feeling much more asshole-ish in the last couple hours. I guess that's a bad thing. People aren't necessarily reacting poorly yet.
11:33pm - You know I've been having some seriously f-ed up dreams lately. Can't even transcribe the one from last night. Suffice to say I was acting unconsciously obnoxious and seriously seriously angering a few people whom I would reall really not want to anger. So it's weird cause it didn't actually happen but it felt real so still I feel bad. Shame, I suppose.
Time unknown - Thank goodness for Ellie, that wonderful SOB. If it weren't for her, I'd still be bleeding like a madman, unconsciously waiting for others to say hell yeah. Ellie allows me to be totally drunk in an E Village park, twixt 1st and A. Good luck to you. I used to barf in here, but thankfully not tonight. My shame tonight is that I might start bleeding like a fountain any moment. Good Luck, Go Drunk my dad is off his tree right now.
Time unknown - I fight and beg to be within the line. I wrote a poem for the girl at Tonic. Love happens.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
9:38pm - Feeling.............I'm definitely-------------feeling the Sweater Song now.
Ode to Snatch incarnating itself. Supagood. I yearn for a flowering cornucopia of cunt.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Too Much
yesterday, Sept 3rd, at 1:48pm i received a text from dave, bless his crooked little heart: "Hey you alright bud? That was a creepy text to send after leaving you bleeding on the street."
out of it's context, the mind reels at this. and it presented me with what my infinite naivete allows me to accept as a fine idea: the textblog. my phone autosaves my 50 most recently sent messages. i don't know if you ever think about going back through them but you should some time, at least out of curiosity.
at any rate, it was quite a week in this boy's life. ups and downs, strikes and gutters, sometimes you eat the b'ar............
so i've got a little bit of the drunklog from the weekend as well and i'll get around to posting it later. i guess you can consider this textlog the gutter.
one final note: i've got an odd perverse sadomasochistic delight in publicly glorying in my depravity, so i'm no stranger to emotional/vulnerable exhibitionism, but i've got to say that in rereading these texts it strikes even me as very intensely personal. maybe it's too much. but then that's really just keeping with the theme. too. much.
Tues Aug 28, 12:21pm - You ready to head in yet
12:28pm - Were meeting at prospect ave r stop no later than one
12:29pm - Got to be one thirty
12:32pm - One you degenerate
2:07pm - Im an animal i cant help it
3:15pm - Hey i took a sick day an were drinkin outside
3:21pm - White horse for a bit more
3:25pm - Ta-da! Sick day!
6:06pm - Wtf you at
6:09pm - Hey dude. Sick day. Drunk. Awesome.
6:37pm - At the half pint then heading east
7:38pm - Dont know where it is
Thur Aug 30, 12:19pm - Im out tonight. Doing a thing at work this eve then going home and going to sleep
8:59pm - Haha thanks. Actually i checked it and that is the french spelling
Fri Aug 31, 4:54pm - Ill be home by five thirty at latest
9:33pm - Come to manhattan a hole
9:47pm - Going to tile bar now
9:50pm - Come on out tonight
10:05pm - Were out in the village
10:13pm - Hows the party?
11:14pm - In the village
11:30pm - E. Lunasa currently
12:30am - Wtf you at were at blue and gold in five min
12:35am - Fuck it were at blue and gold in five min
1:32am - Only the coolest cats
2:27am - Tell dave the idiot he left his phone
Sat Sept 1, 11:35am - Come to times sq and booze. Dont know when it starts ask dave for real info
11:39am - When we meeting for this game
12:36pm - Bastard
7:27pm - Dude were out
7:29pm - Whats up today kiddo? Were out of course
8:20pm - Well we'll be rockin out in hells kitchen for a while longer if yer around yer place
8:25pm - Ok
8:26pm - No but for the love of god we will do all we can to make it happen
11:20pm - Where you at
12:20am - At ace bar now prob for the night
Sun Sept 2, 1:57pm - Jus woke up elbow hurts
2:08pm - Go fuck yourself im hitting the chivas now getting in the shower tell me where to go
2:25pm - d u n
3:25pm - You want me to bring anything
1:35am - My Rothko . . . . .
2:19am - I am love-drunk and i hate the world. sorry
Mon Sept 3, 11:47am - i'm terribly in love with you. i'm sorry josh
1:54pm - No. Im in love. Miserably.
2:59pm - Dont know. Kinda bummin
3:02pm - I dont know
out of it's context, the mind reels at this. and it presented me with what my infinite naivete allows me to accept as a fine idea: the textblog. my phone autosaves my 50 most recently sent messages. i don't know if you ever think about going back through them but you should some time, at least out of curiosity.
at any rate, it was quite a week in this boy's life. ups and downs, strikes and gutters, sometimes you eat the b'ar............
so i've got a little bit of the drunklog from the weekend as well and i'll get around to posting it later. i guess you can consider this textlog the gutter.
one final note: i've got an odd perverse sadomasochistic delight in publicly glorying in my depravity, so i'm no stranger to emotional/vulnerable exhibitionism, but i've got to say that in rereading these texts it strikes even me as very intensely personal. maybe it's too much. but then that's really just keeping with the theme. too. much.
Tues Aug 28, 12:21pm - You ready to head in yet
12:28pm - Were meeting at prospect ave r stop no later than one
12:29pm - Got to be one thirty
12:32pm - One you degenerate
2:07pm - Im an animal i cant help it
3:15pm - Hey i took a sick day an were drinkin outside
3:21pm - White horse for a bit more
3:25pm - Ta-da! Sick day!
6:06pm - Wtf you at
6:09pm - Hey dude. Sick day. Drunk. Awesome.
6:37pm - At the half pint then heading east
7:38pm - Dont know where it is
Thur Aug 30, 12:19pm - Im out tonight. Doing a thing at work this eve then going home and going to sleep
8:59pm - Haha thanks. Actually i checked it and that is the french spelling
Fri Aug 31, 4:54pm - Ill be home by five thirty at latest
9:33pm - Come to manhattan a hole
9:47pm - Going to tile bar now
9:50pm - Come on out tonight
10:05pm - Were out in the village
10:13pm - Hows the party?
11:14pm - In the village
11:30pm - E. Lunasa currently
12:30am - Wtf you at were at blue and gold in five min
12:35am - Fuck it were at blue and gold in five min
1:32am - Only the coolest cats
2:27am - Tell dave the idiot he left his phone
Sat Sept 1, 11:35am - Come to times sq and booze. Dont know when it starts ask dave for real info
11:39am - When we meeting for this game
12:36pm - Bastard
7:27pm - Dude were out
7:29pm - Whats up today kiddo? Were out of course
8:20pm - Well we'll be rockin out in hells kitchen for a while longer if yer around yer place
8:25pm - Ok
8:26pm - No but for the love of god we will do all we can to make it happen
11:20pm - Where you at
12:20am - At ace bar now prob for the night
Sun Sept 2, 1:57pm - Jus woke up elbow hurts
2:08pm - Go fuck yourself im hitting the chivas now getting in the shower tell me where to go
2:25pm - d u n
3:25pm - You want me to bring anything
1:35am - My Rothko . . . . .
2:19am - I am love-drunk and i hate the world. sorry
Mon Sept 3, 11:47am - i'm terribly in love with you. i'm sorry josh
1:54pm - No. Im in love. Miserably.
2:59pm - Dont know. Kinda bummin
3:02pm - I dont know
Friday, August 31, 2007
A Poem
I wrote this almost a year ago. I've been told I'm not terribly prolific.
Cinderella on the 6
Ten beers walking slowly stopping starting along the dark cracked birdshit sidewalk.
Trip stumble swoop and glide over potholes en route to the 86th st train stop.
Fumble in the pocket pull the card please swipe again at this turnstile. Ok.
Three young Bettys looking wide-eyed confused planning finding consensus.
Infused with the walk-heat forehead moisture undo the second button and breathe.
Turnstile rotate woman fascinate moving ten twenty thirty forty feet down the line.
