Seasick

Does the holiday season ever fucking end? This time of year needs to be summed up into one day, and one day only. It could be called something like, Christgiving Years Day. One day, where everyone sits around and says, "Hey, something religious happened, lets celebrate by eating turkey on the first day of the new year, in this country we stole." That more or less covers everything, right? Fuck, maybe even wear a costume.

Who taught you to tie your shoes?

Today Sean came home with some new slippers. LLBean slippers, the kind with a back, kind of like a shoe. They have that leather tie on the front, almost like a lace. It had come undone, and when looking at the other slipper Sean realized he did not know how to tie the knot used on the other slipper. The knot used was what I thought was your basic shoe tying knot, one loop, you wrap it around or something, and then poof. I was shocked to find he couldn't do this, who the hell taught him to tie his shoes? My parents taught me, and I figured since we have the same parents, they taught him as well(adopted?). Why would they teach us differently? I guess he uses the two loop one, I cant do that, too many loops, Im a simple guy. I like my ladies like I like my coffee, strong, black, and proud. And I like my shoes tied with one loop. But thanks to Google, and boredom, I've come to realize that I guess the two loop way is the more commonly used knot. What the hell? This just makes no sense to me. Two loops? When you only need one? Maybe this is why people are greedy. When they were kids they had the option of one loop or two, those who chose two loops are always looking to get more. Those who chose one loop are just happy that they have less to deal with. Think about that. How are you going to teach your child to tie his/her shoes? Fuck it, dont! Get them slip-ons.

That thing that I said before about laides and coffee is only half true. Which half? Who knows? I do, I like pale, scrawny, white girls. Coffee though, my coffee has attitude. It's like Sam Jackson in Pulp Fiction. Probably not as good at foot massages though.

I'll write you letters.

Something comes over me when I write a letter, and I begin to feel like a soldier at war writing home to his love. I become slow, dramatic, and long winded, clinging to every word like it could be the last the recipient ever read from me.

I recently wrote an e-mail to a friend from college, Sara, for Christmas. Ok, so it was an e-mail, not a letter. Still, my lack of her street address did not stop the handwritten letter inside me from coming out. I found myself casually using words like, "pleasant," and phrases like, "It deeply saddens me."
Simple statements like, "I wont be home for a while, Merry Christmas!" became, "I'm sad to say I won't be home in time for the holidays, hence this e-mail, I lack the ability to give you something in person."
Using more words than needed, describing subtleties, trying desperately to make my written words seem slow, and soft spoken.

What's great is that she wrote back with the same kind of vibe, showing effort, and meaning behind every word. I do this every time I write a letter, but rarely do I get one like it in return. I don't know what it is about letters, I feel like writing styles have changed so much over the years, but letters will always keep a sincerity that is just the way they are supposed to be done.

Sometime's things have easy solutions.

Seriously, sometimes you just need to add more salt.

Other times you have to go all in with Ace-10.

And sometimes you just need to keep your mouth shut.

Sometimes all it takes to save the butchers life is a few days of rest, maybe shoot some buffalo, rather than forge the river when you know he's sick with dysentery.

I was born yesterday

Just Sayin'

3rd post today. No big deal.

Anyway, new favorite thing to do. Listen to metal and cook.

This is half inspired by this girl, Jaime's, boyfriend, Andrew, telling me about he like to listen to Converge when he does the dishes. I tried that, it kind of rules. Might even make doing the dishes bad-ass. Not for me to say though.

So I took that concept(hardcore/metal while doing other things), and I've applied it to a few other things: Drinking Beer(yeah, caps), getting dressed, showering, brushing teeth, taking out the trash, and some other things that just feel like they could use a little something else. Needless to say the addition of metal music to all these things has been pretty cool.

The latest installment came tonight, with my desire to make mashed potatoes. I bought all the stuff a few days ago(it took two days to buy, as the first day I did not have enough money to buy all the required pieces to the delicious puzzle), but lacked the motivation to make them. So tonight I started boiling water, listening to something(not hardcore/metal), I forget now what it was. I was bored. What ever could I do. Oh yeah, that's right. I could put on some metal. I went with Lamb of God, or Log, as my Father calls them. It was a great fucking time.

We haven't even turned our heat on

New York is blanketed in snow. At most the snow came to around four inches. Oh dear God. This city is ridiculous. It shuts down. I worked 7am-3pm on the day of the "big storm." When I got home at about 3:30 Sean was home early from his 9-5 job because it snowed, so they closed. What? Working a door all day, I saw so much of this: People walk out ready to hit the town and do some shopping on vacation, see the snow, "Oh my God!" and then turn around and go back inside.

This is the scene from my sister's back door in Maine.


18 inches. The snow is taller than her dog, making it hard to let the dog out.

Disappointment goes up or down.

It was this past Saturday, just a couple days ago, snow was falling lightly in a far prettier fashion then the nasty snow storm that was the day before, and I was at work. I work every Saturday night, 4-12pm. An hour or two must have pasted, I feel like I remember working for at least a little while before my disappointment set in. I think I was taking something up to a room, which I do countless times a day, meaning I ride an elevator a lot. I'd say on a busy day I might go upstairs 50 times, that's 100 elevator rides. A day. I wondered once how long it would take me, at this rate of riding elevators, to get stuck in one. Well, it happened on Saturday. FINALLY!

I think I was coming down from the 5th floor, and the elevator reached ground level, but just didn't level off and open. My eyes opened wide, I was excited. I tried pushing a few buttons, nothing was working. I stand there for a minute going over all the possibilities. First off, this a good thing, no, a great thing. This could possibly take an hour or more to fix, oh lord how great would it be. It was kind of busy, but I couldn't work locked in an elevator. I did have my iphone though, yeah, so I could just either call someone, or cruise the internet for how ever long I need to. Oh right, and I'm getting paid right now. Seriously, this is fantastic.

A couple minutes pass, and my mind finally comes to the point of needing to tell the front desk. I call Nate at the desk, and tell him that I'm stuck. He tells me to hold on. I'm just about ready to have a seat and maybe check myspace or something. Then the door opens. And Nate is standing there. He just pushed the button from the outside, and it made it level off and open.

Well, that sucked. I had like three or four minutes to think about all the fun I would have had well getting paid well. Damn, disappointment.

I have nothing to do

and I choose to embrace that by making bad decisions.

Example: Parties.
I generally show up late from work. And then I drink too much. And then this girl I know shows up, because I invited her. And I think about how bad of an idea it is to kiss her. Then I get really fucking excited because she actually came to see me at a party with all my friends (all five of them, and then all their friends). And then I say fuck it, try to kiss her anyway. Then I remember she's sort of my boss. And she tells me no. We all decide to leave to go to a bar/get food. Too drunk, go home instead. This is where all the vodka I drank to fast catches up with me in moment taken right out a movie about high school kids. I somehow wake up in time to go to work, check to make sure I have everything I had the night before. Clean up the mess I made. Remember why I don't really like going to parties. Remember why I stopped drinking vodka. Say hi, and sorry to the roommates, and the girls I didn't know were there. Then put some pants on. Take some cold medicine, and some aspirin. Pour some coffee. Hit the road. Work. Christmas party. Free drinks. Not vodka. Keep my self control MUCH better than the night prior. Stay just long enough to be seen, as to avoid being asked later why I didn't come to the fantastic work Christmas party. Get some much needed sleep.

I have a love/hate relationship with my life.

Also, new blog. Mostly about my writing. Words Wont Save Your Life. Also, I think I might get that tattooed on my chest. It's a lyric from a Hold Steady song. And it seems rather fitting for my life/thought process in general. Cool.

I'd ask for one more day. But the calendar says to be happy today.

It starts off slow, but this a blog about being happy. No seriously, trust me.

Current time: 3:52 Am. I'll leave in a couple hours to go to work, but for the meantime I'll sit here with the company of a spaceheater, a strong cup of coffee, and my fucked up sleep schedule. Oh right, and it's Thanksgiving.

Should I ask what all of you are thankful for?

I started something here, a little holiday jeer. I've never been one for holidays, but about half way through I decided not to share. I'll spare you. Sometimes bitterness is better kept to oneself .

