All of It

Bats Outta Hell

2012-01-19T02:45:00.000-05:00

Restless nights come on like some fucking bats out of hell with vampiric nostrils flaring and fangs glistening while demanding to rob you of your sleep. They come on the first week of returning to work and with an early class full of bright eyed Asians eager to read English, beckoning to be taught. These bats implore you to rise from a partial slumber and consume Cheerios soaked in almond milk. After you are awake and unwilling to return to your bed, they gnaw at the wires hidden in your walls to dismantle your connection to the web. They laugh at your predicament and giggle while you type your overdue blog entry in Word, adding additional steps to a streamlined process. They haven’t made an appearance in several weeks, these soaring mammals of the night. But, alas, tonight, Wednesday moving into Thursday, the bats have flown into my evening and they will not let them be.

The first and most well known of them is named Christopher Leering. He is the silent type, yet he stares at you, fully aware of all you need to accomplish once the sun rises, determined to make you antsy with his beady, red eyes. You can’t really tell if they are menacing or not, they are simply focused upon you and will not turn away. A strange self consciousness begins to develop the longer these bloodshot pupils have time to feast upon your insecurities while sweating in plaid pajamas in an arid and overheated apartment. The longer Christopher looks at you, the more doubt creeps into your mind. You begin to wonder if anyone likes you at all in this world? What have you done to piss off so many people? What have they done to you to make you so pissed at them? Will things ever be normal again? Christopher Leering refuses to provide any answers to these questions. He stares for hours with an obtuse expression on his face. A bead of sweat forms on your brow and you continue typing, preferring to look at anything but the eyes of that thing.

Another diseased creature has flown in from the rafters. His name is Bela Lughostoflapasti. This is another winged beast who lets himself known as soon as he enters the room. He flashes photographs in the back of your mind and plays recordings over and over again until you wish to wretch. Bela never decides to replay home movies of positive memories. No, no! He brings along all of the sour footage. Scenes you wish had been edited out of your life and left on the cutting room floor for some intern (or a younger sibling) to have swept away into a dustbin and thrown into an incinerator never be seen again. Even if that had happened Lughostoflapasti would sweep in with gigantic wings flapping in fury to remove those pieces of distorted film and display them in vivid Stereoscope on the ceiling of your bedroom. If you turn away and face the pillow, a projector appears there, too. The window, with the orange streetlight glowing, suddenly turns white and shows you in awful situations doing awful things. Or Bela simply brings you back to a time you wish you could forget. Sometimes, you shudder and can’t believe you are awake. On some instances you fight back tears, only to see them become rapids on your pillowcase. Bela finds you and turns your sleepless eyes against you. He is a crafty bat indeed!

One of the kinder mammals in the apartment has seemed to have returned the internet to a functioning state. The modem is on and there are no ominously blinking lights. Alas, it works. Hopefully, the bats will return to wherever they came from. Tomorrow, oops, today is sure to be a long day.

In Order To Take, One Must First Give Part III

2011-01-16T19:01:00.001-05:00

He heard a loud tire screech. There was a moment of silence and then some shouting. Startled, he ran to the balcony edge and peered down below. It was hard to see, but a yellow cab had stopped at a right angle, it’s front facing his hotel. People were looking down near the tire of the taxi and some were screaming. Several people ran out into the street to stop traffic. All of the cars came to a halt, with a few trying to back up Seventh Avenue.

The man entered his hotel room, grabbed his room card and ran to the elevator. He waited for what felt like eons. As he stood, he watched the lights above the elevator blink and stop on different floors. He kept pushing the down arrow, hoping it would make it move faster. Finally, it made it up to 16. He was dripping water from the melting snow on his head and his suit was wet, yet he felt warm. His pulse was racing.

The interior of the elevator was covered in mirrors. He faced himself from the front, left and right. He thought the expert tailoring of his suit was ironic considering how his face looked, red and whipped from the snow and wind. After a few peripheral glances, he decided to look up at the ceiling. The elevator stopped at the eleventh floor. A couple entered. The woman was wearing a black skirt and a raccoon fur. The man was wearing khakis and a pea coat. They looked at him, soaking wet and he moved to the back against the wall. They exchanged awkward smiles. The man looked down at his shoes and then straight ahead. The couple stood silently. The woman caught a glance of the man in the mirror and then held her companion’s hand. The man placed his hands on the glass behind him. He felt claustrophobic and trapped, wishing he were alone on the ride down to the lobby.

The couple stepped off of the elevator slowly. He ran past them and dashed to the revolving doors. The lobby was packed with people. He touched a few on the side as he ran past them. In a blur, he saw the bellhop who gave him a nod. He did not return it. His mind was only focused on the street scene outside. As he neared the door, he could make out faces from outside. One woman cupped her mouth and turned her head away. There were several others awkwardly standing around looking down, then they shifted their gazes to their left and right. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. He could see eyes filled with sadness and terror.

He circled his way through the door and the sounds from the street were deafening. There were hundreds of people stopped on the sidewalk. Policemen were attaching yellow tape to poles, effectively stopping traffic from entering Seventh Avenue below 34th street. A Middle-Eastern man was sitting in the wet snow against a bus stop crying, his hands wrapped around his face. People were pointing up and then to the street. He listened to the conversations around him.

“Money was dropping, man. I mean, fucking twenties. Just, dropping.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nah, for real.”

“The poor girl.”

“Nothin’ comes for free, dawg. Nothin’.”

“Stand back! Stand back! Stand back!”

“The Knicks fuckin’ lose, then this shit? I don’t wanna get a beer anymore. Let’s just get on the train.”

He saw her. There was a pool of blood around her head. The puddle saturated the white frosting of snow. She was young. Her body lay crumpled in front of the taxi. The driver side door was left open, as were the back doors. A policeman stood in front of her, trying to shield the girl from gawkers. Another officer asked people to disperse. He heard more sirens in the distance. He stared at her for as long as could while throngs of men, women, children and policemen slid past him.

The red stream continued to ooze onto the avenue, melting the snow and then resting upon the black asphalt. He was motionless and in shock. The right side of the girl’s head looked slightly crumpled and her left eye was open, looking up at the sky. It did not move as snow dropped onto her pupil. An ambulance arrived. The medical technicians pulled her motionless body away from the taxi. They placed an oxygen mask over mouth and began to perform CPR. They repeated the thrusts several times, with arms heaving up and down. Her body pressed deep into the street with each new compression. There was no other movement. No sign of life.

As he stared at the scene, he began to feel nauseous. He looked around and saw others. Some were in shock, others looked down while waking at a rushed pace to avoid the situation altogether. A police officer approached the cab driver still on the ground with tears streaming out of his eyes. Another policeman brought him a glass of water and placed his hand on his shoulder. He shuddered at the touch, then accepted it.

His eyes returned to the girl. The oxygen mask had been removed from her face. Another EMT came and placed a sheet over her body. The man could not bear to look any longer. He stumbled towards the front window-pane of the hotel lobby window and leaned against it. He took deep breaths, yet found it hard to breathe. Each inhalation was painful and he felt as if little air were reaching his lungs. The air felt cold and stung the inside of his mouth. He crouched down to the ground and could feel himself stumble a little. His hand braced his weight and landed on cold snow. A few people looked down at him and asked if he were alright. One woman commented that she thought he must be the girl’s father. She called him a poor man.

More officers arrived and began to clear the sidewalks of onlookers. One officer stopped in front of the man and helped him up. He couldn’t understand what the policeman was saying. The sounds around him began to fade into static. They became murmurs and gurgles. The sirens transformed into whistles, while he could hear every crunch of snow trampled under foot by the masses streaming away from the accident. The man nodded to the officer and took a final look as he turned around. More yellow tape surrounded lampposts. Several officers were on horseback and many of the onlookers began to walk away. He continued on through the revolving doors and entered the warmth of the lobby.

Everyone seemed to be moving slowly. He felt hot. As he made his way to the elevator banks, he thought people from the bar were looking at him. The bellhop gave him another salute from the top of his hat and down to his chest. The man nodded as he walked past him without recognizing he had done so. He reached the elevator banks and was grateful to find one at the lobby. He entered it and pushed the 16 and the door close buttons at the same time.

Alone, he covered his eyes to avoid looking at himself in the mirrors. The elevator inched up the building and he managed to remove his index and middle finger from his eyes after it climbed several flights. His eyes were red and he focused solely on them in the reflection. He stared at the ground, unable to look at himself any longer. He glanced up at the numbers above the door. He was at 14. He heard the noise indicating the fifteenth floor had been passed. The elevator stopped at the sixteenth floor, but the doors paused for a moment before opening. He put his hands down by his legs and looked at the hollow face peering back at him and gasped. The doors opened.

The room was how he had left it and he thought it looked ridiculous. He picked up his wallet from the bed and looked at each photograph once more before returning them to their place. He took one of the oranges next. The man removed the peel and ate one slice of the orange before throwing it away. He put the second one back in the fruit basket on the dresser. The closet door was still open and he ran to it to get his valise and suit rack. He placed the black suit onto a hanger and zipped it up. A pile of business cards lay fanned across the bed, scattered by the removal of the suit. He picked them up and placed them in a pile on the nightstand. The man took them one by one and tore them in two. They were then placed into the trashcan.