Stand sobriety limbs carefully asunder still a herky jerk in her thick-belted direction.
Leaning tight-jeans white shirt against white tile wall, staring at me only peripherally.
Stiff neck forced posture time the perv just right yes peripheral no more. Ok.
Drift on, drunk return, the Bettys getting closer bored spread out hangdog what did you really expect at 2am on a Monday?
Men on the tracks flashlights waving calm still air dead sound dead but the feet slide.
Too far turn around muse hiding by a pole knee betrays. Stare stare wait she looks.
Once more with confidence skiing between the poles forty thirty twenty ten stop.
Lights and noise quiet and the air disappears and the prey is alarmed.
Danger stop freeze wait for it five feet train slow door open three feet one foot—
Cross paths no eyes no board train sit she’s a mouse on the next car. Fool. Ok.
Visual through the window foggy sight eyes again good a game the mouse is playing.
Stare stare mouse stands looks fast turn pause wow butt perfect silver buckle.
Mouse skitters sits farther away the horror foggier still brown hair but barely now.
Stare stare one station two three stare stiff neck stiff thunder flows like a river.
Purse and hands aflutter mirror brush plastic sticks and discs spread eyes concentrate.
Minutes of attention satisfaction new face stand turn full figure salute to the window.
Not for me ignorance and consternation two stops consults watch and phone what did you really expect at 2am on a Monday?
Beauty queen smoking struck lightning and lived like lips of fire red with rings.
Next to last stop appointment time one last look tease full figure ample chump.
Mouse-marmot stand grasp pole damn you don’t look at me I’m poor and horny. Ok.
Exit moves heels with ease confusion failure rube don’t look at me.
Wheels move mouse slips up up up and out away into his clutch slipperless.
Tues Sep 12 8:19pm
Cinderella on the 6
Ten beers walking slowly stopping starting along the dark cracked birdshit sidewalk.
Trip stumble swoop and glide over potholes en route to the 86th st train stop.
Fumble in the pocket pull the card please swipe again at this turnstile. Ok.
Three young Bettys looking wide-eyed confused planning finding consensus.
Infused with the walk-heat forehead moisture undo the second button and breathe.
Turnstile rotate woman fascinate moving ten twenty thirty forty feet down the line.
Stand sobriety limbs carefully asunder still a herky jerk in her thick-belted direction.
Leaning tight-jeans white shirt against white tile wall, staring at me only peripherally.
Stiff neck forced posture time the perv just right yes peripheral no more. Ok.
Drift on, drunk return, the Bettys getting closer bored spread out hangdog what did you really expect at 2am on a Monday?
Men on the tracks flashlights waving calm still air dead sound dead but the feet slide.
Too far turn around muse hiding by a pole knee betrays. Stare stare wait she looks.
Once more with confidence skiing between the poles forty thirty twenty ten stop.
Lights and noise quiet and the air disappears and the prey is alarmed.
Danger stop freeze wait for it five feet train slow door open three feet one foot—
Cross paths no eyes no board train sit she’s a mouse on the next car. Fool. Ok.
Visual through the window foggy sight eyes again good a game the mouse is playing.
Stare stare mouse stands looks fast turn pause wow butt perfect silver buckle.
Mouse skitters sits farther away the horror foggier still brown hair but barely now.
Stare stare one station two three stare stiff neck stiff thunder flows like a river.
Purse and hands aflutter mirror brush plastic sticks and discs spread eyes concentrate.
Minutes of attention satisfaction new face stand turn full figure salute to the window.
Not for me ignorance and consternation two stops consults watch and phone what did you really expect at 2am on a Monday?
Beauty queen smoking struck lightning and lived like lips of fire red with rings.
Next to last stop appointment time one last look tease full figure ample chump.
Mouse-marmot stand grasp pole damn you don’t look at me I’m poor and horny. Ok.
Exit moves heels with ease confusion failure rube don’t look at me.
Wheels move mouse slips up up up and out away into his clutch slipperless.
Tues Sep 12 8:19pm
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Just called a former girlfriend to tell her that i really appreciate her as a human being. Apologized for not be able to close with her over the last year-plus. Then called my sister and among other things told her i love her. Good. These people deserve to share in my positive emotivity. So it's good.
On my way back inside i stopped and bought some fruit and made the vendor smile which I've never seen him do. my caps are very erratic now, but such is life. Then I'm pretty sure I just made a guy's day here at work. New guy working for one of our subtenants and he needed his access cards and voila. Good.
Strangers! Come to me, you glorious motherfuckers! Come to me! I've got it. Right. here. good.
On my way back inside i stopped and bought some fruit and made the vendor smile which I've never seen him do. my caps are very erratic now, but such is life. Then I'm pretty sure I just made a guy's day here at work. New guy working for one of our subtenants and he needed his access cards and voila. Good.
Strangers! Come to me, you glorious motherfuckers! Come to me! I've got it. Right. here. good.
Now
Ready. Set. Go.
Epiphany. The hate pact is over. I've been so nice to people in the last two days I can't even handle it. I mean they can't even handle it. Good. Walking around the office today like an emotional Johnny Appleseed, dropping seeds of good. Elijah or something like that. Little nugget-sized pretzels here giving me the salt. it's summer you need it. caps begone shift key too slow. no i'm too slow to handle the shift key. i got the fear in me and shit is getting weird. good. i'm going to write a poem called the finnish tourist. he presented himself to me in the shower this morning. good shower. i think his name will be ermi. just picked some pretzel dough out of my lower left molars. i get self-conscious about doing that but i often feel the need. i never had braces in my life so maybe my teeth don't fit together as perfectly as they should and thus i get pretzel stuck in the little crevasses. that was uneccessary for me to use that word. it might not even be right. even the best of us are pretentious. but i'm just letting the real run free. anxiety. i'm talking about the fullest dictionary definition. and i'm an unbridled volcano of it right now. but that is just one layer. there is more. alack and alas. alack, alas, but here it is this potion my brother is dead my lover and now i'll end it. or some such thing. maybe i'm confusing that part. ol billy the bard. i'm talking about shakespeare right now but i think i'm too cool to mention his name. alack and alas. miss juliet was rather emotionally susceptible. bravo. there's a good line by the devil in karamazov too where he says something similar: "i'm very sensitive and emotionally inclined." i might be flipping the words around but that's the nut. yes this whole day, all 6 hours that i have consciously existed within it, has been a breeze of air, a gentle tornado sweeping me along. i think i'm the storm though, i'm the energy and still i'm carrying myself. like that stupid poem or whatever it is about jesus or god on the beach and his footprints cause he's carrying the subject. well i am god and i am me and i am forbearing and i am vulnerable and i am infantile and i am sensitive and i am strength. and now i am stepping away from the desk
Epiphany. The hate pact is over. I've been so nice to people in the last two days I can't even handle it. I mean they can't even handle it. Good. Walking around the office today like an emotional Johnny Appleseed, dropping seeds of good. Elijah or something like that. Little nugget-sized pretzels here giving me the salt. it's summer you need it. caps begone shift key too slow. no i'm too slow to handle the shift key. i got the fear in me and shit is getting weird. good. i'm going to write a poem called the finnish tourist. he presented himself to me in the shower this morning. good shower. i think his name will be ermi. just picked some pretzel dough out of my lower left molars. i get self-conscious about doing that but i often feel the need. i never had braces in my life so maybe my teeth don't fit together as perfectly as they should and thus i get pretzel stuck in the little crevasses. that was uneccessary for me to use that word. it might not even be right. even the best of us are pretentious. but i'm just letting the real run free. anxiety. i'm talking about the fullest dictionary definition. and i'm an unbridled volcano of it right now. but that is just one layer. there is more. alack and alas. alack, alas, but here it is this potion my brother is dead my lover and now i'll end it. or some such thing. maybe i'm confusing that part. ol billy the bard. i'm talking about shakespeare right now but i think i'm too cool to mention his name. alack and alas. miss juliet was rather emotionally susceptible. bravo. there's a good line by the devil in karamazov too where he says something similar: "i'm very sensitive and emotionally inclined." i might be flipping the words around but that's the nut. yes this whole day, all 6 hours that i have consciously existed within it, has been a breeze of air, a gentle tornado sweeping me along. i think i'm the storm though, i'm the energy and still i'm carrying myself. like that stupid poem or whatever it is about jesus or god on the beach and his footprints cause he's carrying the subject. well i am god and i am me and i am forbearing and i am vulnerable and i am infantile and i am sensitive and i am strength. and now i am stepping away from the desk
Friday, June 15, 2007
Columbus, Ohio
(I had grand plans to jot down all the events of the weekend as they happened but various things conspired to prevent that, including the infamous Bernie's Rum+Cokes. So this is all you get.)