Keeping more with the mood that seems to fit these extraordinarily special days, I'll share my plans. We can compare what we all did later, it will be fun! (I'm trying to keep this positive)

I was slightly scared about this holiday season, what was I going to do? Provided you can follow the norm, holidays are supposed to make everyone happy. However, should you fall short of the norm, ie: not having anything to do on thanksgiving, it can be equally depressing.

So when work asked me to work rather than go home for turkey day, and then work the following day as well, I got the feeling today would go nowhere. I couldn't go home, and I couldn't go to Philly to see my sisters. As I mentioned above, I'm not really one for holidays, but it would still be kind of bummer to eat a turkey sandwich alone tonight (Dear God, that sounds way more depressing than I meant it to. Haha). Thankfully, something I almost forgot about altogether, I have good friends.

Although it is proving to be far more difficult than is needed, Jen Jun, Pete Remm, whoever else Pete invited, and myself will gather tonight for some turkey (if all goes according to plan) and probably lots of drinks. It's gotten to be slightly stressful, trying to decide who is doing what, when, and how. Jen and I both have to work. I only work till three. So Jen decided to do most of the cooking the night before, and then Pete and I would finish up after I get out of work. Easy, right? Of course not. Things just do not work as planned. So, at the moment, we might have a turkey. Worst come to worst, we'll order Chinese food. I have managed to not really care all about the complications that have come with our plans. I've been saying things like, "Who cares, all that matters is that we have a good time right?" Seriously, I said that. And a bunch of other things that sounded just like that. I swear, that kind of optimism almost hurt.

But honestly, as much as I love the standard Thanksgiving meal, I could give a fuck what I eat. Knowing that I'm going to get together with two of my good friends, and have a good time regardless (something these good friends have yet to realize), I couldn't be happier.

I know, it took a while for me to get there. But that is ultimately what this blog was intended to be about, James Walsh is stoked on fun for thanksgiving. Maybe, just maybe, I'm just in a good mood because it's a Thanksgiving, and I'm thankful for some things (though I'll probably never fully admit it). I suppose it's a possibility. I mean, who doesn't like celebrating the slaughter of the Indians and the theft of their country, I know I do!

A hope, a dream, an ambition, a list:

Of sorts, anyway. Tomorrow I am working the overnight shift to help out at work. Regardless of how bitter I am at the thought of helping them out anymore, it does mean that I basically have tomorrow off. I don't go into work until 11:30 PM. Thats nearly the next day, seriously, check your watch. Anyway, this is of course a great chance for me to get some things done. I actually have these great chances about twice a week, they are what I like to call "days off," but I never, ever, ever, maybe once in a while, ever seem to get anything done. Tomorrow though, it's the day. I'm storming the beaches of opportunity. Maybe. Here is my list of possible things to get done, in the hopes that maybe since someone might ask me later on if I got any of the things listed below done, I might do some of them. That's right, not because they are things I need to get done, but because I care, mostly, about what you think of me.

- I could read some, but that doesn't really count as something I need to get done. I just like doing it. Maybe that should be further down on the list. It's too damn late now though.

- I could finish some of the many blogs I have started, and left unfinished to wallow in their sad lives as a draft. Seriously, I think I've got some good ones. With decent writing, and big words, maybe even a metaphor or two.

- I could buy a space heater, it's getting cold in BasementTown. Stealing a great idea from yet another hero of our time Walsh sibling, we have yet to turn on the heat. And well, a $40 space heater just sounds a lot better than paying for heat EVERY month. (Our electricity is included in our rent, schwing!)

- I should probably hit the bank up, I got's mad moneys.

- I do need more ear plugs. I've started sleeping with them, mainly because when I was working overnights regularly I used them so I didn't wake up when the roomies got up shortly after I got home. But now it's just kind of nice. And if my new neighbors (living above B-Town) decide to have another huge jump up and down and beat on drums party with all their friends at 3AM, maybe I can sleep through it.

- Really clean my room. Not just kind of make it look cleaner. Not likely.

Honestly, when I sat down to write this blog (I actually sat down to write another blog, left it unfinished as a draft, and strated this one) I was sure that I had more things I needed to do. Of course as soon as I attempted to list them, they all escaped me. In their place I came up with the list above, some stuff I should do, or would like to do, but nothing that I really need to do.

What will probably happen is more like this:

- Catch up on some sleep that I've been avoiding.
- Internets for a while.
- Hang with Jesse, doing cool things. None of which NEEDS to be done.
- Go to my Monday night hangs at Rue B to see Pete and friends, and grab a beer or two.
- Go to work knowing that I have the next two days off to do all the things I meant to do the days before.

This is mostly for Jessica.

Cat Pounces at Mirror Image - Watch more Animal Videos

Lately,

My iTunes really wants me to listen Norma Jean. I have sort of been sliding back into a lot of the harder music in my collection, but now my shuffle is forcing me. Yeah, I've been using shuffle a lot just to simply try to find something I want to listen to. I swear, every like.....3rd song I skip to is Norma Jean. So, tonight I gave in, and I listened to a bunch. They are really awesome. Their awesomeness aside, listening to something darker for a change kick started something for me. Whats that? Yeah, I started writing again tonight. Maybe it's the Halloween season, maybe it's my love of (fictional) blood, violence, death, and horror, but I've come up with something cool. It's hardly started at the moment, but so far I like it. It follows the theme I've been stuck trying to figure out for a while now, the death of a beautiful dark haired girl, told in a loving sort of way. Weird, yeah I know. Look at my arm, its sort of like that. Only, theres no "Soul Sucking Demon." But hey, maybe there should be. I could probably tie that in somehow, just to throw cheers to the inspiration of Jeremiahs work on me. Anyway, I picture this being short. And sort of unfinished. I've had this one scene stuck in my head for about a year, and its all I want to write. It will kind of be like one chapter, and the rest will just be left up to imagination. But I'm hopeful, given the fact that I'm writing again, and the dark nature of the story, I will be able to carry it over and re-write, and finish, my long standing Zombie piece. Oh the epic possibilities. I've got a lot more writing to do on the piece I just started, and then probably a lot of re writing, but hey, Ill probably post it on here for Halloweens sake (Provided I finish it, of course). Oh right, and back to Norma Jean, for the moment, and probably forever, due to the real inspiration for this short work, it will be titled "She Simply Will Not Die." If you're a fan of Norma Jean, you get it. If not, well, it's cool. So, thanks iTunes for getting me to write again.

A few things about right now:

At this very moment I'm listening to Jay-Z. Go ahead, ask yourself, "why?" I'll tell you, because it's a great time.

Also, I bought some curry paste the other day to make some curried rice. It was incredible, it was so good to my taste buds that now I'm worried they'll reject all other food I make from this point on. That's why I've put curry paste in everything I have made since. Yeah, curried perogies, twice, and tonight I even zazzed up my lack of real food with some curried Mac and Cheese. No joke. Out of this world.

And then, remember all my bad luck? Maybe not, I didn't write about all of it. You know, cops taking me down, bad news black bears trying to take me out, and frustration from work that just ruins my days. Well, I'm glad to say, things just aren't so bad. Yeah, thats right. Twice I've gotten tacos with no awful results. I've made some effort to change things at work. And then there's some other stuff, yada yada yada. Over all, things are looking up.

Seriously, how can you not have fun listening to Jay-Z? I don't even like rap.

Last night I didn't die

I got home to some drunk kids, a thrash scene, and a camera. It was a Bazooka Christ photo shoot, and it looked like a train wreck. After an atrocious work day, my mood was anything but good, but I dealt with what was going on around me. Soon after I got home the photo shoot finished, and someone decided that tacos would be a good idea. If you read my blog, you know about my last two encounters with tacos. First grabbed by police before tacos, second punched by a kid after tacos, so I was slightly scared that the trend might continue and I would be stabbed by rapist while eating tacos. Fearing for my life, the four of us strapped on our shoes and hit the road. Tacos were had. 3 for $2.75, and they were awesome. And nothing exciting happened. The trend is dead.

I will fucking stab you.

This is me icing my face, minutes after getting sucker punched on my walk home with Sam. We are walking home from a show that was going on a few blocks away and we are a mere 2 blocks from my Apt. and we walk by three black kids, one of whom while walking by me decided to sucker punch me hard right in the jaw. I obviously jumped away, combined with the impact of the punch, to wind up being about ten feet away from him as he turned with arms raised like he just won a fight. God damn stupid fucking kids. I just got out of there, and 30 feet down the road flagged down a passing police officer. The kids ran. Seriously, after being accused of having a knife the other night, and now this, I am completely serious I would have no fucking issue stabbing anyone. Not having a knife, and therefore not stabbing anyone tonight, I take comfort in knowing he will someday overdose on drugs. Fucking loser thug wannabes. I seriously fucking hate people.