The bed was clear of his belongings. He sat on the comforter and looked around the room. The curtain was still in a pile a yard in front of the door. He picked it up and placed it on top of the rod it had hung upon. He returned to the bed and stared at the carpet. His hair was wet with a mixture of melted snow and sweat. He cupped his hands together in front of him and began to twirl his wedding ring around his finger. His knees jumped up and down and he extended his arm to reach for the phone. The cradle sat in his hand. The plastic clicked against the metal on his left index finger. His fingers dialed numbers and the line began to ring. A woman’s voice said hello from the earpiece.

“I need to come home,” he said.

In Order to Take, One Must First Give Part II

2011-01-13T12:04:00.002-05:00

His wallet was gigantic, filled with photos, old business cards, credit cards and other tokens of uselessness. Most people looked at and laughed at its enormity. He began taking everything out of it. He began with the top flap and smiled when he saw a frayed card with his tattoo artist’s name and number on it. He made piles, one to keep and one to throw away. He found an old fortune from a Chinese restaurant. He kept it from one of his first dates with his wife. It was barely legible and he mouthed the words.

“In order to take, one must first give.”

A guttural chuckle came from his mouth. He stared at it and then put it into the keep pile. He looked at it once again before continuing the rummage. The discard pile kept getting larger and larger as he became more and more willing to part with the past. Then came the photographs. He always carried one of himself as a toddler. The edge of the old photograph was stained yellow, taking on the color of a smoker’s fingers after a heavy night of drinking. Further, the photo had creased in the middle and a crack formed down his forehead, but he wore a beaming smile. The location was unknown, a child simply sitting in a patch of grass. He couldn’t remember how he acquired the picture.

He fumbled a long strip and dropped it on the bed. He unfolded it and saw a set of images taken inside of a photo booth. He and his wife made several faces. The first one was serious and comical. Both of them looked directly into the camera, as if looking at a piece of postmodern art. The next photo in the strip was of them kissing. It didn’t look staged. The kiss was sincere and passionate, he thought. The following picture was an unexpected one. They were moving away from each other after the kiss and the timer snapped an image. They were frozen with smiles on their faces. The last consisted of a hugging pose. She was sitting on his lap. He looked at the photo strip for a moment longer and placed it next to the one of himself as a toddler.

The final photograph in his wallet was of his children as youngsters themselves. The two kids, brother and sister also sat in an unidentifiable field. Their mother was in the distant background. Her pale legs were off to the right corner of the photo. The kids were only a year apart and crawling towards him as he took it. The younger of the two, the boy, was pulling himself through the grass with his elbows as his sister was crawling on all fours. His daughter had a small dandelion in her hair; while his son had yellow cheeks form flower face painting. Both of them had his eyes. Finally, he laid the photo next to the strip.

They created a vivid narrative of his own personal history, from the near beginning of his life up to a few years ago. The kids were now six and seven years old. He thought about their schooldays and the vacation that was about to begin and all they would learn in the future. Yet, emptiness crept through him as he thought about their futures. This feeling was difficult for him to wrap his head around, nor could he bother to make much sense of it.

He looked away from the bed and fetched the champagne bottle. He took a healthy gulp of it and returned to the stack of money. The entire room was cold and the curtains were still aimlessly blowing. A small pile of snow piled at the doorway. He could see vapor coming out of his mouth as he took heavy concentrated breaths. He counted the cash in his hand. There were thirteen twenty-dollar bills left. $260. He took off his robe and walked over to the mahogany closet. There were two suits hanging next to each other. He pulled the black one off of the hanger and placed it on the bed on top of the discard pile. The photos sat next to it. Now, he thought, looking at the empty suit, that the collection neared completion.

He took two steps away from the bed and looked at his collage. After staring at it for a minute or two, he walked away to return to the closet. The second suit was grey with black pinstripes. He discarded his robe, found a pair of underwear, a white tank-top and put on the pants. His belt was across the room on a chair so he sauntered over and buckled it. The man reached for a white button-down hanging from a chair and hung it over his shoulders. He returned to the mirror and slowly buttoned the shirt and tied a red necktie around the collar. After tucking in the shirt and inspecting the creases, he returned to the closet and put on the jacket. First, he buttoned the middle button, but thought again and unbuttoned it.

After a brief mirror inspection, his eyes returned to the project on the bed. He grabbed two oranges left from the fruit basket on the dresser. The champagne was getting flat, but he took a large gulp before visiting his piece. He looked at it quizzically and straightened out the suit then buttoned the middle button. The oranges were still in his hand. He looked at them as if he didn’t know what they were doing there, then placed them ten inches above the neckline of the suit.

There was work to be done. The man rushed over to his shoes and socks and put them on his feet. A frenzied excitement filled the room. In a bound, the man leaped to the dresser and grabbed his wad of twenties. As he walked to the balcony door, the curtains lashed him across his face. Stung and surprised, he grabbed them in a fit and yanked them down. They blew several feet from the doorway and landed in a heap on the carpet. He continued through the doorway and faced the balcony. The snow was coming down harder and it was windier than before. He had to squint in order to see the street below.

He opened his arms as wide as he could. The wind made his jacket flap behind him and he could hear it rustle. His left hand had the stack of bills in it. He looked at them and peeled one away. He stretched it out and released it into the night air. The wind picked it up and blew it outward, over Seventh Avenue and next to the giant Madison Square Garden sign. It was hard to see, but he noticed a group of people huddle to the corner. He thought a man came out of it with the bill. He crumpled the next one and threw it out into the breeze. It didn’t travel as far and landed in front of the hotel. He folded the next one into a miniature paper airplane. It settled in the middle of the street. A brave soul quickly got it.

Cabs and busses rolled by. The snow was beginning to stick and the black asphalt was fading. It was coming down at an angle and swirling all around his head. His hair was covered in snow and his jacket was emitting wafts of steam. He paused for a minute and turned around to look into his room. He looked at the bed, the wallet and empty suit. Nothing had changed.

His attention returned to the balcony. This time he took out two bills and released them in opposite directions. From what he could tell, a crowd amassed and people were looking up, waiting for more money to fall. Because of the drifting snow, it was getting harder and harder to see the street. He counted the money. Eight twenties left. His tie blew up into his face. He moved it and took another bill out of his pocket. People were looking up now and more had gathered on the whitened sidewalks. Three more bills were sent over the balcony into the snowy abyss.

In Order to Take, One Must First Give Part I

2011-01-11T09:37:00.002-05:00

This is the first story I have written in over six years. It is still a bit of a work in progress with word choice and editing decisions, but it is mostly complete. It felt so good to finish it before a self-imposed deadline of 1/4/11 as well. I'm going to post it in three parts with the first post today, the next on Thursday and the last on Saturday. Any comments/ideas/suggestions would be helpful.

In Order to Take, One Must First Give
For
Leigh L. Fox

The church bell rang loud and clear. He looked down at the street as taxis turned from the left and to the right. Spittle hung from his mouth and he tried to follow a strand of it fall sixteen stories to the ground. He lost it after four stories. Several sweaty and discolored twenties were clutched in his hand. The wind ripped across his back and he stared at the busses now, stopped and then creeping down Seventh Avenue. He foresaw this image a month ago, but didn’t know how it would pan out. He let go of one oily, sweaty twenty and followed it down. The wind blew it up, then gravity tackled it down. The bill was much easier to follow than a droplet of spit. It landed in front of Pennsylvania Station and he watched a half dozen people scramble to grab it off of the concrete.

His ears felt numb, as did his hands. Perhaps he couldn’t hold onto the rest of the bills, he thought. He stared at them, a half smile on his face, as tears began to bellow. The money wasn’t important anymore. This played over and over again in his head. The expression changed after he listened to his inner-self several times. The smile was gone and he carried a sense of bewilderment on his face now. His shoulders arced and created a small shrug. This was an unexpected action and it took him by surprise. Another twenty tussled in the wind and blew to the street with great power.

The man turned to look into the room. The television was left on and faint voices could be heard. The curtains waved like flags at half-mast through a small crack in the door. Through tiny lights from the surrounding buildings he could catch brief reflections of his face. It was blue, red, yellow from the images on the television on the other side of the glass. He felt as if he looked sickly, like a ghost of himself. A bottle of champagne rattled next to his foot as he stumbled while peering at himself in the pane.

“Shit,” he said.

The bottle toppled over to the side and he picked it up in a swooshing motion. Lightheaded, he grabbed the balcony railing with his hand stuffed with bills. He thought it was cold, at least ten degrees without windchill, even colder higher up. The champagne was a gift from a client and was sent up by room service with an enormous fruit basket and La Maison du Chocolat truffles. He didn’t care for French sweets, so he gave them to the bellhop, who was grateful and said he’d give them to his mother. The fruit was another story.

At that moment, he decided to pour some champagne on the bills. His imagination ran wild with the idea of frozen bills falling from the sky for people to grab at on the street. He thought of the long, fluttering drop and the aimless masses grabbing at the money, only to see it slip through their fingers. The smile returned to his face as he doused one twenty with the bubbly and took a long pull himself. He straightened the bill and kissed it. The man then took off his socks, looked at his red feet and stood on the bottom rail of the balcony. He couldn’t feel the railing as his feet were as numb as his hands. With clumsy maneuvering, his hands feeling like they were on fire, he further straightened the bill on the top railing, rubbing it back and forth. He inspected it one more time and let it go. His torso peered downward.

