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We start, and sometimes end, our journeys with our feet facing home

Statue in front of NYC Museum of Natural History

 

You ever watch The Warriors? That old school film from the 70s where that freaky dude goes, Warriors, come out and plaaaaay…. It was actually loosely based on one of my favorite historical stories. Lemme tell it to you:

Long time ago, about 10,000 Greeks fought on the wrong side of a Persian Civil war. Mercenaries. The winning side said they’d spare their lives if their leaders got together, which they did (idiots) – course they were slaughtered.

So now, the men are leaderless and hopeless. So they just decided to die.

But one mercenary, Xenophon, stepped up and said, Remember who we are. We’re warriors. If we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die like Greek soldiers – on our feet. And our feet’ll be pointing home.

So they organized and started the 2,000 mile walk home – that’s like walking from Maine to Florida. In sandals. In enemy territory. Madness.

But along the way, they went from sloppy, stupid mercenaries to disciplined Greek soldiers again. Relentless and brutal, they killed anyone in their way. Cause they were gonna get home or die trying. It was all about the trying.

10,000 men started the trip, 6,000 saw home again. The 4,000 that didn’t make it died with their feet pointing home.

That’s why I love history so. Cause it shows us where we should be going.

You know, I’m not actually Chinese per se; I’m part of this ethnic group called the Guest People. “Guests” cause we had no home – like the Greeks, we always picked the losing side in a war, far from home. All our stories, all our poems, have something to do with finding home.

2006, 2007, mosta 2008…it’s like I was in foreign places, doing foreign things. Feel like I ran about madly, trying to find my way back. To what? I dunno.

Also dunno what 2009’s gonna be like. Or what’ll happen to me or any of that. It’s all just time and tide, yeah?

But partly cause I’m clear outta scratch, partly cause I feel my teeth again, partly cause a boy can only drink so much red, red rum, and partly mostly because of Heartgirl/SING, I feel like I’m back on my feet. Or at least they’re pointed home.

Spent way too much time the past three years on my knees. Is it: My fear is my only courage; my feet are my only carriage? Doesn’t matter, it works both ways.

Hello, 2009 – been waiting for you.

Location: 10024
Mood: ready
Music: I’ve been up and down the highway In all kinds of foreign lands
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Christmas 2008 – Good Things

Location: on a beige couch
Mood: still sick
Music: a cold winter’s night that was so deep

Tell myself that I write in a mix of hardboiled and the Economist but with a lotta slice-a-life descriptions a la A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
Yes, it’s a girl’s book but it’s also a book about NYC and the people in it. Some of the clearest pictures of my city are between those lines. One Xmas scene stays in my mind – in it, a tree butcher has a contest to give away the trees he can’t sell: if you can catch a tree without falling, it’s yours. When he prepares to throw his nicest tree, a small, poor girl and her little brother ask for the chance to catch it.

It’s a God-damned, rotten, lousy world, he thinks when he sees them. I submit that this is true. But I also submit that the good things, when we have them, mean that much more.

Wish I were a better writer to say what I wanna say sometimes. It’s like the difference between seeing the Grand Canyon and seeing a postcard of the Grand Canyon. But lemme try anyway:

The good things pull you through the dark times. Heartgirl and a Friseur Frau sent me Xmas cards and my brother sent me another postcard of the California sun. They’re all on my refrigerator door.

Guess sometimes, a postcard of the Grand Canyon’s enough to get you through. It’s the little things that pull y’through, yeah?

So, regardless of your religion, faith, or background, lemme give you a little wish in my really simple, ineloquent, Queens, NY manner; it’s a post card of what I’d say if I were a better writer and not the Oprah-ish writer a friend thinks I am:

I wish you good things.

PS – for those of you that asked, here’s a pic of me with a beard, courtesy of Nadya R. Happy Christmas.

———-

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” his soul agonized, “why don’t I just give ’em the tree, say Merry Christmas and let ’em go? What’s the tree to me? I can’t sell it no more this year and it won’t keep till next year.” The kids watched him solemnly as he stood there in his moment of thought. “But then,” he rationalized, “if I did that, all the others would expect to get ’em handed to ’em. And next year, nobody a-tall would buy a tree off of me. They’d all wait to get ’em handed to ’em on a silver plate. I ain’t a big enough man to give this tree away for nothin’. No, I ain’t big enough. I ain’t big enough to do a thing like that. I gotta think of myself and my own kids.” He finally came to his conclusion. “Oh, what the hell! Them two kids is gotta live in this world. They got to get used to it. They got to learn to give and to take punishment. And by Jesus, it ain’t give but take, take, take all the time in this God-damned world.” As he threw the tree with all his strength, his heart wailed out, “It’s a God-damned, rotten, lousy world!”