I'm waiting for something.

Not sure what, but I'm pretty sure that when I find it it will be pretty awesome.

I've been reading a lot more lately. Not to say that I ever really stopped. But I did. A of all, my life started to have other things to do in it. And Secondly, I've been reading some great comic series (The Walking Dead, The Last Man, and Powers). Sure thats still reading, but what I'm getting at is I've fallen back into reading books described with words, not pictures.

Sean bought A Game of Thrones for Jessica, for her birthday, and it reminded me that I still need to read the fourth book in that series before the fifth comes out. I'm a few hundred pages in, and going strong. I wish I could write like George R.R. Martin. Seems like I wish I could write like a lot of people though. But at the moment I'm just wishing I could write at all.

The ideas are there, but they don't come out. That, however, is altogether a different story. And this is my second blog already today, and a third would just be a little over the top.

Back to the point. I have also been reading blogs more often. I wish very much that Amber would blog a bit more often, just so I know what the hell is going on. Also reading Jessica's blog fairly regularly. I just found my Uncle Jim's blog, about food, and its awesome. He is a great chef, and the blog is great. A little strange when I first received an e-mail from him with a link to his blog, as it came to my in-box under the name James Walsh. Yes, same name. Eerie though, getting an e-mail from yourself. And finally (on blogs anyway) I just caught up on my sister Alison's blog, which I love. She does interesting things, and it amazes me to read that after all these years she still has interesting things to do in that God forsaken state.

To wrap up the readings, I have been reading a lot of essays. It all started the other night, the night described in my previous blog, at my friend Dan's house. I saw a book by E.B. White on his table, and I had to start talking about. It was not one I had seen or read before, and due to my state at that moment, I have no idea what it is now. But it did get me to pick up "One Man's Meat" again. This is Whites book of essays all about life, and growing old in Maine. I remember what got me started on E.B. White, my 1st (and only full) year of college a professor of mine LOVED him. He read a passage from Charlotte's Web one day in class, and it brought him to tears. Whatever I thought of this at the time, the writing is beautiful. Since then of course, I have made an effort to read his work. I have yet to cry, but hey, maybe.
Also, George Orwell. Tonight alone I reread two of my favorite of his essays, Shooting an Elephant, and A Hanging. I read these in the same class I mentioned above, and they have stuck with me. I have actually not read any of Orwell's novels, sadly. I know EVERYONE has read 1984 and Animal Farm, and I should too, it will happen. But wow, his essays are amazing. Read some here if you've got the time. I promise they will get you thinking.

I guess, in a slightly less productive way, I am writing again. Even if it is just about reading, and not Zombies. By the way MyZombiePinUp, fantastic. Sorry.

Also, today Jesse and I used the Bowflex for the first time. Amazing. It deserves it's own post, with pictures, it will come.

No really,

I got jumped by Police in Queens.

After getting out of work at around 4, I hit the town with some friends from work. Our day quickly turned to night, hour after hour, and bar after bar, the debauchery continued and eventually led to Pete and I traveling to Queens with Dan. I'll spare most of the details, but I spent a good deal of time in a place called Flamingos, where all the Latin ladies seemed to cost money, and the bouncer really did not like the color of our skin. No joke. Finally, at an hour I cant even remember, it was clear that Dan really needed to go home. This was fine, we start walking, planning to grab some tacos from one of the street carts before hailing a cab. I'd say roughly 5 feet from the taco cart this guy just slams into me, forcing me back, shouting "police! police! KNIFE!" He was plain clothed, but just started grabbing at my pockets and shouting at me to stop moving. At this point four or so uniformed cops surround me and the plain clothed officer, who was still practically tackling me. After all the commotion slowed down, I saw that one of the hands flailing around me held a badge, the plain dressed dude was indeed a cop. But what the hell was going on? I try to explain, with a bit of a slur, "I just want some tacos, we're trying to get tacos, and get my friend home. I just want tacos. Tacos then home." The officer seems to see that I am actually just a harmless person, I am at this point waving my hands in the air as if to show my white flag (of surrender, not skin color). The officer in the plain clothes makes a last grab at my pocket, pulling out the pen that I had clipped there. "Oh, it's just a pen guys. I thought it was a knife." WHAT THE FUCK? Seriously. What? I can't even begin to put all these pieces together. Isn't there an easier way for this situation to go down? Honestly, I'm in a sketchy place, and some dude in plain clothes just grabs me, I guess I'm lucky I didn't try to defend myself from this possible thief, thug, murderer, or I guess police officer. After discovering it was just a pen, he didn't stop to say sorry, or even try to send us home. Everyone just left. I turn to see my friends standing there wide eyed, jaws dropped. "Fuck, get me some tacos."

In the end, I got some tacos. Everyone did. 2 chicken tacos. They were delicious, and worth every one of the 300 pennies I spent on them. Together we sat, Pete, Dan, and I, eating tacos, blown away by what just happened. We settled down while some more Latin girls told us that if we were not white, we would have been arrested anyway. Possible, I guess. But did they not realize the only white kids in this town just got jumped over a pen? I do not think our skin color was working in our favor on that night. Tacos though, I'm telling you, great idea.

We're going to die like this, you know? Miserable and old.

Life is what you make it, right? At least what the money in your pocket lets you make it.

I almost decided not to go out tonight. Potential fun was thrown at me, gathering of coworkers at Thom Bar for drinks, and I just wanted to say no.

Here's my thought process:
Do I have the money?
Tips are slow.
I'm doorman today.
Drinks there are expensive.
It's going to get real late real fast.
I have to work in the AM.


Dear God. I have an uncontrolable inner need to be old.

Here are my thoughts now:
Tips were actually pretty good today.
Pre-game.
I don't work until 10.
I'm going to have fun.

I'll just stay out here until the night comes crashing down.

I have a weekend, sort of, for the first time in so long. I work 7AM-3 every Friday, so I always have Friday night off, which is nice. Not that I ever do anything on Friday nights. See, I have to work at 10AM on Saturday. Ok, ok, 10AM, really not bad at all. I can sleep till 9. But getting up at nine is early if you've stayed out all night after getting up at like 5:30 or 6 to go to work. But this weekend, due to some change in schedules to help a coworker out, I have Saturday off. Oh what to do. I remember Fridays being epic. You know, its Friday, come on. We shall see. I'm going to have some fun.

Be safe kids.

My body beat me.

My ribs got the better of me yesterday.

I was planning on trying to sit for 4 hours of tattooing my ribs.
I was ambitious.
Really just not smart.
I knew better, I really did.
I tapped out at around 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Oh my God.
At that point I could really feel that if I sat for too much longer, I would vomit.

On the plus side, I've started what will turn out to be a sweet tattoo. And I did get a large amount of work done on it. Two more sittings, I hope, will finish it. There is still a great deal of work to be done, but I'm happy.

The cold air comes in.

It was fairly warm today, but fall is on its way. The other day at work my coworker and I had to force work to get us new uniforms, starting with a sweater, because it was too cold to be standing outside in a just a shirt(A pink one at that). Of course this meant I was alone, and swamped with work, for a hour or so while said coworker was dragged away by the management to try on clothes.

Anyway.

I enjoy the cold. Fall is really my season, but the drop in temp really does nothing good for me. I am blessed with a fearless and ferocious case a dry skin. I'll give it to Sean that his is worse, but my hands and lips start cracking and bleeding once its hits 60. My hands look like poorly sculpted clay models left out in the sun to dry. I could keep a zombie infestation happy with the amount of skin that rips off my lips in a given season. It's really not a pretty sight. Thankfully, Burt's Bees exists, and Zombies aren't real.

Aside from exponential death of my soft and smooth skin cells, the cold brings on the aches of old age. Sure, I'm only 20, still a young buck. A young buck that's been shot in a few helpful joints. Seriously though, my bones ache like you wouldn't believe. My right leg begins to feel like a plaster skeleton with joints super glued into the classic skeleton pose; straight. My shoulder starts to pretend I've been a Major League Pitcher for 30 years, and has just got no life left. My messenger bag, containing a book or two, and possibly something else of an equally light weight, will begin to feel as if I'm the nerdy kid in school who carries his extensive rock collection with him for good luck.