This time the bill did not float upward at all. It fell to the ground faster than the others. Fascinated, he thought the density of the liquid must have added such weight and weight adds velocity to objects. It fell differently than he imagined. He still expected it to have some wavering, some hesitancy before plummeting to earth. But, its grace was gone by the added weight of the liquid. It touched the ground, in what seemed like to him, would be considered a splat. The sound, if only in his mind, was just that. He felt entirely unrewarded. People below walked over it, until a young boy with enormous mittens bent over. He tried in vain to grab the bill and had to take off what looked like awkward hand moccasins to do so. The man saw the boy’s mother clap and they continued on their way.

How could it take so long to notice a twenty-dollar bill falling from the sky? It is Christmas for Christ sake. People are out of work, looking for work, unemployed, fucked.

He concluded they just weren’t looking for money falling from the sky. Why would they? Who would think that someone would simply shower people with cash? Then he remembered reading an article about a man who would put hundred dollar bills into the hands of the homeless as they were sleeping. That is true generosity, he thought. He noticed he was still standing on the balcony in his bare feet and felt a tear drip from his eye. It wasn’t a tear of sadness, but more a tear of the great pain the wind was subjecting him to on the balcony. The temperature kept dropping. It hurt, plain and simple.

A panic overtook him. It was a sudden sensation. He felt cold. His knees rattled and his face stung as if wasps were attacking him in succession. A light snow had started to fall and the wind slapped snowflakes on his face. He entered the room, leaving the door open behind him. The curtains spun around in a manic dance, casting ghost-like shadows on the wall, while looking like crazed spirits themselves. The television was playing a commercial for a local hardware store. The man looked at the ad and listened to the thick Brooklyn accent with some interest. He then noticed he was still clutching the champagne and took a long pull. Foamy liquid leaked from the side of his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the slip and felt like an animal salivating over fresh prey. Disgusted, he walked to the closet and began to undress.

Naked now. The wall-sized mirrors displayed a man in his late-thirties. His hands were bright red, as were his toes, nose and neck. His face appeared battered and swollen. Creases wrinkled the corners of his eyes. They looked swollen and moist. A tattoo was inked upon his chest, above his heart. It read, “Me, Myself and I” in cursive italics. He had a bit of a beer belly, but that was expected of a man of his age and in his position. Part of his living was entertaining others and closing deals. He picked up his stomach, squeezed a bit of the flab and let it drop. His arms were toned from carrying his briefcase and his bi-weekly trips to the gym. His muscles flexed for a moment, then relaxed. In the reflection behind him, he saw his wallet on the bed. He opened the closet, put on a bathrobe and headed to the bed.

2011

2011-01-01T07:39:00.006-05:00

The New Year. Today was the first new year in a long time which I have awoken to without my head throbbing and sweat dripping out of my pores. I saw the dawn and hadn't been awake all night. It was nice. Although, I am nursing a cold, the idea of waking up so many days with a clear head and a lack of headaches is enough to keep on going. My last entry was a love letter to alcohol. It is now 21 days later and I haven't had a drink. The holidays were tough, but not anywhere as tough as I thought they would be. It is strange to write this, but I have a lot more inner-strength than I thought I had.
So, it is with a mix of a middle finger and a long, wet kiss that I bid good-bye to last year and hello to this new one. 2011 just has to better than 2010 was. 2010 was a year which included an unexpected layoff, the death of my beloved dog and family member, Murph, as well as many other significant personal issues. Yet, we carry on and the years change and we move forward. While looking at the brightening sky outside of my window, I thought about all of the crazy shit one goes through in life. The ups and downs, ins and outs, and realized they all come to pass. The good passes and comes to some sort of an end and the bad passes in the same way.
2010 has also been a miraculous year for some of my dear friends. Some got married, some got engaged, some have added new family members to their lives, others bought homes. That is an awesome thing to see and why last year deserves that scrappy, warm, dog-like kiss.
So, good-bye, 2010 and welcome, 2011. Happy New Year to the few brave souls who happen to stumble along these ramblings. I wish you and yours a happy, healthy and fruitful new year!

New Year Haiku:

Lucky eleven
at casinos and tables,
hope for a year, too.

A Love Letter

2010-12-12T12:17:00.002-05:00

Dear Alcohol,

It seems like I have known you since birth and perhaps I have. That is all my dad did. Towards the end of mom's life, she did a lot of it, too. I love you so much. You are really warm. You make me feel euphoric, then you make me angry. That is the only feeling I seem to have in my bones when you come to visit. You make me hate myself by far further than any human being could. In fact, Alcohol, you make me fail to recognize that people love and care about me. You make me loathe myself and by loathing myself, I project all of those feelings upon others. It makes them hate me.

Last night, I went to Tip-Top to have my last drink. I fell in love with the place the first time I walked into it. Bed-Stuy. It reminds me of Tina's Cozy Corner in North Philly. I'll never forget walking outside of that bar and seeing a guy pointing a gun at another man in the middle of the street. We went back in, in a hurry.

Back to you, my dear, Alcohol. We have to separate. We have to move on. We have to look for other sources of inspiration. I am done with you.

Best and Love,

Finding Deerhunter

2010-12-08T21:59:00.004-05:00

I bought a new pair of headphones this past week and really did my research before purchasing them. After hours of scouring the web and not wanting to spend over a hundred dollars on in-ear headphones, I decided to go with the Klipsch Image s4. I tore through, quite literally, a pair of Bose a couple of years ago and sore I would never purchase in-ears from them again. The reviews for the s4s were astounding and they were only $79. A day before, I downloaded Deerhunter's Halcyon Digest.

I decided to buy the entire album after hearing Helicopter on Conan. Man, I haven't been so excited about finding a band since discovering Pavement in 1992. Since that purchase, I've got three of their albums and have been astounded by each one I listen to. I slipped on my headphones and just, listened. I must say that the phones are pretty fucking amazing, but the music that the band has made is a pleasure to hear on them. It is layered, textured, yet simplistic. They are far different from Malkmus and co., for sure, yet they capture this kind of vibrancy, albeit with much more mellowness than Pavement.

It's funny, I'm double the age I was in 1992 and to just randomly stumble upon a band that hits me is such a great thing.

Check 'em out if you haven't already.

Poem (untitled)

2010-12-05T03:42:00.002-05:00

It's been a long time since

a song comes back to you,

defined in a different way than you heard it.

Then, you defined it.

A long time.

Phone rings and you wonder, could it be?

And it is nothing.

Static.

Television shares a favorite film.

Something? Phone?

Nothing.

One cat sits on my lap now,

missing everything about his companion.

He allows me to compensate.

I'm warm.

On the outside.

Cold to the touch inside, if you even get that far.

And if you do, run away.

They all do.

Anyway.

There Is a Time For a Turkey

2010-11-24T02:25:00.003-05:00

Happy Thanks-something. It seems like the entire meaning of the day has been misconstrued by anyone who wants to prove a political point these days.

Anyway, I want to discuss the virtues of a turkey, negative as they may be. The turkey has always been a joker, by it's gobble, gobble. Yet, I don't think the bird would find that to be so funny if you really look at it. The beast only used its vocal chords to save other birds from harm. And, damn they can run. They are a kind of modern day emu. Fast, threatened and loud.

The turkey always feels threatened, scared of what is coming to look at it. It feels like all it can do is scream with its red neck flapping, vocal chords extended. It is always in defense and for no reason at times. I'll never forget seeing the plume of one on the wall in a garage in Maryland. So gorgeous. Yet, so dumb.

Even moreso, the poor beast gets the most average name of "Tom." They are more than Toms. They have been here in North America, goofy as they may be, and have thrived upon it's soil for decades.I feel like they are family, those Toms...Dumb, yet fast and always easily caught for some reason.

Way back in kindergarten we used to trace our fingers, add feather to them, glue them on. Those turkeys were unreal because they were perfect. Cookie cut-outs. The real turkeys we ingest on this upcoming day have flaws. They were too loud, they pecked wrongly. They guessed wrong in their get away plan.

They were, sadly, plainly, utterly human.

Unless they were farmed, then they were slaves....

So, to go back to the old style, here is the haiku:

Steeeeeady, not so fast.

If you run, they will break you,

they always catch up.

Trivia and Self-Talk

2010-07-28T03:31:00.005-04:00

La Resistance! Came in second place again. Second place isn't a bad place to be at all. We beat Super Sperm (aka Whiskey Dick) in all categories but one. Yet, the thing I want to write about is my weird tendency to talk to myself as of late. I just noticed it as I was going to the bathroom and talking to myself as I peed. I felt ok, I said to myself, about ordering soon to be delivered Omaha steaks and lots of franks for Murph. I said it is okay to be tired and order an iPhone. I was really psyched about that until I had to truly put my brakes on and realize I have a bid on a Nexus one on ebay. So, we shall see, faithful readers. Which one prevails? The iphone? The nexusone, which has become a rare commodity in America these days? We shall see.

Back to the fact of talking to yourself. I have this weird feeling it is all due to the heat reduction in the city these days. A week ago, I simply wanted to spit on myself. How do you like anything when it is that hot? Yourself, is the first to go. So through all of the self-loathing and hatred I felt, it simply felt good to say these things to myself, aloud, and proud, that I wouldn't normally say.

Examples:

I have to pee!

Such a cute kitty who loves me.

