One morning with the Wallstreet.

I wrote this months ago, at the start of fall, and then forgot about it. Well, I just found it again. It could probably use a little work, but I like it well enough.



One morning, just a day or to ago, just like all the mornings I’ve seen as of late, chilly, and dark with the sun slow to rise, I saw a headline that read: Whom do mosquito’s prefer to bite? I was resting the morning papers in front of the occupied rooms at the hotel, every room gets a NYTimes, and some rooms request others. A few rooms had requested the Wall Street Journal, and it was on this paper, of all papers, that this headline read, eagerly awaiting to tell us all about the preference of annoying, blood thirsty, disease carrying, little pests. I immediately realized I had no mosquito bites, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had one. I know it’s nearing the end of their season, but I just don’t think I’ve had more than one bite all summer long. Rather than be extremely happy about this, I was left questioning, “What the hell is wrong with me that mosquitos apparently do not prefer my Irish blood?” It should be said that I did not read the article, I didn’t really care that much. Also it was probably something lame, and much less entertaining than I would be able to come up with on my own. Like, “mosquitos enjoy the blood of people who do yoga, as their blood is healthier, because they are healthier.” It was probably just a trick to try and get people to do yoga. I was not about to fall into that hole. No sir. Instead I carried on with my morning, slowly debating with myself what kind of blood a mosquito would probably like. Muscular people? People who ate a lot of fish? Meaty people? I think it’s pretty obvious, fat people.

I suppose it doesn’t have to be fat people, maybe it’s the seafood thing. Think about it, what’s the one thing that a mosquito can not drink the blood of? Lot’s of things, actually, all the things under the sea. And Robo-Cop. It’s not like they can swim under water, they have no scuba-diving gear. It would not even be possible to make some that small, should they ever become smart enough to make one. Like if they drank Einstein’s blood, and then became really intelligent. Haven’t you ever seen a mosquito lingering hungrily on the surface of a lake? They stare, and stare at all the fish with tasty fish blood that they can’t drink. Well, enter human beings, devouring fish like it’s a fucking contest. Catching them by boatloads, fighting over territory to catch them, killing for them, dying for them. Some guy working hard in big orange overalls hauling trap after trap full of lobsters, back to shore, sells them off to some guy (probably my dad) who’s family is in town, and then the whole family stuffs their face (I once ate 6 lobsters, personally, in one sitting, sides included) with awesome potato salad and fresh cooked lobster. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been to a lobster bake in a backyard in Maine, but mosquitos are fucking everywhere. It’s like they can smell the change in diet, you’ve eaten so much seafood, you taste like seafood. Your blood is currently the closest a mosquito will ever get to draining a live lobster of it’s tasty life. Mosquito heaven. This is probably not the case, but it could be true.

Honestly though, it is probably fat people. People who eat lots of greasy, fatty food. Last week I got some steak, from this super fancy steak place, brought to me at work, for free. It was incredible. Blood still dripping, hardly even browned, it was delicious. It came with two sides of bone marrow also, first time I’d ever had it. I didn’t even know people ate that. And it blew my mind, so good. But anyway, so I ate this steak, and at the end were the left over portions of fat. Do you know how delicious fat is? Oh man, so good. So God Damn tasty. So with those facts down, dripping blood, super fat= delicious. Hold on now, I haven’t gotten there yet on this day (I was tired and not operating at full speed). Ever had a Tasty Cake? The butterscotch ones? Holy shit, if I were a mosquito, I’d eat those. It’s just a butterscotch flavored rectangle of doughy fat, with icing. Holy shit they are delicious. Ever had a Butterfinger Blizzard from Dairy Queen? Sit down for this one. A Butterfinger gets all crushed up, and mixed with a pile of soft serve ice cream. Yes. Yes. Yes. What about Chicken Mc’Nuggets? Enough said.

On the other hand take Cheerios, I happen to like them. I have a box right now. I had some for breakfast. But I was trained to like Cheerios, I like them because when I was a child my mother made me eat them, and I have been eating them since. I have trained myself to like them, and other healthy things. But at first taste? Has anyone ever bit into broccoli for the first time (when is not slathered in butter) and proclaimed how good it tasted? Fuck no. That shit takes time. And you know what mosquito’s do not have? I’ll tell you, it’s time. They live very short lives, it’s one reason they haven’t learned to hold their breath to swim under water. They are insects, and they die very quickly.

I think I’ve spelled it out fairly logically enough. Humans flock to fatty food, because it is flat out delicious. Given time, and a decent upbringing, we learn to like healthy things, like carrots, and beets (no one likes beets, beets are for show offs). Mosquito’s get abandoned at birth, by blood drunk parents who never cared about them to begin with, they have no decent upbringing. They are raised by the wild, and feast of the patrons of Burger King. Their greasy fingers just smell so good, a young mosquito could get lost in the stomach rolls of a twice-daily fast-fooder. Simple physics really, and mosquito’s would know this had they ever drank Einstein’s blood, Mosquito’s prefer the blood of fat people.

This Saturday is kind of dreary. It has been rainy the past couple days, kind of ruining the fact that it has gotten slightly warmer. The weather is changing, faster than normal, and lately I find that I got to bed before the sun really rises, and wake up after it has set. Even on days like this where I am up all day, the sun couldn't be seen at all. I love fall, but is just miserable.

This morning I woke up to a ringing from the buzzer on my door. This happens every so often, I never answer. MY friends do not ring my buzzer, I can't open the door from the buzzer, so if on the off chance someone is coming here, they just call. At first when my buzzer would ring I would answer, and it would be someone who had the wrong apartment, and just couldn't seem to understand that you were not the person they were looking for. They would ring, and ring, and ring, until I yelled through the buzzer that they were in fact mistaken, I was not Sally. This morning though, it woke me up, and in the haze of my semi awake mind, I answered.

"Hello, this is you neighbor," this threw me off, I thought maybe it was actually my neighbor, who might actually need something, "My name is Milton Struther and I'm having a pot luck dinner and would like to invite you." This is what I heard at first, still barely awake, I was excited, I had some peas left on the stove from the night before, I could bring those and get some food at a pot luck. No such luck, a moment later I realized what he actually said was, "I would like to take a moment to talk to you about the bible, and our Lord, Jesus Christ."

Fucking hell. Really? In Bushwick, going door to door ringing buzzers? At least in Maine, when you knock on a door someone answers it in person. When religious people come, they are trapped, at least for a little while. One HAS to listen for a short time, while they throw as much religion talk as they can before one says "No thanks." and shuts the door. But really, this morning I was three floors up, talking through a door buzzer, this was not happening. Whatever, just kind of shocked me that it actually happened. I will now return to my previous act of just not answering my buzzer when it rings.


Also, today I woke up to no running water. My neghbor had a leak I guess, and the plumber came on Saturday morning, and turned off the water for "half and hour." Only no one told anyone. No shower. No food. No coffee. No brushing my teeth. No bathroom. No washing my hands. No nothing. For half an hour. Not so bad right? Four hours later, I was really not happy. It's all fixed now though.

I have a charity event to go to tonight, 25 dollar cover, open bar, free food, for a good cause. I think. I don't actually know what the cause is, I just got an invite from the guy throwing it. It's a holloween party too. And it's probably a good cause, I guess. But never the less, I feel pretty good about it. I'm a good person. I'm also really excited to get out of the house, clean, fed, and bible free.

Something from nothing

I am beginning to worry about myself. I seem to have lost track of any real direction. Growing up I lived in an area that was literally all back roads, the only reason one used the main road was to get to another back road which held their destination. I knew all the roads, I may not have even been able to drive them until my 18th year, but I damn sure knew them; likewise, I knew every short cut through the woods between the roads (just in case you needed to run from the police). Every time I left my house, there was a reason, and a direction. I knew where I needed to be, I knew how to get there, and I knew a means of getting there. Life was simple on the curvy roads that were seldom well paved, if paved at all. Now though, living in a city built on a grid, structured precisely to be easily navigated, I am forced quite frequently to wander aimlessly, simply because I don't know know where I am going. This lack or general direction, I believe is a direct result of a lack of any general interest. And for that, I fear for myself, mostly I fear for the things I'm good at. 

