Stay down, Champion.

Today in terms of moving.

2010-07-12T15:35:00.001-07:00

While talking to my girlfriend today on skype, a car drove by with a stereo so loud it set off car alarms as it passed. She made a joke about how I love to live here in the city, even with all the annoying loud noises. A little later at her home in Maine, our conversation was once again interrupted by a loud bird, chirping outside her window.

Hey Amber!

2010-07-12T13:07:00.000-07:00

Thanks for reading. This one is yours, and I might even start writing in here again.

One morning with the Wallstreet.

2009-12-30T06:22:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-10-24T13:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-15T01:58:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-12T13:35:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-27T14:44:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-16T16:44:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-09-03T00:52:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-08-31T10:49:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-08-20T15:57:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-08-02T11:45:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-07-21T15:21:00.001-07:00

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!

2009-07-13T14:35:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-07-06T06:05:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-07-06T05:38:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-06-30T15:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-29T16:47:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-06-29T12:01:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-06-28T11:16:00.001-07:00

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.

2009-06-21T02:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-20T06:26:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-19T15:26:00.000-07:00

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..

2009-06-16T08:14:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-05-29T16:31:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-05-26T18:55:00.000-07:00

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:

2009-05-19T13:26:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-05-19T11:24:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-05-11T05:34:00.000-07:00

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,

2009-05-05T11:47:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-05-01T05:34:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-04-28T16:00:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-04-27T08:30:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-04-25T00:27:00.000-07:00

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.

I always said I'd never go

2009-04-15T21:25:00.000-07:00

and now Eli has to get married in Texas. My dreams of never going there are over, but I figure it's for a good reason. You know, love, and what not.

Leave tomorrow, Thursday. Up at 6:45ish. 8:30 bus to Philly, 3:30 flight. Sean has some things to do in Philly I guess. I still need to pack. I figure, the clothes I'm wearing, some shorts, swim shorts, clean under garments, and some clothes for the wedding. It honestly seems like more when you type it out.

I've also got my stuff for the long ass plane ride. I threw some episodes of "This American Life" on the iPhone, and stealthily acquired some sweet magazines from work. Probably a book too.

The question has been raised, by some sweet young Dominican girl I know, as to what happens to me in sun? Do I color? Or do I burn, peel, and white? If I remember correctly, I burn peel, and fade back to white. But I wear a lot of sun screen, so I don't really remember. Furman checked the weather for Brownsville the other day, 92? Maybe higher. I guess we'll find out.

So long.

Take a look at me now.

2009-04-14T03:49:00.001-07:00

A week or so ago Chet, the PR guy at work, commented on how much my appearance has changed since I started there a year ago. Check it out.

This is me a little over a year ago, pretty much what I looked like when I applied for the job.

And one with Rowan, for good measure. She is pretty cool.

Enter now, my hair has been growing for a week or so. What What?

Hospital stories.

2009-04-11T12:24:00.000-07:00

I was laying in a bed, just staring at the ceiling, in kind of a haze. The ceiling wasn't all that far away, I was on the top level of bunk beds. I had been laying there for quite a while, it was my friend Kathryn's bed, and I was waiting for her to come back. I think Kathryn was in class, one of her late evening classes, biology or something. I did not mind waiting though, she had the most comfortable bed; pillows, comforter, sheets, it was an over all great bed. Had it not been hot pink, I may have tried to commandeer it, like a bed pirate. The Bed Pirate Roberts. I can't really remember what I was waiting for, other than for her to come back. We were probably going to do something that involved driving to that spot, just off the highway, that overlooked one of the neighboring towns, as we did on most nights.

Kathryn's roommate, Stephanie, was on the bed below me. I think she was doing homework, or something of a productive nature. Much more productive then staring deeply into the ceiling. Suddenly Stephanie called my name, "James," then she paused and said it again in a more worried tone, as if my name had been followed by three periods, "James..." She had knocked me out of my staring contest with the ceiling, and caused me to lose, but I wasn't too upset.

I think I said something along the lines of, "What up?" Only, I didn't start saying that until recently, so it was just something like that. I could have said, "Yes?" Or even just mumbled acknowledgment.

What came next was unexpected, "James, I can't feel my legs."

Oh Boy, I thought, This is just like that episode of House! I think I was more excited than I should have been. I crashed off the top bunk, probably, in my excitement, failing to land on my feet. At first I didn't even believe her, these things don't happen in real life, they happen on TV shows called House. After some convincing that she actually could not feel, or move, her legs I did the next logical thing, I started poking her. It seemed like a good idea. Uh-oh, my pokes were doing nothing, what would Hugh Laurie do? Failing to find any tennis balls, or canes in my immediate area, I went and got help. Well, help might be an overstatement. I got the RA on the floor, who came in the room and basically did the same thing I did, only without the poking. This cycle continued, the RA I got, got another RA, who came with the third RA, who eventually got the head RA. Eventually the hospital was called.

This was about the time Kathryn got back, she was in a similar kind of haze as me, and probably would have been happy to just stare at the ceiling with me. Unfortunately, there was a medical drama taking place in here bedroom. Stephanie was moved, not that carefully, onto a gurney by some paramedic type people. After in interesting scene of trying to fit said gurney into the very small elevator, she was loaded into the ambulance and whisked away to the hospital. Some of the RA followed in their cars. After taking a moment, Kathryn and I were in hot pursuit.

It was getting late. We had plans to get into mischief, and were now surrounded by RA's in a hospital. What had happened. There was very little we could do, as our friend was wheeled into a room with doctors, and nurses. Kathryn and I sat in the waiting room for hours, our friend Hope had come along too. Hope was doing what she does best, and freaking out more than enough to make up for me and Kathryn's seeming lack of freaking. We were obviously worried sick, we just were not showing it by pacing, crying, and saying things like, "Oh my gosh," every 15 seconds. I drank some of the worst coffee in existence, a lot of it. Eventually the seats in the waiting room grew uncomfortable, not that they ever were, I longed for my hi-jakced hot pink bed. Kathryn and I made our way into the childrens play room, located in the corner of the waiting room. We shut the door, put on a movie, Mouse Hunt, laid down with some pillows made of coats and toys, and fell asleep.

Our slumber was short lived, waiting room floors are just not made for sleeping. We came back into the waiting room with everyone else, and were finally able to see Stephanie. It turns out I was right, it was like the episode of House. The doctors needed to do a spinal tap, just to make sure. And then stop whatever was wrong with her, before it spread through the rest of Steph's body, and she died. Holy crap! The thing is, Stephanie wasn't 18 at the time, so the doctors needed her parents consent to do the spinal tap. Guess what her parents wouldn't do? They were like a 6 hours drive away, and wouldn't give consent until they got there. I guess that they probably know more than a doctor. Or maybe they just hadn't seen that episode of House.