Thank God I have Foxy.

Wow, you are really talking to yourself.

You should write about this.

Do not pick up the phone.

Can't believed you ordered Omaha steaks!

Wow, you've gotta wait til the eBay auction ends before you cancel your iPhone order.

These are all things I"ve said aloud to myself this evening/morning.

How American Am I?

2010-07-26T01:31:00.007-04:00

I gave my Yankee tickets to a man from down the street. For some unknown reason (he grew up in Brooklyn, loves the Knicks), he is a Red Sox fan. He hadn't been to a stadium since he was 4, which was old Yankee Stadium. So, I gave him my tickets a few weeks ago. He went to the game; the Royals won, we lost. He was happy.

So, I see him today and just ask about his experience. He goes: Are you American? I say: What? Do you mean was I born here? He says: Yeah, were you born here? I say: Sure, I was born in Pittsburgh. And he goes: Well, who is taking over our country? And I say: What? And he says: Go down to Nostrand and Fulton and you'll see what I'm talking about.

So I did. And in this low budget style was a parade of poor folk who were Bangledeshi. They were all in costume. It was a short block parade. Man, the sky looked fierce. And, I thought, fuck ya, I'm American. And, they are American. This is America.

Afterwards, I went to my boy Ricky's birthday party in Williamsburg at an obscure, big bar on a hidden street. Indians surrounding me, as his wife is Indian. And, I felt so good to just not be surrounded by myself. In my mind that is what makes you American. You just don't even think about it. You just laugh, drink beer, admire kids.

It is an odd thing, when you are forced to look at race. I never told anyone the guy from my block was any which race. By where I live, it might be easy to figure out, yet he loves baseball. I love baseball and he was a perfect man to give a ticket to.

Man, though, nobody owns these streets. To see Bangledeshis partying, was awesome. I just feel bad it rained on their parade at all today.

E

2010-07-26T01:02:00.005-04:00

I never thought Entourage on HBO would make me feel bad about myself, or lonely for that matter, yet it did. The last episode with E standing alone while his boys go off to Vegas was kind of a soul searcher for me. E got it right; stay. There is nothing out there and he has what he wants. Yet, there is that random part of anyone who just wants to go. It really doesn't matter what Vegas has in store with Vince, etal, what does matter is that E loves his lady and they have some kind of florist or some shit coming. He stayed and Sloane will be happy. He will fulfill responsibilities. Maybe I'm looking into E too deeply, he might fuck up. Fuck, Turtle is in Mexico City for christsakes! Yet, I feel very much like E. E fucked up with Sloane, made up with her, etc. I have not yet fucked up with FB, and I don't want to. I am not E and FL is not Sloane. So, there is work to be done.

Bridge

2010-07-24T00:26:00.003-04:00

Leigh and I have approached a bridge that is one I'm sure many couples have met before. Their spittle dangles. This is a bridge we need to travel over, in different cars. There is no E-ZPass. It is that bridge of doubt and lack of forgiveness. It is that bridge you look upon and just guess it's depth. We need to love each other through shitty times. And, that is my bridge. My bridge is weak and rickety. It is barely standing. It is scary. It sways. Yet, that is me at this point.

The Way Things Go

2010-07-16T00:23:00.002-04:00

The cats stare at me,

don't know who I am and want.

Coldest of cold spells.

So, the haiku came first this time. Missing baseball so much, watching Lincecum blank the Mets. All I think about is how much I love Favorite Librarian.

New Haiku:

Stare at each other

we care about what we think,

yet we are silent.

Umbrella PArt 2

2010-07-03T04:06:00.003-04:00

By FL:

We went to a beach

no shade to be found at all

lost and found again

Umbrella Part 1

2010-07-03T04:03:00.003-04:00

With FL:

Gay umbrella found,

at Jacob Riis park, roadside.

never sit under

Bicycle

2010-06-18T00:50:00.002-04:00

I rode for the first time in a long one on Brooklyn streets. I own a car now, so the joy of riding on these potholed streets is noted on every block. It is weird how the two can work together. You really can avoid every sinkhole if you know which streets to avoid.

This boy is tired after trying out his new re-vamped Rocky Mountain. He is a bit to the wind. Yet, the gears work way better than he thought they would. The brakes screech a bit. Perhaps he is ready for the street again. The bike felt really good.

Haiku:

Wind blowing against,

the shore kept on calling him.

Coney Island bound.

The Coast II

2010-06-15T01:13:00.006-04:00

The ape looked down on us, without expression. The cars blew exhaust in much the same way. The Safari didn't have wifi. The Safari just had a view of the beach. The beach. Ocean City barely has a beach. The waves were ferocious, yet covered in a pink blanket by the boardwalk lights. They (the waves) looked like weak pantyhose. Breaking and tearing in the twilight. I guess that is OC, just a flood light, aimed against what we all really want to see. There is no ocean anymore, as it is covered in oil and suntan lotion. The ocean is very much like Murph. I keep him alive for me.

The Coast Haiku:

Crash. Over and again,

tip, tip, tap the dog walked cross,

the waves kept crashing.

The Coast

2010-06-02T02:26:00.005-04:00

Wow! It was great to have left NYC before all of the others left it. It felt vacant this past weekend. We went down to the Eastern Shore of Maryland first. The two of us had never been to the place we had first met each other as a couple before and it was haunting yet exhilarating at the same time. We returned to summer camp, a place where she and I were separated by years and boyfriends and girlfriends and clauses. Now we are adults and have re met in Brooklyn, NY. Everyone we had spoken to were also adults. We felt like we were at home. The dog, whom I've had for 17 years, almost 18, had never seen a huge body of water before. He had never walked on sand before. At first he was happy with the grass. He hadn't seen nature in years. By nature, I don't mean NYC parks, but acres and acres of ground. His eyes lit up and the soil was soft. He just walked and walked and walked.

We got to Ocean City, MD and didn't know it was Cruise Week. As we drove, we pointed out car after car from 1950, or Back to the Future and wondered where they were going. FL and I drove in awe at the strange Chevys and Fords that passed us on the narrow highway to OC. We just kept on thinking about the odd redneck feeling of OC. Did we make a mistake?

Then, when we looked up pet-friendly hotels in OC and we found the Safari, we knew we were OK. I walked in and saw all of the totem poles (Safari?) and random stuffed mongoose to know we would be okay. The hotel was at the best 2 star. They were obviously getting ready for the season and weren't ready for the weekend of vroom, vroom to come. Yet, they were the most accommodating I had felt in a long time. FL and I were happy. We had a great ape staring down on the beach to keep watch..

PART II Soon.....

Haiku time:

The waves and the sea,

Antlantic Avenue cars,

cannot compare them.

Home Haiku

2010-05-23T02:21:00.001-04:00

To be in Brooklyn

after the sand and ocean

is tough to swallow.

Today

2010-05-04T01:09:00.003-04:00

The cat is at the window and he looks and all he thinks about is freedom. This is the same cat whom did receive freedom and ended up in a bodega, searching for his papa. Dying to get out of the brooms and mops he had been stuck in between. He was dehydrated and sick when he made his way back. He wasn't himself as he lapped water from two bowls at once. Then he knew he was home and it was comfortable. I watch him now, at the window, and he is a cat. He wants to go, not really and knows he shouldn't, but he wants to.

I'm not really sure where this post is going. I do know I have re-discovered Brand Nubian. Maybe that is the kind of home I'm looking for. Old school home. I used to love Grand Puba. For Christ's sake, he was an MC-teddy bear to me. So amazing with his rhyme scheme, yet I could play him to my mom and out the window back in high school. He was, back then, and now, a great MC.

Been doing a lot of driving lately, especially between FL's place and mine. She's in Ditmas Park, BK. I'm in Bed-Stuy/Crown Heights, BK. Night and day neighborhoods, yet I feel they are the same. None really want to live in them, but people do, and they are great in their own ways. Mine has a huge backyard; hers has air conditioning and way old trees. Man, by old, I'm talking trees from the 1800s.

So, there is where home has led me. I'm exhausted. And, must now end the post with a haiku:

Window, cats and beer,

dog barking in the backyard,

street lights on and pink.

Home (Unemployment #3)

2010-04-16T00:54:00.004-04:00

Amazingly, the kid's head is still held high. I thought twice about going back through those old journals I own and adding them to this forum. Instead, I want to write about the day to day life at home and how I've been spending my time for the past month. So, I got laid off over my vacation before Spring vacation. Was in Scotland, on the isle of Arran and drinking great Scotch. The entire semester was prepared, all the work done. Out of four years working in the same place, it was the second time I'd repeat a semester. And, that is what kills me in its own way. I really do look for new shit to teach. New book, new ideas to spread to foreigners.

Anyway, back to home. I have spent the majority of my time here since I got laid off. The irony of the layoff and the timing of the neighborhood, albeit, a new one, Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, was not the street. It was an exhaust fan which faced my backyard. It was the most frustrating noise I can ever imagine hearing. I spoke to the owner of the restaurant where it was coming from. Called him. Sent him letters. Nothing. Finally, the DEP came and within an hour of their reading, the noise disappeared. Amazing. Yet, while at home, I wonder why it has to be that way. Why didn't the guy believe me? Why would I waste so much time even trying to make it better if it didn't really disturb me and the neighborhood?