I've believed, for most of my life, in not doing things I wasn't good at. It really just doesn't make any sense to me. Growing up I tried playing basketball, and well, I wasn't very good. It wasn't that I just didn't practice, I just wasn't very good, and wasn't getting any better. I stopped playing basketball. I never played drinking games with my friends, I've always been pretty good at drinking, just never very good at the games that go along with them. During my short time in college I was presented with these games quite often, beer pong, and the like, but by this time I was smart enough not play. I knew I wasn't very good. I knew that because of this, I would lose, and consequently get drunker than I had intended, putting myself at risk of doing something stupid, or possibly even something I was less good at than beer pong. This seemed like very rational thinking to me, and it still does to this day. One should always try things, try things as many times as it takes to realize if one is good at it or not. That is when the decision should be made it the activity should be continued, or just move on to something else. 

Today my mother, visiting from home, brought me a pound of coffee from the coffee shop that I used to work in. During my time there, I learned how to make espresso. I put it off for a very longtime, for fear that I would not be good at it, but eventually, I gave it a shot. Well hot damn, I was actually pretty good at it. This was mostly due to wonderful young lady who showed me how, she too was very good at it. Espresso is not exactly a skill, it is more like a craft. Practice doesn't make perfect. Timing, pressure, grind, tamp, weather, all these things combined make perfect. One has to know how these things work together to make perfect. I figured all this out. I took it on as a craft, the art of making good espresso, and most importantly knowing when I had made bad espresso, and how to fix it. 

But now, long since passed my time with coffee professionals, I am surrounded by things destined to make me fail. I still have all the knowledge of this craft, the espresso craft, but I don't have the tools. At work now, a shitty hotel, in a shitty neighborhood, in a shitty city, I have shitty coffee making instruments (only one of those is true). Rather than a tamp, I have a wedge of plastic, custom fit to no particular portafilter at all. Rather than accurate coarseness for the grounds, I have exactly the same grind as the day before. Instead of demitasse, I've got paper cups. None of these things come together to make good espresso. But, alas, I have adapted. I now know, using shitty everything, how to make good espresso. In fact, Tiam, the only person I make espresso for other than myself, will only drink mine, because he says I am the only one who knows. And that is a true statement. Hooray for me. Or is it? Is it on par with evolving? Survival of the fittest, taking what I have and molding myself to it? Who is to say if I would now be able to go back, use a naked portafilter, a perfectly weighted tamp, with an excellent espresso machine, and still know how to make good espresso. Isn't it more likely that I, the college drop out, the graveyard shift bellman, commitment fearing, responsibly lazy slacker, took all that I know on a shortcut through the woods and accidentally turned it all to shit? 

How to impress girls.

Dress well. Don't do anything to excess. Be funny. Be smart. Motivated. Listen. Be interested. Open doors. Buy them dinner at their favorite vegan place, and pretend not to be disgusted at menu containing nothing but tofu and brussel sprouts. Or don't. I've found, in the past, that if you start out by showing them just how low you can go, so that whatever you do in the future will seem to be an improvement, that that alone will do the trick. Most people would argue with this point, saying that is isn't true, and it isn't what I would call "true". But sometimes, it is.

I once met a girl in college that I liked more than any of the rest of the girls in college. I liked her more than her friends, more than my friends, and more than all the other people I would come to meet. I liked her when I was drunk, and I still liked her when I was sober. I liked her when I woke up in the morning, I liked her all through breakfast, I'd spend lunch and dinner thinking about the fact that even though she wasn't currently with me, I still liked her, and I eventually went to bed still liking her. Sometimes, she liked me too. I quickly started shifting my usual activities around her, rather than eating my breakfast alone, enjoying my coffee and cereal by myself in chaotic mornings at the Hilltop foodery. I began to enjoy those things with her. Sometimes we didn't even talk, but just the fact that she was there made my breakfast a little better. She would read, or start working on some unfinished work, or maybe glance over some text books, and I would sit in silence while she waited for me to finish my second cup of coffee.

She put up with my friends, while I openly choose which of hers to like. She put up with my bad habits, while she had none. She pretended to like my favorite bands, sitting through my stories of how I once met the guy who did the handstand on his keyboard on that video I showed her on YouTube, and I complained when she played her stoner rap. She pressured me to go to class, while I begged her to stay in bed. She smoked a lot of pot, while I drank a lot of beer. Things were going pretty well. Until one day, when she told me that she had decided, just after mid-day sex, that she did not think we should date. I hated her, I felt used. We were not dating as of yet, we were just doing all those things that people who date do. We woke up together, we ate together, we spent time going on walks, seeing movies, until finally we would go to bed together. But we weren't dating. And she told me she did not want to cross that line of acknowledging what we were doing. I was furious, sort of. I more so was just crushed. This was college, and it was supposed to change my life, not just continue it on the vicious cycle it had been in for the past 8 years of my life. I got up, threw myself together, and went in search of my friends, who I had long been ignoring to spend time with this girl. My friends were understanding, and very giving with all the booze they had just bought. Upon showing up at the dorm containing all my friends, I told my tale quickly, explaining the seriously disgruntled look on my face, and was promptly handed a beer, and a shot of Jack Daniels. Problems would surely be solved tonight.

So I drank, it was a Friday, and the normal Friday things were happening with people who do things other than hang out with a girl they like. And I got drunk. I got REALLY drunk. One might even say I drank too much. Much was said along the lines of, "Fuck it dude, there are plenty of other girls on campus." That much was true, but I had met a great deal of them, and I liked this one more than all the rest. I liked her much more now, knowing that it was possible that she didn't like me that much. As more friends came in, more booze was had, and so it continued, bad decisions were made, and my night started to take a turn for the worse. What happened? Well, I'm not sure. There is a good chunk of time that escapes my memory. But apparently, I got sad, and pathetic, and drunk, until one of my more responsible friends, and his girlfriend, took me home, and put me in bed. That's when I woke up, probably 3AM, crashed around my room, waking my roommate, and told him I was going to see this girl. Really great idea.

So I leave my dorm, clad in only my boxer shorts, in early October. She lived in the dorm across from mine, in the wellness dorm. Meaning it was a chem free dorm. Meaning that drinking or even smoking was highly forbidden for the folks that lived in it. And it was late, so I couldn't get in, as the doors were locked to those who don't live there. Someone let me, the blacked out tattooed kid in his boxer shorts, into the chem free dorm at 3AM. I don't know who, but later, in the halls of that dorm, so girl I didn't know burst into laughter when she saw me, it was probably her who let me in. Anyway, I stormed up the stairs to my girls room. Pounded on her door until she answered. I remember she was pissed. But I argued my point, which at this time was that I had made a really bad decision and now had no where else to go. Being the caring and lovable girl that she was at the time, before I ruined her, she let me crash on the spare bed in her room, she might have even given me a pillow and an extra blanket. Maybe.

In the morning, bright and early, she shook me awake, still furious, and threw me out. But not before giving me a sweatshirt to borrow for my walk of shame home. I wasn't really sure what had happened, but I put the pieces together. Spare bed, no clothes, no keys, killer hangover, and really mad girl, I was in trouble. I thanked her for the sweatshirt, and she slammed the door in my face. I spent the rest of my day, after getting let back into my own dorm by someone, and having to explain to the RA that I didn't have my keys, or many clothes, and I desperately needed to get back into my room, I was let in, with some serious looks of disapproval. I didn't sleep, I just stayed in bed hating myself, on the brink of tears, asking myself what the hell I had done, until finally she called me. She wanted to talk. I quickly showered, made myself presentable, brushing my teeth and putting on a nice sweater, and went over again, this time with keys, and clothes, fully prepared to get thrown out again.

Again sitting on the spare bed, fearful for what was about to come, I waited for her to cut off my balls, and put them in a jar, keeping them until I made this up to her. Instead she told me that she had talked to her father about what had happened. Oh. My. God. Something bad was about to happen, I was sure of it. But, he father had said something to the affect of, "These things happen." This parent truly understood. And I confessed how sorry I was, and that I had personally paved my road to hell with the best intentions. All I wanted was for her to like me. She told me she did, "OH REALLY!? EVEN STILL?" I was excited. And yes, even still, she liked me. And she had decided that if she was going to have to put up with this bullshit from me even if we weren't dating, that we might as well date. I had apparently left her with no other choice. I didn't, until that point, know that that could happen. I had made this girl so angry, thrown myself in a gutter, doing whatever I could to make myself utterly repulsive, and she had seen through it to my possibly good intentions buried underneath layers of undateable qualities. (She also bought her drugs from my friends, meaning we would have to see each other, a lot, anyway)

So, we basically picked up where we left off, with dinner that night, and then probably watching TV until we fell asleep. And then, very shortly after my drunken escapades, I met her father. I put on a nice sweater again. Shook his hand, and was super polite in the way that always makes parents love me. He laughed and said, "So, I heard you had a little to drink the other night." Well what do I say to that? I threw my arm around his daughter, laughed, and said, "Ohhh, college." To which he laughed and said, "College, good times." I couldn't believe what was happening. Her father STILL liked me. It was almost more shocking than the fact that she still liked me. I had somehow accomplished the impossible. He later asked about my tattoos, and off came the sweater, revealing what I truly was. Some older guy with a beard, covered in pictures on demons and death, who does not hide his underage drinking and long list of bad decisions, and currently dating his daughter. I think he called me "Hip."