When some of the older boys pulled the tree away, they found Francie and her brother standing upright, hand in hand. Blood was coming from scratches on Neeley’s face. He looked more like a baby than ever with his bewildered blue eyes and the fairness of his skin made more noticeable because of the clear red blood. But they were smiling. Had they not won the biggest tree in the neighborhood? Some of the boys hollered “Hooray!” A few adults clapped. The tree man eulogized them by screaming,

“And now get the hell out of here with your tree, you lousy bastards.”

Francie had heard swearing since she had heard words. Obscenity and profanity had no meaning as such among those people. They were emotional expressions of inarticulate people with small vocabularies; they made a kind of dialect. The phrases could mean many things according to the expression and tone used in saying them. So now, when Francie heard themselves called lousy bastards, she smiled tremulously at the kind man. She knew that he was really saying, “Goodbye–God bless you.”

YASYCTAI: Do something nice today for someone just cause… (10 mins/1 pt)

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First-tierers, second-stringers

Location: a yellow couch
Mood: wondering
Music: It`s up to you All I can do, i`ve done But mem`ries won`t go


Her: I was worried you were one of those religious nuts.
Me: I am one of those religious nuts.

Been busy trying to get my life in order. More craziness that I’ll tell you, as I always do, in due time.

Saw Heartgirl and I had a long discussion about our beliefs. It’s bothersome that all people know of my religion’re the shrill caricatures.

She met somea my first-tier friends. We’ve all got our first-tierers and our second-stringers – sorta like our front-runners and back-burners, yeah? They gave her the thumbs up over some watermelon soju down by St. Marks. Caught the first snowfall of the season as we walked past Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick to Katsmw‘s for some red, red wine fore heading home. Katsmw, like Heartgirl, loves sports while her husband and I don’t watch any sports. The two shared more than that in common but those’re their stories and not mine.

Sunday she and I caught brunch around the way where she somehow lost her copy of Vogue. Losing a copy of Vogue’s like losing a ten-pound weight; they just don’t disappear. On the way back, I was holding a copy of the Sunday Times out when a bird pooped on it. We both couldn’t stop laughing and almost collapsed on the street.

Told her that a bird pooping on you’s good luck so I bought an instant win lottery card for a $1 and won…$1. Of course.

Sometimes, wonder about my role in her life. Suppose time will tell. I don’t try to hide who/what I am: a nerdy, religious nut that plays/watches no sports (that don’t involve one-on-one violence), talks a lot with his hands, and is overly concerned with rum, trivia, quotes, stories, gadgets, nice clothes, and minutia.

It’s 2009 soon. I’d like some win, please. Some real win, espankyuverymuch…

YASYCTAI: It’s cold. Did you donate those clothes? (60 mins/2 pts)

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Thanksgiving 2008/Your dumb luck

Colin: American girls would seriously dig me with my cute British accent.
Tony: You don’t have a cute British accent.
Colin: Yes I do! I’m going to America!
Tony: Colin, you’re a lonely, ugly, _____. You must accept it.

— Love Actually

If you’re reading this, I’m guessing you’ve got running water. You might even have a water softener. And, despite the countless articles that note that tap water’s probably cleaner and better for the environment than bottled water, you’ve probably got somea that too. Little more than half the world has tap water.

While we’re on the topic of the world, the axiom’s that 1% of the world has a college education. Dunno if that’s true (in the US, it’s about 27%). And you probably got a mobile phone, a fridge, and a tv. Hold that thought.

On a distantly related note, I got ill, viscerally ill, hearing about the 13-year old girl in Somlia that was recently raped by five-men. And cause she reported the incident, she was buried alive up to her head in a stadium of 1,000 men per Islamic law. She screamed for her life as she was slowly stoned to death. They dug her up when they thought she was dead. But she lived. So they finished her with more rocks.

As if that wasn’t ______up enough, an eight year-old boy that tried to save her was shot to death. The kicker’s that the men that raped her were not arrested.

Lemme get to the point: the world is horribly, ridiculously unfair. You’d agree with me, yeah?

But – and hear me out – I submit that the world is ridiculously unfair in our favor. Can’t speak for you so lemme talk about me:

That’s all just in the last two years.

Someone wrote me once, how do you not be broken? After two months, I think the answer comes in two-steps:

  1. Be grateful. The kinda grateful you are if someone paid your tab just cause they could. Cause, that, in essence, is what you got. You got to live in a place where you got enough time to read the random musing of a nobody like me. And water’s a twist of a faucet away. Where life, most likely, has value.
  2. Pay it back. You owe the aether something for your largess. Something. What that is, I dunno. As for how? Dunno that either. Sorry. I’m not that bright and get by mostly on fading looks and charm. But I suspect God’s given you some gift. Start there, I guess.

