Tour Guide of Coffeehouses

The news

2011-12-19T13:56:00.000-08:00

Do I give "news" a capital letter? I didn't feel like it.

Was reading over the weekend about Star Wars, how it was rereleased theatrically in 1997 after a 14-year gap. Those 14 years were the years I finished grade school, went to junior high, high school, and college, and started grad school. Significant years for anyone. Someone needs to write a good memoir or essay about those years; the last before the Internet age when everything was documentable.

You used to remark about people, wonder where they went. Now you look them up on Facebook, which is better. There are answers now. Answers are preferable. But for some reason I have nostalgia for the mist-covered times when the world was a huge place and forgotten people were vanished, it felt like.

Lunch with a friend tomorrow. Next time I check this, wonder if I'll remember with who.

Good things

2011-03-16T09:12:00.000-07:00

Good things are happening in my life. I feel blessed. I need to be grateful and expectantly hopeful for good things.

Tonight: writers' group
tomorrow: the cafe and class research (fun for me)
Friday: men's group
Saturday: early music concert
Sunday: Greg Proops comedy show
Monday: spring downtown festival
Tuesday: council meeting
Wednesday: nothing - will write/read
Thursday: n+1 release party

And books to read - Tony Judt, RIP, two of his.

Spanish fiction - is it not the best? It is.

I've never remembered looking forward this much to spring and all it has to offer. My god! Email or comment if you're bummed; I will cheer you up. Good vibes, good vibes, good vibes.

3rd Ward

2010-09-21T14:25:00.000-07:00

Saturday I went to the 3rd Ward Last Supper Salon. A friend of mine whom I consider to be a modern Grace Kelly was one of the curators. and I hoped to spend time talking with her. Toward that end I brought a female friend.

A vague small sickness passed me when I saw my GK friend texting or talking with other men.

I had emailed her, "i'm avoding all unnecessary social interactions" as I worked on my novel. Standing there I realized this was one I had been sucked into. But my friend I came with was feeling blue and I knew it was more important to make sure she had fun than to try to chase an unreachable woman.

The desire for companionship - a gentle euphemism I will use - is a barrier to the artistic impulse. If women feel like I do, it hardly seems to show or it is sublimated.

5000 words a week - chapter fragments resettled. That is the goal. By the end of the year - Christmas more or less - to finish the draft. It is something I can do. Better not to have a Grace Kelly in my life right now perhaps, although that statement falls flat reading it.

So

2010-06-26T10:37:00.000-07:00

Out for coffee just now I was thinking about Los Angeles and how cool a place it is. It figures in my novel, which I messaged myself a few odd things to turn into scenes. I don't really expext you to understand what I just wrote!

I was just reading reviews on Yelp, reviews of small and big places, like local coffeeshops and chains like McDonald's. They were quite amusing.

USA vs. Ghana - what will be the final score? We will see.

June 18th

2010-06-18T21:42:00.000-07:00

June 18th is a special day for me. It was the day I lost my virginity, at age 33. June 18th, 2006: C and I went to Eamonn Doran's to watch the Brazil-Australia World Cup game.

After a while we went to my place, where Korea was playing someone. We began to kiss, and then more. It was not perfect but as an experience it was perfect, and perfectly fine. No regrets.

So I was thinking about that today. I went out and exulted about life, and about blessings, and about learning new things, and about growing. To all appearances I was brooding. And perhaps I was. It doesn't matter.

Oil and stuff

2010-06-16T11:16:00.001-07:00

After just listening to a radio report about BP's negligence during my lunchtime walk, I'm also wondering if blaming or hating BP for everything is a little bit of a cop-out. It sounds like the industry as a whole cut corners, and that we Americans, well, that's okay with us as long as the oil'n'stuff keep coming.

Listening to people mock or get angry at BP seems so misguided to me. If they were cutting corners worse than other companies, fine. But it sounds like it was just another case of a society being fine with how things were getting done as long as the members of that society didn't have to get their hands dirty.

Vuvuzelas

2010-06-16T09:49:00.000-07:00

Life is beautiful, although with the oil disaster, economy, and war I must admit I'm feeling anxiety over things. It seems like I could think of a solution to the oil disaster crisis. Can they shift the ocean floor through tectonics, controlled techtonics, with explosives, to pinch it shut?

The droning of vuvuzelas I really have to find out about - truly that annoying?

Being morally good is hard because you have to take such abuse.

Sociopaths exist, and you may even date one. They are quite common in fact. Beware. But loneliness and the dream of couplehood can make you do some awfully stupid things.

The news

2010-06-13T10:00:00.000-07:00

Spent the day with K screwing in drywall in Bed-Stuy.

Having K there yesterday was very fun, because she told me I was funny and diligent.

Then I went out on 5th Ave.

Now I'm at work.

That is the news. See you in the spaces.

I remember

2010-05-30T10:02:00.000-07:00

Since I’ve been in New York more and more I’ve grown to remember and note the two twin points of the year in some ways, Memorial Day and Labor Day. The start and the end of summer. Memorial Day growing up was a day to go away, to Demo, to camp, somewhere. Labor Day the same.

Here in Brooklyn the city empties out and every bar, café, restaurant, grocery store is hardly full when it would normally be. I’ve been alone for nearly every single one of these two holidays I’ve sent here, living here in Brooklyn, my adult life. Years from now when I’m older and retired, living somewhere else perhaps, I will know, I spent my adult years in New York City, in Brooklyn. It feels like a signpost, like a waystation, something going on. There’s a pause in life, an opening into the yaw of reality I think about all the time and consider myself to understand. Labor Day is worse – it makes me question how much I’ve accomplished, what my goals had been for the summer, what my goals are for the next few months. They are often filled but I live a life of casualness that fits oddly into the life here. And I feel it, acutely, in moments unexpected. Last summer I remember walking along the Union Street bridge with a date, Prospect Park and quinoa salad, mojitos, Up, Shock Top with lemons, the Wall Street Journal, the other K. I remember. Je me souviens.

It feels weird to say that, to know that. This long New York story of mine might be coming to an end. Or at least, it may be changing.

Staycation, meanings

2010-04-28T16:39:00.000-07:00

I'm on a staycation now for two weeks, until May 10th. Reading, writing, refraining, scheduling, walking, touring, emailing a little, dating. There are things going on in my life, things that are taking over a little the things that since 2006 have so preoccupied me.

Had a meeting with my broker today; he is actually a true broker, the kind I can call or email and ask to put money in this or that and it will be done. I understand things on this end a bit.

Man, I'm happy and conflicted and ambivalent and expcting and joyous all at once. It's ever so good. If you are reading this blog, welcome. The journey continues.

Peace and see you in spaces.

The news

2010-04-25T13:33:00.000-07:00

Let the circle be unbroken.

Passing of time in America.

H.R.

Questions, money.

Summer.

j d leighton at gmail

2010-01-25T09:24:00.000-08:00

MadTV making fun of Cold Case

Walmart

The news

2009-08-31T08:20:00.000-07:00

Will this site come back to life? Perhaps.

I went out with K Thursday, to a cafe, to dinner, and then to her place to sit on the roof and talk. Kind of spellbinding, kind of makes you leave your heart out (please take care of it, it's a tender heart - please don't step on it).

Not heard anything from her since. Last night I went to the Red Lion, then walked around the West Village, then headed home. felt all tingly and weird and wanted to get out..."get out."

Random thoughts:

--I'm cool
--i have no friends
--I'm a good writer
--i don't understand women
--i need to get laid

Random, random, random, random, random, random.

See you in the spaces.