It was around 4AM, and after some more waiting around in Stephanie's room, the doctors told us to go home. Stephanie would have to be there for a few days. On our drive back to the school, Kathryn and I, and Hope, stopped by our spot just off the highway, as had been the plan all along. (I think it may have actually been Kathryn and her friend Sara's spot. But When I found out about it, I stole it, and claimed it as my own.) We had been waiting all day for it, and we'd almost lost some people along the way, but nothing could keep us from our mischief. Our spot kind of lost it's appeal with Hope sitting the back seat. But it was nice anyway, I guess. We sat there for maybe an hour, gazing out over the steep drop down the town below. The cars shot by us on the highway behind us. Even at 4AM there were cars on the road, none of them paying any attention to the 3 teenagers parked on the side of the road. We eventually made it back to school, met the RA's, who at once knew about our mischief, and we went upstairs. Back in Kathryn's room I climbed to her bed once again, and crawling into Stephanie's bed below, Kathryn asked me to stay. I had successfully commandeered the hot pink bed for myself. I was probably one of the best nights sleep I ever got.

We found out later on that it actually was not like the episode of House, which I suppose it a good thing. Stephanie actually just had really severe anxiety, and it had caused her legs to just not respond. She was basically back to normal as soon and she took some medication for it. She came back to school, and things fell back into the normal swing of things. I continued to lay of the bed during most of my free time, waiting for mischief.

The girls cheer when we here, yeah they high kick!

2009-04-10T08:49:00.000-07:00

They might, but I sure don't. My hip aches in a way that seems to say I'd rather be broke(Ha..). Seriously, you know those areas of your body that you don't know exist until they hurt? Yeah, right there. Hip. Ouch. It must be punishment for calling out last night when it wasn't totally needed. But I was kind of sick. Better harder faster stronger.

The Gaslight Anthem.

2009-03-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

Saw them last night. Awesome show. We showed up at the end of the second bands set. Just in time for Gaslight. Good decision. But get this:

So, I get in line. They are checking ID's. It was a 16 and over show, but there was also a bar. So the girl in front of me is drunk, and I guess she wasn't 21. So the doorman wouldn't let her in. He moves her aside, asks for my ID, which states my birthday as 6/24/88, and also gives the will not be 21 until 6/24/09 in red letters at the bottom. He gives me an over 21 bracelet anyway. What? Yes. He didn't even really check my ID, he just took it in his hand and then gave it back. Drinks were obviously outrageously expensive, but I felt like I had to buy them, because I could.

Adam was there too. My legs were sore at the end, from stomping, and tapping for so long. And my wallet was lighter. Worth it. Great time.

Today could be nice.

2009-03-21T14:52:00.000-07:00

Wonderfully nice day outside isn't it? I went outside today to bring my laundry to the place that cleans it for me, and I wore shorts and a tee shirt. I admit it's a bit early for that, as I was kind of cold. But it wasn't a very cold cold, just the kind of cold that made me re-think shorts and a tee shirt.

The reason for this attire was that I was cleaning. Spring cleaning, I guess. Again, I may be a bit early. But earlier I had been dressed in pants, which would have been a better choice for going outside. I changed though, for the cleaning, I didn't want to get my pants all messed up. They were the only pair I had left, the other ones were being washed.

Also, I'm going out tonight. With a girl. And I really feel like I should wear pants, and they should be clean (clean is a relative term at this point, I tend to only wear two pairs of pants. I have a Dark pair, and a light pair, and I wear one per wash cycle. It can be up to two weeks at a time. So by clean I really mean, no highly visible dirtyness. I have a third pair of pants should this become the case, emergency pants). And today, mostly due to the fact that I am indeed going out tonight with a girl, right, leaving the apartment with no real intentions of taking anyone home tonight, I decided I should clean. Just in case. Right? Good thinking James. So I start to clean. I started, oddly enough, with the fridge. Why? Well, not because it would very obviously be the last place said girl that may/may not ever set foot in my apartment would look, but because it really freaking needed it. Seriously. There was stuff in there, containers containing things that I just wasn't able to tell what it was anymore. And also stuff that should just be gotten rid of. Like, pickels. Very old pickels. Not really doing any harm. Not cleary gone bad. But just probably not safe to put other good food in the same room with. They are now thrown out.

I then moved to the bathroom. I live with a bathroom used by three guys, all the time. It probably needs to be cleaned more than it is, but whatever, it's clean now. It really does look nice. It really takes other people to make you want to clean like that, you know, cause ok, well, if there is a bit of hair somewhere, well, it's your hair, no bother. BUT! Enter a third party, and suddenly it's not just your hair, to them, it's someone elses hair. And that just wont do.

Next I mopped the floors, after sweeping, of course. There is a shine to them now. Now, I live in a basement, and not to make excuses, but due to living in a basement there are certain things that even though they may be clean, they just don't look clean. My floor is one of those things. It shines now, over all the scuff marks.

Next was my bedroom. This is where it gets tricky. See, taking someone to your place of living, for the first time, you obviously try to make it out to be more than it is, hence the cleaning. But, I just kind of lost it when it came to the bedroom. Probably the most important room. Probably the room I should have started with, when I still had all that cleaning motivation. But by this point it was gone. What came out was half assed. I AM a failry clean person, just not in my room. There is a system a chaos that works for me, it may not be a good system, but it is a system none the less. Cleaning creates problems, as I instantly forget where I put things, because they are no longer on the floor. This, to me, is real chaos. So, I packed up all the dirty laundry, as I previously explained, and that seemed to do a lot already. I felt pretty good about it. I took the rest and shoved it in my suitcase (the thing I still live out of, just to show commitment to my lack of commitment). This did a great deal more for the room, the floor was clearly there. I, again, felt pretty good about myself. Then I swept, a little. Fucking hell, my floor is white. I'd say I spent the most amount of time stacking my loads of books, nicely, neatly, and organized...ly. I thought about how I was really going to show off my nerdyness. My stacks of epic collections of entire comicbook series(There are a lot of them) and all my nice books, filling my big brown box, that hold all the things I like to keep in it (if you do not have a box like this, I would suggest getting one. It is really great having a box to put things in at all times). I surveyed the situation: Floor mostly swept, clean clothes in a mountain almost, but not quite, hiding the suitcase that seperated them from the floor. Dirty clothes being cleaned by the nice mexican woman, that works for the nice Asain American man. Books, stacked. Bed, clearish. Sheets changed recently enough. I thought this was good enough. This is where it gets tricky. I COULD really go for it, and make my room look really nice. I COULD. But, I feel like that would just be lying. As, after this point, being the first time this person may or may not see my room, if it were REALLY clean, it would be the last time she would see it like that. She would come into this under the impression that I had a clean room. Make whatever assumptions one would make after meeting someone with a clean room, and then have her world fall to pieces should she ever see it again, in the controlled chaos almost system that it normally is. And I wouldn't want that to happen. So, instead, I stopped cleaning. It now looks clean, like, normal clean. Like the everyday clean that someone lives in who isnt extremely messy. So, next time, should it be typically messy, it will just seem like possily a bad day, like, "ok, this could use a bit of a clean. But given the state it was in last time, it looks like it's getting to the point where he would clean it soon, had he not been out spending money on me." This is of course not true, but I am ok with that lie. Honesty is a tricky thing, and not always good. It's good, but so is lying sometimes. Dont deny it. So in this case, not really know what I am getting into, I choose the half lie. Happy medium? Yes.