On a lighter note, Kumo, the cat now sits on my lap. I'm not missing any baseball games at all. Yet, it is so lonely. You know that the rest of the world is at work. Your colleagues are at work. You know that the block feels some weird feeling that I see everything that goes on during the day. I hear it all. It just feels like the days go by and I don't have the balls to go to a temp agency because I don't want to work in an office again. It is not part of my pedigree. I'm a classroom guy, or at least some sort of man who can't wear good pants and a nice shirt to work every day.

Home. Home is numbing. It makes you buy music you wouldn't normally buy. It makes you check your credit. It makes you feel like you were really good at something and then wonder why you aren't doing it. It makes you sleep too late.

So now for the end of the night haiku:

Jerk chicken, Leigh Fox,

off to Chicago, my dear.

Sleeping on the couch.

Pavement Haiku

2010-03-30T03:35:00.004-04:00

Dateline: Pittsburgh, PA. 1992.

Pies delivery.

Chinese Delivery then

"Summer Babe," shift gears.

The next post will be old, bad poems I've uncovered from those days.

Cant't wait til September.

The Unemployment Journal 2

2010-03-23T09:32:00.002-04:00

Alex Chilton died while I was half-assed looking for a job. AC is a hero of mine, having discovered Big Star while still in High School and the soccer jocks were kicking their goals. They were September Girls, I thought as I delivered pizza or worked in Chinese restaurants, getting pimply and shit.

This past year has been been a strange one when I think about deaths of amazing singer/songwriters. Oddly enough, the other night I put on Be There to Love Me. That's a film about Townes Van Zant. Then, I read that Steve Earle had just written a a book about Townes. Then, I started thinking about my strong feelings about Townes and it revolved around TCW.

TCW and I used to get wild. He has a baby now, as does Lee, and we used to get wild, too. And you think, you pause, and you wonder why the radiator is bitching at you. You wonder what it would be like to just take it all in: a family, a job, a car, a __________

There is a man outside making music on a fence post, with a fork and something more metallic. It sounds great!

Death, though is a new beginning. Marriage is another new beginning, perhaps it is the death of of the individual. That is not a bad thing at all. Individualism has never truly existed as long as there are 5,000,000,000 other people in this world. Yet, you meet someone, and I mean, MEET someone and they meld into you. Aha, lucky!

So, back to AC. He met the guitar. He made music better than most of us ever will. He wrote songs that will stay with you for the rest of your life.

I am unemployed.

The Unemployment Journal 1

2010-03-16T07:58:00.003-04:00

So, so , so. Whiskey and beer. And music. And a cover letter I worked my ass off to write have just seemed to disappear. It is all about the insecurity now. I've never been unemployed in my life. Since I was 16 years old, I worked at China Palace. At 18, Echo Hill for the summer, then restaurants. I am unsure of how long I'll be unemployed.

Some of my faithful readers must know I didn't leave the last job whilst in Scotland. Thou did not know he could be let go so easilieth.

And now he searcheth.... and all he feels is bitter....

It Might Get Loud

2010-01-31T02:03:00.001-05:00

This might be my new favorite movie of all time. I played bass in a bad punk band in high school. Bought a guitar in 2000, left it with a neighbor in Williamsburg, as with all of my vinyl and left for Nippon. Never saw them again. I broke my finger and can't play chords anymore at all, but this film makes me want to pick up the guitar again and make noise. Get some pedals and see where it goes. Write songs again, or at least poetry.

Lastly, it makes me want to get a coke bottle and a piece of nylon and make something.

BTW, the Edge looks like a pussy in comparison to White and Page

Things

2010-01-29T22:57:00.002-05:00

Well, just got off the phone with Lee. He told me that I need to update my blog.

It has been awhile. We have a new president. We have a recall by Toyota, ever faithful of all cars other than a Honda. Then I read that some Hondas are being recalled. And that makes me think of my car. A Honda. Then, I think of my body. A Pauley, which has a horrible track record.

Onto other things.

FL is already worried about layoffs. I am going back to Scotland for a vacation in February. Can't wait.

Comments On My Evals

2009-05-28T22:37:00.002-04:00

Here are some of the comments that stood out the most from my evaluations from my ESL students this term in the additional comments section:

5. i enjoy the class because am learning and repasing my knoledgement

4. too mouch homework

3. i like my teacher's teach. he helped me a lot of grammar

2. he is a good teacher..he really show us how to learn..in shorts word is an excellent teacher..

1. John your the best teacher so fun......ohh yeah nice tattos and t-shits...

The Commanche Saga of Spring 2009

2009-04-27T16:25:00.004-04:00

As some of my faithful readers will remember, last year my eldest cat, Commanche had to go through a procedure to remove his penis due to a severe urinary tract infection which almost killed him. It was a grueling experience for both of us. Never to bore his owner, Commanche pulled off yet another heartbreak last Sunday before the torrential rains landed on Monday.

A few years ago, my ex and I had five cats and a dog living in our apartment. They belonged to her sister and were named Hanna and Linus. Both were clumsy little beasts that destroyed more than their fair share of things in our abode. They partook in a fun game called "Let's Stretch While Pulling Apart Window Screens With Our Claws." This game created a hole in the front window screen of our apartment. My apartment is on the ground floor of a brownstone, so the hole faced the street. Last Saturday, April 22nd was a warm one and I had opened the window a bit, but it was open a bit too much.

At 8 am on Sunday, Murph the dog barked, which he rarely does. Sometimes, if the neighbors kids are playing out front, he'll give a shout that they are too close for his comfort or too near a window. In my sleepy haze, I just assumed that was the case and returned to sleep. I was wrong. It seemed as Murph had been sending a warning that something was wrong. Commanche had slipped out the window and started to explore the neighborhood. I woke up at around noon and noticed my little man wasn't in bed with me as usual. I searched the apartment, thought about the earlier circumstances and pieced it together. The little fucker went out the window. Had gone away. The curiosity of the outside land, which he hates and makes him nervous as hell, had been too much.

I began to canvass the neighborhood and asked the old Jamaicans on the corner if they had seen a black cat. They had at about 8 in the morning when he tried to enter their house through a window. They shooed him away and away he ran. That evening, Favorite Librarian and I posted Lost Cat notices on nearby lampposts and poles. We walked around calling his name to no avail.

Monday rolled around and along with it came the rain. Man, I'm talking about rain in buckets. The kind of rain seen in horror movies, or movies about deep Southeast Asia. It looked like a monsoon and it was fucking cold. All I thought about was my little dude stuck in that shit, scared senseless and too afraid to come out of some terrible rat-infested hiding place. I went tot the bodega. nothing. The barbershop. Nothing. Mr. Brown's ragtag video store. Nothing. In the rain, wind blown and awful, I walked around and shook a box of Cat Chow, calling his name, my voice becoming more and more frantic as I circled the block. After a while, soaked and despondent, I returned home to sit by the front window in case he made his way home.

Alas! At about 11:45, Mohammed from the corner bodega shouted my name from the street. He then tossed a pebble at my window receiving an A-for-effort moment to catch my attention. I opened the door and he told me he thought he found my cat. I ran out and followed him. Amazed, as I truly thought the guy was a goner.

All the way in the back of the store, huddled between the toilet, a small sink and a cluster of maps was Commanche meowing incessantly. I grabbed him and brought him home as quickly as I could. Sadly, he didn't escape his neighborhood adventure without an injury and he had a small limp. It still exists a week later, but he is doing better. Oddly enough as well, is that he know has one, just one, grey whisker. Something about the ordeal must have scared the shit out of him. The 11-year old cat just must have aged a lot in one day.

Now, he just looks at the window he exited from and doesn't sit near anymore. He just looks at and seems to be thinking, "What the fuck was I thinking?" My thoughts exactly.

The Top 10 Project

2009-01-31T00:37:00.004-05:00

My colleague and dear friend D. is teaching High Fidelity this semester to the highest class in the ESL department at work. I am teaching the lowest class and that is a leap and a bound linguistically. D. asked me to compose a list of my top 10 songs of all time. Easy, I thought, then came home a few weeks ago and compiled a list of 22 songs. Making the top 10 was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Music in its own right is a bitch to simply just categorize as it is, but then having to take 34 years of listening and loving many a song and dwindle it down to ten is even harder. But, I did it. And, I'm sure that a year from now, even five years from now, I'll still love these songs. They may hold less weight than they do now, but they will still resonate with me. After I list mine, I'll list D.'s and Favorite Librarian's too. It would be great if you, my faithful reading community, could list yours as well and I think we would have a pretty great collection of music to revisit or further check out. Mine are listed in alphabetical order. D's are listed by year of release and I'm not sure exactly how FL listed hers.

Here it goes:

1. Atlantic City- Bruce Springsteen

Nebraska is a heartbreaking record. I re-visited it in the fall of last year for the first time in a long time and was going through some serious shit at that point. Yet, this song doesn't have meaning at all from that exact moment of last year. I think this song was introduced to me by one of my best friend's, C., who had something in common with me. We both had dead dads from a young age and the line, "Everything dies, baby, that's a fact. But, maybe everything that dies some day comes back," had such resonance with me. It literally brought my dead pops back to me at the age of 19.