Now you might think this is some sorta pinko commie, holiday post. It’s not. The first step above is so you’re not onea those miserable people that bitch about everything all of time. So annoying. The second step above is so you’re not onea those miserable people that are happy for nothing all of time. Almost as annoying.

This isn’t so you can save the world, though that’d be nice. Rather – and I know this sounds strange coming from a barely sober nobody holding a tumbler fulla rum as I write this – it’s to save yourself.

Cause I read/know some of you. And I hear how angry and sad some (not all) of you are and, just cause you read me, figured I’d pay some of it back this way.

The saying goes that Wisdom is seeing things as they are. I disagree. Wisdom is the seeing things for what they can be.

Don’t accept when people tell you that everything sucks. They’re lying to you. Things suck, yeah, but you don’t gotta accept it.

Andy Warhol once said that They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself. That sounds about right.

And I’m not saying don’t stuff yourself silly over the holiday, and enjoy it. I know I will. Quite the opposite; enjoy it more knowing that you’re among the lucky. The blessed. Your dumb luck. Said it before, God gave me everything. The thing is that I know it. And that’s why I’m not broken.

After you’ve had your holiday, try and make it a little less unfair. Ideally, yeah, do it cause the world’s broken and you got a moral obligation to pay somea the extra you were given back. But if not for nothing else, if for no one else, do it for yourself – to make yourself a little less broken.

Cause, maybe if you do that, you can see things for what they can be.

Colin: Never. I am Colin. God of sex. I’m just on the wrong continent, that’s all.

Location: in my black chair, staring at this screen
Mood: hopeful
Music: I’ll give you anything you need
YASYCTAI: Somehow return of that luck you have to the aether. (Lifetime / 4 pts – 5 if you let us know what you did)

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44

Location: 9:00 yest, pulling a lever on the UWS
Mood: hopeful
Music: may your dreams Be realized

Making some major life decisions but I’ll fill you in on those later. On an unrelated matter, broke my right pinky. Again.

Guess you’ve seen Pretty in Pink. But I much preferred the remake, which came out the very next year called Some Kind of Wonderful. Same director, same writer, different cast but same roles.

The writer and director couldn’t get the ending they wanted for Pretty in Pink. Ergo, Some Kind of Wonderful. So their got their ending.

In other news, voted today. Got a free cuppa joe and now my hands’re shaking like an 80s crack addict. The voting machines were the same grey machines they had in NYC since I was kid – also in the 80s. More things change, the more they stay the same. I worry we got a different cast, but the same roles.

But there is one aspect of this story, however, I particularly like. MLK was murdered seven years before I was born. 44 years ago. Now a black dude is the 44th president – and almost no one I know thinks of him as a black dude. He’s just a brilliant, ambitious man. That’s something different and good. Hopefully, we’ll have the ending we want.

God bless and protect the man and the office. Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi…

YASYCTAI: Be hopeful (1 min/1 pt)

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This time

Just off Times Square

 

Saw Gio tonight off Times Square. It was a networking thingy and they had some good rum. Probably not a good idea since I went fencing afterward.
The weird thing is that it was across the street from my old pad. Hadn’t been there in a while. Ayn Rand wrote of NYC in The Fountainhead:

I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York’s skyline….When I see the city from my window – no, I don’t feel how small I am – but I feel that if a war came to threaten this, I would throw myself into space, over the city, and protect these buildings with my body.

You know when you love someone, you’d end anyone that’d do them harm? It’s like that.

Wish I could put it in my pocket and pull it out to show you Nino’s where I had the best Penne with Vodka Sauce, or the Algonquin Hotel where I’d wish I had dough or the chops to sit at the Vicious Circle, or my corner on 46th and 6th Avenue, where I’d sneak a cigarette at 3AM when I couldn’t sleep and wait for the sun to come up. Or my office at 1500 Broadway where I’d look out and see TRL being recorded with those freakin kids screaming.

OK, that I got a picture of.

Feel so damn nostalgic. Wanted to talk to Heartgirl about it but she was busy. S’ok, I’m hoping we have plenty of time to talk about these kinda things.

Speaking of Heartgirl, she doesn’t wanna show up here. So I won’t write of her anymore. Maybe she’ll change her mind but don’t think so. Cause she thinks that this is a blog about me being a womanizer – but that’s just the marketing message.

Me: It’s not. (pause) The truth is, it’s the story of a boy like me looking for a girlie like you. (thinking) And hoping, I mean really, really hoping, that this time, it’ll be different.

Location: wide-awake in my pad
Mood: nostalgic
Music: I wish I knew the time that I’ve taken I pray is not wasted

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Doing it for the Crackers

There’s always something waiting around the corner

copyleft Wikipedia

Remember that deal that Sheridan wanted to know if I wanted in on? He closed it with RE Mike and it was just reported in the NY Post. I’m super happy for him but…damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.