She was very impressed of how well I behaved, and got along with her father. She was so happy that he liked me, and I pretended that it was no big deal, and that I wasn't hugely relieved to not have my knee caps broken. And I continued to be me, but I always remembered to keep it under control, and not do stupid things. Often even being the responsible one. And well, she continued to be impressed with me. I'm still not entirely sure how I worked such magic, and I have never dare to attempt this again, though there have been times since that similar things have happened accidentally. I would not recommend this method of impressing girls to anyone, ever, but it worked for me. I think it is the reason why I have such bad luck most of the time, I use up years of good luck all at once, impressing girls in ridiculous ways.

Short list of complaints.

Nothing changes.

Now on to less depressing things.

How long can I go jobless, should I decide to quit my job tonight? The answer to that is: Financially I can go much longer than I can go mentally. I've done this before, with far less in my pocket, and my boredom from not having a job wins long before my bank account is empty. I almost quit last night. Now, I think I may hold out for a month, maybe two months longer. I should at least use my paid vacation time first, right?

A long list of things I could do while not working at my job.

I could sleep normally.
I could have free time to use effectively on things that make me not completely fucking miserable.
I could see my friends.
I'd have time to see that girl.
I could grow my beard.
I could go home and see friends.
I could go home and see family.
I could work on getting healthy.
I could finally work on writing that comic book with Sean.
I could finally start working on that punk band with Sean.
I could get out of bed, for reasons other than I have to go to work.
I could have the time to get my other arm tattooed.

Sometimes I wonder.

A couple things about not much at all.

My taste in women is getting a little too classy for my own good. This morning, in a very Vince Vaughn like manner, I hit on Jean-Georges daughter. It was like the scene the scene in Wedding Crashers where Vince Vaughn notices the blond across the chapel, and mouths the word "Hi." She blushed and sent her own hello in my direction. Our eyes danced back and forth in flirtatious glances like we were at a god damn senior prom. Then my coworker noticed, and told me who she was, and then reminded me that her father runs the restaurant that's with the company I work for. Dangerous territory. It didn't stop me.

This is almost as good as my secret relationship with Amber Rose(not really that classy). But like I said, that's a secret, we don't want Kanye to find out just yet, he is dealing with enough already.



Also, it is amazing how much less angry I get when my cable company phone technician speaks English. I have been having problems with my TV/internet all month, and have done a lot of calling, and a lot of yelling at people who don't understand the things I say, and respond in an English that very closely resembles Spanish, which I don't understand. But today I call, fully prepared to get angry very quickly, as I have a tendency to do. And then...the guy on the other end of the phone understood me. And then when he said something back to me, I understood him as well. And because of this, he was able to help me. And, well, I didn't yell at anyone.

Working hard, or hardly working?

Truth be told, I'm online shopping. Previously, I was eating pasta, the empty dish still sits beside me, a trophy of sorts. Before that I was reading Animal Farm, it is my first time. Almost mid way through, that too sits beside me, underneath my phone, the same phone I was earlier using to play poker. Before all of this, I'm sure I was working, I'm sure of it. Now done with shopping online, I have found two new items to spend my money on, though they both include sizes, and unless I can literally put something on, I have no idea what size fits me. I will buy these two things in person.

Item one is a new hat, I will probably buy multiple ones of these, as I want different types. I need, not want, but need a new cap, just like the one I lost. I belive my brother will pick one up for me when he returns to Miane shortly, there is a British/Irish import store there which sells Hanna Hats. That is the hat I want, a Hanna hat. Sean, my brother, will have strict instructions on this hat purchasing, and the use of the iPhones ability to take photos of said hats an email them to me will obviously be in use to make sure I like the hat. I'm really not that picky. I have decided with my thrid Hanna hat (yes, I've owned two others. One of which never really fit right, and one other that I drunkenly lost of the subway) I will go solid color, my other two have been patch work. And my only other request is that they fall into the colors ranging from gray, to black.

Much a long the same lines of solid color grey or black hats, I want a Fedora. I just do. I want a black one. Or maybe a gray one, with a black band around it. It will be nice, and I will probably never wear it. Online shopping for these has told me that they are not cheap. Well, fuck if I care, I want one, to wear maybe at least once. Mostly just to own. Fedoras take confidence, which I have, but rarely use in the right places, or times, like when I foolish looking hat is residing on my head. I will own one though, and do with it as I please. And that will please me.

Once again in terms of semi ridiculous clothing, I want some boots. Cowboy boots. Again, of a dark color. I want black, though I think when aged, brown would look better. I have long heard of the comfort of cowboy boots, and well, I just think they look pretty alright. I want no crazyness, solid colors only, and it just minor fancy thread work done on the upper portion of the boots. I arrived here, at cowboy boots, because I have recently decided to by running shoes, to go to the gym, and run (try to, I probably shouldn't because of my hip, but to hell with that). And buying new shoes made me think of buying other new shoes, that I would wear while doing something with no real effect ony my health, like drinking, smoking, drugs, or possibly horseback riding. I will never actually ride a horse, it has never seemed like a very smart idea. To me it seems like getting into a convertible that has a mind of it's own, and sometimes decides to throw you out of it, and then step on you. And you have to feed it. Anyway. I was reading the Stand, and the evil man, the walkin' dude, as he's call in the book, always has these worn down cowboy boots that we walks around the country in. The image of these boots is always so menecing, and mostly cool, and I just want some. Though I will probably never walk across the country, be immortal, throw people through windows, inhabit the minds of crows, or do any of that other shit the evil bad guys always do. I will have the boots though. These too, as proven through online shooping, are expensive. But. as always my irreversible cheapness has lead me to discover that all the ones I like are the cheap ones (under $150), so at least I've got that going for me.

And no, I do not (yet) have any desire for a cowboy hat. The above mentioned hats should hold me over for the time. Until of course I stop doing things, buy a house with a porch, a rocking chair, and stick a long piece oh straw between my teeth. Maybe then I'll buy one. And I'm pretty sure that day will come.

Memories of reader, and a coffee drinker.

Yawn. Stretch. Repeat. My lazy Sunday continues, only now it is Monday. Meaning that I've really just become lazy. Not in a bad way, it is not like I'm putting things off, or ignoring responsibility; I just have nothing to do, and I am in turn doing nothing. Today I left the apartment for the first time since arriving home Saturday evening, I needed to buy more Tropicana pink lemonade. Unfortunately C-town was out of said lemonade, but being that I was already in the grocery store, I spent about $30 on other food/beverages that I didn't really need (yes, I needed pink lemonade). This was quite a task, considering the amount of effort I have yet to use on anything constructive in the past two days, it surprisingly involved many steps. I first had to put pants on (real pants, I have been living in some very comfortable PJ pants), this was kind of a bummer, as wearing clothes suitable for public viewing made me feel more like a contributing member of society (this was not my goal for the weekend). Along with pants, I had to put shoes on, though not wanting to have to also put socks on, I opted for flip-flops, which don't really count. I then threw a 2 sizes to big for me sweatshirt on over my wife beater, and hit the road for my two block trip of actually doing something. By the end of my journey to the store, after carrying my 4 bags of groceries up two flights of stairs, I had almost broken a sweat. Almost. It may have been the sweatshirt. It has been cool lately, cool enough to pull off jeans and a sweatshirt, provided you aren't doing anything more than walking at a moderately slow pace. I've gotten off topic though, I intended to talk to you about reading, and coffee.