2. Straight to Hell- The Clash

I don't really know how to explain this one. The first time I heard this song it simply electrified me. I've been living in NYC for 11 years now and the parts about The Lower East Side affect me in such a way because I still can remember when it was fucked up, when you really didn't want to go to Avenue D due to fear of getting fucked up and mugged. Yet, you would to score some stuff and be glad to get out of there. Then, after living in Japan for a year, the Asian aspect of it even meant more to me, though I am sure the song was talking about an entirely different region and aspect of Asia. But, man those raw drums, the synth and the opening of the song.......

3. Ziggy Stardust - David Bowie

This song is just one that sounds so different from others. It used to be my ringtone on my old phone and will be as soon as I can figure out how to do that on my new G1. Just love it. Moreso, it is a fable of failure and self-consumption, which I feel like all of us fall into at times. People see that. It is about being good at something, but loving that you are good at something too much and knowing it. You can never be that "good" at anything.

4. Cortez the Killer- Neil Young & Crazy Horse

I saw Neil Young last December at MSG and nearly shit myself. The last time I saw him was in high school. He played an acoustic set. So, in a way I still haven't really seen Neil Young yet because I haven't seen him with Crazy Horse. Yet, he played this song and it was one that I forgot how much I loved. Sitting next to me was a couple, a gorgeous one at that. The boy was 18 or 19, studying music at Juliard and his lady friend was so into his explanations of Neil Young songs. I drifted all the way back to high school, remembered the Honda Prelude, the make out sessions in that car. I remembered straight up youth. That is why I loved this song. It carries so many good memories. Moreso, it is such a kickass long song. The guitar work in it is nuts as well as the consistent/sloppy (but meant to be) drumming by Ralph Molina still put me into a dreamy trance.

5. Summer Babe- Pavement

1992 was a summer I will never fully forget. It was a summer I actually spent most of in Pittsburgh, PA. For years before that fateful summer, I spent my summers in Worton, MD at Echo Hill, my childhood haunt and summer camp. I felt like my personality developed the most there. It made me. So, in 1992, I was not asked back as a counselor. That was the summer before my senior year. Then I discovered Pavement. Holy Shit! Slanted and Enchanted opened with this song and it was perfect. It is a sarcastic song about what exactly I don't know, but it mentions lyrics from a Vanilla Ice song, it is about drinking, it is about loving someone who doesn't love you back. It is bitter. It was summer of 92'.

6. Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd

This is another one of those ones I don't really know how to explain how or why it means so much to me. When I was young, it took me a long time to get into this band with the exception of The Wall. Then it hit you, or maybe the drugs hit me. Nonetheless, this album is a pretty good one for late Floyd. These days, I really like their early stuff with Barrett, but man, this one song is definitely in its place. FL has it on her list as well and she had said that she wouldn't mind this song playing at her funeral. I couldn't agree with her more.

7. Purple Rain- Prince

I will never forget hearing Prince's Let's Pretend We're Married from the 1999 album. My sister and I were latchkey kids and we had that double album on vinyl. Prince's brown eyes were where the spindle went through. The previously mentioned song was the first song I had ever heard the word "fuck" in. We used to huddle around the huge stereo in our dining room and listen to it over and over again, giggling every time he dropped an f-bomb. I sincerely want to fuck the taste right out of your mouth, do you relate? I mean come on! I was 8 years old and loved it. that was 1982. Them in 84, the motherfucker comes out with Purple Rain, makes a semi-autobiographical film and does it with Apolonia. What is a 10 year old to do? This song was one of the only one's my pop's liked off of the soundtrack/album and he took me to see the movie to boot, all the while hating everything the man stood for and the dirtiness he represented.

8. Sympathy for the Devil- The Rolling Stones

Just one of the best sounding songs ever recorded. I had this dream: 140 bodies moving at once under a strobe light. Dancing, moving under a strobe light. Others are making out in corners of a screened structure. The bodies gyrate madly, almost in unison, dripping sweat on a hot, sticky August evening. They are all in love with each other in some way. Some are young. some are older. None are truly old. The djs are wild. There is some screaming. People bump into one another in a crazy frenzy of wildness. Lightning is in the distance. Beers are beckoning. Maybe some bourbon, too. Wait, that wasn't a dream at all.

9. Tom Sawyer- Rush

This song makes me feel so young. This was my sister's favorite song back in the day. We were working class Pittsburgh and for some reason this song sums up the Burgh in so many ways for me. It is an old tale made modern. Geddy Lee is just nuts and I recall my big sis lovin' this song and a boy named Bobby Koch to tears. It was 1981 and I hadn't really heard anything like it. Still haven't. My sister used to rock to this, really and we had this on Vinyl. Later in life, when my sis was really mean to me, I went into her room and broke a few of her records. It was a brutal sibling fight and this was one I broke, along with a Pat Benatar record. I still shudder when I think of those actions.

10. Pale Blue Eyes- The Velvet Underground

Oh man. This song has lots of weight. Perhaps it is that the first two girls I truly fell in love with had blue eyes, yet not pale. I first heard this song in Brooklyn back in high school on a visit to see a girlfriend from a distant place. Some drugs were taken and it was so obvious that we were from different places, different worlds and we broke up. I cried most of that night while I was all fucked up. This song is gorgeous but it is also a bitch slap to most things you feel like you are sure of. Even the tambourine is haunting. One of the most beautiful songs every recorded, ever.

So that is KumoD's top 10. Here are D's and FL's.

These Arms of Mine- Otis Redding (1962)

Blackbird- The Beatles (1968)

Hickory Wind- Graham Parsons (1969)

Life on Mars- David Bowie (1971)

Mother of Pearl- Roxy Music (1973)

Sylvia Said- John Cale (1974)

Just Like Honey- The Jesus and Mary Chain (1984)

From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea- The Cure (1992)

Teeth Like God's Shoe Shine- Modest Mouse (1997)

Two-Headed Boy Part 2- Neutral Milk Hotel (1998)

FL:

Respect- Aretha Franklin

Please, Please, Please- James Brown

Happiness is a Warm Gun- The Beatles

One More Cup of Coffee- Bob Dylan

Wish You Were Here- Pink Floyd

Sympathy for the Devil- The Rolling Stones

There is a Light- The Smiths

Burning Down the House- The Talking Heads

My Wondering Days Are Over- Belle & Sebastian

Crossbones Style- Cat Power

And yours...........................

09

2009-01-03T05:03:00.007-05:00

I keep on wondering what 09' will bring to me. What will it? I saw Slumdog Millionaire with my favorite librarian on the first day of the year and I keep on wondering if that "life" shit will pay off in the same way as it did in that film. First of all I've been listening to music I've not been familiar with, but probably should be, most notably Richard and Linda Thompson. I have to admit this shit means something. They were a married couple that made stuff, yet they still failed. That kind of makes me feel better as I'm embarking on something that is new and wonderful relationship-wise. And, I gasp, breathe sometimes, even, but keep on going, and certainly not in a bad way. 09' seems like it might go my way in a meaningful way. This year has some promise. Has something going for it and it feels that way. It is odd how a film makes you remove yourself from real life and then you look to your right and see what is in front of you and laugh. Slumdog made me think about how good I have it and how close I am still capable of being with someone when I didn't think I could be. 09' should teach me a lot. Should make me a better teacher and correct many wrongs to make things right.

Favorite Albums of 08' Part I

2008-12-17T15:06:00.030-05:00

It is a dreary Wednesday afternoon, grey skies, sick cat outside, Neil Young echoing in my brain after last night's show at the Garden. I have decided to open up a $15 bottle of Zinfandel and post my favorite albums of 08'. This is not an easy task. As a teacher it is very, very hard to pick favorites and favoritism is not something I prefer in any capacity, yet I practice it all of the time. I have a favorite baseball team, a kinda favorite movie (Just picked up Dig by the way and can't wait to see it), a favorite librarian, a favorite cat, I even have a favorite pair of jeans. Rambling I am. Yoda I speak. Anyway, for better or for worse and in no particular order, here are KumoD's faves of 08'.

Real Emotional Trash Stephen Malkmus and The Jicks (Matador)

This one was a serious surprise. I will buy anything by this guy and was a Pavement junkie back in the day, but this one doesn't really wear or tear. I think he has actually kind of found himself musically, yet some of the compositions are a bit confusing. None the less, they are often surprising direction-wise and I wasn't ever sure where the songs were going to go on the first few listenings. It is fair to say that Malkmus has become a kind of guitar god. I saw him on tour for this album at MassMOCA, which was one of the best shows I had been to this year. It was the last date of their tour and they played a nearly two hour set. Just seeing positive body language on stage after so much shit went down with Pavement was nice. Further, adding Janet Weiss on drums really kind of makes the band rhythmically breathless. Yes, she is that good.

Beating Back the Claws of the Cold The Pica Beats (Hardly Art)

This is a band that I just stumbled onto while drunk and looking for new music ideas on Insound.com. But, holy shit wow! They rock. I guess they are kind of a cross between the American Analog Set, Ravi Shankur and Neutral Milk Hotel? I don't really know how to describe them. They are definitely an indie rock band from Seattle, but they have this uncanny characteristic of making off-key vocals (both male and female) work perfectly so it is actually charming. I bought this a few weeks ago after listening to samples on iTunes and it is addictive as hell and really beautiful to boot. Shit, a line like I am the tension and you are the tightrope is pretty good, especially on an opening track.