Forgetting my body that seems to fall more and more apart on a daily basis, I really do love these up coming seasons. The cold is just....nicer. The colors are softer, sweeter, and not on overweight women in tube tops. It really just makes me enjoy things more. A good blanket, a burning hot cup of coffee, the company of others, it all just gets intensified as the weather begins to cool. And come on, it's easy to get warm. Be creative.




The point of this blog is about to be changed.

Amber has been urging me to blog once again, it has been a long time. The plan was for both of us to post a blog about our time spent together when I went back to Maine this summer. We. however, are both very similar and very similarly did not blog for a very long time. Now a blog about a trip home last month just seems silly. So in short:

I ventured home this summer, finally, for a short time. In which time I saw very few people, and managed to do a lot. I finally got to see my friend Amber again. Explaining our relationship is not yet something I have been able to do all that well. In far too many ways, we are the same. There was no real set up for our friendship, no real introduction, no real time spent together before hand, it just sort of happened, and it has yet to stop.

We spent a lovely day together doing what we do best, which is not much at all. We drank coffee, and walked through the Camden park, and finally took post on a bench by the harbor. We talked for hours about the same things we always do, and somethings we hadn't. We had a giant catch up on life, filling in the gaps for each other, and for ourselves. Eventually movement started again, and we toyed around in The Planet, a fantastic store for those of you who don't already know. This happened:
And afterwards we finished our excursion with some ice cream from a friendly little place that really liked my hat and had a place for us to sit outside and continue talking about this and that(pregnant high schoolers.) It was a day well spent.

New post.

I havent posted anything in a loooong time. I miss it. It's not that I have nothing to write about, its that I have no time. I have been having so much fun lately, it lessens my need to blog, and my time to do it.

Here are some likes and dislikes I have realized over the past few weeks.

James likes:

Letting off some steam Monday nights at jazz bars.
Staying out until 9AM with Pete and Jen.
Being out with good friends in general.
Meeting cute girls, that turn into new friends, if nothing else.
Reading, and or writing. I haven't come up with anything thats lasted lately, but the effort alone is worth it.
Work.
Meeting people I have waited ages to meet: Chan Marshall.
New comics.
$10 movies at Virgin.
The pasta specials from Fanellie's.
His new iPhone, that is not quite working yet. Just the idea.
When girls just don't seem to care about my tattoos.


James dislikes:

Waiting for people.
Being late.*
People who interfere with my routine.
The Jonas Brothers, and the hundreds of 12 year old girls who were screaming and waiting for them at the Apple store the other day/night/forever.
People who demand respect, and give none in return.
People who bring bikes on subways.*
People who ride bikes on sidewalks. Its a sidewalk, not a sidebike.
Having people rely on me.
Those who do not understand my sense of realism. It goes beyond most.
When randoms want to sit and talk to me about my tattoos in situations where I am clearly busy.
When people think that since I have tattoos, it's ok for them to grab my arm are start moving it around.



* This is a side note. But I really fucking hate being late. To work, for friends, anything. When I have things to do, I like to do them. It does not take me long to get ready and I don't understand when it takes other people longer than me. There are certain things I do, that I do all the time, and if I have to wait for someone else to get these things done, it just sets off everything about me. Even when I get to my destination, if I'm late, I don't have as good a time. When I'm late for work, I feel awful. When I'm late for friends, I just cant have as much fun. I'm always the first one ready. I'm always the first person there for dinner reservations. I just really can't stand being late.

*I'm sorry, but you brought your bike out. Why the fuck are you taking it on the subway? Did your parents never teach you how to ride it? I don't care if it started to rain, maybe you should have checked the weather before you came out with your fucking bike. The subway is no place for a bike. And please don't act like the subway needs to make room for you. Too many times have I had to squeeze in so some lazy d-bag with a bike can fit in. Hey loser, just ride it home, you'll probably beat the L train.

Tonight tonight.

I was exhausted. I did a back to back at work, 4 to midnight, and then back in at 7 until 3. With a not so brief stop at the bar, for some sweet free drinks, in between. I took a nap, and went back to work. So I intended on going to bed sort of early tonight. Maybe blog, read, and pass out. But then I couldn't think of anything to say in here.

I used to blog a lot, not so much anymore. I couldn't figure it out, so I went to myspace, where I did most of my blogging, and just sat reading old posts for like 2 hours. I read back over the last few years of my life. Going back to high school. And well, I think I've figured it out. I don't have as much to complain about anymore. I'm in a place with things to do, a sweet job, good friends. I just lack all the old problems I had. Girls, stupid people*, boredom, money, blah blah blah.

There are things I want to change, frankly, I would welcome some girl problems. But hell, I just really have nothing angry with, or even slightly annoyed. I'm doing fine.



* I will never actually be rid of stupid people. I'm just at a point in my life where aside the unavoidable times at work or on the street, I don't deal with them. I have little to no personal relationships with stupid people. And I like that.

I spoke the words...

...but never gave a thought to what they all could mean.

Some things leading to this post:

1) Talking with Kelly tonight, about nothing at all.

2) A section of the book I'm reading, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, talking about how bad hospital food is.

3) My growing awareness of my spotty memory.



After reading that part of the book (although it is listed above as "2", it was actually the last in the series of events to spark this post.) I began to think about what I thought of hospital food. I ate a great deal of hospital food during my stay, about three meals a day for roughly 3 weeks. Granted, I didn't eat for about a week, but I make up for lost time in the amount of late night ice cream I stole from the freezer while everyone else was sleeping. Honestly, I don't remember liking or hating hospital food. It doesn't really jump out at me as my biggest worry at the time, I was more concerned with finally regaining my ability to hobble to the bathroom with out my crutches. Yes, that was a process that took up a good deal of my time. Along with remembering if, and how, I had done it the day before. Anyway, hospital food was not really the point of this.

I began to think of Kelly, and trying to remember her during that time in my life. There are a few things I know for certain:

I know she came to see me, with Kait, and her mother. And I know her general reaction when she first heard what happened.

I really only KNOW these things because she told me later on, after I started to work again, during numerous talks about the situation. There are a lot more things that I THINK I know, but I really have no idea. And yeah, this kind of is The Diary of James Walsh. (Raise your hand if you get that joke.) I'm fairly certain that prior to her visit, I talked to Kelly, and many members of her family, possibly even friends of ours, on the phone in my room. I'm pretty sure I know this because I remember her father telling me I should get some food at this place down that street from the hospital, I guess it's pretty good. I'm also pretty sure at some point, I got food from this place, I think my parents brought it to me. But anyway, I think I vaguely remember talking to her father, and I'm just taking advantage of the obvious here, if I talked to Kelly's father on the phone, I probably talked to her.

More importantly, I'm pretty sure she cried when she came to see me. I don't, however, really remember her coming to see me. Like I said, I KNOW it happened, but that doesn't really mean I remember it. I do seem to remember this one part though, her having to leave the room at one point, due to tears. I've seen Kelly cry before, Kelly has seen me cry as well, blah blah, we are close. But this is different. This is something that through all the fog of my shattered memory of the time, I have stuck in my head. Just this image of her covering her face in tears, leaving the room, at what I can only assume is a shocking sight of a best friend in a hospital bed. It's fucking terrible, I know, but it's a fucking beautiful, in a poetic sort of way, moment in a friendship. Looking back how many times can you say you've ever seen someone breakdown in raw emotion like that, let alone over you. She has told me over and over again how she broke down when she heard what happened, but hearing it is just so much different than just seeing it.

This is just, what I think to be, a landmark moment in anyones life. It's such a piece of literature I almost have trouble believing it's real. And no, not because of the head injury. But it just seems, I say again, kind of poetic. It's tragic, but it's beautiful. It's heartbreaking really, it's almost too much for words.

I hope I have done it justice, without over doing it. This is just something I have stuck in me forever, and I kind of wanted to talk about it.

The other morning

at work, a guest gave me a $15 iTunes card because he has an English account and it wouldn't work for him.

So, I'm looking for some music to download, legally. What would you recommend?

Southtown girls wont blow you away.

But girls from Montreal will.

I had an incredible night at work.

And I have a story to tell.