This weekend.

2009-03-20T22:45:00.000-07:00

Sean left early this morning for a weekend in Maine. The thing is, Sean generally wakes me up around 6PM. He comes home from work, and the noise and such wakes me up. Today that did not happen. I woke up around 6:30 on my own, but knowing that I was still home alone I decided to just lay there. 10PM rolls around, I wake up again. Oops. Second time this week that has happened. I was almost late for work, which starts at 11:30PM. I don't even know how that is possible.

My friend Karl was spinning at a club in Greenpoint tonight, I had intended to go. My bad.

On the plus side. This morning after work, and after breakfast at Duke, I went to Dean and Deluca (I pass it on my way to the subway) and decided to treat myself. Normally all I buy there is a coffee, and a corn muffin (seriously, great fucking corn muffins). Today I bought some nice bread, a tomato, some crackers, and some brie. Tonight, at some point the tomato will meet a red onion, and bathe in vinegar and I will enjoy it with some bread. Crackers and brie will come later.

Also, just finished reading Good Omens, fantastic book. Light, quick, very funny, and extremely well put together. That's all, if you like books about the apocalypse, but are sick of all the dreadful seriousness, pick it up. As long as you like very dark humor.

Every five, ten fifteen miles.

2009-03-19T17:34:00.000-07:00

Last time I was home in Maine I was talking with my friend Mike about my zombie story. I'd just recently lost my story due to computer death. So I was talking about starting it over, and my basic ideas. The idea of course is to set it in Maine. I feel that the only place I really know well enough to write about as a real place in anything more than just a short story. It would really need to feel authentic, and I know my area in Maine like the back of my hand. Even so of the further reaching places I could describe through news casts and whatnot. BUT. Mike kind of crushed my dreams. Maine is kind of Zombie resistant. Population alone would greatly slow the escalation of chaos. "So, what, is there a Zombie every ten miles or something? Big deal. What 4 people die? 3 of them from natural causes."

Thinking about this, I began to realize that Maine would be almost zombie proof. Few people, few small clustered areas. Not to mention 2 out of every 3 people own, and are proficient with shotguns. Those of you who have lived in Maine know this well. People are tough, and don't take shit. Most people are hunters, waiting around for hours for animals that are trying to avoid them. You know those small critters that like to eat gardens and stuff, ground hogs, and the like. People camp out all day with a lawn chair, a beer, some potato chips, and shotguns just to shoot them. Imagine if the animals just came to them willingly. A zombie attack would really just be a field day. 5 or 6 people piled into the back of pick up trucks, fully armed with weapons, beer, and cigarettes just hunting. Things that can, or need to die just don't live that long.

I could fake it I guess. Chaos in Rockland Maine. Maybe 20 people would freak out, for a day or so, held up in some store, boarding the windows, only to find the next day twelve rednecks knocking on the door and all the zombies dealt with.

Maybe I'm too confident in a Mainer's ability to kill something, but I'm really having doubts about the carnage that would ensue were zombies to attack Midcoast Maine.

Stairs.

2009-03-17T11:46:00.000-07:00

I recently went to a friends apartment for the first time. Her name is Sarahe, don't try. She lives alone, in a one bedroom in the lower east side. Needless to say I'm jealous. She lives on the top floor, the 6th floor, with no elevator. Her stairs are steep, almost as steep as the ones I had growing up in Maine. Six floors worth of stairs. It was incredible. I've been making a habit out of taking the stairs lately, 4 floors up to Jesse's, or even just at work. I work overnight, nothing is ever rushed, and I can take the stairs. But wow, living with that, would be incredible. I am not in shape, plain and simple. After Six floors of stairs, I was winded, my legs ached, and I deffinetly enjoyed claiming one of the two chairs she has in her place. Before you laugh, the stairs were taken multiple times, on numerous beer runs and what not. I'm not THAT out of shape. But Jesus, I would love that kind of work out everyday, because it's not really working out. I can't get behind working out, I get it, I just don't get it. But fuck, you just make those stairs a part of your life, and you're fucking set.

Somebody poisoned the water hole!

2009-03-15T08:23:00.000-07:00

A hot day spent bailing hay, and other manly activities, such as driving tractors, and not wearing sun screen in order to get the perfect shade of red for your farmers tan. These activities should always be followed by the praise of women who were probably watching you do hard work, at least when they were not preparing fresh squeezed lemonade to refresh your laboring self on the most scorching of summer days. The time comes to wipe the sweat from your forehead, and stand in silence, possibly in the shade a tall tree that you have yet to cut down, and admire the extremely well done remains of your hard work, sipping fresh squeezed lemonade(this is also a good time to do such activities as adjusting your hat, or rolling up the sleeves of your t-shirt to show off the newly acquired farmers tan). These are all important things to know about working hard. Also, it's important to have short hair, that is either gray, or obviously going gray. But perhaps the most important thing is what to eat afterward. What could possibly compliment all these things so well? The answer is obvious to anyone who knows a thing or two about a thing or two, it's a cucumber sandwich. A simple man likes simple things.

What to do.
Start with bread, white, of course. A real man worries not for health, and he is already a stunning trophy of health, due to all his hard work. Slather on Mayonnaise, both sides of the bread. This is known as protective layer technique. A nice layer a Mayo on any sandwich will prevent the delicious juices of whatever may be between the bread from making it soggy(Note: In most cases, it should be a dead animal that occupies the space between the slices of starch. The cucumber sandwich is one of few exceptions. See also, Cheese sandwich). Next comes the cucumber, unpeeled, sliced thin, and layered generously across the bread, maybe stacked as high as three slices. The next step is the most important, even more then the armor coating of mayo, more important than the cucumber itself, salt and pepper. Apply as needed, just don't be a wuss about it. All that is left now, is to enjoy. The best way to do this would be by cutting it in half, diagonally of course, but slightly off center, as to leave sturdy corners to grip the sandwich by. Consume.

Some, more experienced cucumber sandwich makers may use this opportunity to impress the ladies. This is where the layering of the mayo becomes important. If you wish the show off your extensive knowledge off all things delicious, not that it's needed, everyone already knows, but you may want to splash some balsamic vinegar on before closing the bread. Just to say, "Hey, I like fancy food too, baby." A nice way to end this activity is to put on a flannel shirt, as the sun has gone down, grab a beer, and tell tourists that you "Can't get there from here" when they ask you for directions.

Youre in my web now.

2009-03-10T01:21:00.001-07:00

Things I may someday miss about working overnight, should the day ever come that I can become a normal daytime functioning adult again: Absofuckinglutely nothing. Except maybe getting paid to read, check facebook, blog, steal magazines, eat really good food for free, and spending as much time as possible on youtube.

Today I went to work at 9am, until 1pm, so some British lady could tell me, for four hours, in about 400 different ways, my job description. Over and over. They called this training. Being that I am now a functioning vampire, being anywhere at 9AM is really a struggle. Asking me to do anything during the day time is much like trying to wake the dead. I think the sun has actually started to hurt. And now, being that my job is really good about everything, and everything they do makes sense, I am back at work for the second time today, coming in at 11:30PM until 7:30 in the morning. You are jealous, I know.