And if I should become

2008-02-20T14:20:00.000-08:00

The Patriots lost in the Super Bowl, and I recalled the consoling words shared last year when they lost in the AFC Championship Game: "Pitchers and catchers report in 14 days."

Last year I was rather interested in baseball, at least early on and here and there. This year so far I feel the same way, going so far as to actually listen to the MLB on XM channel that comes with my satellite radio subscription.

--

A woman from one of my meetup groups sent me a Christmas card and added that if I was around and wanted some company sometime, I should let her know. So I did, and we've been dating for about a month I think. Her name is Shawna.

--

I've discovered it's not as much fun to get runk with liquor as it is with beer. Why? With beer you get the complete loss of body control that makes you stand up from the couch and say, "Man, I'm wasted!" With liquor you get wasted but it's more strictly cerebral. And, uh, the next morning, it's uh, also "mostly cerebral."

Elizabeth Part III

2007-12-17T08:38:00.000-08:00

I have not mentioned her very much, but an ex of mine from 2005 is a frequent focus of my anxieties and thoughts. I had not seen her since then, although I've emailed her and she replied that I was a "creep" and to never contact her again. I don't know why closure meant so much to me, but it really upset me emotionally that she wouldn't participate in closure in the degree I wanted.

Last night, I had a dinner planned with my book group. I arrived and there was one person already there, seated at our reserved assemblage of tables. I shook his hand, sat down, and then noticed her sitting at a nearby table. I had often wondered what her reaction would be - a quick ignore, a half-sad smile, walking away briskly.

I was sturck by her present and she turned her head, said "Hi," and waved.

As my guests arrived, I kept watch. when her and her (male) companion got up to leave, I also rose and followed them to the door. "Elizabeth!" I called.

"What?!" She was in the doorway, holding the door open, half-turned to me.

A pause. "Merry Christmas."

"Thanks." Her face changed almost imperceptibly, from a mistrustful glare to a soft happy smile, and then away. I watched her cross the street and thought, she's lost weight.

Full of emotions right now. Some people have an obsessive personality for hoarding objects, or drawing, or playing card games. Me, I can't shake out the old dreams of a short romance that once made me interested. I wasn't going to replay the encounter too much last night, and I didn't, but today, I find I am.

Wow, that sounds depressing. I'm going to sign off now, and go eat lunch. Something makes me feel it's not so depressing though...Oh right, it's Christmas soon. And I'm flying home for a week to be with my family.

See you in the spaces.

The news

2007-11-27T13:02:00.000-08:00

Recent changes in my life:

Feelings of success in various areas and on various fronts.

Comfortability in my own skin.

Shrinking violet-ism strikes occasionally.

Romance is both stale and has activity - who can figure out women and what they want?

Work is odd.

Brooklyn is a wonderful place to live.

I should buy a car.

Various health issues (two rashes - ouch!).

Looking forward to the holiday; to various Saturdays in December. Looking forward to Sundays in general (guess why).

No editing when I type; I thin and it gets typed. That's all.

See you in the spaces.

Small town hipsters

2007-11-10T14:08:00.000-08:00

There's a radio program I listen to most weeks called "American Routes." It's a show about Americana music, country, blues, folk, and rockabilly. It's usually very good and has a soothing aspect to it that always makes me feel better when listening.

One show they had recently was called "Small Town Hipsters." It was about people living in small towns and into Americana or into the same style of music you more easily find in cities. They played "Driver 8" as an example, and they interviewed various local musicians, who are used to playing to 10 people in a small barroom. It was enchanting - the small town life is something I always instinctively get and love, although now I live in the city.

You see small town hipsters easily enough, if you go to arthouse cinema on weeknights and then go to the bar next door for a beer afterward. You'd be surprised how many there are, and how easy to find they are. You yourself may just be one - I hope? Whoever you are, o reader of this blog, I'm glad to have you around.

Peace.

List of Grievances

2007-10-31T15:35:00.000-07:00

A week or so ago I had one of those collossally awful days. Parts in my apartment fell off, the train was late, not there, and no one knew why, I had laryngitis to a horrible degree, various other things. I was walking home and the phrase "list of grievances" popped into my head. I fel like going home to blog about them, and to list them all, in one annoyed cry at the Universe.

I did not do that, as you can see. Somehow, my own sheer will and my own motivation solved many of these problems. My basic easy-going nature resolved others. And Time itself, the great healer, did the rest.

There has been bad news since (I often term entries here "The news" but never have highlighted too much bad news yet), but the need to tell how miserable I was that day passed. No List of Grievances, no moping, not any of it.

Peace.

Snow in October

2007-10-23T12:20:00.000-07:00

Some year and a half ago, I met a woman who sent me a photograph of herself playing outside in the snow. She also gave me, when next we met, a CD of songs she had made just for me. It was only the second time a woman has done that (friends have repeatedly done it). I hesitated just now about telling about the first time, but it is past now and doesn't feel essential.

One of the songs on the CD is Jens Lekman's "Maple Leaves." I quote some lyrics for you now:

"I think you're beautiful
but it's impossible
to make you understand
that if you don't take my hand
I lose my mind completely
Madness will finally defeat me

She said it was all make-believe
but I thought you said maple leaves
and when she talked about a fall
I thought she talked about a season
I never understood at all

I thought she said maple leaves
and when she talked about the fall
I thought she talked about Mark E Smith
I never understood at all."

Mark E Smith is the lead singer of The Fall, a band that once played in Southpaw which is near my apartment.

Last night I listened to this song perhaps 7 or 8 times. I sang it slightly incorrectly, I sang, "And when you talked about the fall, I thought you talked about a sea-sonnn!...I never understood at alllll."

It's one of those songs that makes you feel like a secret member of some quiet society, existing among lone travelers on subway cars and paused on streetcorners. I've been humming the song all day.

And yesterday was really the inspiration, a song called "The Death of Ferdinand de Saussure":

"But this is for Holland Dozier
Holland! His last words were-

You don't know anything
You don't know anything
about love."

Holland-Dozier-Holland were a songwriting team that wrote for Motown, apparently. How obscure and amazingly fantastic are songs like these? And how much effort is it to stay abreast of them?

Peace.

Dance, dance, wherever you may be...

2007-10-19T11:15:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, I went to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in Morningside Heights for an early music concert. Morningside Heights is a slightly Gothic neighborhood near Columbia University, an area I've been to a few times but not seen much of really. I got there slightly late. After going up the darkened wide stone steps I entered and walked along a long passageway, and a few security guards were there to direct me. I came out into a gigantic room with a huge nave at the end, where 100 or so people were seated in chairs but it looked like they were a mile away. There was seating all in the open floorplan of the room, for perhaps 500 people, and three ushers at the very front, so I sat there until the piece ended and then they took me to my seat. It was a concert of early music, one of my favorite kinds.

At one point, they began to play a piece that used to be played when I was a freshman in college and attended a medieval dance troupe every Friday night. The people there were universally those sci-fi types I find both interesting up to a point and horrificaly childish. In fact, they kind of make me mad! Anyway, hearing this piece made me sit up abruptly form my already enraptured pose. They only played the first few rounds (find me in real life and I'll explain what that means) but wow...what a moment someone like me would appreciate.

It was over in an hour and a half, and so I went to Starbucks at 106th and Broadway and then walked down Broadway until my feet ached and my people-watching itch had been opned into a wound, then jumped on the subway and headed for Brooklyn. All in all, a fun night.