Friday, June 8
5:30pm - Good news. Our old Rolling Rock bar that we painted ourselves in either 2001 or 2002 was spotted on the front porch of a house on Summit St between 18th and 19th. Felt like a proud papa. Also, Hudik is near Mansfield and still a douche.
We are now putting the finishing touches on a $3 pitcher here at Zigs, because we're super cool. Wanted to go to Ruby Tuesday for dirt cheap Guinness but it was 4:50 and they don't open til 5:00. So that makes us even more super awesome.
I'm getting a sunburn right now.
Saturday, June 9
8:35pm - Sorry I haven't been writing.
40s. Margaritas. Guinness. Also and unnamed illegal vice. Not prostitution.
I'm at a place called Patio and I only now truly feel as though I'm back in Ohio in all its good and all its bad.
8:38 - There is a girl here who can probably squat 275 lbs. And I'm very very mildly turned on.
8:39 - There is also a dude here wearing a LeBron high school jersey. Exploitation at any age is just as fun.
9:25 - There's a LOT of hoochie-mamas walkin around here right now.
9:36 - Tittaaaaaayyss!!
9:39 - I repeat: there are a lot of hoochie-mamas out tonight.
9:59 - You know, Columbus is a lot like NY except I've got sun-charred shoulders and all the girls are having a contest to see who can have the blondest hair.
10:29 - Just my first set of leotards! Yes!! Now I'm in my element.
Friday, June 8
5:30pm - Good news. Our old Rolling Rock bar that we painted ourselves in either 2001 or 2002 was spotted on the front porch of a house on Summit St between 18th and 19th. Felt like a proud papa. Also, Hudik is near Mansfield and still a douche.
We are now putting the finishing touches on a $3 pitcher here at Zigs, because we're super cool. Wanted to go to Ruby Tuesday for dirt cheap Guinness but it was 4:50 and they don't open til 5:00. So that makes us even more super awesome.
I'm getting a sunburn right now.
Saturday, June 9
8:35pm - Sorry I haven't been writing.
40s. Margaritas. Guinness. Also and unnamed illegal vice. Not prostitution.
I'm at a place called Patio and I only now truly feel as though I'm back in Ohio in all its good and all its bad.
8:38 - There is a girl here who can probably squat 275 lbs. And I'm very very mildly turned on.
8:39 - There is also a dude here wearing a LeBron high school jersey. Exploitation at any age is just as fun.
9:25 - There's a LOT of hoochie-mamas walkin around here right now.
9:36 - Tittaaaaaayyss!!
9:39 - I repeat: there are a lot of hoochie-mamas out tonight.
9:59 - You know, Columbus is a lot like NY except I've got sun-charred shoulders and all the girls are having a contest to see who can have the blondest hair.
10:29 - Just my first set of leotards! Yes!! Now I'm in my element.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
The Itch
There are many kinds of alcoholics. Here is what kind of an alcoholic I am:
I don't often drink much during the week, and if i do, I don't get drunk. So every week, usually on Friday but sometimes Thursday, I get this jittery, anxious feeling. It's my body telling me that the jig is up, it's time to imbibe again. Yes, this officially means I'm an addict. But it's not a bad withdrawal trip, this sensation; it's a positive, almost erumpent feeling. It's kinda like if you haven't ejaculated in a while and you can start to feel it building up in you and you're not only waking up with hard-ons, but also springing one at the smallest, sometimes even unrelated arousal.
I don't often drink much during the week, and if i do, I don't get drunk. So every week, usually on Friday but sometimes Thursday, I get this jittery, anxious feeling. It's my body telling me that the jig is up, it's time to imbibe again. Yes, this officially means I'm an addict. But it's not a bad withdrawal trip, this sensation; it's a positive, almost erumpent feeling. It's kinda like if you haven't ejaculated in a while and you can start to feel it building up in you and you're not only waking up with hard-ons, but also springing one at the smallest, sometimes even unrelated arousal.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Jobs
I was riding the Airtrain at midnight last night and an airport employee got on seemingly at the end of his day. Later in my trip, about eight MTA workers got on the subway and also appeared to have just finished up for the day. This got me thinking: what kind of life is that? The obvious answer is that it isn't any kind of life. Not to generalize, but these people, and many many more in similar low-level/odd-hour jobs, can't possibly have much to their existence outside of work. They work to live, to have enough money to eat and pay rent. What they do is who they are. And lots of them probably don't mind or just don't know any different.
The reason I'm mentioning this now is the same as why I think about anything: because it made me think of myself and because I'm extremely self-centered.
I don't work to live or live to work or any of that baloney. I work only so much that I can have enough money to live for myself, so that I can do the things I want to do, like go out on the weekends, take a few trips here and there, and basically just enjoy myself. What I do is not who I am because I don't invest myself in it that much. Maybe you could say that this is sad commmentary on me, that I don't have a job that I love or that I enjoy going to. That's not true, or rather, it would be true no matter my occupation because I'm not very much interested in any jobs out there, or anything that I would have to do every day. Also, I do enjoy going to work lots of times and even sometimes I anxiously (positive anxiety) think about work when I'm not at work. But I am not the guy who stocks the office with supplies or repairs the copy machines or yells at the vendors for doing a crappy job. I am the guy who hurries out of work so I can get to the gym before it gets too crowded, and flips over to The Tonight Show solely to see if there are any superhot actresses on, and spends most of Friday drinking plenty of water so I'll be nice and hydrated for the alcohol to follow.
So don't ask me "What do you do?" I live and do things and enjoy myself and in between that I go to work so I can continue to enjoy myself. I plan my summer around my dad's boccee tournament, not our office's HVAC shutdown. I think about extracurriculars at work all the time but work at home rarely. I guess this all means that I feel sorry for the MTA worker and others like him. And I guess I feel pretty fortunate that I have just enough money to not have to be a slave to a job.
The reason I'm mentioning this now is the same as why I think about anything: because it made me think of myself and because I'm extremely self-centered.
I don't work to live or live to work or any of that baloney. I work only so much that I can have enough money to live for myself, so that I can do the things I want to do, like go out on the weekends, take a few trips here and there, and basically just enjoy myself. What I do is not who I am because I don't invest myself in it that much. Maybe you could say that this is sad commmentary on me, that I don't have a job that I love or that I enjoy going to. That's not true, or rather, it would be true no matter my occupation because I'm not very much interested in any jobs out there, or anything that I would have to do every day. Also, I do enjoy going to work lots of times and even sometimes I anxiously (positive anxiety) think about work when I'm not at work. But I am not the guy who stocks the office with supplies or repairs the copy machines or yells at the vendors for doing a crappy job. I am the guy who hurries out of work so I can get to the gym before it gets too crowded, and flips over to The Tonight Show solely to see if there are any superhot actresses on, and spends most of Friday drinking plenty of water so I'll be nice and hydrated for the alcohol to follow.
So don't ask me "What do you do?" I live and do things and enjoy myself and in between that I go to work so I can continue to enjoy myself. I plan my summer around my dad's boccee tournament, not our office's HVAC shutdown. I think about extracurriculars at work all the time but work at home rarely. I guess this all means that I feel sorry for the MTA worker and others like him. And I guess I feel pretty fortunate that I have just enough money to not have to be a slave to a job.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Welcome to the new blog. Myspace just wasn't cutting it. Also, I'm pretty tech-dumb so that could be it, but it seemed like after a while my posts over there would just disappear. And of course we need these words for posterity.