Also, I guess that guy from that movie, you know the one, is a real twat.

Maybe I should become a concert musician.

How cool is this?

2009-02-23T15:50:00.000-08:00

The Below Honors Program

2009-02-22T22:41:00.000-08:00

Does anyone think they should stop making scholarship foundations for the extremely gifted kids? I do. Shit. Don't they have enough already? How many different organizations do they need to pay their entire tuition because they are really damn smart?

Why not start a scholarship for the outstandingly mediocre kids. Like, "No one else does just enough quite like you do, why not continue to do just enough on our dime?" It could be called the Just Enough Scholarship. Kids do just enough to get by, and then some foundation pays just enough for them to go to school.

Why not an "I think you've got potential" scholarship. Like, "Hey, you kind of sucked it up in high school. But who gives a fuck about high school, I think you've got potential."

So your straight C average stumbled you into the state school, fuck, good for you, here's some money.

How about a "Hey dumbass" scholarship. Everyone forgets about the kids who slept through class or skipped a day to go swimming with some friends, for a week, and still managed to get a high C. Hey dumbass, maybe if you almost try college you'll do ok, here is some money.

"Home work wastes perfectly good relaxation time" Scholarship. So you never did homework, and still managed to pass everything to the fullest extent that you could with a zero homework average. Someone should give that kid some money. Why? Because he/she is smarter than the kids who did their homework and still only got a B.

I'm sick of over achievers.

Good Omens

2009-02-18T08:04:00.000-08:00

Just started reading good omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. 15 pages in my tylenol PM kicked in, but I can already tell I'm going to like this book.

"Dog: Satanical hellhound and cat warrior."

I've thought this for years.

Common sense, who needs it?

2009-02-18T00:34:00.001-08:00

In the latest issue of Time Out New York, there is nice little list of suggestions of "How to Succeed in Anything." It is full of funny little tales of doing the opposite of the right thing has gotten people ahead in life. Number six on this list is to simply ignore common sense. This does not, at least not at first, seem to be a good piece of advice. I like to think I have a good amount of common sense, and am fully aware of when I choose to ignore it(see the post below this). I have also become very aware of when others choose to ignore common sense, or even just good judgement; also, the places they have gotten by doing so.

This brings me to work. I work as a bellman, at a nice hotel. I am constantly faced with the lack of, or at least the lack of use of, common sense within the establishment. My job requires me to look nice, each season they provide a new, hip, uniform for the bellman to wear. It would seem obvious that we have nice winter coats, as my job requires a lot of time spent outside(getting taxis, bringing in luggage, blah blah blah). Instead, the seven bellman share 2 or 3 coats that are, at least, 2 years old. The coats have become a bit worn out, and given the way we are supposed to look, we should really have new ones. There have been many examples of the company trying to save money, usually at the expense of us, this is one of them(it's a recession).

But when I arrived at work tonight, I saw a bulletin posted in the back office asking us, the bellman, to please come in at a certain date and time, to get fitted for the new custom tailored jacket we would be getting. It would seem that, after a few years, the hotel found enough money in it's budget to get new coats; nice new coats. The coats will be fantastic, most likely the best around. Great, right? Only it's midway through February, by the time these coats get to us I'm sure we will probably get a a couple weeks out of them before it is no longer winter. Maybe I didn't stress enough the importance of our uniforms, or maybe I completely left out my employer's constant struggle to get us uniforms on time(we were intended to have our latest uniforms in time for fashion week of last year, we got them a couple months later). One would think that now, given the time of year, that instead of giving us great new coats that will just have to sit around and wait until next year, why not just get a jump start on a nice spring/summer uniform(there will, undoubtedly, be a lack of money to buy those). The people on staff to take care of these things are in a very successful position with, most likely, a very successful pay check. I'm sure, in the eyes of their even more successful superiors, they will have done a fantastic job. All I ask is, where is the very successful use of common sense? It seems to have been ignored. But hey, look where my use of common sense has gotten me. I open doors for rich people, who probably ignored their common sense.

"Why don't you blog about it."

2009-02-16T06:36:00.000-08:00

Some girl I knew in college said that to me once, "Why don't you blog about it," when I asked her why she stopped answering my calls. I had previously blogged about how I thought she was a poor excuse for a friend.

I am capable of some pretty amazing things when I'm drunk. Last night, I may have drank too much. But it's ok, it was nighttime. Also, I fully planned on drinking too much.

So I go to this show, at a bar, with Sean. We were there to see this band Sakes Alive. We went early as to avoid a doorman. We left around 8, I think I had been up since 6. Remember, I work overnight. But I wake up at night, so it is ok for me to start drinking that quickly after getting up. As it was my only day off this week, I had, previous to going out, decided to get fucking lit up. And so I did. I was putting back Jack and Cokes like water at the bar, and then, in the effort to stay sober for the show, switched to beer. I had seen this girl at the bar earlier, and in my small amount of effort, had basically told her she should go to the show because I was going. She didn't go, go figure. And then I saw her again at the next bar I went to, only she was with some other guy. I think it was one of the guys from the starting line. No joke. I made some comment about how I hate that band, which isn't even true, I've never even listened to them. It made Jesse uncomfortable, probably because the starting line dude was right behind me, and I was talking about how much better Jesse's band is.

Then this girl came back to to talk to me(I think her name was Alex), probably because the starting line suck, and I'm a pretty cool dude(again, I've never really listened to their band, so I'm just saying they suck because I have nothing better to say about them). I was in wasted mode when this girl came back, as Sean periodically sent me texts saying "Settle down" and "Seriously, settle down." I cared little. We had been drinking pitchers, and mixed drinks by the time Jesse and Jessica met us at the second bar, this was long before the girl came back. I made an effort to make it look like I was talking to Jessica for a short time after each of Sean's texts, and then continued to not settle down. I was ridiculous, as everything I said seemed to make Jessica laugh, and not because I was saying something intended to be funny. It was awesome. And for some reason this Alex girl decided to give me her number, and again, I remember caring very little at the time. But it is cool. This morning I read my text messages to discover that I drunk texted Jen Jun, my good friend, a play by play of the whole night, who knows, maybe she was interested. I've apoligized, but it isn't all bad, as through re-reading these texts I discovered that at one point this Alex girl spilled her drink on me. And I was the drunk one. Then Jesse and Jessica took me home. And by that I mean we left together, but I'm pretty sure it was intended to take me home.

As I was leaving, Jesse points out this other girl, Kristina, who I met at this same bar a few weeks ago. I really wanted to talk to her(she was pretty hot). Given my current state, Sean talked me out of it, probably a good thing. However, it did spark my interest in this girl again. And I go home to leave her a drunk facebook message saying how we should hang out. I met this girl once, weeks ago, but for some reason remembered her name. This blows my mind. The message I sent her was so carefully constructed, not a single misspelled word, it was fucking gold. I think it was so well put together it almost made it hard to read. Also, I think I used the word "you" twice in a row. She has since written me back, confused as to who I am. Whatever.