The only parade ("An insubstantial pageant faded")

2007-10-12T08:30:00.000-07:00

The only parade I go to every year is the Veteran’s Day Parade. Unlike the St. Patrick’s parade, held during comparable weather, with its stacks of people, in November there are always many empty spaces along the barricades. I always stand near 40th Street, near where the grandstand is set up so I can hear the various contingents announced as they come by. The politicians march at the front. I remember one year as they passed Bloomberg, Pataki, and Schumer were applauded politely, but when Hillary walked past people began to boo. The master of ceremonies, reading his lectern notes, looked up and then pointed at her, saying into the mike, “Senator Clinton – a friend to veterans.” Watching him say that, I thought, that sure shut them up. Later some veterans groups devoted to antiwar activism came past, and the applause stopped, the crowd unsure of what to do. The MC spoke again, saying, “Only the veteran truly loves peace, for only the veteran has known war.” With that, people clapped.
I remember once when I was a teenager, my twin brother and I were sitting around my room listening to music and talking. He was going through my bookshelf which had a collection of Bible literature that my sister had used in college and left to me. As he thumbed through it, he said, “There’s one line in the Bible, it goes, ‘And I hated life.’” We both silently nodded in acknowledgement of this obvious and profound statement.
What do these reminiscences have in common? Two things. The first is the power of words. Each of us has a private vocabulary of phrases that have retained their spell long after we first heard them. I often find myself murmuring a few lines of some verse or reading when thinking over certain events I’ve witnessed. Each autumn landscape, the kind with dead trees and sere skies, to me is the time of “bare ruined choirs.” You’d have to have a hard heart not to be moved by the starkness of the season, and the following glow of the holidays. Which makes me think of a line from Dante: “I wept not, so to stone within I grew.”
The second thing they have in common is a reminder that even in happy times, it’s important to remember how tenuous things are. My alumni magazine came recently and I was amazed to learn of the early deaths of some people in my class. In an ACE class we recently spent a lot of time talking about the Wisdom books, and especially Ecclesiastes, whose author pointed out the universal fate for both fools and wise, and the unfairness of much of life. His final message was that only faith makes life meaningful.
It is infinitely reassuring to look upon the vast body of Christian literature to see how those who have gone before us have grappled with these issues, and to draw encouragement from their examples. In this holiday time, in the midst of all the parties, I want to remember the spiritual deaths from which I have been spared through my faith.

Random memory

2007-10-09T09:26:00.000-07:00

One day when I was a kid my brother and I were engaged in an epic wrestling match on the living room carpet. The TV was on, and as we exchanged headlocks, the announcer came on and saud, "Next up, Boston Red Sox versus New York Yankees." My brother stopped in mid-grapple and said, "Oh, I've always wanted to watch one of these games." So we stopped, went to the kitchen and fixed ourselves a snack, and sat down to watch.

The news

2007-04-12T08:56:00.000-07:00

Each morning for the last few months or so, I wake up and roll over to turn on the Opie and anthony show on XM. 6 a.m. they come on - talking, joking around, commenting on the previous day's events and random news stories. It's basically the kind of conversation that goes on in your office kitchen/break room during the downtimes, but with a bit of edge. I'm fairly addicted, to boot.

---

So, there you have it. The radio...full of things to learn about, to talk about, etc. I'm pretty happy with it, overall.

The news

2007-02-10T12:31:00.000-08:00

I went outside this morning and there were police lined up along the street, blocking each intersection, all the way down the block, for at least 6 blocks. I looked to my left and saw a van that appeared to have crashed into the curb and the mailbox nearby it, but as to why the whole length of the avenue was blocked off, I'm not sure. I'll have to look into it.

---

I just joined a gym, for one year. I've been a member of gyms twice before, and both times I got into the whole protein-smoothie thing, drinking shakes full of creatine and etc. I read recently a piece about how being a short and skinny male, a short and skinny man, was not most women's idea of attractive. I need to build up my shoulders and upper back. I'm going to essentially have to start eating a whole hell of a lot! Okay, I can do that, I guess.

Bagels and everything for breakfast? Not sure about that. If I truly put on a lot of weight anywhere but my upper body, I'm going to need new pants! My shirts would be fine, I'd just expand inside them. Really, its the shoulders that are too small and scrawny-looking. I hate bieng called skinny.

Um...this post is getting outof hand. Bye.

Days off

2007-02-09T12:20:00.000-08:00

On days off, I slip back into the routine I perfected when I was in Maine and it was summertime, between school years at the high school were I used to work. A leisurely breakfast, several papers to read in a cafe, an hour Interneting and blogging, and then a night of reading.

I'm actually going out tonight for dinner with some friends, but the day so far has played out like that.

---

I'm listening to Sufjan Stevens right now, a song called "For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti." The words to it:

I have called you children, I have called you son.
What is there to answer if I'm the only one?
Morning comes in Paradise, morning comes in light.
Still I must obey, still I must invite.
If there's anything to say, if there's anything to do,
If there's any other way, I'll do anything for you.

I was dressed embarrassment. I was dressed in wine.
If you had a part of me, will you take you're time?
Even if I come back, even if I die
Is there some idea to replace my life?
Like a father to impress; Like a mother's mourning dress,
If you ever make a mess, I'll do anything for you
I have called you preacher; I have called you son.
If you have a father or if you haven't one,
I'll do anything for you. I did everything for you.

Hypnotic to say the least. This is the singer who plans to write 50 albums, one about each of the states. So far, he's done Michigan and Illinois.

---

New York is rather grand, wouldn't you say?

Peace.

Make me fall in love with you

2007-02-03T11:37:00.000-08:00

A CD you should burn:

Nina Simone - I Can't See Nobody (DJ remix)
Dougie McLean - Caledonia
My Morning Jacket - Gideon (Live)
Kings of Convenience - Surprise Ice
Nouvelle Vague - Pride (In the Name of Love)
Pipas - Mental
Archer Prewitt - Judy, Judy
Battlefield Band - Heave Ya Ho

No particular order, though.

Super Bowl IV

2007-02-03T11:33:00.000-08:00

I always wait and watch after the Super Bowl has ended for the part when they interview the losing coach. Usually it is simply him and the reporter standing in some anonymous hallway. there is no noise like there is in the winning locker room or in the stadium. In fact, it's very quiet. The reporter asks what went wrong; the coach gives some sportsmanlike answers.

There's something about this moment which I find particluarly captivating. The Super Bowl is an exercise in ritual, in many ways: the slow filling up of the stadium, the moments when it's after 5:30 Eastern time and the pre-game hosts have to yell into their microphones to be hear above the crowd which is getting anxious; and other moments.

This year, that moment is the one I will look forward to the most. Strange, I know, but it's how I feel.

For if I should become a stranger

2007-01-13T11:39:00.000-08:00

This weekend, and last weekend, there have been four NFL games on in all, all playoff games. Two on Saturday, and two on Sunday. In a sport that encourages long amounts of time spent watching TV, these two weekends encourage nearly an excessive amount. But what ends up happening is that after it ends, you kind of miss having so much to watch. Ah well.

---

I am in Manhattan right now, in Midtown. I have a fair amount of work to do this wekend, which is a long weekend. So I'm doing some research about Facebook and blogging (that'll be tough, huh?) and Web 2.0. It's okay. Lots of reading.

I planned to get up early today and have a leisurely breakfast and then head over here. Instead I lay comatose and delerious with sleep until 11 am, the radio on in the background. I am listening to my radio, as usual, and on the subway over I listened to this song I'd recorded last night - I listened to it over and over.

Dougie MacLean, "Caledonia"
"Let me tell you that I love you
that I think about you all the time
Caledonia you're calling me and now I'm going home
For if should become a stranger
You know it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had."