Quite certain I'll post much more frequently here, if only because I know how to add pictures and links in this format.
Everything posted below this one is old, simply copied from the Myspace blog. So if you feel like reminiscing about the Great Hamsgiving or the Staten Island Adventure, enjoy.
Quite certain I'll post much more frequently here, if only because I know how to add pictures and links in this format.
Everything posted below this one is old, simply copied from the Myspace blog. So if you feel like reminiscing about the Great Hamsgiving or the Staten Island Adventure, enjoy.
Jury Duty, Part III
Wednesday, May 23
8:12am - Off day. Back to normal, for a day. Feel like crap today.
Not sure why I'm writing this now, it's just occurred to me to write it, but I spent a good deal thinking about it yesterday. The plaintiff's mother is completely hot. Consider that this woman has an 11yr old GRANDdaughter. I know it's hard to believe but you've got to trust me on this. She looks exactly like a hispanic version of Diane Lane. It's uncanny. In a few more years, JLo is going to look just like this woman. I could only see her over the ledge from about the neck up, but still she was enough to distract me for about 15 minutes. In all fairness, even though she has been a grandmother for 11 years, she might only be about 45. Her daughter is only 25 now, after all. At any rate, my first ever GMILF.
5:44pm - Well, interesting news. I missed a call on my cell phone earlier this afternoon. The call was to inform me that my service is over, that the case was settled out of court this morning. So. I'll be going to Columbus in June after all. And my boss won't have to freak out for 3 weeks. Good.
8:30 - An odd sense of relief right now. Though of course come tomorrow morning I'm sure I'm going to miss the extra hour of sleep the court schedule afforded me. That about the only wistful rumination. No more incontinent old man. No more horrifyingly annoying, attention-seeking bull dyke. No more attorney with a constant dab of white dried spittle in the corner of his mouth. No more hot courtroom. No more homosexual judge who draws out his seemingly omniscient "uhs" so they sound like "uuuuuhhhhhhhggggeeeehhhgeeeehhhhhggegeeguuuhhhhhh." It's like a stutter, actually, but not at all endearingly pitiful like a stutter; rather it's just awful and grating. So no more of that. Thank goodness.
Wednesday, May 23
8:12am - Off day. Back to normal, for a day. Feel like crap today.
Not sure why I'm writing this now, it's just occurred to me to write it, but I spent a good deal thinking about it yesterday. The plaintiff's mother is completely hot. Consider that this woman has an 11yr old GRANDdaughter. I know it's hard to believe but you've got to trust me on this. She looks exactly like a hispanic version of Diane Lane. It's uncanny. In a few more years, JLo is going to look just like this woman. I could only see her over the ledge from about the neck up, but still she was enough to distract me for about 15 minutes. In all fairness, even though she has been a grandmother for 11 years, she might only be about 45. Her daughter is only 25 now, after all. At any rate, my first ever GMILF.
5:44pm - Well, interesting news. I missed a call on my cell phone earlier this afternoon. The call was to inform me that my service is over, that the case was settled out of court this morning. So. I'll be going to Columbus in June after all. And my boss won't have to freak out for 3 weeks. Good.
8:30 - An odd sense of relief right now. Though of course come tomorrow morning I'm sure I'm going to miss the extra hour of sleep the court schedule afforded me. That about the only wistful rumination. No more incontinent old man. No more horrifyingly annoying, attention-seeking bull dyke. No more attorney with a constant dab of white dried spittle in the corner of his mouth. No more hot courtroom. No more homosexual judge who draws out his seemingly omniscient "uhs" so they sound like "uuuuuhhhhhhhggggeeeehhhgeeeehhhhhggegeeguuuhhhhhh." It's like a stutter, actually, but not at all endearingly pitiful like a stutter; rather it's just awful and grating. So no more of that. Thank goodness.
Jury Duty, Part II
Tuesday, May 22
9:20am - Day 1 of the trial. Don't have to be there until 10:00, which is nice. Also, I can walk to the courthouse, which is very nice. Another beautiful day on tap and sometimes there is nothing better than a little stroll on a nice clear spring morning. Bad news is I'm officially sick now, yesterday's crap wasn't just a bad day. So my anticipated 5k this evening will suck now. Oh well.
10:07 - Damn near late to arrive thanks to the slow-as-hell McDs on Canal and Lafayette. Also, note to self, no bagel places in SoHo. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't interested in buying a dress at 9:40am.
10:09 - Do you think they'll let me have this notebook with me to take notes during the actual trial? That would be spectacular if not totally unexpected.
10:13 - I'm in the big jury pool room (the one for everybody, including those still waiting to be/not be selected) and somehow it seems much brighter today. I'm wondering how many other people will be in the courtroom. Probably not many since this is a civil trial. Just learned from roll-call that the plaintiff in my case is named Morales.
10:16 - Yes! I just heard the disembodied recording voice again, and since she's short and seated below my eye level of the high half-wall around her desk, she's once again a disembodied voice. Everything's falling into place now.
10:19 - You know, if they let me take notes during the trial, this Thing could be really long.
10:33 - Not sure yet, but might have just gotten my first "celebrity" sighting. NY Times' David Brooks up in the front corner. He's doing the crossword.
10:47 - Just went to the restroom and on my way back got a frontal view (haha) of Brooks and it is not, in fact, Brooks.
11:03 - Courtroom is next door, at 80 Centre St. Jury room is as you'd expect: a small white box, but there are two widows.
11:09 - Fellow jurors are all reading, waiting to be escorted to the courtroom. Not much mingling yet, but I wonder if that's frowned upon. I saw the Fitz & Fitz lawyer out in the hallway so this baby should be imminent. I'm still waiting for the first person to ask me what I'm writing. Must admit, I've got to look suspicious just writing in a notebook continuously for one and half days now.
12:52pm - No notebook in the courtroom. Actually they provide us with one, but we can't keep it, it's confidential, and it gets shredded afterward. So I'll just have to remember.
Bad news: this looks like a lengthy trial. Judge's words: "Worst case scenario plan to be here through June 8." That would be problematic, as I've got a flight out of the city on the evening of June 7. Our first lunch break now and we're only through the plaintiff's opening. Good news is Judge has something called Motion Day on Wednesdays so we don't ever have to report on Wednesdays. Also: standard end time is 4:45. I might hit up a happy hour Thursday or definitely this Friday.
12:59 - Accidentally, I walked out the back door and popped right out into Columbus Park, so there might be an Asian flair to my lunchtime check-ins.
3:32 - Defense openign now over. It occurs to me that I'm nto supposed to be talking to anyone about this case so I think I'll try to refrain from particulars here too. We've had one juror drop out already though. So now we've only got three alternates. The alternate who was promoted to take his place (drop-out was an Asian man) was the cute chick, who I am strangely not as smitten with today. Not sure why. Still cute, I'm just not as interested.
The older man who sits next to me (I'm juror #4, he's #3) smells. He might be incontinent. And yesterday's bull dyke is still here, as just an alternate now, thank god. She may have a learning disability. At the very least, she is unbelievably annoying. Unbelievably. Guarantee I'll have plenty of opportunities yet to describe her, so be patient.
9:21 - There was an undercurrent of loosening up among the jury at the end of the day. Might have just been punchy after the third delay so Judge could speak privately with lawyers. I can't wait to see what happens come week three and everybody is punchy all the time. Impossibly childish/impatient/fidgety bull dyke is liable to wander aimlessly over to the window AC unit, tear it out, and crush the clerk with it. Should mention that the clerk strangely basically has his office, cluttered mess of papers and all, right in the middle of the courtroom. He ever talks on the phone (extremely quietly at least) during the action. he's also packing heat in the form of a little handgun holstered on his right hip. That gun is probably the reason that the weasely-looking motherfucker is the only principal actor that has yet to be seen with a jacket. Between him and the officer who escorts us into the room, that's two guns in a very small room. For all I know the judge and court reporters are packing too. Thanks for that second amendment, Founders.