But I'm saving it.

Currently in the life of James:

Stress.

Let us begin with a story of aftermath. As many of you know (probably all of you, Sean, Jessica, and Mom) I got a pretty sweet head injury a couple years back. Fucked up my head pretty good. I was told to expect problems with memory, but after a good deal of time spent healing, I rarely noticed anything. Lately though, with the repetition of how the majority of my days go, I notice. My short term will not last long term. On a daily basis, I say again, daily basis, I take the R-W from 14th to Prince. 2 stops. 8th st, then Prince. And everyday I get to 8th street and say to myself, "one more stop." And again, everyday as the train gets its last legs out of the station I think to myself, "Fuck, did I just miss Prince?" I'd say the amount of time between these two thoughts is about 20-30 seconds. And I really just dont know. I know it happens everyday, but I really just have no idea. "Maybe this time I actually did miss it." And I dont find out until I arrive at Prince.

To continue with this theme, last night at work I was putting out the Sunday paper in front of everyones room for the morning. After I do the 4th floor and go to the 3rd, I can only remember doing half the 4th floor. Did I forget to do the other half? Probably not, but I have NO IDEA. Really, I had to go back up and check, and of course I did the whole floor, I just could not remember it. Im guessing the time span from finishing the floor, and arriving at the next was about a minute. Fantastic.

It has been happening a lot lately that if I am not really paying attention to something, like something that has just become habit, I might just forget it.



Adding to stress. Work fucked me over. Without giving too much detail, because I probably shouldn't, here it is.

They fire the overnight guy, hire a new guy who knows the General Manager, and even after I say no to their request they make me the new overnight guy. Giving the new guy 5 day shifts, and me 3 overnight, and one day shift. Thats right. 4 shifts. This pissed me off to no end. I immediately said I wouldn't do it. I pointed out my obvious seniority over new guy, and that it just wasnt right. My manager did not have me very convinced that it really mattered. So I go to my co-worker/sort of boss and tell him, he flips and starts fighting on my side. And I am going to go to the GM as well to in the "professional" way tell her that its bullshit. Basically, I'm not going to do it. It will get fixed, one way or the other, but it still pisses me off. Which stresses me out.

People die everyday.

I'd like to volunteer someone to be the next to go. I hope I get through all of my emotion in this blog, seeing as how roughly an hour has past since the incident, and I am exhausted. I am sort of frustrated with people right now. Then this happened.

It is like, say, 4:30 AM and a guest is checking out. I have been up since 8AM the previous day, and have been working since 11PM. I am running on lots of coffee, and although I am doing fairly well, I am not in the mood for stupidity. The guest and his wife require a cab going to JFK. Obviously I take their bags and go outside to grab one for them. The guests are still inside finishing up the last of their bill signing and what not. Thank God. I turn to my right to see a man passed out on the benches we have located outside the hotel. He is a fairly well dressed guy. Slacks and a polo, nice haircut. When I put the bags up against the wall he wakes, and sits up. At this point I figure he will realize he is a fucking useless tool on his own, and then get up and go suck at life somewhere else. Nope. He says to me, "I need a cab." Not asking, not just thinking out loud, he is telling me to get him a cab. My mind says, "Go fuck yourself." My mouth says, "Sorry, are you a guest of the hotel?" Obviously he is not, but I have to be careful how I say things. He comes back, "No, Im leaving. I need a taxi." He is still sitting on the bench, still wasted from his night out all alone because he has no friends because this dude seriously sucks dick at everything. At this point I'm wondering if maybe his mother and father just realized he sucked around the age of 3 or 4 and just gave up. I very nicely say, "I'm sorry. I'm busy helping a guest get a taxi." I wait a few minutes, nothing comes. Finally the guests come outside and I ask them to please stay by their luggage while I go up the street to get them a taxi. Douche bag decides to get himself of the bench, and continue to throw his sucking at life qualities at me. He follows me up the street. And then passes me. Stands about 5 feet in front of me, and starts trying to get a taxi. In a tone that says "Hey fuck wad, I hope you drunkenly fall over into traffic." I ask, "What are you doing? You know I'm getting a taxi. Thats just rude." He replies, "Well I am getting one before you. I need to be somewhere!" He throws a look like this is the greatest moment of his life, he has won. He has become the biggest waste of life the world has ever seen. He doesn't need to be anywhere, it's 4:30 in the fucking morning, his job as the assistant manager at fucking McDonalds doesn't start to 9. A taxi comes, it's off duty so it wouldn't go where I needed anyway, so I let him take it without hassle. I just need this fucktard waste of a human being to go away, and get molested by a man with herpes when he passes out in some other public area. He turns to me to let me know that he has beat me, and that he has finally stopped hating himself. (He will start again when he sobers up, he sucks that much.) I let him know he has won. "Congrats, you win. Go pass out somewhere less degrading, loser." And he throws me a big smile. A big gay douche bag smile. I hope his taxi crashes.

Over doing it.

After venting intensely on two different people tonight (three if you count the talk with Sean), and not feeling any better about things, I really think I'm in for a good freak out. People are just simply bothering me lately. I feel like it's all going to come out on the wrong person, it's just building and building up and up, waiting to topple over on some unexpected passerby. This happens every so often, more often than I'd like to admit, that everyday little things that people do pile on top of one another to eventually just make people annoy the hell out of me. (Should you be reading this, Jessica Parker, no this has nothing to do with poker last night, haha.) The real problem, I believe, is that I have yet to find anyone I can really vent to down here. Sean aside, of course. I'm still used to the few friends that I did have back home being so close that I felt comfortable coming to them with anything, even the friends from school that I had only known a short time. I have yet to really have the time to either become that close with anyone, or find anyone to become that close with down here. I know the solution, something will happen that will piss me off the point that I feel I need to do something about it. I will either have found someone to just let out my issues with, or it will come out at the wrong time on the wrong person. Blah Blah Blah. Such is life.

Quit straightening your god damn hair.

Today, in a liquor store, I heard this:

Guy: It's cold.

Girl: Roll down your sleeves.

Guy: But rolling them up keeps the warm air in.

Girl: Guys are stupid.

Maybe he was trying to make a joke. Maybe he was just stupid. Either way, I found it funny.

Bitch bitch, whine whine

Blah Blah Blah. Who cares.

I never thought I'd say this, but...

The new New Found Glory album is more than some catchy thing that I dont like to admit that I like, it is actually good. The hardcore part rules, and the 6 or so typical NFG songs are as good as they ever are. It's just that the hardcore part makes me a little bit more willing to admit that I like them. Thanks Adam.

Things that are cool right NOW.

A: The new B-star episode.

B: Finally being ahead of Sean and Furman in B-star. Empowering.

3: Homemade pizza-bagels.

D: The Rob&Big episode where they get a baby. It's on right now.

5: Twix ice cream bars.

And lastly,

F: Playing Battleship on my phone

Fuck that.

Enough with the waking up early on weekends. Working sucks. I went to bed at 8:30 last night, Saturday. Yes, 8:30, because I was so damn tired. Fuck that.

Dear New York, my thanks, and my rants

Dear Overnight guy at Duke Cafe in Soho,

You're rad. Thank you for always just charging me only my $6 voucher from work, even though we both know the things I buy go over $6. You should put out a tip jar. I would tip you.

Dear Bike-shop guy on Lafayette between Prince and Spring,

Calm down. I'm glad you feel that you are too good to help me because the child's bike that I brought from work, just to put air it its tires, was not good enough for your time. I'm also glad that your time was good enough to tell me that you wouldn't help me because of the bike I had, and I should never bring it to your shop again because you will still not work on it next time, in your "I'm too good for this" way. But thank you for letting me put air in the tires myself. I hope you found all the adapters your slightly nicer, barely, co-worker gave me out in the street where I left them, so I wouldn't have to deal with your snotty mid life "I still work in a bike shop with my long gray ponytail" crisis.

Dear Ramon's Dry Cleaning lady,

Thank you for the lollipop. It was really good. And after my Bike-shop experience just 10 minutes before, having someone be so nice and helpful was refreshing.

Dear guy at the pizza shop near Penn Station,

Calm down. You're right, we are not friends. But your wrong, I was not all over your food. You see, you were standing right in front of my drinks. So in a sense, you were all over my drinks. So calm down, when I told you it wasn't a problem when you freaked out at me for being "all over your food" and told you not to worry about it, I was serious. Lighten up, it will make life a little better.