I am, not surprisingly, on my couch right now, with an empty cup of coffee and a half read article for the New Yorker. Not only is my cup of coffee out, but all my coffee is out. I usually have 2ish cups in the morning(afternoon/evening), today I only had enough for on cup though. This leads me to the half read article. It was pretty good, about one of the many people who decided to go totally green and write about it. So far it seems like a huge pain in the ass, and make his life suck, and begs the question, "for what good?" I assume they answer that at the end of the article, as I am sure the New Yorker wouldn't completely bash going green, even if all this one guy really did was make his life a pain in the ass for a year. But now that my coffee is gone, so is my desire to keep reading. Not to mention the writer of the article keeps talking about Thoreau in a very unforgiving light, repeatedly saying his time spent on Walden Pond was little more than I stunt to break him into the literary world. Makes sense I guess, but it's just far more interesting than a stunt. But that is a subject I am not really qualified to speak on. I think I'm getting off topic again, I was saying something about coffee and reading.

Right. I remember similar situations in Maine, more importantly in Rock City Coffee, where I used to work, and where my love of coffee and reading grew exponentially. Now when I return to Maine I go there everyday to sit and read while drinking coffee. That's really all I want to do when I go home. Mostly because I can't do it here, at least I can't do it as well. There is a coffee shop called the Archive just a few minutes walk from my apartment here in Brooklyn, but it's just not the same. Rock City was full of real people. There was Captain Neal, the published writer, and the arrogant pain in the ass. There was Joe, rest in peace, who was crazy, probably due to years of alcohol abuse, who would dance to the music, while sipping his dollar cup of coffee. Either that or he would talk about his days as a sailor, I'm still not quite sure that he ever was a sailor, he had some good stories though. And of course there was KT, working behind the book counter, always there a new recommendation, and an infectiously loud laugh that could convince anyone they were funny. At the Archive there are just two people: some worker, and then some hipster. These two people multiply enough to fill most of the seats, and cover the tables with Apple products, but really, they are all the same person.

Really I think everything about the Archive is just less appealing than Rock City. Instead of endless cases of books, they have a few shelves of movies. Rather than a good selection of papers to read, they carry a few copies of the Onion. It's never a gamble of which of the 15 or so different roasts they will serve that day, it's always the same roast of Gimme, which is of course delicious, but my least favorite roast from Gimme. And also, they don't have whip cream. That means a con panna party just isn't possible. Not that anyone there would really appreciate it anyway (that is kind of irrelevant, I think myself and my good friend River, also from Rock City are the only two people who like con panna parties).

I am being pretty hard on the Archive though, the people are nice, and the coffee is good. Which is really all you can ask for from a coffee shop. And even still, I have brought my book in there to read before, and as long as you can concentrate well enough in the hipster hangout, then you're ok. And I've never had the problem I'm having now, because it's a coffee shop, they don't run out of coffee. And now I've reached another point of empitness, my cup of Irish Breakfast tea is empty, and my desire to keep writing is quickly fading. I have lost the motivation to end this well, but seeing that I am still on my lazy Sunday, I'll end with the same advice I gave to a friend yesterday: It's Sunday, and no one needs motivation on Sunday.

Waiting for my hair to change color.

Iced tea: Check
Fan: Check
Music: Check
Boxer shorts and wife beater: Check
Michael Weston style sunglasses: Check
Pirated copy of MSWord:Mac: Check

I am sitting listlessly at my kitchen table, a small white table that would be better used as more of a desk, in a room that is not the kitchen. As it happens though, for lack of any other option, this small white table that I stole from my old apartment building is my kitchen table. I have escaped, from the horrors of the day, to this table here in the kitchen. There are few other options in my apartment to sit and write, one being my bed, which typically leads to me endlessly checking Facebook and playing with shuffle on my iTunes; needless to say very little gets accomplished in my bed. Ever. It is also dreadfully hot in my room, even with my fan turned on high is just seems to wrap thick hot air over me like a blanket. My other option would be the living room. It’s a pretty nice room, I won’t lie. There is a big blue bookshelf full accomplishments, and things for me to show off when company is over. That is if I really feel like showing off my large comic collection, explaining that Powers, or The Walking Dead might be some of the best things I’ve ever read. There is also a couch, and a nice coffee table with a glass center, and shelf underneath containing numerous copies of various metal music magazines, and The New Yorker. Mostly just to show that yes, I read The New Yorker. Only after I take it from work when I don’t finish reading it during my shift. This room is usually a good place to write, today, however, it is not. There is a park across the street from my living room, it provides a nice view of trees, and park goers making the best of the heat. Today it also provides some Christian bands that got together to send their God awful music straight through my open window. It is impossible to even watch TV as the words, “GET UP, GET UP, GET UP AND BELIEVE!” drown out even my thought process accompanied by thunderous drumbeats and shitty guitar leads. I’d shut my window on God if it wasn’t so damn hot out. Maybe he has something to do with that. Instead I run to my kitchen, set up my fan, and write, passing my time patiently waiting to go gray, and not so patiently to be happy.

I watch a lot of the Travel Channel, No reservations mostly. I don’t often get a chance to go to unexplored areas of the city of New York, and even less do I get a chance to leave the city all together; for me the Travel Channel is almost like actually traveling. Today’s episode of NoRes sent its host, Anthony Bourdain, to Canada, spending a good amount of time in Montreal. A commercial came and I couldn’t bare the wait for it to end, instead I hit record on my DVR and decided to come back later. I had, only moments before, been talking to a real sweet girl from Montreal, and felt a strong need to get out of New York and see her. This girls name is Alexis, a name that always seems kind of like a fairy tale to me, along with her slender build, pale skin and long dark hair, she gets me in an almost dangerous way. The last time I saw her I threw caution to the wind determined to make the best of her short stay in New York. The result was something that still brings me chills when I think about it, and all the ways I just wish life were just as simple as it once was. This one simple relationship, built out of bad romantic comedy, embodies so much about myself it’s difficult to realize. It is far easier to want things that are out of reach than it is to try and make the best of what you can reach. Basically, I’m lazy (and incredibly selfish), and relationships are hard. I can’t be bothered to wonder and worry every time some girl doesn’t call me back, it is simply beyond my capabilities. Maybe her phone is off. Maybe she doesn’t like my plain black tee shirt. Maybe she was on the subway. Maybe she is out with another guy. Maybe I’m a bad kisser. Not true, I’m a fantastic kisser. Maybe, just maybe, she just doesn’t like you. It makes me neurotic, and it’s a bother. It is far easier when I know the answer, It’s because she lives in another country. This is probably the easiest example of what I have become, but it is something that affects not only my human relationships, but everything. I know what I want, I want to be E.B. White, grow old with my wife (should I ever let myself get that far) in some desolate area of Maine, going gray, doing little other than writing about how important my daily life is (to me at least).

I remember a time when things were fairly simple, wake up when I’m supposed to, go to school, go play, get in trouble, make mistakes, fall down, get up, try again, go to sleep. There was probably a good amount of eating in there too, though when I was a child I weighed much less than I do now. Oh how my life has changed, it is the way the body works. I remember when I was a kid, I spent most of my time with my friend Tyler, who was, still is, and despite how ever far we grow apart, probably always will be my best friend. Out on Rabbit Farm Road, that long dirt road that Tyler lived on before moving in with his grandmother, was his home. A large building the color of stained wood, with a large deck that wrapped the house from one side and around the back. The house sat down a winding dirt driveway, surrounded by a large lawn and a thick forest. I remember there was a rock in his back yard that was bigger than the houses of some of the kids I went to school with, we appropriately named it, “The Big Rock,” and spent hours of our lives sitting up on The Big Rock with GI Joes. Happiness was so easy in those days. Tyler also had this ball, sort of resembling a baseball, but softer, and attached to a long multi-colored ribbon which was used to swing and throw the ball great heights and distances. We would push the limits of how high, or how far we could heave this ball, until one day we started to throw the ball over the house. With one person on each side we sent the ball rocketing over the chimney, the ribbon sizzling loudly in the wind, in the hopes that just once the person on the other side would be able to catch it. We rarely accomplished this, maybe out of fear of getting hit in the face with a ball from at least 30 feet up. This small goal though, was enough to keep us outside, keeping us young and hopeful, and completely unaware of just how easy we had it.