Tuesday, May 22
9:20am - Day 1 of the trial. Don't have to be there until 10:00, which is nice. Also, I can walk to the courthouse, which is very nice. Another beautiful day on tap and sometimes there is nothing better than a little stroll on a nice clear spring morning. Bad news is I'm officially sick now, yesterday's crap wasn't just a bad day. So my anticipated 5k this evening will suck now. Oh well.
10:07 - Damn near late to arrive thanks to the slow-as-hell McDs on Canal and Lafayette. Also, note to self, no bagel places in SoHo. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't interested in buying a dress at 9:40am.
10:09 - Do you think they'll let me have this notebook with me to take notes during the actual trial? That would be spectacular if not totally unexpected.
10:13 - I'm in the big jury pool room (the one for everybody, including those still waiting to be/not be selected) and somehow it seems much brighter today. I'm wondering how many other people will be in the courtroom. Probably not many since this is a civil trial. Just learned from roll-call that the plaintiff in my case is named Morales.
10:16 - Yes! I just heard the disembodied recording voice again, and since she's short and seated below my eye level of the high half-wall around her desk, she's once again a disembodied voice. Everything's falling into place now.
10:19 - You know, if they let me take notes during the trial, this Thing could be really long.
10:33 - Not sure yet, but might have just gotten my first "celebrity" sighting. NY Times' David Brooks up in the front corner. He's doing the crossword.
10:47 - Just went to the restroom and on my way back got a frontal view (haha) of Brooks and it is not, in fact, Brooks.
11:03 - Courtroom is next door, at 80 Centre St. Jury room is as you'd expect: a small white box, but there are two widows.
11:09 - Fellow jurors are all reading, waiting to be escorted to the courtroom. Not much mingling yet, but I wonder if that's frowned upon. I saw the Fitz & Fitz lawyer out in the hallway so this baby should be imminent. I'm still waiting for the first person to ask me what I'm writing. Must admit, I've got to look suspicious just writing in a notebook continuously for one and half days now.
12:52pm - No notebook in the courtroom. Actually they provide us with one, but we can't keep it, it's confidential, and it gets shredded afterward. So I'll just have to remember.
Bad news: this looks like a lengthy trial. Judge's words: "Worst case scenario plan to be here through June 8." That would be problematic, as I've got a flight out of the city on the evening of June 7. Our first lunch break now and we're only through the plaintiff's opening. Good news is Judge has something called Motion Day on Wednesdays so we don't ever have to report on Wednesdays. Also: standard end time is 4:45. I might hit up a happy hour Thursday or definitely this Friday.
12:59 - Accidentally, I walked out the back door and popped right out into Columbus Park, so there might be an Asian flair to my lunchtime check-ins.
3:32 - Defense openign now over. It occurs to me that I'm nto supposed to be talking to anyone about this case so I think I'll try to refrain from particulars here too. We've had one juror drop out already though. So now we've only got three alternates. The alternate who was promoted to take his place (drop-out was an Asian man) was the cute chick, who I am strangely not as smitten with today. Not sure why. Still cute, I'm just not as interested.
The older man who sits next to me (I'm juror #4, he's #3) smells. He might be incontinent. And yesterday's bull dyke is still here, as just an alternate now, thank god. She may have a learning disability. At the very least, she is unbelievably annoying. Unbelievably. Guarantee I'll have plenty of opportunities yet to describe her, so be patient.
9:21 - There was an undercurrent of loosening up among the jury at the end of the day. Might have just been punchy after the third delay so Judge could speak privately with lawyers. I can't wait to see what happens come week three and everybody is punchy all the time. Impossibly childish/impatient/fidgety bull dyke is liable to wander aimlessly over to the window AC unit, tear it out, and crush the clerk with it. Should mention that the clerk strangely basically has his office, cluttered mess of papers and all, right in the middle of the courtroom. He ever talks on the phone (extremely quietly at least) during the action. he's also packing heat in the form of a little handgun holstered on his right hip. That gun is probably the reason that the weasely-looking motherfucker is the only principal actor that has yet to be seen with a jacket. Between him and the officer who escorts us into the room, that's two guns in a very small room. For all I know the judge and court reporters are packing too. Thanks for that second amendment, Founders.
Jury Duty, Part I
Monday, May 21
9:24am - The Wheels of Justice are turning--jfolg is on the case.
452 Centre St: the big impressive building in Foley Square with the big impressive stairs that wrap around the sides pyramidically. Jane Pauley was just videophonically letting us know how great juries are. Pride. Only Manhattanites in this room.
9:26 - Now Judy Kaye, Judge (on video), just let us know how great the justice system is. Friendly, personal, even.
"..........no one will ever enter, for this gate was just for you. Now I am going to close it."
9:29 - odd old guy now giving us a rah-rah in-your-face sort of Huey Long speech. He's not on video.
9:33 - Good, if not disturbing, if not fascinating news: the disembodied, presumably computer-generated voice that greeted me in the recorded updated reporting instructions after calling in last night as ordered to do so, actually belongs to a real live person who's standing here right now.
9:37 - Shit, just found out there might also be some Roosevelt Island wackos here too. Shit. Broken dreams, those mofos probably have a vendetta out for me because of excess glass washing up on their shores.
9:54 - Just handed in my card. Line of people filtering through and disembodied recording voice lady was making a show of saying good morning loudly to every single person as they have their cards. Proud to report i was the first to return the greeting, followed by her: "That's right, you're here already, might as well smile."
11:02 - I was reading some good old Hunter S Thompson for the last half hour--maybe freak out the selectors.
11:04 - I am now in the selection room. Old woman was sitting in my seat--number 12--ha! Seat 12 incidentally was labelled with tape and somehow she still screwed it up. Now you're not going to believe this, but after old woman corrected her first seating mistake, the Selector was taking roll to double-check and lo and behold her second attempt at finding her NUMBERED SEAT was also a failure. I don't care about inconvenience, for the naive sake of fair justice I hope that if it comes down to me and her for the last selection that I get picked. I would be slightly more competent than her while stone-drunk and with cocaine dripping down the back of my throat.
11:10 - Lawyers just showed up. No more coke references--even in jest.
11:11 - Only one of them is using a legal pad. other two are nonconformists, evidently. It's a yellow pad. Whoa!........hold on, lawyer #2 just pulled a legal pad out of his satch. Sneaky.
11:16 - This is a medical malpractice case and the plaintiff (a newborn, presumably not entirely healthy baby) is being represented by, of course, Fitzgerald & Fitzgerald. They of the subway ad fame. Well, you ain't getting no multimillion dollar settlement from this cat, you gluttonous bastards.
11:24 - Quiet room. Rather cold. off-white paint 360degrees with an odd 4inch ledge running around the circumference about 40inches up the wall. It's like a ledge seen along walls in some bars. Room is about 14x20 and has one wooden table and 35 wooden chairs with blue leather backs and blue upholstered seats. Two of the chairs are occupied by lawyers at the table irregularly reading our questionnaires and looking up at us to get a read for how complicit we might be in their little money game (it's a civil trial of course). (Note--I was wrong earlier, only two lawyers, third guy was something else. He left. 30 potential jurors leaves three empty chairs.)
11:30 - I was trying to peep onto the questionnaire of the senile old lady (who settled in finally right next to me) to find out her name but she caught me and paranoically turned it over. Maybe there's a faint light on up there after all?
11:32 - Fitz & Fitz lawyer just broke long verbal silence and said "God bless you" to a sneezer. He's good. +2 points for him.
11:35 - There is a bull dyke in the room. As well as a very skinny black man wearing a leather fanny pack.