Also, I have that band, Sakes Alive, sleeping on my floor right now. It has been so long since I've had that much fun, it almost makes me hate my job less.

Brothers and sisters, I am an atomic bomb.

2009-02-09T16:21:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading The Umbrella Academy: Apocalypse Suite, by Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance. As usual, I am a bit late on this series, and I'm sure most of the initial hype has died down; this is when I love to discover new things, after everyone else has. Anyway. I have been hearing a lot about new original comics lately, mostly in a debate between Kirkman and Bendis on the reality of being able to make your own comic; now with adding The Umbrella Academy to the list of original comics that I read, I'm really excited about it.

This comic is incredible, to say the least. Gerard's story is very well done, the idea, the writing itself, even the structure of the story, and the manner in which the story unfolds. Gerard had created a very unique story, and has a style of storytelling that is both all his own, and appropriately typical at the same time(when it needs to be). The series started on free comic book day, with a teaser issue. One of the first lines is, "It's really you ---And you're dead. Sorry about that." Together with images behind these lines, it really does make for a great teaser.

The story is really made by the art though. The look of the comic is very Gothic, fitting to the themes of the story, Gabriel Ba did a great job with the characters, but more importantly the world they live in. The color is really what takes it up a notch, set mostly with dark colors, lots of black, gray, brown, even all the reds blues and greens have a darkness about them. But then come these outrageously bright kind of obscure colors, mostly in the action scenes, that just blow your mind. I think the image below doesn't really do it justice, but it has examples of both.

The cover art as well, it is really just very well done. They are, again, very dark and simple. But just really good. Art, for me, makes a breaks a comic. I continually judge books by their covers. If I don't like the art of a comic, it is hard for me to really get into it. I'm sure I've missed some great comics because of this, I'm also sure I've liked some pretty bad comics because I liked the art.

If you enjoy comics, read this one. It is worth it, and then some.

The Man.

2009-02-08T14:42:00.000-08:00

So Sean and I are at the Apple Store in Soho, Sean has an appointment to try and get his iPhone fixed. We head over the area where those things happen, and wait to check in with the awesomely hot little Asian girl in the orange shirt.

There is a group of people in front of us. These people have not really formed a line, just a small group, each waiting for their turn, at least Sean and I were. As more people started to come up it was clear they were trying to go next, regardless of the people who were there first(Sean and I). One girl gets away with it, and then this punk kid who was probably the most important 14 year old at his high school steps in front of us. The girl in the Orange shirt is still helping the last girl who jumped in before us, and when she finishes this punk kid goes to speak up, but is cut off by this older guy standing next to him who pointed out that it was Sean and I's turn, and he needed to wait. We thanked this man, and I think even thanked the kid for waiting his damn turn, and we checked in.

After we discussed that the older guy was probably pretty cool, we assumed he was the punk kids father, and new his son was a punk kid. Come to find out that that is not true, we saw the punk kid with what turned out to be his punk father, and the older cool guy sitting down with his wife, probably waiting his turn. Earlier he was not teaching his son common decency, he was just being awesome. That's when we knew he was the man.

Don't believe the hype!

2009-01-30T14:03:00.000-08:00

I go home tomorrow, New York City calls my name. Just in time to leave Maine I have come down with sickness. My cough tears my throat apart with every breath, my phlegm marches from my lungs like an angry militia; my nose has become nothing more than a decoration on my face, as it no longer works as an instrument of breathing. I fight back with Halls Mentho-Lyptus Fast Relief cough drops, tea with lots of honey, a fireplace, and nothing to do.

Regarding the title of this blog, I have come across a few things lately that I expected to like very much, and didn't. Currently I am reading World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. I wanted to love this book, I've heard so much praise. Too much praise. I wont go into too many details, as most of my readers (Sean and Jessica) have already discussed this with me. But in short, I do and don't like it, I just dislike more than I do like.

Also on the chopping block recently is Tropic Thunder. I, once again, really wanted to love this. I have heard great things, everyone I talk to loves it, and the previews looked hilarious. Previews often do look funny, showing the funniest parts of the movie in 30 seconds, leaving little else to be found when the whole movie comes to town. I was prepared for this, but honestly, I thought even the funny parts of the previews, put back in their rightful place of the whole movie, were much less funny. It kind of came around at the end, and there were a few funny parts that almost made it worth it(Tom Cruise), but it took a lot for me to even finish this movie. I immediately talked to my sister about it, who had heard nothing about it, and she loved it.

I think I need to just stop listening when people start talking about things they like/don't like. Or I just need to stop being the last person of the face of the earth to read/view something cool.

I just watched Forgetting Sarah Marshal, and all I'd heard about it was, "I thought it was really funny, but that might have been all the pot I smoked." So I had little to no expectations, and I thought that movie was great! I even liked Mila Kunis more than Kristen Bell, and I never saw that coming.

Also, I've been watching some movies that I love lately. Kill Bill Vol. II, and Pulp Fiction. I only watched Vol. II, because well, I don't know, I just didn't feel like watching Vol. I. I might now though. Anyway. Two great Tarantino movies, but what I really want to talk about is how fantastic Uma Thurman is. The whole scene in the 50's restaurant in Pulp Fiction is fantastic. The back forth between Mia and Vincent is incredible, they don't talk about anything, but it's so interesting. And then the dance is just, well fuck, it's just damn cool. Right now I'm just a huge Uma Thurman fan.

Trapped on a mountain in Maine.

2009-01-27T12:11:00.000-08:00

Home sweet home. I'm not actually trapped, at least not until tomorrow(Wednesday) when the planned day of my departure will be hit with about 9-15 inches of snow. This is no real bother to me, I have readjusted to life, or the lack there of, in Maine rather nicely. (I also got suspended from work for losing a shopping bag that belonged to a guest, so the time I had asked for off, and was denied, I got off anyway. SWEET)

I'm sitting next to a fire right now, watching TV, writing, just waiting to pick my book back up for some more reading. I have done a lot of this over the past few days. You might be able to tell, I have a new liking for the act of doing nothing(at least for the time I'm home).

Here are some other things that have fallen back into my daily routine:

Driving- I don't miss it. I drive often enough in New York, even if it is just back and forth from the garage to work. But there is something to be said about not waiting for a train, or not paying someone to drive me somewhere.

Cold- This relates directly to driving. It is also cold in New York, but it just doesn't hit you the same way. I don't miss it being so cold that your car simply just will not start, at least not right away, but I've gotten used to it.

Coffee- Coffee never left my lifestyle, but it's never been anything like it is in Maine. My old coffee shop still serves some of the best coffee I've ever tasted. It may be that it's locally roasted right down the street, it may be that I used to work there, it maybe be nothing at all, but I can still sit in there for hours and just drink coffee until I pass out.