John Prine talked in an interview I recently heard about how he just loved a really sad song. I'm sure he loves that one.

Christmas soon

2006-12-16T10:35:00.000-08:00

It will be Christmas soon. I'm flying home next Friday. I can't wait.

---

I decided I'd start drinking an energy drink first thing when I wake up, as a hopes of getting myself up out of bed. That is the hardest thing for me to do, to really get up and feel energized right away. I have morning time I could spend doing things, but I never seem to be able to crack the code of how to handle it. It's highly annoying! How do you get up early in the morning? I wish I could figure it out.

---

Also, taking a page form my Iowa playbook, I think I will visit coffeehouses after work and read before going home for supper. By having some meals already made from the weekend, as in when I get home from church, I can simply have those and then get down to reading and writng, as I'd prefer to do.

So we'll see - how things will be with this theory. I know lots of people try to arrange their lives to perfection, and I recently read about Don Delillo and Philip Roth who basically live like monks and write all the time. I wish! I just really, really enjoy writing, and I feel cheated that I have to work and can't do it more.

I'm reaidng Raymond Carver, he's good. And Gravity's Rainbow. Quite a combination, eh? One minimalist, one dense. Both good.

Peace.

Nanowrimo

2006-11-29T15:18:00.000-08:00

' width=100 height=100 border=0 alt='Official NaNoWriMo 2006 Winner'>

Well, I've won.

Against all odds, I won. I Started five days late, I took a week off. I pasted in what I'd had from other writings that was meant for this novel. I wrote and wrote, and then when it was 10 days to go, I made a list of scenes to write, 2,500 words each, ten scenes in ten days. I wrote them, but 1 1/2 in one day, one in one day, etc.

Now I have two short phrases I liked but which I never got a chance to expound on. They are:

So sad to see us go.

Always something in the way.

Somehow, these phrases seemed to begin a long mood-perfect section. Perhaps 800 words each, tops, but still, not bad.

Friday: to hang wreaths, and to celebrate.

Peace.

The news

2006-11-19T12:55:00.000-08:00

Ah, autumn. I got out my UVM hat and tucked my earphones under it as I walked around yesterday and today. I love November, and I don't mind the brisk cold. In fact, it makes me feel really good.

I will have to remember this December to get into the city as much as I can, to take in the holiday lights and the festive, red-and-green, wool sweaters and shopping mood that is so intoxicating. Enjoy December - it's only once a year.

---

Nanowrimo - ugh. It's hard to write novel that is personal, although the characters are fictionalized. I have to submit myself to a sort of inner therapy in order to write up to the quality I want, and frankly I'm not really ready or maybe even interested in that. Maybe I should stick to nonfiction. Blogging - I'm good at that.

But don't get me wrong, I love Nanowrimo. It's fun, really. The writer's life in New York City is such a balm for so many things, and it's so addictive, and has so much to talk, write, and think about, that no matter what you put in, you'll be rewarded.

Okay, peace.

Nanowrimo

2006-10-31T06:44:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, Nanowrimo begins. National novel Writing Month. Last night, I went to a kick-off party which was actually well run and organized - something you don't see too much in New York.

Tomorrow, I'm also going to Saratoga Springs. Which novel should I work on this month, China or tanker ship? Eh, it's a hard decision.

Peace.

I still like Archer Prewitt

2006-10-12T10:35:00.000-07:00

and I've been feeling lonely lately. I saw the woman with whom I watched the World Cup game (my last post) and she had quit her job to go volunteer in New Orleans. This was Monday, a holiday and a hot, sunny day here. I walked out of the cafe where I'd seen her and was dazed by the passing of time, it now bieng autumn and the summer fun or alcohol, vacations, and women haivng faded. I was not looking to get together with her or anything, but I was happy that she had been so brave to change her life like she had.

It was quite something.

---

Perhaps I will return to blogging. I have felt voiceless of late, rying to understand Brooklyn and the people I have met here. I had a bad exchange with another ex this wee and was upset. I try to hate, but I haven't got the language to do it or to make it remove the bothersome associations that remain. I wish I wasn't so fucking sensitive!! It really sucks.

I am intelligent, kind, and success-oriented, so I've got it there. Also, I'm well-rounded.

Perhaps I'll go see the new movie about hardcore music this weekend - yes, I think so. See you (in the spaces).

World Cup

2006-06-17T09:44:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, I am going to a place in Brooklyn Heights to watch Brazil vs. Australia. Australia supposedly has a brutal playing style, physical with a lot of fouls. Brazil of course are the favorites, but I loathe them. I prefer Argentina...more civilized, Jorge Luis Borges is from there, and all. Maradona has the roguish personality that is a clear cut winning one, although of course I see that only in retrospect.

I am meeting someone there, and so there you have it.

---

I have so much reading to do, almost too much. I canceled my newspaper subscription, in fact, it was simply compounding the problem. Now I'll read online...

I bought Bookforum and it has an article about first novels, how everybody was doing something ridiculously unglamorous when they wrote it. Huh--heartening.

Peace.

Karaoke

2006-06-03T08:03:00.000-07:00

I was wishing, as I passed out of the subway stop into the sunlight of a hot Brooklyn morning, that I could record the song "Impression That I Get" on my radio. And leaving it on recording as I attended a concert last night, I did just that. Happiness: to me, it is simple, rather.

---

Some advice: when you sing karaoke, ignore the TV screen and stick to songs you can sing in their entirety without looking at the lyrics. If you watch the screen, it keeps you from singing with emotion. So I learned...also yesterday.

Peace.

Memorial Day

2006-05-27T14:37:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day weekend, a long weekend. The start of my fourth summer here. Like all summer long weekends, I'm exploring. I'm going to Jackson Heights Historic Dictrict tomorrow or Monday. I'm going to the West Village. I'm reading at home, getting drunk, eating some snacks, listening to the radio, writing a bit.

Had something else about a woman I know, I've seen around and heard her mentioned lately. Wow--pain! Lust is pain.

Heard a song by Breaking Benjamins, "So Cold" that so perfectly evoked the 90s. Just amazing.

I'm trying to write here more, at 5 a.m. with Dan Damon on the BBC haranguing his guests. Email me or leave a note about hoe to reach you, we'll cross the Brooklyn Bridge and stand on a silent streetcorner together.

Peace.

Heat of the Moment

2006-05-13T09:06:00.000-07:00

I had gone out on a date with someone I’d met online. We went to a play. Then afterward we went to her best friend’s birthday party. It was at a karaoke night in a bar in Soho, a neighborhood I know very little of but which I like, now. It was crowded and she (my date) was friendly up to a point, and as the night went on we drifted apart. However at one point there was a group of young women, perhaps 22-23, who were singing “Heat of the Moment”:

“I never meant to be so bad to you
One thing I said that I would never do
A look from you and I would fall from grace
And that would wipe the smile right from my face

Do you remember when we used to dance?
And it turned into roads for circumstance
One thing lead to another, we were young
And we were scream to get our songs unsung.

It was the heat of the moment
Telling you what our hearts meant
The heat of the moment
Shone in your eyes.”

When they sang “heat of the moment,” on the syllable “mo-” their voices sang a flat note. Not a “flat” note as in a toneless note, God forbid I ever pretend like I’m not the worst singer on Earth (but I can croon), but a note that was halfway into the scale, not sharp but a flat, one half step below what it should have been. It sounded odd and not like the song at all. Of course, at the time I had no idea how to correct it, and I stood there staring at the screen listening to them and trying to verbalize the correct version, sounding no doubt like a plucked goose.