12:50pm - Lunch break now. Fitz & Fitz guy did his hour of questioning, stopping and asking things of all 30 of us. Inevitably, I suppose, I got the biggest laugh during this, though it was really all his doing. he asked me, directly: "Does any studying get done at Ohio State?"..............laughter,............followed by my answer "Well not on the weekends, as far as I know"..............heavier laughter.
We're supposed to get lunch at 12:45. At 12:35 the defense lawyer woman took a vote to see if we should break at 12:35 or else press forward til she was done and maybe finish early. I noticed the older contingent, including senile woman, were all in favor of an earlier lunch. Myself and the rest of the majority favored waiting. Well, about 10 minutes later, in the middle of defense lawyer's questioning, senile woman asks to speak privately outside with the lawyers. When they return, lawyer woman says let's break for lunch now. The lesson, of course: it's always an old bitch getting in the way of democracy.
1:16 - Sitting near the fountain in Foley Sq eating a tiny Turkey Club Wrap that cost $6, looking back up at the building I'm visiting today, I realize what's slightly familiar about those impressive steps: it's where Charlie Sheen walked up at the end of Wall Street. So there.
1:19 - There are now an uncomfortable amount of fire engines parked along the road outside the building adjoining mine. No smoke evident. Not sure if I'm disappointed or relieved.
1:24 It's a very lovely day, low 70s and a perfectly blue sky. Sky is so spotless and bright, in fact, that it looks like a massive green screen (except it's blue obviously) that they use in TV and movies for effects. it is a tad breezy, though that might be geographically local: I'm downtown and it seems always to be windy downtown.
1:26 Woman sitting next to me is, int he space of 10 seconds, alternately speaking loudly and clearly and then instantly breaking into hysterical crying, followed immediately back to the calmness. I'll let you decide if that's unpleasant or not. This has been going on for 10 minutes.
I just counted: calm, 12 seconds of hysterics, 10 seconds of calm, 16 seconds of hysterics, 5 seconds of calm, "I'll call you back," silence, lucky me.
1:32 - Lots and lots of lawyers crossing through now. I just realized that I have absolutely no clue what makes a good suit, as opposed to a cheap one. No clue.
3:31 - Well they're just about done picking us now and I think I've got 5 more minutes before I'll know. To be honest I couldn't really care as long as this robonerd sitting in front of me isn't on the jury with me. He's as fidgety as a 5yr old and he wouldn't stop picking at a a scab on the back of his neck. According to his questionnaire, his hobby is "video games." Good for you, buddy.
There is one cute girl here, though. During our most recent 15 minute break so the lawyers could argue over us I picked an empty spot in the circular hallway and stretched out my tight legs a little. She walked by me twice and the second time she was definitely checking me out. So I got that going for me. Also, I'm vain and even somewhat pathetic for imagining that a potential jury mate was giving me the perv-eye. Guilty.
3:39 - Almost forgot - earlier (lunch break ended at 2:00) someone was late coming back and held everyone up fora full 15 minutes. When she finally arrived, she smiled, looked around the room, said "Waiting for me?" and then giggled. Couldn't determine how benign the giggle was because all my senses were filled with bloodlust.
3:43 - Drats! -- "Selected." One of ten.
3:44 - Silver lining--cute girl is also "Selected."
3:45 - Double Drats! --cute girl is wearing a ring on her finger, not 100% sure it's a wedding ring yet. Keep you posted.
3:46 - Sitting behind cutie waiting for info about trial start. Her pony-tail can be described as being tied "adulterously." In related news, I could be described as a hopeless optimist.
3:52 - Taking a good look around at the rest of my fellow "Selecteds," I'm having a Nick Carraway moment: "Everything for which I have an unaffected scorn."
9:32 - Well. For better or worse, I'm serving on a jury that will decide whether or not an 11yr old girl and her 25yr old mother are awarded a presumably significant amount of money due to Beth Israel Hospital's negligence. The time to mope about my personal stake in this inconvenient service is passed; I might as well attack this thing as honestly as possible.
Monday, May 21
9:24am - The Wheels of Justice are turning--jfolg is on the case.
452 Centre St: the big impressive building in Foley Square with the big impressive stairs that wrap around the sides pyramidically. Jane Pauley was just videophonically letting us know how great juries are. Pride. Only Manhattanites in this room.
9:26 - Now Judy Kaye, Judge (on video), just let us know how great the justice system is. Friendly, personal, even.
"..........no one will ever enter, for this gate was just for you. Now I am going to close it."
9:29 - odd old guy now giving us a rah-rah in-your-face sort of Huey Long speech. He's not on video.
9:33 - Good, if not disturbing, if not fascinating news: the disembodied, presumably computer-generated voice that greeted me in the recorded updated reporting instructions after calling in last night as ordered to do so, actually belongs to a real live person who's standing here right now.
9:37 - Shit, just found out there might also be some Roosevelt Island wackos here too. Shit. Broken dreams, those mofos probably have a vendetta out for me because of excess glass washing up on their shores.
9:54 - Just handed in my card. Line of people filtering through and disembodied recording voice lady was making a show of saying good morning loudly to every single person as they have their cards. Proud to report i was the first to return the greeting, followed by her: "That's right, you're here already, might as well smile."
11:02 - I was reading some good old Hunter S Thompson for the last half hour--maybe freak out the selectors.
11:04 - I am now in the selection room. Old woman was sitting in my seat--number 12--ha! Seat 12 incidentally was labelled with tape and somehow she still screwed it up. Now you're not going to believe this, but after old woman corrected her first seating mistake, the Selector was taking roll to double-check and lo and behold her second attempt at finding her NUMBERED SEAT was also a failure. I don't care about inconvenience, for the naive sake of fair justice I hope that if it comes down to me and her for the last selection that I get picked. I would be slightly more competent than her while stone-drunk and with cocaine dripping down the back of my throat.
11:10 - Lawyers just showed up. No more coke references--even in jest.
11:11 - Only one of them is using a legal pad. other two are nonconformists, evidently. It's a yellow pad. Whoa!........hold on, lawyer #2 just pulled a legal pad out of his satch. Sneaky.
11:16 - This is a medical malpractice case and the plaintiff (a newborn, presumably not entirely healthy baby) is being represented by, of course, Fitzgerald & Fitzgerald. They of the subway ad fame. Well, you ain't getting no multimillion dollar settlement from this cat, you gluttonous bastards.
11:24 - Quiet room. Rather cold. off-white paint 360degrees with an odd 4inch ledge running around the circumference about 40inches up the wall. It's like a ledge seen along walls in some bars. Room is about 14x20 and has one wooden table and 35 wooden chairs with blue leather backs and blue upholstered seats. Two of the chairs are occupied by lawyers at the table irregularly reading our questionnaires and looking up at us to get a read for how complicit we might be in their little money game (it's a civil trial of course). (Note--I was wrong earlier, only two lawyers, third guy was something else. He left. 30 potential jurors leaves three empty chairs.)
11:30 - I was trying to peep onto the questionnaire of the senile old lady (who settled in finally right next to me) to find out her name but she caught me and paranoically turned it over. Maybe there's a faint light on up there after all?
11:32 - Fitz & Fitz lawyer just broke long verbal silence and said "God bless you" to a sneezer. He's good. +2 points for him.
11:35 - There is a bull dyke in the room. As well as a very skinny black man wearing a leather fanny pack.
12:50pm - Lunch break now. Fitz & Fitz guy did his hour of questioning, stopping and asking things of all 30 of us. Inevitably, I suppose, I got the biggest laugh during this, though it was really all his doing. he asked me, directly: "Does any studying get done at Ohio State?"..............laughter,............followed by my answer "Well not on the weekends, as far as I know"..............heavier laughter.
We're supposed to get lunch at 12:45. At 12:35 the defense lawyer woman took a vote to see if we should break at 12:35 or else press forward til she was done and maybe finish early. I noticed the older contingent, including senile woman, were all in favor of an earlier lunch. Myself and the rest of the majority favored waiting. Well, about 10 minutes later, in the middle of defense lawyer's questioning, senile woman asks to speak privately outside with the lawyers. When they return, lawyer woman says let's break for lunch now. The lesson, of course: it's always an old bitch getting in the way of democracy.