Friends(most of whom are away at school)- There is not much to do in Maine, so I have seen very few people. I went out once with my friend Amber, and saw my friend Mike once. But going along with coffee, most of my interactions with old friends have been with the people I worked with. I've seen some people I haven't seen in almost a year and a half, and it was truly great to see them. And I got free coffee.

Family- It has been great to see the family again. My parents are as great, and as parent-like as ever. It has been great to spend some time catching up with my sister, and it's of course always wonderful to see my niece, Rowan.

Food- I'm a fairly good cook, with what I have to work with(my oven lacks a rack, and is therefore not very useful). But my father is really something else in the kitchen. I really didn't have any issue with the home cooked gourmet meals prepared for me every night. There are always leftovers, which leads to what my father calls "grazing," which is me waking up and basically snacking all day until dinner it ready that night.

Once the storm comes and goes I will return to New York, and I will love it as I always have. It has, however, been great to come home and slow my life down a little bit. Things like this make me thankful for my recession based work schedule. Oh, and getting suspended.

Hydration

2009-01-20T18:26:00.000-08:00

I think it started with some late night, maybe early morning, drunken talks about milkshakes and eggs. It was around the time Jen made an omelet, and would not share it with anyone(I stole a few bites during some distraction). There was hot sauce involved. With the eggs, not the distraction. But anyway, somewhere in all this, it was decided that we should all go to breakfast the next morning.

When that morning came around, that afternoon(far too early), we got up and soldiered on down the street for some breakfast. Being that it was at least 1:30, and I was no longer interested in an omelet, I got a BLT. The food, however, is not really important. At first we started with drinks. I order coffee, a glass of orange juice, and a glass of water. I mean business. Food comes and my friend and I remember that this all started with the idea of milkshakes. Waiter comes back around, we order milkshakes. At this point I barely have room on the table for my food, as most of my space is taken up by my drinks.

What I love about diners is the coffee, it's not great, but you know exactly what you're getting. Diner coffee is like gas station coffee, it all tastes the same. It's coffee that you just love it because whenever you get coffee at a diner or a gas station it's because you really fucking need a cup of coffee. Diners though, you're coffee never runs out. I don't know that I've ever finished a cup of coffee from a diner because that guy/girl always comes around to fill it back up before you're done. Fantastic. It's hard to say how much coffee I drank this past morning at breakfast, but I never finished it.

Anyway, I drank my endless cup of joe, and OJ, my water, and my milkshake(mostly of principle, milkshakes are not a fantastic hangover choice). Breakfast ends, we get a bill, we were not charged for our shakes(fuck yeah), and we all go out separate ways. It's around midway through my hourish long subway trip home that all my drinks catch up with me. Oh man, was I hydrated. Some might even say that I drink too much, and my bladder would agree.

Coffee, and beer.

2009-01-18T04:44:00.000-08:00

Coffee is such an important part of my life, I live breath sleep coffee. Beer is also a pretty great thing. I'm pretty picky about both, more so coffee(due to the fact that I just know more about it). I like strong dark roasted black coffee. I like dark beers too. Coffee and beers are just great. Put them together, oh man.

They've been together for a while, well, at least coffee and alcohol that is. Irish coffee, everyone knows that. And then a few months ago my friend Patrick told me about putting espresso in Guinness, tried it, loved it. It adds that almost dark chocolate taste to the Guinness, with a very strong espresso aftertaste. It's really great.

Then the other day I was reading Time Out New York(I love that magazine), and I saw something awesome. Straight out of some Portland ME brewery, Peak Organic Espresso Amber Ale. It's beer MADE with espresso beans. It's a lighter beer, the article I read said that is not typical, which can only mean there are other beers out there MADE with coffee. Sure, the the espresso will give it a strong bitter taste, so I'm willing to give it a shot. Also it's from Maine. I guess you can get it at Whole Foods down here in New York. But I'd love to know of some other, darker, beers made with coffee. Until then I'll just continue with some espresso in my Guinness from time to time.

Read this. Eat this. Don't look around.

2009-01-17T05:27:00.000-08:00

Working overnight has given me so much time to read. I busted through the the last 400 or so pages of Feast for Crows in the last few days. I seriously spend like 4 to 5 hours of my work day with a book in my hand. Anyway, this epic installment of the epic Song of Ice and Fire series by George RR Martin is finally done. I'm caught up in the series now and am eagerly awaiting the next book, A Dance with Dragons, to be published. I don't know what else to do know, I started the books a couple years ago, with 4 1000+ page novels at my finger tips. Reading one, read a few other books, read another, a few more random books, and so on and so forth. But now I have to wait. I'm not just taking a break from the best books I've ever read, I'm just done for now. And once the new one comes out, and I read that, it will be years before the next. I guess I could start it over, it will probably be needed. I've got plenty more to read, I'm just kind of sad, and jealous of Jessica, who is just starting it.

I might go home for a little while. I have from 7:30 Friday morning until 11:30 Tuesday night off now. So I figure next Friday after work I'll hop a bus to Maine and spend a few days, leaving either Monday, or Tuesday. I'd like it to work out so that I can immediately go to Orono for two days and see some old friends, and then come back to Mid-Coast for the family hangs for a couple days then come back to New York. This depends on Sara and Kathryn though. But now that I've got in my head that I'm going home, I think it will happen regardless, but I just might not spend a few days in Orono.

I feel like I had more to say when I started this. The L train sucks all weekend, running in two parts. Huge pain in the ass.

I should go to bed. Maybe I'll go out for breakfast.

I've relearned how to park. My ability go drive in reverse is back.

Lack of sleep? Head injury? Maybe it's just me.

2009-01-15T06:11:00.000-08:00

Last night at work I did so much reading.
It was really cool.

I've been thinking a lot about myself lately. Once my mother told me that she and my father always thought I was weird. Not in a mean way, just in the truthful way. I've been thinking a lot about the things I care/don't care about. And my mother and father are totally right.

I just wrote a blog about the three parts of a proper apology, according to Randy Pausch, and what I thought about it. I read it, and I couldn't publish it. I thought to myself, "People are going to read this, think I'm a bad person, and never accept an apology from me again." So I tried once again to convey the same idea through a different subject, and the same thing happened.

I was talking with my friend, Dave, about writing the other night. I explained how I am trying to write this piece, and I have everything worked for how and what I want to happen, but I can't write it. My problem is the truth, it's laced all through my current idea. I can't help but feel that if anyone that inspired any of these truths were to read it, they would know it for exactly what it was, and probably be pissed off. I shouldn't worry, seeing as I don't even talk to most of those people anymore, much less would I let them read my writing(most of the don't read). Dave pointed out that that is just the way writing is(I know that, but hearing out loud was good too), and that you just reach a point where you say fuck it, and do it anyway. I never had this problem before, not to say that previous writing was any less hurtfully truthful(going back to the things I care/don't care about). During the discussion I did work out a way to finally begin my piece, and once I get some flow going, I'm sure I will stop caring what anyone thinks and return to my normal self.

I guess my point might be lost in there, I think I'm trying to say that over all I feel I just don't work the way most people do, and I notice it more and more lately. I'm weird.

Day in the life.