Being all grown up now, my life has taken me far from dirt roads, and buildings that one could throw a ball over. For the time being I am on an adventure in the Big Apple, not unlike another James who was taken on an adventure is a big peach. Only this is no place for children, this is a place where one needs more than a best friend, or nothing at all. Happiness here is an endless struggle, easily achieved on a day-to-day basis, but hard to keep constant. Everything in New York is so easily accessible, transport, booze, movies, plays, parks, fun is literally around every corner; what’s hard to find are the people, the keepers at least. This city is not geared toward relationships, more flings; it is meant for selfishness, finding happiness and keeping it personal, rather than sharing it with others. It is a sad fact, with huge exceptions, but in a city where everyone is here for themselves, it is hard to really let anyone in. I’ve had infinite numbers of relationships built, though they have all been more like networking, some lasting weeks, days, or even just hours. I have my odd group of solid friends, friends from work, and best friends from family to a musician from a band I listened to while still in Maine trying to figure myself out. Everyone else though, the millions of people here, are just acquaintances that I meet in bars, through work, or passing on the street late at night. People I will love for minutes, maybe hours, and then probably never see again. All these random people, random things, are what keep me going here. The easiest way to get by here is through loneliness, to just do your own thing, whatever makes you happy. Close your eyes and dive head first into chaos, hoping only to come out the other side. There is simply too much going on to stand still with someone, too little time to feel anxious or neurotic. To little time to feel loved, or to give it. Should I ever need a moment to slow down, I do it alone, not by choice, but because everyone else has things to do. What I need now, the thing that this city seem to almost work against, is someone to spend that down time with. Some girl that I could open the door, and let into my selfish, personal bubble.

It is hard for me to put my time here into words, as I don’t feel I’ve really had enough time get a good handle on what it is to live here. I feel like my thoughts here have grown scattered, and I hesitate to try to center them, because I feel like this explanation that hardly makes sense is the perfect example: Life here is complicated. So I continue to sit here at my kitchen table, a few hours latter, still trying to figure it out all over again, but just as lost as when this began. The Christian bands have been replaced with some motivational speaker/ex-drug addict. He tells his story about he was lost, until he found Jesus, and how great his life is now. His faith has clearly made him a better person, ready to help those in need. Instead of finding something that I have faith in (it is clearly not God), I sit wondering why that redhead never called back about my dinner invitation? Didn’t she say she would? Didn’t our first date go well? Is she really even worth wondering why? Haven’t I always had trouble with redheads? What will I say to her if I see her at work? Probably nothing. I wait, with my brain on a neurotic treadmill of thought, for one of those acquaintances to prove me wrong about this city, and give me a few moments of her time to stand on the other side of a house, awaiting whatever I throw her way.

Lessons Learned Through Other People Mistakes.

I had this friend growing up, let's call him Phil, and Phil taught me a lot about life. We were at one point good friends, though Phil was never particularly nice to me; he was never really nice to anyone actually. He was one of those kids who always did stupid things at the expense of other people, and it was really funny when it wasn't you.

Once while skateboarding Phil thought it would be really funny to throw my skateboard out in front of passing cars. He thought this was hilarious, he had that look of a toddler playing with his food, utter joy at the mess he was making. Me being the scrawny passive aggressive kid that I used to be, begged him to stop, but really didn't do anything about it. He continued to do this until my older brother showed up and told him he would beat the shit out of him. Good old Sean. He hated Phil, and although I've never seen Sean hit anyone, I'm pretty sure he would have beaten the shit of Phil. Needless to say, Phil was stupid.

There was another time, years later, where Phil's stupidity was again steered in my direction. It was a party at a friends house, by this time Phil was heavily into smoking pot. The end of the night came, everyone passed out, and Phil thought it would be funny to pee in my shoes. He may sound like he was a bully, but that wasn't it; Phil was just really, really dumb. Like just really not smart. You know when people ask if "you were dropped on your head as a child?" Well, those sayings had to come from somewhere, and I really do believe Phil was dropped several times, maybe his father just pushed him down the stairs. So anyway, when I awoke to find my shoes soaking wet with urine, I was furious, and found Phil passed out of the couch downstairs. At this point I wasn't so much the passive kid, I hit Phil repeatedly with a piece of wood. The exercise really did wonders for my hangover. Phil was then thrown out of the house into the pouring rain to wait for his mother to come pick him up, a good 45 minute drive. I feel like it was worth a pair of shoes, they had holes in them anyway.

I think it's pretty reasonable when I say that Phil and I grew apart very quickly. He rarely went to school, and when he did, he had classes for stupid people. He was friends with my friends though, I still heard the stories. He never changed. His pot somking became far worse, and I'm almost certain he didn't graduate highschool, at least not with the rest of our class. I think he got an apartment, partied and yada yada. He really wasted his life to it's fullest potential. Then he turned around, sort of. He tried to "stop smoking pot" and failed. He stopped because he wanted to join the army, he failed because the army said no. This was just a few years ago, deep in the heart of the Iraq war. And the army refused his enlistment. I didn't actually know that was possible.

Because I'm me, and generally think the worst of people, I thought it was really just because Phil was a loser. A loser beyond the help of a drill sergeant. Turns out that's not the whole truth(it must be part of it though). I guess it was because of a good old fashioned head injury that Phil had gotten himself(dropped as a child?). I guess Phil fell off a moving car. I think he was sitting on the tailgate of a pick-up truck, and they hit a bump, and well, you get the idea. Those kind of accidents happen a lot in Maine. Stupidity related accidents. What part of any rational human being thinks it's a good idea to sit on the tailgate of a moving truck? As far as I'm concerned, serves you right. Did you get shot because you were drunk playing with guns? Serves you right.

Stupidity is usually a choice, and well, that's what I learned from Phil: Don't do what he does. I can't say I've done a whole lot with my life, unless you count a year and half of college, and moving to New York. Thats the extent. But what I've taken away from going up with people like this is to think before anything. If it seems like a dumb idea, it probably is. If I think to myself, I might fall off that tailgate if I sit on it while the truck is moving, I'm not going to sit on it. And well, because of that, it is very possible that Phil may have saved my life, in a round about way. Having stupid friends teaches one to be not stupid.

Before my time.

I recently bought a new shirt, it's green and white striped, from the Gap. I wasn't going to buy it, I was looking for gray dress pants for a friends wedding, and at this time of year I really just don't have much use for a long sleeved shirt. But as I was holding the sleeve out to admire it, still on the rack, a lady walked past and silently, covertly (I dont think I ever actually saw her) handed me a coupon for 25% off anything in the store. Well fuck, I'm already here, I thought. Plus, now it was 25% off. Damn you sneaky sales lady. Seeing that I had already planned on spending money on the gray pants, and failed, it seemed OK to spend a little money on a nice shirt.

A similar incident happened only minutes before, at Ben Sherman, where I had begun my failed search for gray dress pants. They had some, two different pairs of gray pants, they were even on sale. I didn't like them though, and they didn't have my size. I would have to buy a pair that I didn't like, just didn't hate, and then go somewhere else to get them hemmed to the appropriate length. No thank you. But I was already in the sale section. And there was this cute sales girl desperately trying to help me, failing to understand that when it comes to shopping, I am beyond help, it needs to just be done for me. This was the second of the cute sales women to try and help me, I think my sarcasm and cynicism scared away the first. The second had a bit more drive though. That or she just realized that helping someone who does not want your help means you don't have to do a whole lot, just follow and agree with everything. She showed me.

I talked myself into looking at some jeans. I really wanted to make some cut-off jean shorts, but needed to first replace the pants that I would be destroying in the near future. Following me she told me that most of the jeans have that lame shine to them, that does not in fact wash out. It should, and she agreed. I found a pair without the lame shine, she got my size, I tried them on, and wow. Best fitting pants ever. Shit. I was ready to put them back when she stepped up and became a unique blend a cool cute girl, and great sales woman. "Fuck it dude, just buy 'em. They are so cheap." She was right, the jeans were normally like $130 or something retarded like that. Now they were $54, with an additional 3o% off. "Practically free," she continued. But I need a tie too, I tried to fight it. She got me the one gray sale tie they had and explained that I would get both the tie and pants for less than the original sale price of the pants. I was sold. I wasn't happy, but I was sold. And now I have some sweet new cut-offs and a new pair of the most comfortable jeans I've ever owned.

Back to the shirt. I wore it last night. I really think it's a great shirt. It's simple, but it's more than one the many solid colored tee-shirts that I have been sporting for the last year or so. Rotating between black and white. So there I am, at the bar, in my new shirt. With colors. I feel pretty good. "That's a pretty conservative look you're going for," says a friend of mine. Well fuck you very much. I am now instantly self conscious of my new shirt. Could it really be more boring than a plain white or black tee? I ask what he means, am I an honorary member of the NRA now? "I don't know, it's just, pretty traditional."

con⋅serv⋅a⋅tive

–adjective

1.	cautiously moderate or purposefully low: a conservative estimate.

2.	traditional in style or manner; avoiding novelty or showiness: conservative suit.