1:16 - Sitting near the fountain in Foley Sq eating a tiny Turkey Club Wrap that cost $6, looking back up at the building I'm visiting today, I realize what's slightly familiar about those impressive steps: it's where Charlie Sheen walked up at the end of Wall Street. So there.
1:19 - There are now an uncomfortable amount of fire engines parked along the road outside the building adjoining mine. No smoke evident. Not sure if I'm disappointed or relieved.
1:24 It's a very lovely day, low 70s and a perfectly blue sky. Sky is so spotless and bright, in fact, that it looks like a massive green screen (except it's blue obviously) that they use in TV and movies for effects. it is a tad breezy, though that might be geographically local: I'm downtown and it seems always to be windy downtown.
1:26 Woman sitting next to me is, int he space of 10 seconds, alternately speaking loudly and clearly and then instantly breaking into hysterical crying, followed immediately back to the calmness. I'll let you decide if that's unpleasant or not. This has been going on for 10 minutes.
I just counted: calm, 12 seconds of hysterics, 10 seconds of calm, 16 seconds of hysterics, 5 seconds of calm, "I'll call you back," silence, lucky me.
1:32 - Lots and lots of lawyers crossing through now. I just realized that I have absolutely no clue what makes a good suit, as opposed to a cheap one. No clue.
3:31 - Well they're just about done picking us now and I think I've got 5 more minutes before I'll know. To be honest I couldn't really care as long as this robonerd sitting in front of me isn't on the jury with me. He's as fidgety as a 5yr old and he wouldn't stop picking at a a scab on the back of his neck. According to his questionnaire, his hobby is "video games." Good for you, buddy.
There is one cute girl here, though. During our most recent 15 minute break so the lawyers could argue over us I picked an empty spot in the circular hallway and stretched out my tight legs a little. She walked by me twice and the second time she was definitely checking me out. So I got that going for me. Also, I'm vain and even somewhat pathetic for imagining that a potential jury mate was giving me the perv-eye. Guilty.
3:39 - Almost forgot - earlier (lunch break ended at 2:00) someone was late coming back and held everyone up fora full 15 minutes. When she finally arrived, she smiled, looked around the room, said "Waiting for me?" and then giggled. Couldn't determine how benign the giggle was because all my senses were filled with bloodlust.
3:43 - Drats! -- "Selected." One of ten.
3:44 - Silver lining--cute girl is also "Selected."
3:45 - Double Drats! --cute girl is wearing a ring on her finger, not 100% sure it's a wedding ring yet. Keep you posted.
3:46 - Sitting behind cutie waiting for info about trial start. Her pony-tail can be described as being tied "adulterously." In related news, I could be described as a hopeless optimist.
3:52 - Taking a good look around at the rest of my fellow "Selecteds," I'm having a Nick Carraway moment: "Everything for which I have an unaffected scorn."
9:32 - Well. For better or worse, I'm serving on a jury that will decide whether or not an 11yr old girl and her 25yr old mother are awarded a presumably significant amount of money due to Beth Israel Hospital's negligence. The time to mope about my personal stake in this inconvenient service is passed; I might as well attack this thing as honestly as possible.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Happy Ending
Friday, March 2, 2007
10:17pm - Go to hell. Go straight to hell. Footloose.
10:52 - It's time to make it happen. I used to have a blue finger at work til I found some paint thinner. I'm out there baby. A lesbian knows that I love her, evidently. Unfortunately, perhaps. Nonetheless......she's a lady and I'm a man and.............
Time unknown - Skank ho (not my lover) needs a dance partner. No thank you. Sugar Town Hustle is bustin a groove. Oh yeah.
1:18am - Mehdi (Medhi?) is a giant d-bag and I just bought him a shot because he beat me 2 out of 3.
1:20 - I "just blew up a shrimp basket."
1:24 - Def some skanks here ho-ing with their booty-cracks showing. One wearing a see-thru shirt so her black bra is showing too. She got a booty like Jack Nicholson in Easy Rider. That's not good.
1:28 - Just called Mehdi a half-breed. I agree with Drew--that probably crossed the line. Now I'm going to go beat the ass of Matthew the bouncer.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
2:56pm - Got punched in the face by a girl last night. Cheekbone is a little tender this morning. This afternoon, sorry. When you are a degenerate and have so self-control it's hard to keep track of the hemispheres of the day. Speaking of hemispheres, the guy on the radio said that there will be a full lunar eclipse tonight. Fortunately, "night" is a hemisphere I have no trouble keeping straight.
3:06 - Woman tweezing her eyebrows right now next to me on the D train. Just thought that should be noted. She's actually fairly attractive, even with the eyebrows.
10:08 - Nearly drunk again already. Smoked a couple pipe bowls while pervin in Central Park earlier today. Just now amusing myself with Dave about shaming Drew into letting me punch him in the face to avenge last night. I think he'll go for it as a kind of misguided attempt at romance or chivalry. Idiot.
12:06am - At my favorite bar on Rivington. My ignoramous friend just got an education about Rivington and the LES.
12:14 - I didn't get the memo but evidently jaw-line beards are pretty hip. In other news, bags of douche are messy.
12:18 - Two chicks opposite myself in my favorite bar are being made uncomfortable by my admittedly awkward effrontery. One has a man-friend. He's got facial hair on his jaw. I do too, but because I have a beard like a man, not a novelty item. i don't look like a pirate and I don't look like a hipster and I don't look like a Puerto Rican. This is because I am better than you. Yes. Yes. Sorry.
Time unknown - So everbody is eating cupcakes now except me. Dave just bragged about getting 4 beers for $10, which is awesome. Ellie-respect. I'm now being very aggresive and covert--sitting at the cupcake table by myself. Fuck sugar, fuck society.
(Also time unknown - here a renegade journalist picked up my bad and said disparaging things about me, insulting my attire, my sexuality, and calling me the d-word numerous times. Shame. On you.)
Time unknown - D-bag superstars.
2:38 - I'm engaged to be married right now. It was beautiful--I got down on one knee, she got emotional and awkward, it was awesome. But she was still wearing the paper ring I gave her 20+ minutes later. This one's gonna last, baby. I love that ho. Baby. I love that ho-baby.
Happy Ending
Friday, March 2, 2007
10:17pm - Go to hell. Go straight to hell. Footloose.
10:52 - It's time to make it happen. I used to have a blue finger at work til I found some paint thinner. I'm out there baby. A lesbian knows that I love her, evidently. Unfortunately, perhaps. Nonetheless......she's a lady and I'm a man and.............
Time unknown - Skank ho (not my lover) needs a dance partner. No thank you. Sugar Town Hustle is bustin a groove. Oh yeah.
1:18am - Mehdi (Medhi?) is a giant d-bag and I just bought him a shot because he beat me 2 out of 3.
1:20 - I "just blew up a shrimp basket."
1:24 - Def some skanks here ho-ing with their booty-cracks showing. One wearing a see-thru shirt so her black bra is showing too. She got a booty like Jack Nicholson in Easy Rider. That's not good.
1:28 - Just called Mehdi a half-breed. I agree with Drew--that probably crossed the line. Now I'm going to go beat the ass of Matthew the bouncer.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
2:56pm - Got punched in the face by a girl last night. Cheekbone is a little tender this morning. This afternoon, sorry. When you are a degenerate and have so self-control it's hard to keep track of the hemispheres of the day. Speaking of hemispheres, the guy on the radio said that there will be a full lunar eclipse tonight. Fortunately, "night" is a hemisphere I have no trouble keeping straight.
3:06 - Woman tweezing her eyebrows right now next to me on the D train. Just thought that should be noted. She's actually fairly attractive, even with the eyebrows.
