Month: July 2007

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dating personal

Biscuit?

Three dates

Blue Eyes

Me: (joking) You’re not a pescatarian are you?
Her: No.
Me: Good.
Her: I’m a Lacto-ovo vegetarian.
Me: (nodding slowly) Of course you are.

Brown Eyes

Her: I don’t think this is gonna work out.
Me: I’m surprisingly ok with that. (handing her a breadbasket) Biscuit?
Her: (shrugging) Sure.

I think I hate dating.

Green Eyes

Her: (after thinking) I liked that.
Me: That’s good. I may do it again.
Her: (pause) OK.

OK, fine, that last one was nice, but still…

Location: 8PM yest, going east on the LIE
Mood: better
Music: I really love your peaches wanna shake your trees
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personal

Nighthawks

Edward Hopper’s painting is still relevant even now

 

There were about 7.3 million people here in NYC in 1990. Now we’re at over 8.2 million – essentially double that of LA with about 14% more adult females than adult males.

That’s a lotta people.

Funny thing is, the names and faces change, but the people are always the same.

The painting above is of the Village in ’42, just after Pearl Harbor.

You got the counterman and the nighthawks – the people out on the hunt for something, someone. The counterman’s looking out. He’s probably got a family, so he wants to go. The nighthawks?

They got no one. They’re in no rush.

But look close. There’s no door; no windows that open. They’re on display. It’s all justa show.

And the guys? It’s the same guy. A copy of a copy.

I had some stories of the weekend but I told them to you already.

Nighthawks all got the same story; millions of people but few connections.

Yeah, we’re all here in the same place, the same joint.

But in 8.2 million different worlds.

Location: 4PM yest, Columbus Circle meeting someone
Mood: relieved
Music: Kennedy and Monroe come to see my rock show
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personal

Still thinking of the other side

If we fail, let’s fail greatly

Saw my friend Skinny tonight. He’s on his way to Japan to a new life.

I’m secretly a little jealous, but happy for him too.

Teddy Roosevelt once said that of the person who tries something bold and new:

at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.

I’m always impressed by who just pick up and go. Thought so many times about moving here or here. But I never did.

Don’t know why I don’t just get to the other side.

Someday.

Until then, Skinny, if you meet a nice (non-pescatarian) Japanese girl, send her my way?

I’ll be here. I’m ever here.

Location: 10PM, yest., with friends
Mood: sotted
Music: What does this city have to offer me
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personal

Pets, Pt. II

Being friends with an ex comes with its own special baggage

Think I’m pretty much just feeding the mice at this point. They even keep eating all the poison bait I put out, with no effect.

Mouse1: Look, I like that he leaves us food on these shiny wood and metal plates. But, #$@#! That green stuff gave me a @#$@#! stomachache.
Mouse2: Why do you have to curse so much?
Mouse1: I’ve become inured to it as the expressive vocabulary of my society. It’s neither indicative of a belief nor of a value system.
Mouse2: (…)
Mouse1: (sighing, shaking head) I know, we totally gotta get outta this #$@#$@ joint.

May take one of No. 6’s cats. Besides the mouse issue, I miss having a pet that doesn’t swim in its own waste.

Unfortunately, my last conversation with her was decidedly unpleasant. While I like the thought of having a cat that I’m used to, I’m worried it’s gonna come with baggage.

No more baggage for this bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, Asian boy, thanx.

Plus, I’ve never had a little kitten before; that might be kinda cool.

But we’ll see.

Wonder how Harold’s gonna take it.

Location: PM yest., 26th Precinct, writing a check
Mood: still sick
Music: After all the b__s__ I’ve heard It’s refreshing
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personal

Somehow Stay

Heard a song by Tara Leigh Cobble that I liked

Called the ex today. Purely practical reasons, I assure you. Wasn’t that bad. Like I said yesterday, forgetting is good.

More on that later.

Went to church last Sunday.

Met this woman named named Tara-Leigh Cobble who sang a song called Somehow Stay. I liked it because I thought that it sounded like something I might have written; it’s a gospel but works as a love song too.

Liked it so much that I picked it up; you can also go to her website and hear it to decide if you like it.

OK, back to coughing up a lung…

Location: haven’t moved
Mood: sick
Music: none of us Are living the lives we planned
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personal

This modern love

Modern love is like shelf-stable food; kinda real, mostly not

Note to self: 48 oz of black coffee with DayQuil in one sitting is way too much caffeine.

Way…too…much.

Pardon me as I curl up and shake myself to death.

———-

Actually posted a happy date story once. Of course that too went to hell but that’s neither here nor there. And I had two nice dates recently but one ended up as a figurative train wreck; the other, a literal car wreck.

A while back, I did see a girl I’ve was orbiting around for almost a year right before she got gone.

Me: Hey, just wondering if that invitation for lunch still open…
Her: Hi! (pause) Did you ever work through your things?
Me: (pause) In a manner of speaking.
Her: What does that mean?
Me: (thinking) There’s this river, Lethe, that the Greeks thought that, when you died, your spirit went there to drink from it so you could forget your former life and get on with your new one.
Her: Okaaay…creepy…and…
Me: (laughing) You’re trying to forget someone; I’m trying to forget someone. It’s like that song This Modern Love, Do you wanna come over and kill some time?
Her: (laughing) This has got to be worst invitation for a date I’ve had since junior high.
Me: I go for the superlative. (pause) So…you wanna come over and kill some time?
Her: (thinking) Sure.