Later one Saturday night I was at home listening to the Awesome 80s program and getting drunk, and writing (ha ha!). “Heat of the Moment” came on, and I sang aloud to it. I heard myself hitting the flat note rather than the correct note, whatever it was. I’m no musician! All I know is that it was flat. What a curse: to know enough that you know what you don’t know, and what you know isn’t enough to understand.

Eventually I understood that if you make an operatic high, kind of imagine you’re Maria Callas or Pavarotti when you sing that one note, you get it right. Internally it sounds like shit, but externally—to the audience—it sounds like the song, which is all they would want to hear.

So when I saw on South Park, a rerun, that Cartman had gone to Congress to argue for stem-cell research for Kenny and had summed up his argument by saying,” Here’s the only thing I can say,”

“I never meant to be so bad to you…”

I was speechless, as I sat on the couch listening. The animated Congress clapped and stamped along to the drum beat, and then they all began the chant,

“It was the heeeaaat of the mo-ment.”

I listened to hear the note they sang on the syllable “mo.” But they were not flat. They were opera.

Peace.

2006-04-09T16:34:00.000-07:00

I'm in Maine again. "The transformation of travel"--it's a long transformation. I am rather enjoying these two week vacations. This one is a strictly reading vacation:

Walden
some Shakespeare
a book about the Oracle of Delphi
some Christian books

I was thnking of going to the second annual writers' conference of which I'd been to the first, last year; but no. I have other things to do, and I don't think it would be so worthwhile.

I've been feeling better of late, pride in my personality and changes in my life (joing the Congregational Church, being more of the amateur intellectual that I used to love being; in between doubt about living in New York, being myself, not being other things. Um...you may know what I mean.

Peace. And I really mean it.

Random memory

2006-03-30T14:28:00.000-08:00

I remember I went to an alternative-rock concert once, Juliana Hatfield, and she mentioned form the stage that she was reading The Da Vinci Code and that it was good.

My sister also mentioned she was reading it, and that it was awful.

Sidenote: Juliana Hatfield was a virgin until age 26 (look up a picture of her).

Archer Prewitt and other bands

2006-03-29T06:48:00.000-08:00

Those hippy days I’ve reminisced
When we hitched up to Cincinnati
A waterfalls out at Red Bridge
I can recall a lot of laughing that we did.

I guess there is a certain amount of blogging/journaling/diary making/therapy that I need, because I have been of late yearning for something or someone to talk to about many things. There is a lot to say, some things to be left out, and some things I will probably talk about for several days. Ahem:

I bought an XM radio. And it is constantly on, from mornings to work, at lunch at work, going home, at home as I type (like right now), and recording at night. I’ve already rediscovered my love of music, apparently unfulfilled fully for years now. Oh, those high school days of staying in my room all night, listening on Koss headphones to the Police or Bob Dylan or Led Zeppelin.

I can’t wait, ‘til I get home
To pass the time in my room alone.

“Judy, Judy” by Archer Prewitt (the song quoted at the top)
“Philosophia” by the Guggenheim Grotto
“All You Zombies” by the Hooters
“Surprise Ice” by ???
“Mental” by Pipas
“Hope There’s Someone” by Antony and the Johnsons

The song quoted second is “Adam’s Song”, by Blink 182. I recorded “Missing” by Everything But the Girl this weekend and played it constantly. It’s good to have songs again.

I put up a personal ad for nerdy women and one of the three people who replied, when we went on a date to a play and then to karaoke with her best friend, she gave me a CD. The last time someone made a CD for me, a woman in a romantic gesture, was in 1996 when Sophie put some Robyn Hitchcock and a collage cover together for me. The woman’s name was Jessica and although the date wasn’t so hot, not surprising since it was her friend’s party and she and her really began whooping it up together, still: a CD of odd and surprising songs was enough. Now I want to make one for someone. I saw her in the café the other night, she came over and we were chatty and friendly. As we talked and she kind of had to return to her laptp to preserve her seat, I smiled at her and said it was good to see her. For half a second a look of worry/fear/upset flashed over her face, and I wonder if she was wondering if I'd ask her out, either sad because I hadn't or sad because I potentially might. But she was kind to me, and I wanted to listen to her and be friendly.

---

I was heating upsome soupfor myself this Saturday and brought it overto my desk to look over a crossword puzzle andto eat. I looked at the bowl ofcanned soup sitting in a neat bowl and had an intense feeling of sadness and loserdom. In all of New York,everyone eating out and enjoying broad-minded company. And here I am, in my apartment with my simple repast and a simple pastime. I felt outright pathetic and like a failure.

I sat down. I had been looking forward to the bowl of chowder just five minutes ago, and proud that I was not wasting money since I was going out to eat with a friend that night. So I actively tried to alter my mood, and thought how grateful and lucky I was, something to enjoy, the cruelty of life once again so thoroughly abated for me: no disease, poverty, financial trouble, or anything to take away the simple domesticity of a meal at home before errands.

---

I was at work and noticed someone had a copy of Millions, the DVD. Then later that week I got an email mentioning the upcoming 2nd annual writer’s conference at a certain small center, which I attended last year. My mom mentioned to me how my brother had decided to go to the opera one day, and had liked it. And finally I went to an author event at NYPL a few Saturdays ago.

Millions was a movie Elizabeth and I saw, when she wrenched my arm over her neck to cuddle her and lay her head on my shoulder. The conference is where I was when she emailed me and mentioned she was getting fired, and could we hang out? And the opera was where she always went with her elderly alumni friend from college. And the NYPL event last year was where we met.

And so, the intense dream I had about her must have been from all that. And unfortunately I felt like emailing her, or someone seeing her, or just having one more rush of her and I in contact. All weekend I stewed about this, wondering why I couldn’t alter my mood like I had done that noontime. And walking to work from the bus I tried to force tears out, cleansing sad tears it would have felt so good to cry.

There was an article in the paper about the lobby of her office building, a famous lobby. I read the article at work and then later on went in the back and played the security footage back when no one was around. There I stood, enraptured by some 23-year-old who has no driver’s license and knows nothing about the TV show her father works on the set for. There are moments I don’t even think of her, and there are moments when I imagine her doing something comparatively with what I am doing, and I feel bad. “I bet Elizabeth isn’t sitting home eating canned soup right now,” I’ll think. “I bet Elizabeth is still out on the town, with her new boyfriend, even though being out late like this is fairly unusual for me.” My therapist (who I no longer see, saying I felt it was better not to always review my life in such a way, the same reason I stopped blogging for a while) told me that I endlessly compared myself to people, and that it was the cause of much pain. I am also occasionally worried about how I feel, and that it is unhealthy, and that I hope I don’t turn into a stalker, especially since I sometimes feel even her disgust and fear would be less painful to bear than her silence. I mentioned to my mom how I’d been thinking of her and she said to just forget her. I suppose like Beth, and Sophie, each of whom I worried about my own sanity after feeling captivated by them, even though I knew they were all wrong for me, my magnetic draw to her will pass. Time truly does heal all wounds. I just feel bad; I didn’t want to be with her in the first place, but my mom liked her so much. And then when she gt fired, I always figured I’d be better than her and she’d like an older guy to reassure her. How full of myself I was! She changed from jeans and clogs to skirts and flats, from a jean jacket to an overcoat, from youthful naivete to adult willfulness, without my even appreciating it, until after. Why do I even talk about her? It feels a good, to, that’s why. It feels like more or a relationship. But why do I want a relationship with her? Because she’s a church-goer, she’s cultured, she’s better than me and I need improvement.