Dear Gimme! Coffee,

Thanks. You fuel my addiction to your delicious beverage with you masterfully roasted beans of coffee. I can't get enough of it. Each new roast I try is incredible in it's own way, you have even managed to break my hatred to regional and organic coffees. Thanks for always talking with me, except that one time, about what each roast is like so I can try to pick a new one. And thank you for the free stickers. I know they were free anyway, but still.

Travel to the edge of the Earth

So I was talking with a friend the other night, or morning. We were having what turned out to be on of those "life conversations." We both spoke of our need to either travel, or move. She did me the favor of telling me exactly what I think I needed to hear. I've put it all together into the sort of fantasy of what I want to do.

I recently got worn out with where I was living, and seeking change, moved to New York. This is great, great city, great friends, the works. But now I think the need to get out of Maine was more than I originally thought. What I thought was just a need to move, I now think is need to travel. Nothing too soon, I just got here, but I really want to really experience my whole country. I want to just kind of pack up and leave, and see where things take me. I am in New York for at least another year, but I'm thinking maybe after that just leave. I guess I would just have to drop everything and do it. I could try to work things out with work, and roommates and what not, but it would be easier to just leave it all behind. What my mind has created for me is basically the money in my pocket, and a backpack containing some necessary items: change of clothes, tooth brush, soap, flipflop, water bottle. Just the basics. Probably a camera too. Thats it really, I just want to backpack across the country.

What I would be looking for is experience. Meeting all kinds of people. Seeing all kinds of places. Just doing whatever I can to get a place to sleep and a ride to my next city. I know this is all outrageous. The journey would be grueling, sometimes dangerous, loads of fun, and unlike anything most people would ever dream of going through. Knowing what I do of myself, I know that I could do this, but I think that, at least at times, I would need someone to do it with me.

That, I think, will be the biggest problem. This would be a HUGE commitment. Dropping everything for 2 months, maybe longer, to take some wild journey. I know the idea sounds sort of like a dream, most everyone I tell this to says how awesome they think it would be. The trouble will of course be finding someone who would do it. For real. The girl this all started with told me she'd go. I have trouble not believing her. We'll see in a year or so I guess.

Don't waste time.

I haven't had a really good nights sleep in a while.

I'm going to be really bored soon.

Erin came to visit on Tuesday, all the way from Chicago. She leaves tomorrow, Sunday. I have to say I was worried about what on Earth we we're going to do when she was here. The thing is, Sean, Furman, and I don't ever really go that often. So showing someone fun things to do in the city seemed like it was going to be harder than one would think. It wasn't though.

Here's a quick, boring overview:
It has been pretty rad having her here. A lot has been done. We've done shopping, of course. Hitting up Soho, two days in a row, was fun but no one bought anything. Either day. She, Sean and I went out to eat at "Sea" in Brooklyn. Awesome. There was basically lots of stuff like that, cruising around the city just doing things.

Now for the actually interesting, even if you weren't there, stuff:
Yesterday Sean and I both called out of work to find an uninviting rainy day. None of us were prepared to let that ruin our plans though. Erin had caught an ad on the Subway for the Murakami exhibit at the Brooklyn museum.



It was incredible.

On Thursday, backtracking for the REALLY cool part, we got tattoos. We had all briefly talked about getting matching tattoos, but didn't get much further than they couldn't be lame, and had to be well done. During our walk around Soho Erin and I stopped in to Kid Robot and I just said, "Let's get zombie tattoos." It obviously went over well with everyone, and Sean added a a little zazz by suggesting that we put the words "Eat meat" under the picture. It was a bit of a struggle, spending the better part of a day or two on the phone and interweb trying to track down good artists that had time to do them. Finally, walking to get coffee in BillyBurg after dinner at Sea on Thursday night we walked past Flyrite tattoo shop. Sean had called to ask them about the weekend, and they were full, I then pointed out that Thursday was not the weekend. We hurried back to ask, and a few of the artists agreed to stay late (2AM) to get them done. This is the aftermath.





And now, for perhaps my favorite part, just the company. Honestly, I couldn't remember what it was like to hang out with someone my own age. Not having to ask, "Will they card me?" every time I left the house was a nice change. It was really nice having someone to just sit around and drink coffee with in the morning, and also in the afternoon, and through the night back into the morning. Yes, we drank a lot of coffee. Day one we had plans to get out and do things, which has almost ruined by sitting around for hours just drinking coffee and catching up. We did a lot of that, sometimes it looked like this.



Basically, this past week has been a blast. Tiring, very, but loads of fun and memories. And now instead of worrying about finding time to meet people my age between work and my existing friends, I can be happy just hassling Erin until she sucks it up and moves here.

What did you do tonight?

Not to brag, but I'm pretty sure what I did was better. I saw Tegan and Sara. That's right. I went with Sean and Jessica, and Furman was there too, although we never saw him.

It would have seemed as if Brooklyn didn't want us to make it to the show. The L train took us to Bedford, and then said, fuck you I'm not going any further. PANIC! at the L train. Quick solutions, call the car service for a ride! Uh-oh, they are out of available cars. What? Does that ever happen? It took us a few tries but we eventually caught a cab and ended up spending another 6 bucks each, on top of the ticket prices, to get to the show. Totally worth it.

FanFuckingTastic show. We got there literally a minute before Tegan and Sara went on. By the time we made it to the crowd everyone was already cheering as the girls walked out on stage. Perfect timing, all that running we did from from our second train stop was clearly needed. The show was full of all my favorite songs, which I didn't realize before how many there are. They played for about and hour and 20 minutes and there were only like three songs that I wasn't completely psyched to hear. And that was only because they were off the album that I'm not too familiar with. Although Jessica worried me by telling me that their live DVD was not too impressive, I was pleasantly surprised by their performance. Lets face it, they have sort of awkward voices. Don't get me wrong, it works very well, I was just worried that it wouldn't be so great live. Not true. Their live voices were great, just as awkward as I'm used to. It was good. They were really good in between songs too, funny stories, and good sisterly banter.

All in all, just awesome, be jealous you weren't there. Unless you were. In which case, kudos to you.

Today in racism and pigeons:

Funny things that happened bright and early on this Sunday morning.

I was walking from work to the local news shop to pick up some news papers that did not get delivered this morning. I noticed 4 or so mostly white pigeons picking at something on the ground. The funny thing was, waiting eagerly behind these pigeons were 4 or so more pigeons almost totally black. Not just humans are racist.

Again, on way home from work I was walking from Union Square to the third ave stop on the L to kill some time on my long wait for a train. I was still in my work uniform, black shoes, black pants, nearly black sweater. There was a homeless black man walking around talking to who ever would listen, in between sips of his glass bottle of, wild guess, booze. No joke, you've all seen it. His eyes fall to me, and he starts to talk. "Look at this N-WORD!" he said the real thing, of course, "All black! Aint' he white? Something funny is going on."

True stories from the always interesting life of James, the observer.

Last night was for REAL.

It appears that I've beaten to this post twice already, by Sean and Jessica. I don't have any awesome pictures or anything to show you, just my words of excitement.

Last night I'm standing in line at the Grocery store and decide to check my phone in case I missed anything over the noise. It's about five past 8, I see I have not one, but THREE new text messages from Sean. At first, I assume that he's just texting to rub it in my face that he got a free ticket to see Motion City Soundtrack. But no, my phone holds messages explaining Jesse left TWO tickets and that I better get my ass in gear before I miss their show. I debated dropping all my groceries in the line and just running out. But I was next, and really did need to buy food. I then ran all the way home groceries in hand, threw what needed to be kept cold in the fridge, threw on a clean shirt and put my feet to pavement. I ran every second that I was not on a train, making it there around 9ish, I think a little before. I went to the desk to ask for my ticket and they were reluctant to give it to me since it was under Sean's name. I had to do some serious name dropping, like "The guy in the band playing RIGHT NOW left it for me." But I got it, got in, and saw about half of their set.

Then we watched Panic! and left for food and drinks with a huge gaggle of people. We got to some Hawaiian themed place, basically just and excuse to dress all their girls in bathing suits. We bought food and drinks like it was our job, receiving a shocking bill. Haha. Things got a little crazy afterwards at some other place when Erica and friends took charge of the Juke Box and Sean Adam and I totally played air guitar and sang our brains off through some Weezer, and even some Natalie Imbruglia. It was pretty awesome. Sean slept at work. I got some pizza to prepare myself for my very long subway journey home. It was for real.