2009-01-12T13:57:00.000-08:00

Today I woke up at like 1:30 when James from New York Adorned called to confirm my appointment with Virginia Elwood tomorrow. I stayed in bed, eventually fell back asleep until about 3:30 or 4, and immediately stole Furman's space heater. That's not true, it took me a while to get out of bed because it was so damn cold, but as soon as I was out of bed I stole it.

I have been back in bed since that point, being warm, and debating what I should do. I've got my computer, full of all the music I stole from Sean after losing all of mine. I just sit with shuffle, skipping track after track trying to find something I want to listen to. I've found a bunch of new bands that I like, Have Heart, Polar Bear Club, Bear vs Shark, Between the buried and me, yada yada. Today though my shuffle threw some Kelly Clarkson at me. Yeah, I stole it from Sean, but I'm not ashamed to say I didn't delete it. It was some song I haven't heard, and I was like, "whoa, no way!" and pushed skip. But then I went back....and found "Since you've been gone." And yeah, it was a pretty good time.

I almost got up and went to Life Cafe for lunch and a bloody mary(Im addicted to those from work), but instead I decided it would be a better idea for me to just go shopping and buy some food of my own. That way I wouldn't have to buy myself lunch and dinner everynight. Thats the right idea, I just haven't gotten out of bed yet.

I feel like I should do something productive. If I stay in bed, I could write, or read. That's productive, right?

I need a bookshelf. But that would be a hassle.

I think I might try to get some time off this month, since I'm hardly working anyway. I don't know if it will be possible, but I'll try. I'd like to go spend a few days in Orono with some friends. Maybe I could talk Kathryn in to picking me up from the bus station. That would be rad.

Boredom Block

2009-01-11T20:04:00.000-08:00

Any of you use myspace? Probably, I know it was the weed to my drug problem I call the internet, a gateway site. Well, anyway, you know those "Need a Girlfriend?" adds? The ones with the hot young girl, doing nothing but looking like a hot young girl. Yeah, those ones. Those adds are fantastic. Whoever does the casting for those photos in awesome.

All the girls used are so fucking typical, they look just like all your friends, only hotter. She looks just like that girl you met at the bar the other night, or at least what your beer goggles told you she looked like. Chances are when you look at the add, you see the girl and it looks just like whatshername, only kind of better(probably only because shes just a photo on the internet, and therefore less annoying).

I'm really only blogging to get some words out. I went to write something (not a blog) and it just wouldn't come out. I more or less have the idea, I know what I want to write, it's just not happening. How I wrote before was different, something come to me very all of the sudden, usually last minute, and I would just sit down and write pages and pages in not time at all, and then go back and edit it later. I ALWAYS wrote better under pressure. Maybe it's the lack of due dates and assignments that's slowing me down. Maybe it's just that I can't take what someone tells me to write so loosely that it hardly even counts, but then, oh, it still does.

I had a Writers of Maine(it's a state) class once, and the teacher told us to write about what wilderness meant to us. This was right around the time I no longer saw trees as living things, but objects to hang myself from(I didn't write about that). So I wrote about New York, and sidewalks, four lane roads, brick buildings, carfully constructed concrete, all the busy people, blah blah blah. I wrote about how I had grown so sick of my surroundings and my idea of wilderness had changed to the city. The only time I mentioned actual plants and green things was during the part detailing the change of scenery that took place on the bus ride out of Maine. My teahcer hated it, completely. Told me I missed the point, and basically did it wrong. Meaning, I didn't write about how beautiful the foot and a half of snow outside was. But I argued my point, which was more or less a verbal bulleted list of the main points that my paper shared in detail. She gave me a good grade, but I think she disliked me as a person from that point on. I was pleased with myself.

I think I'll read now.

Wake up, smoke crack, name your kid

2009-01-10T11:29:00.000-08:00

What happens to people when they name their kids? Some people lose at this game, for real. Names are important, parents are giving it to their kid for his/her whole damn life, so why are their so many shitty names out their? There are a good amount of really great names out their, the classics, why fuck with those?

Peter
James
Patrick
(yes, my parents did a pretty good job with my names)
John
Daniel

Samantha
Brianna
Jeniffer
Caitlin
Sarah
Catherine

Those are all good ole' classic names. Granted, that's not a lot of names to go around, but there are so many more out there. Not enough apparently. People need to just stop making up their own names, someone did it a very long time ago and they did it right. Now people are just mixing shit up. Combining names. I swear people just put names in a hat, draw two, and then mash them together to form one new name. Fuck that.

Jennica(sorry if this is your name), are you serious? Jessica, and Jennifer. What the fuck was wrong with just one of those names? Her parents had to have both, greed. I guess it's a good thing she wasn't named Jessifer, save that for the next kid.

Ashley-lynn. Okay, this one is actually a really cute name, if I added the lynn to the end to show affection to a friend, not because it was actually supposed to be there. As I said, I really do like this one, but I have to hate it on principle. I dislike all hyphenated names(taking two last names is dumb). Adding lynn to an existing name does not make it a new name, just throw lynn in as a middle name, problem solved. The same goes for Ann. Anne is a fine name on it's own, it does not need to be stuck on the end of some other name.

Spelling is another thing, changing the spelling of well spelled names is just stupid. Kaycie? Really? Why would you do that?

I also believe that people should not be named after states(except maybe Virginia). Montana? Come on. You want to name your kid after a big chunk of land. I swear, the next person I meet will probably be named North Dakota. NoDak might be a cool nickname.

I suppose it could be worse. Kids named America, or Vegetarian, Apple(shit, that already happened). People will soon start mixing all the things I talked about together, Jenakota-lynn. Oh the possibilities.

I think there is a reason strippers have stripper names, why name your kid one of those?

I feel like I'm being unfair though, only showing terrible female names, I just haven't really ever run into anyone named Johiel, or Patrer. If I do though, I'll be sure to let you know. I'm sure there are plenty of just as terrible male names out there, I just don't know them. I'm not a huge fan of Toby.

Here they come, ten thousand strong

2009-01-07T17:17:00.000-08:00

Today blew, in an epic sort of blowing way. The kind where you have things to do, things you want to get accomplished, and then when you do them you feel let down.

Last night I worked over-night, as my new recession based schedule demands, and didn't get home until about 8AM. At this point I had to wait around until 9ish for an electrician to come fix our broken half of the apt. He came around 10. To stay for all of 30 seconds, and show me how easy it would have been to fix myself. It apparently does not take much electrical knowledge to push a switch, it does however require baggy pants and some fresh white D&G eye glasses. A pretty cool flat rimmed hat as well, for kicks. Oh man, dont get me started on the kicks. Thanks, I guess.