Sometimes I allow myself to inflict emotional pain on myself by reviewing all the worst case scenarios, which I won’t get into. Not anything about my confronting her! God no! No, about her colorful life, and my not-so-colorful life. Such as, I torture myself by imagining her Valentine’s Day meetings in Soho for drinks, while I go to Snooky’s to treat myself. That kind of thing. Man, am I a woman or what?

I am more and more convinced I don’t have the emotional strength to live in New York, or at least date here. I meet women who are nearly great or potentiall great, and when they reject me, it kills me. The average woman here is well-traveled, from exotic parents or backgrounds, or with intense hobbies. Being a blogger and writer isn’t much to bring to the table, apparently. Being a sports fan, or a churchgoer, nix that (Jessica also went to church). I suppose there’s women in church, and that I can always move out of New York if it’s making me turn crazy. Four years is good, although I feel like I’ve never really gotten to know the high class life here.

I’m on vacation for two weeks in April, so that will be good to reevaluate. Maybe this spring I can get out more, or finish my novel (my tanker ship novel has been developing, characters with deep insights, if I may say so).

I’ll build my readers back up the same way I always did: the quotidian parts of my life, which for some reason have a certain cohesion and running plot, a plot I dislike at times.

(that’s depressing but it’s a good line, eh?)

2006-03-04T09:32:00.000-08:00

When my father was young he used to work for an elderly man who was a shut in. My father would drive the man around town for scenic drives, and when my father got his driver’s license they would go for longer drives around the county. When Dad graduated from high school, the man gave him a new $50 dollar bill. My father then went to a semester of college, into the Army, and into flight school. Through all this time, he kept the $50 dollar bill in his wallet, untouched. Then he became a funeral director, got married, and settled with my mother in Maine. Still, the $50 was unspent.

The first winter they were married was particularly brutal. My mother’s winter coat at the time was not warm enough, and she needed a new one. Dad used the $50 dollar bill to buy her a warm coat.

I've cooled on blogging

2005-12-04T10:44:00.000-08:00

I've cooled on blogging. Why should I tell people all these things? Why don't I just shut up and be private, stoic? It'd be much better.

See you in the spaces.

Where have I been?

2005-11-19T13:34:00.000-08:00

Where have I been? Oh, here and there. Squeezing in random things, trying to fill up a planner. Truest sign of busyness: I’ve only gone to the weeknight Laundromat twice in the past month, all other times I’ve been to the weekend one. Weeknights—I don’t have anything to do! But not so.

I am reading two 500+ novels for various book groups. One is rather unedited and overly long, the other is intriguing but not exactly my run-to object of desire upon returning home.

Tonight I'm going to an alternative literary journal reading/show, in W. Should be cool: it's free.

Novel writing: not happening. Too much reading, people to see, things to do. I can absorb more too. What do I have to write about? I've hardly done anything.

I'm going to buy a planner, and fill it in each day with something to do, to force myself to go out of the house. Kind of just fill in things to do, her and there. Ugh...bloggin isn't priority number one right now. See you--oops, I mean, peace.

Writing and reading

2005-11-06T11:17:00.000-08:00

I am up to 1,200 words in my novel. On the website they mention it's about "quantity not quality" and that it's supposed to free you to make mistakes. I was planning on writng all afternoon yesterday; however ym friend from work called and wanted to go see a Sherlock Holmes movie. So we did, and then when I got home at 11:30 it was too late (or at least I didn't want to write, it wasn't really TOO late).

I was also planning on writing at the cafe this evening, which I may still do. We shall see. Fiction I like but I also crave nonfiction; the kinds of things I like to blog about here are the kinds of things that might make for a good essay. although, essays are a take-them-or-leave-them thing, in many respects.

---

I had a lousy night last night, although the warm, dry weather is awfully nice. I am reading the new John Irving novel for my book discussion, and a Joyce Carol Oates novel for another book discussion. Hmmm, my poor eyes.

I might go see (finally) a movie this Tuesday--the late night thing, sort of. We'll see.

Peace.

2 a.m.

2005-11-01T16:20:00.000-08:00

It's fun to stay up until 2 a.m. on a random night. Last night, I resolved to watch Monday Night Football. It was Halloween and as it crept later and later, I hardly noticed. I checked once to find it was 11:35, and so I turned to NBC (MNF is on ABC, the last year it is going to be) and watched Leno's monologue. Then the game had only five minutes left, which surprised me since I usually only stay up until the early third quarter. "I guess if you stay up late, you'll see the end of the game." They scored on each other in those five minutes, with the home team (Pittsburgh) winning.

I then watched a bit of Conan, and then played some songs on the stereo, from the classic rock station, and then I got out my old writing binder and read through some of my old stories. It was pretty cool, and eventually I figured, "Eh, I'll go to bed."

I don't have a stressful life--I've got a cozy apartment, a good job, and interests. So it's no trouble to burn the midnight oil for a while, every now and then.

---

I saw on Boston.com that November is National Write a Novel Month. A website, natwrinomo.org, lets you register and then submit your novel at the end of the month to be verified for appropriate length: 50,000 words or 175 pages. Hmmm...

I think I've missed out on the registering, since the month has already begun. however seeing as how it's November 1st.

And seeing as how I have a short idea for a novel, the tanker ship one, sitting only percolating.

Eh, why not? At the very least it's an excuse to sit in the cafe I like best for four hours, listening to their trippy Sirius satellite radio channels and sucking down tea varietals.

Peace.

Locked in the Arms of a....

2005-10-29T12:58:00.000-07:00

I am reading a biography of Charles Bukowski, who I kind of discovered after a class two years ago where someone mentioned him. There are a lot of funny scenes in the book, some really worth repeating. One i how in the 40s he had bascially turned into a homeless bum, although he worked and had roominghouse places to stay. He was getting either blackballed out of work for being German, or for being too nonconformist (i.e. hungover all the time and calling in sick) or getting thrown out for being too loud. He went all over the country, basically going into dive bars at opening at 11 or 6 am and staying until he was totally plastered.

Also he would frequently here talk of a war, as in, "Have you been in the war?" "Have you heard about the war deaths?" He kind of knew there was a war going on, but beyond that, he didn't really know much else. The whole World War II passed him by in an alcoholic fog.

Another story is how a female friend of Ezra Pound's kept talking to him about life with Pound, and whenever he wrote about it, she thought he was betraying a confidence. She sent a boyfriend over to his house to tell him she would sue him. When he arrived Bukowski was lying on the floor. "OK, sue me, but I don't have any money, I don't even have a jock strap." Then he reached over and turned on a tape of himself he had made while drunk, talking t himself, and began listening, still lying on the floor. Eventually the man left and he never heard form her again.

---

I was also reading a review of Saw, where they mentioned one trick the killer did to his victims was encase them in a metal trap over their heads, and tell them, "The key is implanted behind your right eyebal, here's a scapel to get it out with."

That's horro for you these days: not psychological, just total gore and blood. and loud, cheap cliffhanger twists. Pa-thetic.

Peace.

The news

2005-10-21T07:02:00.000-07:00

I emailed Bee yesterday, asking for her opinion about recent stuff. She thought it sounded pretty rude, and that it made no sense. Bee...her opinion I respect. She's way cool.

I deleted the last two posts--I don't want to keep that negative stuff around here. So that's the end of it.

---

I did go out with some coworkers Monday, got seriously buzzed, although it was one of those times I drink and drink and feel basically calmer, more reserved, and basicaly not drunk. No slurring, lost inhibitions, blah blah blah. Plus it was fun.

Maybe I'll go see this weird artist that's haivng a revival, at this gallery which recently had another cool artist I thought about seeing. Or maybe a movie. Hmm...who knows.