Holy shit, this is just incredible.

Did anyone catch my myspace bulletin a couple weeks ago about wanting a cat? I had talked about how I wanted a really badass cat, one that was maybe part bear. Just a really tough cat, one that could kick ass, take names, and open beers. Well, I was thinking about it a few minutes ago, and figured there might be some funny pictures of "bear cat" drawings online. Enter: GOOGLE! I type in "bear cat" expecting a bunch of either crap, or funny pictures. But instead Google asks if I meant "Bearcat." I say, "Maybe?" obviously intrigued about what I may have found. Well, ladies and gents, I clicked the fuck out of that "Did you mean Bearcat?" link, and along with old aircrafts, some picture of a strange black dude, a brand of wood-chippers, and a fuck ton of school football teams, the bearcat is also REAL!



Enter Wiki:

The Binturong (Arctictis binturong), also known as the Asian Bearcat, the Palawan Bearcat, or simply the Bearcat, is a species of the family Viverridae, which includes the civets and genets. It is neither a bear nor a cat, and the real meaning of the original name is lost, as the local language that gave it is extinct^[3]. Its natural habitat is in trees of forest canopy in rainforest of Vietnam, Malaysia, Indonesia and Palawan Island.

It is nocturnal and sleeps on branches. It eats primarily fruit, but also has been known to eat eggs, shoots, leaves and small animals, such as rodents or birds. Deforestation has greatly reduced its numbers. When cornered, the Binturong can be vicious. The Binturong can make chuckling sounds when it seems to be happy and utter a high-pitched wail if annoyed. The Binturong can live over 20 years in captivity; one is recorded to have lived almost 26 years.

It's story time in blogsville.

Ok, I begin with an edit. My brother just told me what he though, "I liked it more as an outline than a poem." I guess I didn't make it that clear the first time through. This really isn't a poem. Really. It's just kind of structured as if it were. It's my own personal combination of outline and lines I would actually like to use in the story itself. I say again, really not a poem, I just wrote an outline and in my sleepiness it came out structured, with a little bit of flow. So when reading, I guess just look at it as more of an outline, with a little zazz.



So I've been tossing this idea around in my head for a while, some what based off the music of the Gaslight Anthem, and the Song "Brothers" by Brand New. Not so much the music, more so the themes, and the feelings they give me. They inspire a sort of "that was then this is now." 50's kind of Socs and Greasers feel for me.I wrote this down the other night intending to do a summary of what I wanted my story to become and instead wrote a slightly structured poem. This is still basically a summary of what I want to write about, just in a different form.

Shine Your Shoes With Revenge

The summer sun has set
Behind some sinners dark eyes
Now the cold air comes in
Climbs through their bones

As a lover she leans over
To wipe the blood from his jaw
Sorrow fills her lungs
Anger tugs at her soul

The events of this hollow night
Should never be told
Their lies will hide like lost lovers
From forgotten legends

He shakes the blood from his hands
She wipes the tears from her eyes
His knife runs like a crowd
Horror struck from the theater

No applause fills his ears
Just the ringing of his fears
Tonight they call it justice
For a friendship now fallen

His body aches with the thoughts
Of the man it's become
Her sad eyes tell the story
Of the hero she's lost

So yeah. I think it flows pretty well for what it is. I wrote it down the other night, and changed a few things when I put it in here. I think it's a good start for something awesome, and pretty good on its own too. To me it screams seasons, and coming of age(in a dark way), its got fear, faith and love. Tell me your thoughts, what did you get from it? Like it? Hate it? Why?

Don't say a single word.

I guess my blog has been lacking. I went on a roll when I first started. And I liked some of them. Well, one of them, and another that I wrote for my previous blog. And now I'm sort of over it and really only want to post something if I have something worth saying. I've half posted a few things in the last few days. Writing them down, and then just deciding they weren't really worth it. Simple things, minor complaints, random things I like, blah blah blah. Of course, this lack of anything to say is giving me things to say right now.

It's not that I'm uninspired, I've got lots of ideas. Mostly ideas for stories, and those take me a long time, I have to stew over them for a while before I write anything down. Lots of things happen to me everyday that are in a sense blog worthy: Subway encounters, weird people on the street at work, a strange want for Jamba Juice today. It's just I don't really like any of these things as something to write about.

I feel like I rushed, or even forced the last post. Over all it just kind of sucks. I was peer pressured into writing more, and what came out was just dribble. Talking about things I didn't really WANT to talk about, it was really just a filler post.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the past, not something I typically do, but I've started talking with a friend from school again and I guess old friends and the past just kind of go together. Most of my conversations with her and made up of "remember when"s. A good deal of memories of times spent together, but an equally good deal of just things we used to do. I remember giving her all kinds of new music to listen to, I remember her constantly wearing my favorite shirt, I remember long walks, and conversations that would last until one of us fell asleep. This is where it gets tricky. This may sound like me running on about missing a girl, but aside from the obvious, I'm trying to point out something else. Most of these memories involve me sharing things with her, my time, my music, my thoughts, whatever. Compare that to now when I struggle to put my thoughts on a screen. I feel like I used to have a lot more to share, a lot more I wanted to share. This could be a good or a bad thing. I really do feel like I want to share less now, which is bad for my writing because lets face it, I write less. But I think it's good in a maturing kind of way, I don't just share whatever the hell jumps into my head, I'm waiting until I feel like I have something worth sharing. This girl, we'll call her Sara to make her seem a little more real and because thats her name, is obviously just an example to demonstrate the change my sharing has gone through. I just don't feel the same need, or want to talk about a whole lot lately. And holy waste of time Batman, I believe I solved the mystery. I need to find a topic that I feel strongly about. I hope it comes soon, I really do like having a blog.

Tristessa.

I'm reading The Fall of Hyperion, by Dam Simmons right now. I just read Hyperion. I loved Hyperion, I flew through it. The Fall though just isn't grabbing me. I'm not sure why, I really like it, it's just that when I finish a chapter I instantly feel like I want to put it down instead of carrying on chapter after chapter the way I did with the first book. It's really starting to bug me. I want to finish it, mainly because I don't really feel like reading it anymore but I'm not letting myself just give up on it. I decided to read these books to take a break from reading A Song of Ice and Fire, by George RR Martin. These epic books took over my reading ability for a long time. 1000+ pages for each book, 4 books so far, and more to come. I've read three, and decided to take a break so that when I read the 4th it would be fresher in my head when the fifth comes out this fall. Reading these books was sort of like having a needy girlfriend that you just didn't mind giving all your time too. Giving into them was so comforting. But I've still got plenty of time to read the 4th book, and I still have plenty of other books I want to read before I dive back into the relationship that is A Song of Ice and Fire. Mainly I want to read Maggie Cassidy by Kerouac. I've only read one of his books before, Tristessa. A friend of mine gave it to me to read, it probably wasn't the best of his work to start me out on, but I loved it. The book has little to no punctuation, run on after run on. It's a very emotionally violent love story full of drugs prostitutes and depression. It was honestly one of the most depressing things I've ever read, but it was really good.

I think the purpose of this blog was to talk out a solution with myself. If you were wondering, it did not work. Sean and Furman keep urging me to finish The Fall of Hyperion, "Oh man, the end of that book is crazy. Shit goes down." Maybe true. The rest of the book, great writing, but a lot of somewhat boring sci-fi talk. Even when the exciting things happen with the Shrike and what not, aside from one character, they aren't that exciting. I'm going to push through, it may get really good, it may stay just like this. I want to read something else.

Re-post

This is an old post from my myspace blog. I wrote it a while back after a days work at RockCity. I was reminded of this post by this beautiful picture of one of my oldest friends, Brianna. I really enjoy this one, and I just kind of wanted to share it all over again.

Relationships are like rocks.