Am I that boring? I thought, Hey, this shirt is nice. And it's not so plain! Wrong. It's just conservative. Purposefully low. Great.

I was thinking about what all this meant today, while reading some David Sedaris, and watching the Travel Channel. I was recently at a different bar with some other friends, it was I'd say half full, with some moderate music playing. I got a glass of Makers, and talked with my friends, I was pretty happy. I had to pee, and in that time the bar managed to become way over full, the music turned up to 11, and the air conditioning over powered by the dancing and sweating of all the girls there having a great time. I wanted to leave immediately. Really? I longed for some empty bar where dancing was not encouraged, and conversation was possible. Likely filled boring old people, instead of beautiful you girls dressed to look like they aren't dressed. It's a wonder why I have so much trouble with people my age, they like fun things.

During this thought process, I checked the time, it was just past six. I did some quick math and realized I should take a nap. Not that I wanted to, but that if I wanted to be ok for my night shift tonight, I needed it. This is normal for me. Maybe I should join the NRA

Oh no, it's the cops!

I've had a weekend. And I really fucking did it. I worked for basically 2 weeks straight overnight, and then relished in my well earned time off. It was pretty good, and pretty bad.

It began with limitless possibilities, I thought the world was mine. And I blew it. So I had some friends in town, in country is more like it, but they were in New York. And there's this girl, who I haven't seen since last year. It's complicated. Booze was involved. And things got messy. Not in a bad way, but in just a depressing way. It was like, every fucking teen movie ever made. So I leave, shouldn't have been there in the first place. Try to go see this other girl that I know, and am rather fond of. She pours me a drink on the house, I really don't need it. I was upset. I told her I'd call her, she shrugged. I'm leaving out a lot of details, for my own good, it was one of the worst night's I've had in a long time. I lost my hat on the subway coming home at 8 in the morning. I swear to God, by the end of it, I could have just fucking cried.

Enter brunch that morning. All I really wanted was to feel sorry for myself, and let the depression overwhelm my day until it just faded out. But my good friends Jesse and Erica wouldn't let that happen. They forced happiness upon me, I had no choice, and life cafe usually helps. Then others came, Perry, Sean, El Adam, Patrick, and Jaime and Andrew. It was a good time, in which my epically depressing tale became a rather funny story, as it will stay.

So, I was going to call out of work tonight to try and take that second mentioned girl out. She has got something to do, I don't know. Probably lack of interest. Whatever, not the end of the world. Then work calls, I ignored it worrying that they might be calling me to fire me(it was that kind of weekend), but instead they just changed the schedule so I'm off tonight anyway. And now I've got nothing to do. I've done a lot of exercise today, it's hot, I'm sweaty and need to shower.

I've also gotten a new love for Superbad. When I first saw it, I thought it kind of sucked. I saw it again, it still wasn't doing it for me. Just watched it for a third time, blew my mind. So God damn funny.

Yup. I need a nap.

Changing of the guard.

I think I've changed. Come out the other side, if you will. I don't know that it's for the better, I feel like it's more for the bitter. There's a lot to be said about being young, and I feel I've said it all, and experienced most of it. Now that I'm here, on the other side of the law, I feel done. There is little more that I want, and even less that I need. I feel like the end of the Lord of the Rings movies, all the excitement is over, the best part was replaced with a lie, and it should have been over 20 minutes ago. I'm craving some poorly scripted Michael Bay explosions.

I've spent A LOT of money lately, from mishaps with my phones, to random hotel rooms, and I don't even feel it. In a way that's great, I can afford to be a little stupid every once in a while(I'm usually a cheap bastard), but in a way it's kind of sad. I just don't ever care anymore.

All these things that have been here forever, all hidden by a cheap smile, or a rehearsed laugh, I just don't care to hide them anymore. It's like I'm finally okay with my belief that life is one let down after another. And that isn't supposed to happen yet, doesn't that come with age, with seeing the world and letting it crush your dreams?

Here's an idea, let's work really hard, spending loads of money so I can get some lame job that I hate and spend the rest of my life paying off the expenses of getting there. For what, so people are proud of me? I don't buy it anymore. What do I like? I like writing, what the fuck good is that going to do me? The only way I'll ever make money at it is if I get published, and guess what I don't have to go to school to do.....get published. Dumb.

What about people? What good are they? Everyone, myself included, is in it for themselves. Complete disregard for anyone else. Great, way it should be, Darwin at his best. But it's bringing me down. We are raised to see the good in people, until you get old enough, wise enough, to see that it just isn't there. You ever feel like no one sees you at all, never mind the good or the bad? Say, for instance, at your job. Like, if you get paid Holiday days off, and every person at your job gets them except you? And even when you ask why you aren't getting them, you still don't get them, because your bosses literally forget about you? And then they send out letters saying if you don't take your Holiday days within a certain time you can't take them at all, like it's my fault. Don't worry, it's just the money you owe me by law. I don't need it. Please expect me to continue doing a great job. For fucks sake.

This past week was the 4th, I'm stuck at work doing overnights for basically 2 weeks straight, just one day off, so other people can have their 4th of July Holiday days. I haven't even gotten my Memorial Day yet. I know, I know. Get a new job, right? In this fucking economy? So I can get some other job that doesn't give a fuck about any of their employees? Thanks GWB. Come on Obama, Yes we can. Yes we can what?

Money doesn't buy happiness, but the more money you have, the more happiness you can siphon from the people below you. Money doesn't buy happiness, bullshit. Of course it does.

There is this book, called The Hand, or something like that. It's about how the hand and the mind evolved together, as one got better, so did the other. With the hand doing more and more, the mind did more and more, and the when the hand was to busy making weapons to point other shit out, language developed. The hand evolved to kill. To make weapons, and use them to feed your family. Then the brain evolved into a constant competition with every other brain on the planet. And then we got war. You know the big kids who pick on the little kids? They grow up to be big and strong, working dead and jobs. The little kids grow up to make bombs, and use them against the big kids. Mankind is one giant competition to prove your worth.

You know what I think of happiness? For real? I think it lies in other people. My one last hope than human kind is worth a damn, is that when it really comes down to it, we need each other. We don't need everyone, just one other person. And even that is subject to change. Marriage, dating, till death do us part, fucking, prostitution, it's all the same. It's all temporary. But for a short time, stripped down to the bare essentials, lust and fucking animal instincts, it's pure fucking joy. And then it's over. If you even make it that far.

Life is a struggle to continually trick yourself into happiness.

Oh well.

Last night I didn't feel like going home, not sure why, I just didn't. If you were wondering if I drunkfacebookaskedyouout last night, yes, I did. I didn't have a choice. Then I wandered until I found the Standard New York Hotel, a sister hotel of the one I work in, and I stayed there. Friends and family rates still aren't cheap.

It's a new day, a new year. I have Novocaine for all my senses, it's another stupid clumsy story. I'm trying, and trying.

Life.

Today, around 4:30, I ate some food. I went to life cafe, got myself a cup of coffee, the muscles with the bacon and cream sauce, and some french fries. In the mornings there is always this waitress/bartender that plays cool music, today it Prince. It was a pretty awesome breakfast.

Adventures in BK

I was walking home, it was well after last call, and after deciding there were no after hours places in Williamsburg I struggled to find my way home on foot. I was somewhere on Broadway. It was a long walk home, and I wasn't in the greatest of moods, and I thought that maybe my hand was broken(it's not). It had been an interesting night. And my phone had blown up. Still worked well enough to get me directions home. Then I met this big black dude. I never got his name.

He was all like, "Yo man, you got fitty cents?"

And I was all like, "Shit yeah." It was true, I had gotten fifty cents somewhere in my travels for the night. I reached into the little change pocket of my pants, and gave this guy fifty cents, "What'cha buying?" I asked, for some reason I cared at the time.

"A forty!" he was pretty excited.

"Alright man, sounds like a great time!"

Then this other lady started yelling, "You gonna buy me some beer or are you going to stand around talking all night."

I laughed, and told hm to have a good night. And I'm sure her did, all because of my fifty cents.

Stuck in the middle with you.

So I ended up just buying aother new iPhone. It would have cost me $200 to fix the screen on my broken one, and since I was starting a new plan with AT&T I got a new phone for only $200. Whatever, I don't like having money anyway. And now I can take videos, and my phone has a compass.