Peace.

Nebraska

2005-10-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

There was a University of Nebraska football game on TBS last weekend, which I happened to catch 10 minutes of. I miss the old Nebraska teams that used to pummel people, often with only three or four plays for the most part. It was unbelievable: a team that used the same exact play over and over and over. The QB option, where the QB keeps the ball and runs either to the left or the right, and then if he's about to be tackled, he tosses the ball (the "option") to the running back, who runs further. It would be option, option, short pass, handoff, option, pass, option, option, handoff.

Of course, the option is the most enjoyable play to watch, so I loved it. I remember watching the two national championship teams in 1994 and 1995, and then the one in 1997, and then Eric Crouch's 2000(?) team. I wonder what the hell those guys do after they finish college--the pinnacle of college sports, but in the NFL they never run the option and Nebraska has never been a team to produce quarterbacks--they are a running team and never pass! I'll maybe google "Eric Crouch" and try to find out, or "Tommie Frazier" or something. My guess, from past former college guys who then promptly disappeared, is they go into business and basically subsist on the old-boy frat-boy I-like-watching-golf culture of big corporations.

The guy who coached the Raiders in the 2003 Super Bowl, Bill Callahan, is the Nebraska coach now. The most famous one, Tom Osborne, is now a U.S. Congressman. I knew someone from the NFL had begun coaching in Lincoln, but I had to look it up. He supposedly wants to make them into a more NFL-style team, which I hope to hell they suck and he gets fired.

Red is my favorite color, and Nebraska has red uniforms, plus they have a lot of mystique, so they're my favorite college football team. I maybe fixated on them after hearing "Omaha" from the Counting Crows, and then after I was living at home bored and saw the mayor of Omaha go on TV asking people to move to his city, they had too many jobs and not enough people. Of course, I needed a professional degree, but still, it was pretty cool.

And now you know how I feel about Nebraska!

October

2005-10-08T11:35:00.000-07:00

I saw the DVD of A Very Long Engagement, which I saw on the theater. There's a scene in it with Audrey Toutou where she strips for her lover in a dark barn. Each time he strikes a match, she is wearing one less top. She never reveals everything, she keeps a hand across her chest, but she's pretty fetching.

---

There's some stupid bot adding things to my "comments"--I hate bots. I checked with Blogger, there is a word verification feature that will prevent it, I hope. Thanks for your patience! What a fucking disgrace. The Internet is so satanic.

---

I wrote a review of something on Amazon.com. Theauthor emailed me and thanked me. I replied telling her I met her agent at the conference I went to in late April. Funny thing.

---

Like before, I've been planning things to do and basically doing them, not sitting in my apartment, keys in hand, thinking, "Do I really want to do all that?" And then cursing myself for not going out more.

---

Elizabeth's birthday is coming up next week, I emailed her Wednesday about going out. Here is the correspondence:

Dear E---,

How are you? I was recently organizing some of our ------ and, naturally, thought of you. I guess you've probably settled in pretty well by now. Any more traveling? Stateside or otherwise...

I know your birthday is coming up, and I was wondering, if you weren't totally swamped with choir practice, opera attendings, and other cool activities, if you would let me take you to dinner for your birthday. I figured we hadn't seen each other for a while, it'd be nice to say hi.

Well..I'll look forward to hearing from you. I hope you can squeeze me in!

Best,
John

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi John,

Wow, I am so surprised to hear from you. I had been meaning to write, but
then I thought nah, if I don't hear from him, he doesn't want to hear from
me. I'm sure you know what I mean. I figured I would run into you
eventually.

I read "Empire Falls" a couple weeks ago so I was thinking of you. I hear
the movie wasn't very good, however.

I just finished proofreading the latest ----- novel for -------
(and unlike the Philistines at ------- I am sure you will be duly
impressed!)

Yes, my birthday is coming up and it is very kind of you to offer to get
together, if I may stipulate that, being Dutch, I would prefer to go Dutch
at this point.

As for travels, I am supposed to go to ------- this weekend for a little
autumn frivolity, although alas my ride seems to have come down with the flu
so that may be nixed. Next weekend (the great event) [My twin sister] is coming to
town for some twin time. How does Friday the 21 suit you?

How is your administrating and reviewing these days? I guess we do have
quite a bit to catch up on. Looking forward and thanks for the offer.

Cheers,

Elizabeth

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi Elizabeth,

Nice to hear from you too. Cool that you are proofreading some good titles, ---- is a mainstay around here. My reviewing is once every two months, so it's not much, but definitely still fun.

Yeah, Empire Falls kind of lost my interest after a while. There's only one Maine town with a shirt factory in it, my hometown. But I never finished that book. I read a few memoirs, Mozart in the Jungle being the last, which I really liked.

Northampon in October--I bet it is idyylic there. You'll get there sometime soon, no doubt. I love October! Autumn is a great season.

Administrating is fun, it's nice to be needed. I'll fill you in more on news when we see each other. The 21st is grand, we can go to ----- on Fifth, maybe? I liked it the one time I went there with a guy from work.

Anyhow, talk to you soon,

John

I wonder about her. I miss her a bit, but I also have other people I want to meet. I actually felt a twinge of pain when I read into her note that she might be dating. "At this point" also, hmmm, someone else commented "What does that mean?" I figured I would be friends, and see how she is. I guess no reason to expect anything else at this point, or to consider there has to be anything more than just a friendly time between two people who enjoy each other to some extent. I feel I've changed since we dated, maybe she has. Well, at her age (soon to be 23), people change rather quickly, actually. I never thought I'd be a guy to date younger women.

Later tonight it's reading and the Happy Hour I like. More plans, you see? I'm going to buy a Liz Phair ticket for a show in two weeks. Also, I got a pretty good haircut today.

Peace.

Plans

2005-09-30T08:24:00.000-07:00

All week, and last week too, I've pretty much had a plan for the day and pretty much stuck to it. For example, laundry and housework one night while watching MNF, a movie the next night, reading some books I've got to review one night, Happy Hour one night, etc. I had to go browse for a dress shirt Wednesday, which took me quite some time. Today it was bank errands, having a bento box for lunch, doing some grocery shopping, maybe cleaning the windows, then tonight an art gallery opening two blocks from my apartment.

Wednesday was my book club, which has been revived, nicely. Afterwards I went to the Red Lion and read the Village Voice. They had a folksinger buy playing acoustic guitar, all covers, and I remembered one time in Waterville when I requested "Friend of the Devil" form some guy playing in a bar, and he actually knew it and played it. Then 20 minutes later I listenend to the guy, and he was playing the same song. That was the second music coincidence of the day, as I'd been listening to Tori Amos's Scarlett's Walk on my discman and turned it off after I bought a shirt, they were playing "A Sorta Fairytale."

Peace.

The news

2005-09-22T19:10:00.000-07:00

I see New England will be playing Pittsburgh this weekend, at 4, in a game televised here locally. Last year, they played in Pittsburgh at 4, on Halloween, the first Halloween I really lost myself and enjoyed in some time. That was in Cambridge, when I was on vacation. I looked up to see what games would be on this Sunday, and it reminded me. What fun it was to go to the Plough and Stars around 4:30 or 5 and have a few pints of Guinness. for all it's supposed "tourist attraction" status (probably not that high a status), I seemed to be the only one.