Interestingly, in classical Greek, lethe could also mean the opposite of truth; the opposite of real.

This modern love is like lactose-free, shelf-stable, non-fat, non-dairy cream.

All the trappings of the real thing without a drop of it.

Not even a drop.

She’s a sweetheart. I hope she finds something someone real.

Location: no change, black chair
Mood: hopped up on OTC drugs & coffee
Music: modern love breaks me This modern love wastes me
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personal

Red rum on the rocks with a slice of orange

“You awake?” she asked

Once again, I’m gonna ask you to send me soup.

Every time I go through these two week periods with little sleep and lots of work, I worry about getting sick. And then I get sick.

Dammit.

With nods to Sabatoa, Katsmw, Furison, and everyone who’s asked me this in real life – I have this conversation almost every weekend:

Him: Nasty. Why rum?
Me: I like the taste of a good aged rum, like a Cruzan or Montecristo. Plus it’s got the least amount of carbohydrates, acetaldehyde and congeners so you can drink buckets of the stuff and never get a gut, a hangover, or into a fight. (pause) Also, I like to pretend I’m a pirate – YAAARRRRRG!

———-

Her: (whispering) Are you awake?
Me: (sleepily) I’m always awake.

Location: back in my black chair
Mood: both sick & tired
Music: Around a quarter to two I have remembered all of my lines
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personal

New York in the Indigo

When Harry Met Sally is just a film, it’s not the real world

I’ve been sitting here working all damn day. At least it’s the weekend. Hazel took this picture a couple of weekends back at the 7/7/07 rooftop party. Time’s just sprinting by.

People email me asking why Hazel, Somena, or any of my other female friends and I don’t just get together.

It’s because When Harry Met Sally isn’t the real world or the NY I know. In my NY, guys can have three types of female friends: former somethings, just friends, and potential somethings.

In my life at least, we all know the parts we play.

A guy like me won’t end up with a chick just cause she’s around. And vice versa.

Who wants that? That’s like when you eat the crap in the fridge because you’re too lazy to go out so you think, Eh, it looks ok.

I’ve had crazy love before. Once you’ve had that, everything else is a distant second. If you’ve ever been loved, you know. You won’t take less.

Dean Martin knew that you can never really go home to Steubenville after you’ve seen the lights of New York.

I’m alone, yeah.

But I’m not lonely.

OK, back to work…

Location: my black chair, all %#@! day
Mood: beat tired
Music: It ain’t no big thing But I know what I like
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personal

A million ways to buy it

I started volunteering in my church

(c) AP Photo/Seth Wenig

I heard one guy died in that explosion. Sad.

The thing about living here, is that there’s a million ways to buy it in the big city.

When my accident happened, it was exactly like those VW commercials where two people are just chatting and a half-second later, BAM!

Your life can really change just like that.

I know a few people on the East Side, two in particular spring to mind. But we’ve lost touch. They’re all, by chance, part of the people I cut yesterday.

Just as well, what would I say?

Me: Hey, just calling to make sure you’re alive.
Her: I picked up the phone didn’t I?
Me: (pause) Yes. Yes, you did.

I’ve decided to start volunteering in my church.

I’m hoping it’ll balance out my Thursday thru Saturday drinking and womanizing.

Location: 7PM yest., 110 & Broadway, buying a slice
Mood: still maddeningly busy
Music: I hope you know That this has nothing to do with you
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personal

Got a pen?

I’m also meeting a lot of lesbians for some reason

In addition to the Swedish girls, I met a bunch of really attractive lipstick lesbians/bisexuals this past weekend.

Girl 1
Me: Why are you giving me your number?
Her: If you wanna call me, call me, if you don’t, f___ off.
Me: OK. Just to be clear, you mostly like the girlies, yeah?
Her: Yeah, and? (pause) Y’know, gimme back my f____ number.

Girl 2
Her: So what’s your story?
Me: I’m looking for Ms. Right in the big city.
Her: (laughing) Funny, so am I.

The second girl and I have swapped a few emails; she’s in a similar profession. She’s very nice – she’s also a full-on Jewish lesbian. I’m sure she’s a pescatarian from NJ too but I didn’t ask.

Seem to get along with girlies that like the girlies. Modern America.

In the book, Logan’s Run, I’d be 13 years post prime; in the movie, I’d be 4.

Either way, I’m last year’s model.

This week, because of the accident, I did some reassessing. I found out that I was deleted by some people.

And I deleted some people – friends, former loves, acquaintances and about two dozen people I’m embarrassed to say that I just don’t remember.

Some I’ve known for a few days and some I’ve known for 14 years.

I’ve blinked and it’s 2007.07.18. One of you should have called me to let me know that I’m an anachronism.

Sent an email. Even a text. Telegram, maybe?

Something.

———-

Speaking of telegrams, damn that AT&T.;

Here’s 2% of why I hate them; there’s another 98% I could tell you.

Location: 1PM yest., on the BQE to Staten Island
Mood: hella busy
Music: Just get to me I don’t care just get to me