I Am...Sasha Fierce Beyonce (Columbia)

When I was about 10 years old, I saw Madonna spray-painting her way all over pieces of random sculptures on a Saturday morning video show that was probably on USA. Since then, I have waited for a female pop artist to turn me on, interest me, or provoke me to buy a female pop album that is not by Madonna but is catchy and also has shades of brilliance. Beyonce has done that for me this year. I also really like that the album is equally divided into halves with Mrs. Z. having her say and Ms. Fierce, well getting her fierce on. I swear I can't get Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It) out of my head. Some of you, my dear readers, can attest to that. Oh, also here is a bonus treat for y'all.

Offend Maggie Deerhoof (Kill Rock Stars)

I first saw Deerhoof at Galapagos (I think) in 2004. They kind of blew me away and I guess this entry is kind of in the Malkmus vein. They are a band that is maturing and getting more interesting as they go on. I also like the fact that Satomi isn't a cute Japanese chick at all, but her voice is extremely doll-like. I also like the fact that their drummer, who is kick ass, drums barefoot. This is a pretty good album and has those kinda dirty glimpses of Royal Trux, especially with their bass lines. Finally, it is good that Deerhoof has gone sort of bilingual. I really dug this album on a flight I took to FLA over Thanksgiving. Perhaps I didn't really understand all of it and now that I'm listening to it as I type it is a perfect fit for going to such a foreign yet American place such as S. FLA. If you are looking for a confusing escape then this might be the album for you.

The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly Le Loup (SubPop)

This is another random insound find and what a gem it is. Imagine a Panda Bear record with female backing/assisting vocals and not so electronic. It is a short 39-minute ride, but the ride is a beautiful. I think that actually is an asset to the album because it leaves you wanting more. Was just on their site and it sounds like they just wrapped up touring Europe and are recording now. They are from DC and I always associate that city with Minor Threat, Fugazi and GoGo. But, now I know that more is capable of coming out of that hellhole. (I have a bit of DC apprehension, obviously). So, that is a refreshing aspect of the album for me as well. Anyway, back to the band. They have a serious bass drum thing going on and it has a carnival like atmosphere, yet the songs are so, I don't know, introspective and thought provoking in weird ways. It actually makes you think about the origin of your name, where it came from, why you have it, and how we are destroying ourselves. Uplifting.

Lie Down in the Light Bonnie "Prince" Billy (Drag City)

Although this album is nowhere near as strong as The Letting Go, the originator of the trucker hat phenom has a few gems on here that make it a solid record. Most impressive is You Want That Picture with some help from Ashley webber who has that Loretta Lynn DNA in her vocal chords. Certainly not his best work, but Oldham can't seem to disappoint me, yet that is.

Wow, this has taken quite a chunk of time. More to come later, as I think I'm only halfway there.....Haven't even gotten to the hip hop/other stuff yet.....

A Peach Tree Grows in Greenpoint

2008-12-08T23:47:00.005-05:00

Back in January of 1998, my best friend, C. and I moved into a ground floor apartment at 209 Kingsland Avenue in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. I recalled many experiences in that neighborhood today as I read an article in the Times about chemicals seeping into homes in the neighborhood. When we took the apartment in 98' we were mystified by having a fully grown peach tree in our backyard. I even think the broker pointed it out to us in January. It was a huge plus for an $800 shithole with a brown tiled bathroom accompanied by green ceramics. Then the summer came. My God! Fruit! Pink. Juicy. Edible? On the first of every month our landlord, a hulking, limping man, would come to collect the rent. We asked him about the tree and the sweet fruit enticing us on a daily basis. He made us aware of the enormous oil spills underneath the neighborhood and said he had never, ever, not even once, truly considered eating one due to that.

It was torturous to have to watch piece after piece fall of the tree and rot. The bees came a lot that summer, as did some rats to feast on some cancerous fruit. You couldn't tell, though, which is what made the ordeal so deceptive. They looked great. The backyard was shielded from truck soot on busy Kingsland Avenue by a large public school with an enormous playground.

So, now in 2008, a little over a decade later, people are discovering there is a lot more to deal with in Greenpoint than just an oil spill that was by far larger than Valdez. Dry cleaning chemicals and automotive waste is drifting up from the ground as well. Scary stuff. People are fearful their property values will drop substantially if they allow testing on their homes and chemical vapors are found.

Back in 98, we took the apartment partially out of desperation for badly needing a place to live and it was a two bedroom for less than a grand. We could deal with the oil spill, tolerate it because we were really young, and shit it was part of the charm of living in the "industrial" section of the neighborhood. Not sure if I'd do it again.

FLA: The State I am In Part II

2008-11-30T05:19:00.005-05:00

Late here candles and

palm trees move as the wind blows.

Small ripples on the pool.

The kids circled and circled,

again and again in Hollywood.

Dizzying.

The good uncle tucked them in,

looked at them in their eyes.

Kisses on the forehead.

Adults now, gnawing

at each other.

There is no sympathy/empathy/apathy

with family.

Raw.

DVD.

Silence.

There are a few more hours of warm weather,

little kids,

adorable and hugs galore.

Before it is time to go back to

silence.

FLA

2008-11-28T02:46:00.008-05:00

FLA: The State I am In

Australian Riesling. Who knew there was such a thing?

Sunrise Highway, cars zooming,

surround sound, left and right.

A perfect turkey,

browned, juicy.

Something is missing from this table,

an accent, a nod, roll of the eyes.

The kids scream. Way, way past their bedtime.

We scream together.

Way past mine.

We scream for what we can't have on holidays

and always used to have it.

G Train Drama Part II (Nada)

2008-11-24T17:31:00.003-05:00

Today wasn't that interesting. Same stop, but no eye contact. Me reading newspaper. She walking past me. Ho, hum. Perhaps this will be the last post in this short lived series.

Townes Van Zandt

2008-11-22T02:41:00.005-05:00

Townes. I don't know who in this world can write songs, living or dead, as he could. My faithful readers, of which there are few, I know. I am getting divorced. This man has gone through so much shit and kept on going until he really couldn't. He is the equivalent of a song sampled by a million hip hop boys. Tons copied him. He was an original, wrote about life in a way that nobody could really do as well. Simply unmistakable. Moreso, I hear him and he gives me this odd hope. Most of us are not TVZ and that is a blessing. On the other hand, if we were TVZ without the afflictions, we would be able to say whatever we wanted.

G Train Drama PartI

2008-11-22T02:20:00.005-05:00

I have been having days where I made eye contact with a librarian-esque girl on the Greatest train in the world. It had been eye contact only until this week. On Thursday, she sat next to me. On Friday she sat across from me. I read Mussina articles very closely on both days and "forgot" to look her way. On Thursday the train was wide open. It would have been so easy to talk to her. Orange seats abound, many places to stand and look, she smelled nice. More to come on Monday, I hope......

What should I do? 7:30-ish every day?

Blowin' in the Wind

2008-11-05T00:44:00.006-05:00

There are not nights like this that often. There are not times, when you are down and out, such as I am, where something happens and makes you think anew about things. There is very little belief in the idea of change most of the time, i.e., the wife beater, or better yet the wife beating alcoholic.

Yet, what happened today is profound. Perhaps it isn't even that profound if its context weren't what it was. The Bush years have been tough to endure. And, such an end to them in such a historic way makes those years feel like roots deeply sown into the earth. Those roots must hurt as they bend and pull and tear through the soil as they become real saplings. It has got to fucking hurt!

So, here we are little tree of 300,000,000 people.

LATE NIGHT

2008-11-01T07:45:00.002-04:00

And so it is Novenber the 1st. It is late/early, depending on who you ask. Murph is outside, smelling, sniffing whatever he does. I am full of snot. Full of whiskey from Scotland, full of shit. I am that guy who stays up all night and takes his antibiotics. I am that guy who .......

Who am I?

Thank you, Lord!

2008-10-19T23:58:00.005-04:00

Well, well, I figured I'd have to write before crashing this evening. The Neanderthals called The Boston Red Sox are not going to the World Series. They lost in Tampa Bay tonight and the world, as much as it is spinning out of control in many ways, now feels a little bit better. I am so happy to not have to hear Boston fans sing, "So Good! So good! So Good" for many months. Now all that Tampa Bay needs to do is get a new logo for their hat. Since they have already removed the devil from the ray, why not just drop that "B" and become the Tampa Rays. At least then their letter logo wouldn't be representative of a highly infectious disease. And, by the way, looking at their mascot, you gotta ask, what exactly is that?

Changing Gears

2008-10-16T02:53:00.005-04:00

So, now, I'm Joe Plumber, aka anyone who makes over $250k a year. I work my ass off. I've given up the 6-pack, as it puts on too many calories anyway. My snake is oily; dirty. I need a bath and I think Hussein Obama is a terrorist. I refuse to call him by his first name because of his privileged upbringing in such a wealthy country as Indonesia in the 60s/70s. It was there where he met Bill Ayers while he was blowing shit up in random cities in the US. While Ayers was blowing shit up in America, he sent telegraphic messages to Hussein Barack while he was studying in a terrorist jihad Catholic School/Madrasa in Indonesia. At the tender age of eight, Hussein Obama learned how to overthrow the American economic system in the US and how to infiltrate banks in Western Europe. In a rickshaw, he met Osama Bin Laden and further coerced with him on how to destroy his lunchbox after he ate his sandwich and before other kids could snag his HoHos. After this discrete meeting Hussein Obama returned to the US to live with liberal Columbia students and practice law at another (god forbid liberal institution) Ivy League School. The rest is history.........