It’s the third deal that Sheridian and I didn’t do together. The first, I made bank but he missed; the second we both missed. This one? $15.85 million. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.

Hate being this poor. Hate always worrying about scratch. Was about to have a pity party when I read that Ruslana Korshunova jumped outta her Manhattan building in a suicide. Stopped me cold. She was wealthy, beautiful, successful…and 20.

What troubles would be so big at 20 that you’d swan dive off a 9th floor building when, externally, you got it all? I dunno. Hate suicide stories.

Something’s always waiting round the corner. True, sometimes it’s fail, but sometimes it’s win. Regardless, you hope and you hope. Cause, statistically speaking, 10 outta 10 of us are gonna get our tickets punched – so why’d you ever wanna rush the matter? It’ll come sooner than you know it.

Admittedly, it’s hard to go from caviar and crackers to just crackers. But really, I got no complaints; don’t have enough fingers to count all my blessings.

Plus, when a girlie says she wants to spend some time these days, I’m (fairly) confident she does it for the company.

I mean, she’s certainly not doing it for the crackers, yeah?

800.SUICIDE / 800.784.2433

(c) PostSecret

Location: 21:44 yest, getting whacked w/a stick in the UWS
Mood: sad
Music: and it breaks my heart, it breaks my heart

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Derek

Location: home
Mood: sad
Music: And I’m asking the good Lord “why?” and sigh

(c) Derek Srisaranard

Somber day.

Found out through Benlbr that our friend Derek is in the hospital. Hit and run driver. From what I know, it’s touch and go; he’s not awake. It’s very scary. He was the stoner in our show, 72 to Canal.

I don’t know him that well but I like him; he’s young and talented. I hope very, very much that he gets a chance to be old and talented. I pray he gets that chance.

Like most people in NYC, I run into him in the life. When he first found out that I had taken up photography, he was like a kid in a pot-filled candystore. He’s such a good guy.

Wish I could say something profound but the words escape me at the moment.

I’ll tell my brother to let you know if anything happens to me. Cause you should know.

We’re friends, after all.

———-

With nods to Irnbruise, this guy is selling his entire life online. He’s going to walk out of his house with the clothes on his back and his wallet.

I can relate. Of course, I’d take Harold and Syd. No worries. I’ll tell if I’ve gone fishing.

I’d like to start over again where nobody knows me. Have all my stupid mistakes a million miles away. But we all got our baggage, yeah? Even if it’s only what we carry inside.

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Right here, right now

Me: I just wanted you to know that I’m outside again and it’s amazing. Jealous?
Her: Yes.

Had to drop off something for a friend yesterday so grabbed Syd and dashed downtown.

Was all stressed cause I was supposed to be working but, as I made it crosstown, I got lost in the jumble that is the Lower West Side. It ended up a good thing as I slowed down a bit to take pictures and enjoy the weather.

Later that night, met up with the Blue-Eyed Girl for drinks in the one block radius around Blue Jean Eyes’s pad. It’s weird when you revisit places and things from your past.

I’m trying to not live in the past or worry (quite) that much about the future.

It’s harder than you might think – to be here, in the right-this-second and not stuck in your head.

Luckily, we both know I’m stupidly optimistic. Keep thinking my better day’s right round the corner, y’know?

Time for work.

Location: not in my head
Mood: still optimistic
Music: there is no other place I want to be

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McGuffins, Caterpillars and Pepe le Pew

I’m a bit like Pepe le Pew

With nods to a friend.

According to Hitchcock, a guy on a train sees something above and asks another dude what it is.

Guy2: It’s a McGuffin. It’s used to catch lions in Scotland.

Guy1: There’re aren’t any lions in Scotland.

Guy2: Well then, a McGuffin’s nuthin at all.

Used in stories or film, a McGuffin’s just a device that the characters place meaning onto to move the story along, like in Ronin where they’re all chasing after some briefcase but we never find out why it’s important. It’s just important cause they made it important.

With the exception of health and family, I submit that a lot of what you put your heart and soul with, it’s nuthin at all. A lot of what I put my heart and soul into is nuthin at all.

At the end of the cartoon above, the characters are the same; the situation’s the same. The only thing that’s changed is each character’s perception of reality. But, man, that’s everything, that’s the whole nut, yeah?

Heard once that, On the day he thought he died, the caterpillar turned into a butterfly. It’s dorky, overly sentimental and hopeful. Like me.

Speaking of which, y’know, I pretty much am Pepe le Pew when I’m out and about. And ’bout as successful.

It’s ok, I have fun…Bonjour Week-end! Où sont les filles?

Location: home
Mood: beat tired
Music: tell your white knight that he’s handsome in hindsight