Getting the phone was a HUGE pain in the ass though. I get to the Apple store in Soho, stopping to see some locals before I got there, and get directed to the line. Wasn't that bad, waited for maybe half an hour. This very cute little black girl helps me. Her name was Nicole, and she was very exctied that her red and white Nikes matched the red and white case for her phone. So far, this is painless. We set almost everything up, transfer my number from T Mobile yada yada. Now time for the credit check. We had to call AT&T for this, and the guy on the phone has to ask me some security questions.

Questions 1: What was the name of the loan company that I used for the student loan I paid off last year.
Answer 1: Are you serious? I have no idea.
Question 2: How much did you pay monthly?
Answer 2: I didn't pay monthly, I paid them all off in full right away.
Question 3: I'm sorry, we can't help you. You need to go to an AT&T store and settle this.

Ugh. Nicole gives me a note saying that when I get back I don't have to wait in line. Everyone in the store is confused by the amount of bullshit that is happening right now.

At the AT&T store, I wait in line for another half hour or so, but I stopped on the way to get some coffee, so it wasnt all bad. I was kind of pissed though, the guy in front of me was taking a really long time, mostly because he didn't understand that the credit/debit options on his debit card are basically the same thing, and the guy helping him was having trouble explaining it. Anyway, once at the counter, the guy at the store tells me that the guy on the phone was a moron, and without a fax number to send an approved credit check to, I'd have to just get a plan, buy random phone, and then go back to Apple, and buy an iPhone at full price. He suggests I just go back and try again, and hope to get someone on the phone who isn't a moron. Or to come back with a fax number.

So now I'm stuck in the middle, a place on each side of me that cant help me with out help from the other, but they cant help eachother help me. I go back to the Apple store. Nicole is leaving, she explians my situation to someone else, and we get to work. New guy, Danny, is totally blown away by this. We do EVERYTHING again, and then, the call center for the credit check is closed. FUCK. So he does some digging with his bosses, and they come up with a higher up number for AT&T. We call it, this guy is a real big douche bag, Danny stops multiple times to tell him to calm down, and lose the attitude. And then, we explain to him that the address on my credit card is from Maine because I was living there when I got it, he says, "Oh, well, that makes sense. Ok, he's approved."

Seriously? This took me like 4 hours. I was a little frustrated, but mostly happy. Combine all this with the night I had the night before, I was alittle all over the place. So I went to a Sushi place, and some some sweet food and a Kirin Light. It was nice.

I was so angry.

So I never, ever, drop my phones. But last night I did, wasn't even that bad. Went to slip my phone into my pocket and just missed, and it fell to the ground. The screen blew the fuck up.

I just dropped 200 bucks buying it from Jesse, and now it's fucked. And I can't get help from Apple, because it's a hacked phone.

So, now I'm going to cancel my T-Mobil plan, for $150, and buy another new iPhone the correct way, for $300. This way, if something happens again, I'm covered.

Maybe I'll just see if I can get a plan with Apple, and then they'll fix my phone.

I haven't angrier than last night in a long time. Lots of yelling and hitting.

Boom.

So there I am, 6th floor at work, just after 5AM. I've got a luggage cart full of the Sunday New York Times. Even on wheels it's heavy. I think that paper is priced a dollar a pound. For real. 70 papers in total. How there can possibly be that much news every week, I have no idea. I think they probably make some stuff up. Anyway, I'm waiting for the elevator, so I can put the papers out of the 5th floor. Ding. I pull of the end of the cart that turns so I can get it in the elevator, only it doesnt turn. The weight is too much for cheap wheels, and they just stand still, solid as an iceberg. The cart tips as I pull it towards me, and 7o gigantic cruiseship sized newspapers sink abrupty to the floor. I hear the voices of those still awake go quiet, and I think, "FUCK. That was loud." I open my mouth and scream silently in anger, waving my hands frantically in frustration, struggling to keep my sense afloat enough to keep quite. All I can think about is the pain in the ass it's going to be to rescue all these stranded papers. Sunday news sucks.

If I could only get out of bed

Ok, so here's the plan.

I need to go buy eggs. What I actually need to do, is go buy all my groceries, but right now I'm thinking eggs. And cheese of course. Probably some bread too. Next I'd need some veggies. I really want some avocado with my eggs, but they don't come ripe, so unless I try to buy a rip one I'd have to wait a day or two. What I really want to do it go to Life Cafe, and have them make breakfast for me. And maybe get a Bloody Mary. That is so far away though, and they don't even open until 11. And here I am, awake, at 9:30 AM blogging about my plans to get breakfast because I can't seem to leave my bed to do all the things I need to do.

That's somewhat of a plan. I need breakfast. I've gotten that far. Maybe after the Advil kicks in(I need more of that, add it to the grocery list) and I drink a few more glasses of what I'll start being productive.

See, the problem it this. I passed out around 3 last night, and here I am awake 6 hours later. 9AM is way too early for me to get up. I'm spending more time with the family today, which will most likely take all day. No time for a nap. And then I have to work tonight. It's going to be brutal. I wish I used that word more often.

Wonders of interweb wandering

Alice in Wonderland, by Vogue.


I like the photos done for this, and I think the addition of Karl Lagerfeld to the world of Wonderland makes this story a whole lot cooler.

Check these out..

Sean and I need to get some speakers for our record player, it's the last piece of the puzzle.

Player: Check.
Pre-Amp: Check.
Records: Check.
Speakers: Fail.

I was doing my rounds on the internet this morning, checking the usual sites, and I found these thanks to Mr. West. Appropriately named "Woofers"



Seriously, how cool are these?


I think they would go nicely with the half mannequin already in our living room.


(Picture taken from old apartment)

I feel the same.

So I woke up today around 1pm, after going to bed around 9am. I couldn't find my wallet anywhere. Fuck. Finally 21, and I lose my ID on the first day. I was really pretty pissed off. And then I start to put pieces of a strange puzzle together, and I begin to realize I couldn't have lost it. I used it to pay for a taxi home. And then before going to bed at 9am I took my debit card out to set up a new itunes account. I had it before I went to bed. I tear my bed apart, no luck, dig through all my clothes, no luck, and then bam! It hits me. I know where my wallet is. But it doesn't really make sense. I remembered that in my extremely drunken state I was worried that someone was trying to steal my wallet, while I was alone in my room. So I hid it in a box of tissues on my bed side table. I don't know.

I'll be home when the good feeling dies.

That time is around 7am.
Summer time is back in New York, it's close enough anyway. After a long winter absence, the late night/early morning hangs are back. And after last night, I have decided to foot the bill to cancel my T-Mobil contract early, and get my iPhone working 100%. Seriously, what can't that phone do?

Between tracking down the after hours spots, getting directions, and calling a car, it's really not so much a phone, and more an event(adventure?) planner.


I have a feeling the famous balcony hangs from last summer might be a no go this time around, but surely other fun hangs will present them self on a regular basis. Need some friends with roof access.


After all the flashing lights of table top arcades, and jukeboxes tunes die off, I am still reminded just how lonely this city can be. Even with all the 24hr fun, it seems everyone I know, myself included, is still stuck in that winter mood. I'm hoping rooftop BBQs, bocce ball, and bag toss in the park can cure that, if not that all nighters. But I'm not so sure, it's all very temporary, you still wake up the same the next day. I think I'm realizing this recession is hitting more than just my pockets.

This a feel good entry though, I do love me some city summers. And I'm looking forward to all the fun I know I will have this time around. I'm only hoping with the new season things take a turn for the better on more than just a night by night basis.

Question:

Why is it that hot dogs come in packs of 10, and hot dog buns come in packs of 8?

What are you supposed to do with the other two hot dogs?

Someone in the hot dog industry is a real dick.

Twice a week.

I have recently started to eat cereal again. This might not seem like a big deal, at first anyway, but it is. I took a few years off cereal. I'd say I haven't been a serious cereal eater for the better part of 7 years. Before that time I ate cereal every day, mostly, and I can't say why I stopped. I'd tell you if I knew, but it's just that one day I woke up, in the house I grew up in, and didn't want any cereal. My life has changed dramatically since that day.

I was growing up, things were changing, and then I discovered toast, with butter and jam, not marmalade. I have a strong dislike for marmalade. I do, however, really enjoy toast. I love bread, I have a mild obsession with it. I like white bread, and I do not like any other kind of bread. I believe the correct flavor of bread is the flavor that comes from white bread, everything else is a mistake. I don't like things to be in my bread, I don't like 7 different grains in my bread, I just like the white one. This had made my shopping very difficult. Day to day it grows increasingly harder to find white bread. Everyone is eating bread with other shit in it, for their health or something, but mainly because wheat bread is hip. I eventually saw that they carried white bread down the street, at natural grocery store, for a jacked up price. Every week or so I would trudge down there, in the opposite direction of the rest of my groceries to buy over priced white bread. This stubbornness has really become a part of who I am, I grew up on white bread, and I will change for no grain.