Song of the Week

2008-10-08T18:04:00.006-04:00

I think Wednesdays will be dedicated to a song I have been listening to a lot this week. So, this weeks song is........ Cigarettes, Wedding Bands by Band of Horses. This one has hit home to me ever since I first heard it. The chorus repeats "They lied" and then turns it into a ladidied, lididied repetition. I guess the song is kind of a fuck you to institutions and family drama.

So, as you listen to the song, you'll notice that there are some striking lyrical illustrations in the first verse. A dogwood fence has been destroyed by violence, a drunken brother attempts to intervene in some capacity. Dogwood is considered to be a strong wood and was actually used in the past to commit violence. Due to its strength it was used to make daggers, as it wouldn't break as one was stabbing someone. So, the assumption can be made that whatever broke that fence was some kind of emotional/physical tornado.

Further, there is the drunken brother. Images of drunken brothers remind me of weddings, funerals, etc. Therefore the lie could be a death or a marriage, but having to intervene is ominous. Finally, one last note, simply based on the first verse, which would support an expensive event (funeral/wedding) is the idea of the working man's wage being pissed away.

Guided by Horses is a force. They are cinematic in ways. Most of their lyrics are quite minimalist, like a great Carver story. Your mind can wander and wonder.

I just bought Deerhoof's new album and have been revisiting Springsteen's Nebraska ( a masterpiece). Possibly one of these two will make the song of the week next week?

A Conversation With Joe 6-Pack at the Bar in Palinese

2008-10-02T23:03:00.002-04:00

Joe: Golly, Ed! I sure had a goshdarn hard day.

Ed The Bartender: Golly, Joe! What the heck happened?

Joe: Well, my Main Street store had so few customers today and yet, I couldn't get one darned thing done because I watching my IRA portfolio just go down the tubes. You betchya it hurt to watch that!

Ed: Gee, well, Joe, have a Budweiser! If it makes you feel any better, I had a blunder of a day, too. Ya better believe it!

Joe: Well, golly gee, what happened to you?

Ed: Hucksters came in here and walked out on a $90 tab. Those knuckleheads really left me in the dark.

Joe: Ooh, that is so, goshdarn awful. This world makes me really mad!

Ed: Gee Whiz, Joe. You are so right. This world can be so darned cruel. You can bet your bottom dollar, I'll try and catch those cronies!

The Cat Analogy

2008-10-02T01:31:00.000-04:00

Commanche. He gets his name. With a period. Because he is Commanche. Commanche is my cat. I have owned him now for 10 years plus some months. Commanche was born when Clinton was still president and the country was doing okay. Commanche can also read my mind. I am not going to go on some long, droning blah, blah, blah about him. Yet he holds some random key to the current economic meltdown in the US.

He got really sick on Sunday, the 14th of September. He cried and moaned and couldn't pee. So, off to the vet we go. We go to the expensive vet in Park Slope. We have already spent $3000 there on his sister who got really ill and made it. Barely. Now she has a growth on her vagina and is incontinent. Back to Commanche. He was blocked and couldn't pee, as stated above and he needed some work done on him.

The first assumption was that he needed a catheter in his little penis to unblock him. He would have to stay a few nights in the animal hospital. Most likely this would work itself out and Commanche would walk out of the building in his little bag, in my arms three days later and all would be fine. He's be in bed with me and purring. I'd be the happy pet owner with a slightly lighter wallet. All would be fine and owner/pet relationship would continue harmoniously.

But it didn't work out that way.

I was denied fucking pet/vet credit. I guess the industry has gotten that tight in this day and age. The oddest thing about it though is that you apply for "vet" credit on the same website as you would people credit. So, it turns into this odd site where you are searching through hospitals, clinics and veterinarians. So weird.

So, I got denied. If this cat can't get the surgery he needs he will die.

Oddly enough, after frantic phone calls with numerous vets, pleading, freaking out on the phone, etc...... They tell me they can "dip into a fund for people like me."

And this is where the analogy truly begins. We can always dip into funds. We are so rich. That is the bottom line. I am just a measly teacher, yet there is some fund to dip into somewhere that allows me to continue living an alright life and not worry about some dire shit and a little cat in a country of 300 million people.

The Mess We're In

2008-09-30T00:30:00.000-04:00

Well, well, well, what an eventful 2008 thus far. I capped off this disastrous financial day by watching Taxi Ride to the Dark Side on HBO tonight. Whew, I felt a mixture of sickness and awe at what great balls of steel this administration has. Yeah, yeah, I know it is old hat and there isn't very much left to say about these past eight years, but there is this blatant question of how did we let this happen for so long?

These past eight years have truly, truly been the wild, wild west in this country. Blatant lawlessness, cover up after cover up, shameless spending and lies that would make a Jim Carey character spit his milk out of his mouth across the room, down the hall and into oblivion. There was nothing done about these myriad, and repetitive, occurrences and I am numb by the seemingly endless bad news that attaches itself to this administration on a daily basis. Not only that, but we are truly supporting this broken system via the bailout which Bush seems to have mandated (fearfully, mind you). Crony upon Crony is laughing out of the closed bank, down the street (Main or Wall, it really doesn't matter) and off to Dubai to live on one of those million dollar islands while millions suffer without homes, cars or jobs.

It will be so nice to see this go. It will be even more beautiful to read history books when I am fifty and acknowledge the blindness this entire country has been terrified into living on a day to day to basis. It is so laughable that Palin, with her "god told me so" ideology would even be considered for another round of a presidency. Another TKO (Theological Knockout) will come with a mighty punch if some house isn't cleaned up, and I mean soon.

Last food for thought on this "black" Monday? Could it be that? Bush passed some legislation on Sept. 23, 2006 dating back to 9/11 that allowed for complete immunity for his administration to ever be tried for War Crimes. What could be buried in that enormous document the house didn't pass today?

Our Value System in a Black n' Blue City

2004-11-06T13:17:00.000-05:00

Just what are the values at play in the U.S.? I just attended a class observing a group of immigrants learning English in NYC. The students came from Cuba, Turkey, Korea, Japan, Italy, Brazil. All of them hope to acquire a green card in the future. All of them want to stay. Speaking with some of them, they said the transition in thinking, speaking and feeling in English has been difficult. Some of their jobs are shitty, some of them are good. And I think about the values they came here with, and then the principles of NYC in particular. Yeah, this city is money obsessed, this city is image obssessed, but this city is a representation of the not really, real U.S. We take comfort in that here, we look upon the diversity as one of the great things in general about NYC. But those people in the U.S. would have very little tolerance for the people in class today. They would encourage them to assimlate into their value system, become Christian, attend church regularly, oppose rights stated in the philosophical document of our country. That is, fundamentally, the problem with middle America. The terrorist threat is not their fear, their fear is of difference. They are xenophobic, they are comfortable umongst their own, and only their own. They do not like to become too personal or thoughtful when it comes to decision-making. They have shallow hearts which can't see beyond their county limits, let alone globally. The catastrophe of September a few years ago touched them in the way that Oprah touches all of us at times, but it doesn't truly dictate one's feelings on a day to day basis. It is this removal from the outside world that is going to haunt America for years to come. The people of this country are forgetting what they need to remember, that we are in a vast world of different idelogies, of different belief systems. A courageous act within the U.S. can now be defined as going shopping smewhere other than Wal-Mart or the mall.
Yet, there are waves of people entering this country for their economic and idealistic futures. The ideals of the great country are being skewered in drastic ways in most states. If only these people entered the U.S. in Nebraska, or Wyoming I wonder what they would think of us. Being looked at in a suspicious manner, asked to convert and dismantle their belief systems, to respect ideologies created by a Puritanical establishment with little more to care about than their own peronal gain masked in caring and kindness for all humans. To be removed from diverse human interaction, as is the case in so many red states, is only forcing the country to become something it is not. It is not a landscape such as that in Kansas, with rows upon rows, and acres upon acres of the same scenery. It is that and much more, it moves from desert, to tropical, to frigid to arid, to and fro. It does feel as if now, the country is slipping backwards, falling into an abyss where a belief system is impossible to create with 275 million people of different backgrounds. A Bush/neocon value system can never be upheld in a country of such great diversity as the U.S. Can it?????????

End All

2004-11-05T01:49:00.000-05:00

It has now been a day since the concession speech, the jubilent re-election speech, and all I can do is wonder what more needs to happen in this country of ours to wake up a little bit. Lately, I have been reading AMERICA THE BOOK. I started it before the election and laughed a lot, but now it isn't so funny. It is hard to see satire become, in many ways, reality. The hollow echoes of this man's speeches, the inability to be human and reflect upon mistakes, the inclusion of religion in everything, which means the President is violating the Constitution on a daily basis. Each time he addresses America, he violates it. in The problems are so huge for America these days. We are refusing to recognize the multiple ethnicities in this country, refusing to look at what is happening here, with the exception of an election. Speaking to a relative today, I was struck by him saying how neccessary the war was in Iraq. "We won't be engaged in just talking anymore." Shit, that is the same rhetoric of madmen. Like it or not, the U.S. has global responsibility, which is being abandoned, just like our citizens with dreams of a multi-layered and complex society in basic agreement in how live, with respect for differences.......all of the basic ideals of a great country.