You know those nice summer days when youre standing on the edge of the water, doing whatever? The water stretches out in front of you, open to all possibilities, your mind flares with recent events, thoughts of girls, boys, fights, and fun; just passing time with someone you like. What happens next is inevitable, maybe its boys trying to show off how many they can get, maybe its a method of choosing, like playing "she loves me, she loves me not" with a flower, whatever the reason everyone ends up skipping rocks. Anyone can tell a good skipping rock when they see one, just like everyone knows who they like, and why. The signs are simple enough, smooth, thin, nice soft edges, fitting nicely with the curves of your fingers, perfect for bouncing of the water again and again. These are the rocks we look for, but finding one is like finding a diamond in the rough. Just like no one ever thinks theyll find someone who fits them perfectly. With an array of rocks at your feet you scan and scan searching for the one; when you find it, however, its never quite like it seems. Sure things start off well, this rock may have curves like you swear youve never seen before, and edges so soft you never really want to let it go, it slips into the palm of your hand begging, pleading to be thrown; and then it just plops in the water with nothing but a splash of disappointment. Out of desperation, out of frustration, or maybe because theres just no good ones left, you pick up some some awkward jagged rock, with edges that cut, a shape that hurts your hand, a weight that says "theres no way this is bouncing off anything", an overall look that says, "dont fuck with me, Im what a real rock looks like." And then you throw it, and bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, it skips like 400 times. "How the hell did that work?" is all that runs through your head, youve just set a world record skip, you think, will anyone ever find a rock that skipped so well ever again? Will the water eat away at that rock so that if you leave it down there alone, by the time it made its way back it would be fragile and broken, with a look that wants nothing to do with you? Relationships are like rocks.

Overnights.

I've just finished working my second overnight shift in a row at the Mercer Hotel. This city was alive most of the night, the streets were flowing with people arriving at, and stumbling from, one of the many bars located nearby. Gaggles of beautiful girls, and all the guys that wont get to take them home, but all I really want to talk about is when the city sleeps. (passes out?)


At around 2AM people start making their way home, and by 3 most everyone is gone. Soho at night is gorgeous. The streetlights work their magic giving just enough light to reflect off all the appropriate places. The sidewalks and cobblestone streets shimmer from the thin layer of moisture left from their cleaning earlier. Without the hundreds of New Yorkers in the view the surrounding area looks like a painting, too appealing to be real. The weather couldn't hurt either. The comfortably cool, almost calming air accompanies the rare silence perfectly. It's a quiet, inviting scene, wonderful for sitting outside with a cup of coffee and watching the sun climb out of its home behind the horizon. Occasionally you see a straggler from the bars, or maybe just an early riser out to enjoy the peace. Nothing more then a "Good morning" is needed, perhaps just a polite nod, it's clear that the silence is as golden as the sunrise and shouldn't be interrupted.


It's really just an incredible, slightly eerie feeling being in the center of the void that is Soho at 4Am. All these things combined with an undertone of lack of sleep leads to a lack time. The hours don't really seem to pass fast or slow, more like you arrive and time stops until the sun comes up and then you leave. Overall it's refreshing to know the New York isn't always crazy, angry, or late. Try to experience it.

Everyone else is doing it.

So I did too. I made a muxtape. Click on the tape. It came out fairly well, giving a pretty good idea of what I'm listening too. A lot of the songs I wanted to put on were not mp3s though, so I couldn't. I wanted to put on some Cursive, MotionCity, The Beatles, Death Cab, NOFX, blah blah blah, but I couldn't. Oh well. Check it out I guess. Maybe you'll like it?

I sort of wish there was something like this with books. I could show you passages of books I'm reading, or books I like. That would be cool. Speaking of passages from books, remind me to buy a copy of Charlotte's Web.

Zoooooombies!!

I just watched George Romero's new Zombie movie, Diary of the Dead. This movie ruled. I was really disappointed in the previous film, Land of the Dead. As entertaining as it was for violence, gore, and the Zombie movie basics, it was just kind of dumb. Diary of the Dead was much more like the older movies though. It was all done on handy cams and security footage, and was literally a video diary of one group of survivors struggle through a zombie outbreak. All zombie movies are about that I guess, but being done in the style of a diary, a blog in progress, made it so much more personal. It was just awesome.

It seems like everyone likes zombies now. They are trendy, I guess. Whatever, I like zombies, a lot. I've been writing a zombie story for over a year now, don't get the wrong idea, I've only got like 20 pages. I started writing it for a Creative Writing class I was taking back when I was in school. I wrote two chapters, the second and third, fully planning to go back and write a prologue and a first chapter. More chapters may be needed to begin the story, I'll find out someday. I started writing my story at the point where zombies were already infesting the town and blah blah blah. But anyway, I stopped writing because I wanted to re write it. I want to change it from 1st to 3rd person. I liked the idea of a first hand account of a survivor at first, but now not so much, what if I want him to die? With the re write, I plan on changing a lot now. Maybe I shouldn't say re write, I'm just going to start a new story. I've written a few different possible stories. I've got kids in high school, kids in college, and two people who live in New York going home to Maine for a visit. I think I like the Maine one best. Actually, they all involved Maine, lets face it, its a great place for a zombie attack. But yeah, the two people visiting home. I want it to be deeply personal, this is something I've been trying to make it for a while without success, and then of course Romero comes around and throws his new movie in my face. Oh well. But yeah, it will be the story of my two characters told through a zombie attack. Love birds? Zombie birds? Who knows. As soon as I get something I think I like I'll post it up here.


On a completely different note: As I was writing this, a friend of mine wrote to me to tell me he was going to buy fish. The fighting fish kind. Two of them, separate tanks. And well, now I want a fish. My friend Kathryn from college had a fish named Akakah. Yeah, Akakah. Im not sure I spelled it right, the name is literally just a sound she made when she bought the fish. So, I dont think the whole "James really wants a cat" thing is really going to work out. Probably for the better, it will be hard to find a cat with bear like qualities, and I dont want to be disappointed in my cat, and then neglect him to the point where he puts his head in the oven. So I think I'm going to get a fish. Or two.

James is all that is excitment.

Two Fridays ago I had a day off. I then finished up my last days of work, Saturday through Wednesday, and immediately started my first week of my new job, Thursday through Monday. My two week period of last weeks and first weeks was awesome. My old job was great, and my new job kicks, but I need a day off. Thankfully I have the next three days off, during which time I will finally do my long overdue laundry. Today was the dregs of my clean clothes. I was out of clean socks, on my last pair of clean boxers, reused and reused work pants, a day old tee shirt (Up until the point where I got a work shirt from my new job, that was clean), and my reused and reused work sweater. Pants and sweater, whatever, those are clean for however long I choose to wear them, in my eyes anyway. Socks underwear and shirts are another matter however. Tomorrow I will have to go with using totally dirty clothes until my laundry gets done. It's a rough life, honestly.

On the other hand, with my new job I am finally financially comfortable. Fuck yeah. Thats right, I have money, and not all of it goes directly from my pocket and or bank account to my bills.

Also, with my new income, and for other reasons, I will be able to stat tattooing again. Sorry Pops. I've had plans for my ribs for a while, and have at least planned to get my other arm done. I've talked with Jeremiah about my ribs, no real plans have been made, but I know he will be able to do something up with my idea no problem. So Next time he comes back I will most likely start working on it. And once I get an idea, I will head to Tim Kern to get what will undoubtedly be an amazing color sleeve done on my right arm. I can't wait.

This isn't a review.

I just got the motivation to kick-start a blog again. Leaving the Myspace behind to once again join the ranks of the real blogs. Only I don't really have a thing to say right now.

So, The Gaslight Anthem. I wont try to review their CD. Sean did, read his blog. Plus, I dont really think I could. The only thing I have to say about them, is I love them. Well no, I have more than that. I can't stop listening to these guys. I got their CD and EP when I moved to NY (Am I over doing the capital letter ABRVS?) in February, and I have yet to stop listening to them. You know when you get a new CD and you listen to it over and over until you can't stand to think about it, but every once in a while theres a CD that just doesn't get old? For me, this is that CD. I listen to it everyday, time after time. I love the lyrics. I have written very little since I arrived in New York. I'm to busy having new experiences to write anything down. Things are coming to me, I just don't write them down. But the lyrics of the Gaslight Anthem really inspire me. They give me an idea for a style writing I've never really thought of. Think of Bluesy Punk Rock and Roll, and then translate that to a story. The themes of their songs are stories all on their own, but I want to make them stories. Get it? Cool.

This blog lacks anything to really make it a blog, but I give you my recommendation to listen to the Gaslight Anthem. Those are my reasons to love them. Find your own.