I went to bed at the point, I at least got in bed, for a nap before returning to work. Yes, I had to be back at work at 2pm for a "mandatory full staff meeting" where all the goals and such for the new year would be addressed. knowing that no meeting I have ever attended started on time, I slept(napped) a little late, and took my time getting on my way. I show up only a minute or two late, but I have no idea where in the building the meeting is. They didn't tell anyone until the day of, and since it had already started there really wasn't anyone for me to ask. I had to wait for someone who was later than I was(who somehow just knew where it was). I show up maybe 2:05, the meeting is under way. Literally 5 minutes later, the meeting is over. I was later informed that I showed up just about as it started too. During my time at this meeting I was informed that we should continue to do our jobs well, and that we are getting new T.V.s for the rooms. Mind-fuck. Are you serious? What am I doing here? Have you ever heard of a bulletin board? No meeting required. Here is an example of how this meeting could have been avoided altogether.

-Do you jobs well!
-We're getting new T.V.s, don't fucking break them.
-Don't break anything else either, we have very little money.

Ah, fuck it. I wanted to come into the city anyway, and I probably would not have done this if I was not required to. I set up an appointment with Virginia Elwood to get some script tattooed on my chest. "Words wont save your life." It's a Hold Steady lyric, and I like it. That's about all there is to it, I think it fits me(that whole writer thing). That is seriously the closet thing to meaning any of my tattoos will have thus far. Unless you count my "eat meat" zombie tattoo. I don't like vegetarians much.
But anyway, so I made the appointment. I made my deposit to ensure that I would indeed come to it. And then I asked how much. The deposit was $100, so I asked the assistant that helped me if that was the hourly rate. No, it is not. The shop price is $180 and hour. But she was unsure how much the tattoo would cost, Virginia will tell me when she draws it up. Despite my confusion over an hourly rate, a booked 2 hour session, and someone still telling they wouldn't know how much it cost until later, I moved on. This tattoo has proved to be stupid in the way that I want to get it done, and it's harder than it should be. Mainly due to really good tattoo artists are really hard to get time with, and I'm really fucking lazy.
But seriously, I haven't paid shop prices in so freaking long. The zombie on my leg, and my ribs are the only ones. Which both worked out to be about $100 an hour. But seriously, $180 an hour? Who are you, Tim Kern? I think not.
Whatever, I'm going to suck it up and just get it done. I feel like the I need a new tattoo, and it will be worth it in the end. I'll probably feel better, as new tattoos often suit my needs for change.

Today's events were just kind of pissing me off, it was probably the lack of sleep/coffee. So instead of going to do the rest of the things I wanted to do(buy comics/new books) I just went home, had some coffee and lunch, and went to bed. At 8pm I awoke to write this awesome piece of post teen angst, and I will soon go to work yet another overnight. Blow hard.

Off to work!

2009-01-06T19:32:00.000-08:00

Yeah! Woo! Let excitement ensue!(That rhymed)

Overnight is sweet
I'm not lying at all, really.
I am so very stoked.

That was a little haiku I wrote. Hope you enjoyed.

I'll just keep waiting in the cold.

2009-01-04T17:10:00.001-08:00

Still haven't turned on heat. Last night Sean and Furman's space heaters cause a fuse to blow, so now we don't even have space heaters. Sweatshirt and a scarf. Who says you cant wear them inside?

I cleaned my room the other day, sort of. It's so clean compared to what it was, but could still use some work. It has become very clear to me that I have far too many books and movies to not have a shelf to rest them on. The same goes for my clothes, the suitcase I have been living out of for the last year just is not cutting it anymore.

Also, just so you know, asparagus rules.
Also, adding feta cheese to anything makes it look like you made a gourmet meal.

I'm getting bored. I need some changes, I'm working on it.
For now tattoos will do. Jeremiah comes back to town in February, also going to try to set something up with Stephanie Tamez, at New York Adorned in Brooklyn, to start some work on my chest.

Word.

I'm pretty sure you're not using that word properly.

2009-01-02T13:24:00.000-08:00

I've got some time on my hands. Finally, but hopefully not for too long.

Stories of long goodbyes, and bad decisions.
I get out of work one night, it's chilly out, but nothing to write home about. I zipped my warm enough NorthFace jacket and headed over to Fanelli's Cafe for a beer. I'd say it was 12:15 PM at this point. The bar is packed ass cheek to ass cheek, as usual, but somehow I find a seat at the bar(It might have been because the people I sat next to were French). I only planned on having a couple beers, and being on my way. This, of course, is a hard feat to accomplish in New York City. Right as I'm thinking about thinking I'm ready to go(1:15 or so), my friend from work, James, stops by the bar. Whiskey happens. Then girls. Something I miss about really not caring, James just turns to the girls sitting next to us, say's something mildly innapropriate, and suddenly they are drinking with us. Great, I am once again going to stay out longer(I hate fun, of all sorts[not true]). Anyway, we some how kind of pair off, and Bob the Bartender keeps feeding free beer our way. How could this night get any better(Yeah, I'm thinking the same thing at this point). I'm pretty sure I'm hitting it off with this girl, I don't really remember much of what was said, I remember the other James looked like he was doing pretty well too. We spend what must have been hours talking and having a good time, in a wierd small world kind of way we discover we know some of the same people, well, the girls and James do. I of course pretend to know these people, and not like them. Somehow that worked, and we became those awful people making out at the bar. Like, drunk make out. All of the sudden, maybe around 3, I think I was kissing her neck, the girl stops me, "Whats wrong?" I ask. She looks me dead in the eye, maybe(we were both kind of swaying at this point), and asks "What's my name?"
Uh oh.
It dawned on me at the point that we had never actually been introduced, if names we mentioned at all, I had not cared enough to remember. I burst out laughing, explaining that I truthfully had no idea, and asking if that mattered to her. I think she told me her name, which was once again immediately forgotten, and then she tried to play done with me. It did not work, as she spent the rest of the time at the bar with me, slowly but surely forgetting that I forgot her name. Bob called Last Call. I'd had enough anyway. Got bored and left, if I said goodbye it would surprise me. I have her number in my phone though, I'd call her, but I don't know what her name is. James later informed me that she had asked about me after my departure, she was totally interested.
Couldn't that happen when I do nice things?

Seasick

2008-12-31T13:13:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-12-28T21:33:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-26T22:58:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-23T15:11:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-23T07:47:00.000-08:00

Just Sayin'

2008-12-22T17:48:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-22T14:33:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-22T12:54:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-15T17:43:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-11-27T00:51:00.000-08:00

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:

2008-11-23T16:37:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-11-13T16:48:00.001-08:00

Cat Pounces at Mirror Image - Watch more Animal Videos

Lately,

2008-10-28T19:52:00.000-07:00

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:

2008-10-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-20T08:41:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-10-14T18:03:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-10-13T22:10:00.000-07:00

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,

2008-10-11T17:51:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-10-08T17:16:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-10-03T17:19:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-09-23T10:56:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-09-21T20:25:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-08-13T23:21:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-07-25T22:55:00.001-07:00

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...

2008-07-14T21:44:00.000-07:00

...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

2008-07-09T18:51:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-07-06T16:34:00.000-07:00

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:

2008-06-29T06:17:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-06-22T02:48:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-06-19T20:49:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-06-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-13T14:05:00.001-07:00

Blah Blah Blah. Who cares.

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

2008-06-07T18:54:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-06-06T20:45:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-06-01T06:04:00.000-07:00

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.