From there I hit a pretty serious bagel obsession. I view bagels differently than I do bread, I do not mind things in, on, or around bagels that would not normally be there. I like onion bagels, mostly I just really like onions, and can usually find a way to put them in any meal. In this case they top my bagels, I've also been known to put a slice of red onion on my bagels, with cream cheese and tomatoes. At one point, not too long ago, this was my regular breakfast after work. I'd walk town to the Cafe Duke on Mercer St., just past 7, and I wave hello to the man behind the counter as he knowingly prepared my bagel. I'm classy like Sunday mornings, with Bloody Marys and bagels. I'd have to say my favorite bagel is the spinach and cheddar bagel. Tough to find, I don't think many places make them, but they are delicious. This was a staple in my weekend work days for a while, arriving at work with a sever hang over, a spinach and cheddar bagel, and a XXX Vitamin Water would set me straight again.

I've taken a long journey through the evolution of my breakfast habits over the years, and I hate to have been misleading, as the point of this is really all about milk. Years ago, when I stopped eating cereal, I stopped consuming milk. Instead I drank OJ with calcium. Orange juice is arguably better than milk anyway. But now that I have started drinking milk again, both in my cereal, and even just a glass I find myself going through a lot of it. I started off slow, only buying half gallons. I soon found myself buying one every couple of days, it became clear that a half was simply a fraction of the amount of milk I truly needed. Today I made the obvious decision to buy a full gallon, as to save myself some trouble. This is where trouble hits. Upon seeing that I bought a gallon, Sean suggested that we share the milk, and take turns buying it. Well, thats great an all, except that I bought the gallon because I need a gallon to support my milk drinking habits. A half a gallon doesn't do it for me anymore, and if my childhood math teachers were good to me, sharing my gallon of milk would put me right back where I started. Sure it would still be a gallon, but I'd still only get half of it. I simply just can not do it. Maybe in the future, when my cereal kick slows down.

Mornings, early early early.

My overnight schedule constantly screws my weekends up where I end up getting up around 6AM. So, I have a lot of early mornings. Today I went out and bought some eggs, black beans, cheese, onions, and mushrooms, and had a pretty good breakfast. Also, as seen above, I'm watching Big. On my new TV. We picked up that sweet table it's on around the corner at a used furniture shop. We also got an end table that was part of the same set, and a nice coffee table that you can almost see in the above picture.

While I'm at it, let's see some other things in my new apartment. Up first, we've got "Big Blue," our big blue bookshelf. It's in our living room area, between the windows, and holds some of our most treasured items: Comics, more comics, records, movies, and hardcover books. You might also notice the mini fridge, that has been in the family since Sean went to college. It continues, years later, to keep beer and snacks cold, and close at hand.


Up next, we've got another picture of "Big Blue," and the window on the other side of it. You can see the coffee table, it's nice, I like the piece of glass as the top. There is a rug under it too. Yeah, that's right, a rug. There is our couch too, it's brown, and it's comfy. At the end of the couch, you can see a box, below the window. It is sitting on the end table I mentioned before, it's our record player. It obviously hasn't been set up yet, it's still in a box. We need to buy a pre-amp for it, and some speakers. But still. I'm digging the new place.


Also, Big is a really great movie.

Listen Sweetheart,

It was late night on Mercer street, and people were out bar hopping in full force, despite the rain. I was surrounded by drunk girls, and drunk guys trying to take them home, but it beat standing inside; the time moved faster out with the excitement of the street.

A taxi crawled to a stop in front of the entrance, and I approached to get the door, pausing to let the occupant finish paying. I was then confronted by a girl, and her boyfriend, from the street.

"We're taking this taxi," say's the dumb girl, like the taxi is literally hers.

I turn to her, sort of confused, "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, I was waiting down the street for this taxi, it's ours. We're taking it." She is the queen of the world.

This is not how taxi's work. You get there first, you get it, sometimes that sucks. You don't get dibs because you were waiting first, just somewhere else. And you don't get it because you are a girl, who has apparently never heard the word no. As it happens, I wasn't even taking the taxi, so it didn't really matter. Had I been getting in, I would have promptly told this bitch to go fuck herself.

I look up to the boyfriend with a look that asks, "What the fuck?" He is trying to explain that I'm clearly in a bellhop uniform, and am just getting the door, he is also trying to say he's sorry, she won't let him speak. I take over.

In my head, Listen, bitch, what the fuck do I owe you? You aren't even that cute, piss off.

Out loud, "Listen, Sweetheart, I'm not taking the taxi, I'm getting the door. Chill."

"Well, good. Cause we're taking it. I just had to yell at someone else because they stole another taxi from me, and they wouldn't give it up. We had it first. But this one is ours." She knew she was an idiot at this point, but didn't want to let it on.

"Someone didn't give you their taxi, I can't imagine why." I was glaring at her, "You're such a nice girl."

I got the door, and unintentionally, maybe subconsciously, slammed it. I seriously almost lost my shit on this girl. It was day five of working overnight, and moving to my new apartment all day long. I was super stressed, and really pissed off. I swear, I wanted to hit this girl in the mouth.

I kept my cool though, for the most part. I don't even think she fully understood I wasn't actually being nice to her.

Facebook.

It runs lives.

I wonder if now, because of Facebook, people don't decide to be in exclusive relationships anymore. You meet someone, you date, and then comes the point where one used to have to decide to take it to the next level. I think now it works like this: there is a chance meeting, possibly some sparks. A given amount of time of continued meetings, like dinner, or drinks, or bed. And then, comes the time, where one, probably both, changes their Facebook status from "Single," to "In a Relationship." And then every person on their friends list gets notified that this is the case, with a nice little heart to symbolize the love that is being expressed via the interweb, and then there is no longer the need for any confusion on anyone's part.

And on the other hand, no one really needs to break up anymore either. One of the two people coming together to join forces "In a Relationship" could just simply change their status back to "Single." And everyone, once again, gets a notification saying so and so is single. Possibly meaning, if the other hasn't logged on yet, that everyone else knows before him, and that could lead to some great confusion. Shit.

The end.

I spent the night dancing, I'm drunk I suppose.

This picture has a shocking resemblance to me last night.

Yeah, you know, dancing with a sweet young thing. It just probably wasn't as smooth as this picture looks, I wont claim to be a good dancer. I am a full blooded white kid, after all. I think, also, that by the time I was ready for dancing my footsteps had lost some of their grace.

Regardless, what fun. I can even picture it being fun at a place where dancing is encouraged, possibly even meant to happen, not just an open spot on the bar room floor. Though, I suppose if a bar has an empty floor and a jukebox dancing should at anytime be the right thing do to. But it would be nice to not be the only pair swirling their bodies around in an attempt at ballroom beauty.

Maybe next time.

Coffee shop girl?

I'm watching "She's all that." Right now. No joke. Seriously, who isn't in this movie, it's got everyone. If you don't know, it's an old teen movie about the popular kids making a bet about taking the school's most undatable girl to the prom. Obviously a wild flurry of emotions ensues, hearts break, and fathers make inspiring speeches.

The undatable girl in this case is Rachel Leigh Cook, and I have an issue with this. What the hell is wrong with her? I mean, look at her...


She is made out to be "the art kid." If the art kids at my high school looked like this, maybe Usher would have DJ'd my prom, and everyone would have done a choreographed dance to a Fat Boy Slim song.

The fat friend, Jesse Jackson(Har har), who never has any luck just met a girl. Rachel Leigh Cook just found out that shes not only a really good dancer, but she's a really talented art kid as well. She will get into any college she wants. I think it's about time some hearts get broken so that Freddy Prinze can save the day with a late night pool side dance.

Less and less I even care.

I'm going to spend some money tomorrow, I think. I need to buy some things for the new apartment, most importantly a coffee machine, and a coffee grinder. I also need to buy more coffee. I can't take that Folgers shit anymore. It's time I hit up Gimme! again, I haven't been there in ages.

I need to start looking at TVs too.

I also kind of need to buy some new nice clothes, some new pants, and a new shirt for Jesse and Jessica's wedding.

I might also buy a season of the Wire. I could probably just borrow it from a friend though, or continue watching it via the interweb.

Mostly I just want to get out tomorrow. I think it's going to be nice again.