10:08 - Nearly drunk again already. Smoked a couple pipe bowls while pervin in Central Park earlier today. Just now amusing myself with Dave about shaming Drew into letting me punch him in the face to avenge last night. I think he'll go for it as a kind of misguided attempt at romance or chivalry. Idiot.
12:06am - At my favorite bar on Rivington. My ignoramous friend just got an education about Rivington and the LES.
12:14 - I didn't get the memo but evidently jaw-line beards are pretty hip. In other news, bags of douche are messy.
12:18 - Two chicks opposite myself in my favorite bar are being made uncomfortable by my admittedly awkward effrontery. One has a man-friend. He's got facial hair on his jaw. I do too, but because I have a beard like a man, not a novelty item. i don't look like a pirate and I don't look like a hipster and I don't look like a Puerto Rican. This is because I am better than you. Yes. Yes. Sorry.
Time unknown - So everbody is eating cupcakes now except me. Dave just bragged about getting 4 beers for $10, which is awesome. Ellie-respect. I'm now being very aggresive and covert--sitting at the cupcake table by myself. Fuck sugar, fuck society.
(Also time unknown - here a renegade journalist picked up my bad and said disparaging things about me, insulting my attire, my sexuality, and calling me the d-word numerous times. Shame. On you.)
Time unknown - D-bag superstars.
2:38 - I'm engaged to be married right now. It was beautiful--I got down on one knee, she got emotional and awkward, it was awesome. But she was still wearing the paper ring I gave her 20+ minutes later. This one's gonna last, baby. I love that ho. Baby. I love that ho-baby.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Leftovers: S.I. Adventure: Ann
Ann. A-n-n. Yes I think that's way her mother must have spelled it. Simple.
Ann announced herself to us on Saturday night through Drew, I think, at what must have been near 1:30AM at an unbelievable (not necessarily in a good way) bar close to the business end of the Staten Island Ferry. Personally, my introduction to her was when Dave handed me her bottle of champagne (which she brought into the bar) to open for her. As we would learn later, Ann likes her champagne--she had a bottle of Kristal in her car--and the very same bottle that I opened for her she chose to user as a chaser for some mystery pills she consumed just before getting behind the wheel.
Ann claimed to be 50, acted 30, wanted to us to think she was acting 20, and had the social maturity and discipline of someone not older than 10. She could run on the charred fumes from her night with us for weeks, whereas all of us presumably hoped to wash her out of us as fast as possible, much in the same way that I desired to wash the dense smokiness out of my clothes from that night, a consequence of The Real McCoy's flagrant spitting in the face of Mike Bloomberg.
Ann looked like Wonderwoman in the same way that Ronald Reagan in that Genesis video looked like the real Ronald Reagan. Squat, squishy dough-faced, huge saggy boobs, saggy everything for that matter, all with a not-thin sheen of cosmetics. By all that's holy, she looked like she should have been working in a booth at a flea market.
Evidently her husband, a 35yr old Hispanic named Gil, owned a club that was once rumored to be Scores. (Alas this was a brief rumor.) Even though Ann claimed to be a Sicilian queen, and therefore required sex "three times a day," she readily admitting to never having consummated her curious relationship with Gil.
She failed to make the correct turn off the Verrazano Bridge and very nearly made it to Coney Island before realizing the mistake, this after waiting quite a bit too long to make her exit and plowing through a row of orange piping like a combine taking down a row of corn. Admittedly it must have been tough for her to focus, what with the 95mph traffic slalom we executed while crossing the bridge, lord knows it had me literally hugging the headrest of the seat in front of me.
As if simple drunkenness or the general euphoric intoxication caused by a day spent in Richmond County were not enough to sufficiently terrify four naive Manhattanites, Ann decided that she needed a pick-me-up at the beginning of the trip. This came in the form of some unidentified pills, which as pointed out above she promptly chased with champagne. Several minutes later, I'm not sure if this was before or after crossing the Verrazano, she swiveled around to face the back seat and asked for her glasses, which she assured us would probably help. I assured myself that I'd hold on a little tighter to the headrest in front of me.
Ann also claimed to have lived with a woman for eight years before finding out that she was a lesbian ("she" being the roommate). Ann said of course that was ok with her, cause "I can go either way," but that the roommate wasn't her type because she weighed approximately 300lbs. All of this story was relayed to us while she drove the car with only her left hand. Her right hand was caressing Devon's thigh.
There were many other fantastic things that came out of Ann's mouth, the enormity of which caused me to, without any hint of melodrama, exclaim that I wished I had a tape recorder; however, I was both drunk and expending all of my energies trying to retain bodily fluids which were dying to exit my anus, penis, and mouth simultaneously. Just know this: Ann was a beast. A terrifying beast with heels, a hideous accent, and more ridiculously implausible one-liners and stories than even four adventurous souls could ever hope to collectively remember.
Leftovers: S.I. Adventure: Ann
Ann. A-n-n. Yes I think that's way her mother must have spelled it. Simple.
Ann announced herself to us on Saturday night through Drew, I think, at what must have been near 1:30AM at an unbelievable (not necessarily in a good way) bar close to the business end of the Staten Island Ferry. Personally, my introduction to her was when Dave handed me her bottle of champagne (which she brought into the bar) to open for her. As we would learn later, Ann likes her champagne--she had a bottle of Kristal in her car--and the very same bottle that I opened for her she chose to user as a chaser for some mystery pills she consumed just before getting behind the wheel.
Ann claimed to be 50, acted 30, wanted to us to think she was acting 20, and had the social maturity and discipline of someone not older than 10. She could run on the charred fumes from her night with us for weeks, whereas all of us presumably hoped to wash her out of us as fast as possible, much in the same way that I desired to wash the dense smokiness out of my clothes from that night, a consequence of The Real McCoy's flagrant spitting in the face of Mike Bloomberg.
Ann looked like Wonderwoman in the same way that Ronald Reagan in that Genesis video looked like the real Ronald Reagan. Squat, squishy dough-faced, huge saggy boobs, saggy everything for that matter, all with a not-thin sheen of cosmetics. By all that's holy, she looked like she should have been working in a booth at a flea market.
Evidently her husband, a 35yr old Hispanic named Gil, owned a club that was once rumored to be Scores. (Alas this was a brief rumor.) Even though Ann claimed to be a Sicilian queen, and therefore required sex "three times a day," she readily admitting to never having consummated her curious relationship with Gil.
She failed to make the correct turn off the Verrazano Bridge and very nearly made it to Coney Island before realizing the mistake, this after waiting quite a bit too long to make her exit and plowing through a row of orange piping like a combine taking down a row of corn. Admittedly it must have been tough for her to focus, what with the 95mph traffic slalom we executed while crossing the bridge, lord knows it had me literally hugging the headrest of the seat in front of me.
As if simple drunkenness or the general euphoric intoxication caused by a day spent in Richmond County were not enough to sufficiently terrify four naive Manhattanites, Ann decided that she needed a pick-me-up at the beginning of the trip. This came in the form of some unidentified pills, which as pointed out above she promptly chased with champagne. Several minutes later, I'm not sure if this was before or after crossing the Verrazano, she swiveled around to face the back seat and asked for her glasses, which she assured us would probably help. I assured myself that I'd hold on a little tighter to the headrest in front of me.
Ann also claimed to have lived with a woman for eight years before finding out that she was a lesbian ("she" being the roommate). Ann said of course that was ok with her, cause "I can go either way," but that the roommate wasn't her type because she weighed approximately 300lbs. All of this story was relayed to us while she drove the car with only her left hand. Her right hand was caressing Devon's thigh.
There were many other fantastic things that came out of Ann's mouth, the enormity of which caused me to, without any hint of melodrama, exclaim that I wished I had a tape recorder; however, I was both drunk and expending all of my energies trying to retain bodily fluids which were dying to exit my anus, penis, and mouth simultaneously. Just know this: Ann was a beast. A terrifying beast with heels, a hideous accent, and more ridiculously implausible one-liners and stories than even four adventurous souls could ever hope to collectively remember.
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