Someone donated seasons 1-3 of Star Trek: The Next Generation on DVD. My freshman year my friends would sit in the loung and watch it during the supper hour, it was syndicated, I occasionally I'd go too but I'd never watch. That show really sucked, but I took home one of the DVDs to watch the first episode. Nope: still awful. The original show had mind-bending sci-fi elements, the kind that kind of got me into it, but eventually sci-fi wore off and I liked urban stories, like two seventh-grade boys hiing out in grimy early-70s New York, in the after-school autumn afternoon (Planet of Junior Brown, Virginia Hamilton).

See why I haven't updated for a while? Although it's been kind of an interesting week. I saw Green Street Hooligans, and 40-Year-Old Virgin last night. Also, I want to eat a bento box for lunch sometime, I'll try t find a good place.

Peace.

Down with disease

2005-09-05T19:47:00.000-07:00

I went to the cafe Thursday night, and as I sat the apparent rule of where the individual bartenders can play their own music was apparent. The tall maybe gay guy plays Seventies. The 23-year-old I once saw in a cafe in Manhattan plays Eighties. The huge-breasted (sort of) but married 38-year-old plays eclectic folk. The black male plays jam bands--like Phish. They have Sirius satellite radio, which has NFl games but not the cool adult channels like XM Radio has--which is why I want XM radio, not Sirius.

"Who's Phish?" I had asked one guy I'd met in college in 1991, unaware they lived and met in the dorm I lived in my first two years, and that they got their start at the music club downtown I relished for their gravy fries and attitude of "drinking alone tonight? we don't judge."

I never actually went to Nectar's that much, but it seemed whenever I did, it was unforgettable. I noticed that their album A Picture of Nectar came out in 1992, my freshman-sophomore year. Contrast that with the cafe where the monthly poetry reading was, the one where the organizer kept telling me, "Usually there's a lot more people here," looking over the 10 people in attendence on good nights. That place, I can't even remember the name, although I know the location, and Sophie told me it closed when I saw her in 1998.

So it was the black bartender, and he was playing Phish's album Hoist. Which apparently has all their really famous songs--"Down with Disease", "The Wolfman's Brother." Every song that came on I was like, "Huh, this famous song, which I don't know." So I did the only thing I could: I called my answering machine and quoted the lyrics into it, and looked them up on the Internet the other day.

I remember working in the Vermont newspaper office one night at 2 a.m. and reading the review of Phish's new album Rift that was laid out in the arts section, something about "sleeping lengthwise when you're gone." I recall the cover, a Nordic god drawn in bed, his most likely eye-poppingly curvaceous girlfriend off on a weekend trip, soon to return to perform depraved sex acts on his genetically-blessed person. "Ugh," I thought, turning away. But still, it was the review of the new Phish album, which I knew was a big band and was like a major thing--the NEW PHISH!

A few years later I was riding across campus with this one guy I knew casually from the dorm and his friend. They cranked Phish and both jimmied their heads about as the psychdelic jazz onslaught pounded the tiny car. They went to park, both exclaiming how funny it was to block in the car behind them. Then we parted, me wondering, "So, that is who listens to Phish??"

I just read two memoirs this weekend,one about Iraq soldiers that was unforgettable, and the classical music memoir too. And there's this one hit wonder marathon on a local pop station. Excellent!

I write about my early 20s mucho on this blog, but I saw this one-week retrospective of the 60s planned for later this month on PBS. Do Baby Boomers ever get tired of replaying how brilliant they were, hoe earth-shakingly progressive they used to be,before they all bought bobo-fitted houses? It's pathetic--I will never give money to PBS because they sell out us Gen Xers for the selfish Baby Boomers.

IMHO. Peace.

The news

2005-09-04T10:28:00.000-07:00

I thought on Wednesday, "Bush has to address the nation--New Orleans is destroyed." I didn't realize the extent until I read in the paper someone describe it as "like Pompei." This morning, I heard he was going to address the nation. But it was about Rehnquist.

What an absolute disgrace. All those poor people in the convention center and Superdome, told what to do and then doing it, but being misled and abandoned. People dying and their family members having to sit with the body for two days, with no food, water, or a single shred of human compassion. I cannot believe Bush didn't go on TV and tell the nation that New Orleans as we know it was gone and that for the next six months, the entire population would need to move to another city. In the Times someone mentioned that the worst three potential disasters in America were an earthquake in San Francisco, a terrorist attack in New York City, and a hurricane striking New Orleans. No water, no one in charge for two days. I could not get over how the mayor seemed to have no control, the federal governemtn had nothing to offer, and no one jumped in to do anything. It's just a complete disgrace.

I hate Sundays. I'm reading this book about classical music, a woman who worked as an oboist for years in Manhattan and talks of the eccentrics, weirdoes, and other types she met. I read her acknowledgements page; her agent was the guy who directed the writer's conference I went to a few months ago. Who also sat at my table for part of the final dinner, the only table he did sit at.

Anyway...

Tattoos

2005-08-24T18:32:00.000-07:00

When I first started seeing my therapist, he gave me a survey to fill out.It was full of personal questions, but there were also questions designed basically to identify seriously delusional, paranoid, schizophrenic people. One of the questions was, "My life is controlled by outside forces." The answers were "I strongly agree, I agree, neutral, I disagree, I strongly disagree."

Apparently answering "I strongly agree" is some kind of red flag, because I answered that way. There were two questions which I answered like that, I'll fill you in on the other one once I look it up. That was the first thing he asked me, why I answered like that. I replied that people look at you for your image, not your true self, and so who am I to prove over and over again how cool I am? I don't look cool, and so, I'm a 32 year-old ______.

Anyway, we got these tattoos form work this summer, armband tattoos--the kind of chain-mail tats young, tough men wear--and today I put one on and tried to sell it as real to guillible kids as they came in. They know me and so they tried to guess if it was real or not, and I tried to sell it to them, sort of, like I mentioned.

But on the bus home, and the subway, I noticed something weird. Something which made me believe again, even more again, the statement I'd made in my psychotherapist's questionanaire. As I got on the subway, a mother, young with a baby in her hands, and sitting next to her Wall Street-type husband, she checked me out. And not just once, thre times. Later, feeling pumped up from the awesome day at work, I went to my favorite cafe to unwind and relax. A young blonde woman with a young man turned her head to glance at me, and then when I was at the bar next to her, innocuously ordering a beer, she turned her head again to--to what? Check me out? Women, they I just don;t understand. How can I answer, I guess.

All necause of this tattoo. When I had walked in the AIDSWalk just to see what it was like, I walked with a limp for a week afterwards because of a blood blister on my foot. The AIDSWalk is 6 miles, and after 2.5 you feel like you're going to pass out and die. People passing me seeing the limp, automatically thinking of it as legitimate--it was legit--they behaved with the polite, enlightened attitude they'd been trained to behave in, which turned out to be deadly obvious. But hey, it's better for them to fawn then to not comprehend, right? I read once how most people are over the "Oh, poor you!" philosophy of the disabled. And now they are in the "Oh, You're so brave!!" philosophy. Not much more enlightened, but in its consequences, more acceptable. And for sociology, the most imporatnat maxim, from Thomas, "If people feel situations are real, then they are real in their consequences,"

I haven't updated since Tuesday?? Wow, sorry about that. Peace.

Lodged

2005-08-16T18:02:00.000-07:00

It began raining a day ago as I was walking home. I recently bought a new umbrella and I was kind of looking forward to using it, and as it rained I got it out and opened it. I turned and saw the rain approaching, the storm moving across the city, and first it was 50 feet away, and then 20 feet, and then at the near curb, and then it was falling onto my umbrella. 20 feet further up, three black people yelped as the rain pelted them.

The rain to the wind said,
“You push and I’ll pelt”
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt
And lay lodged, though not dead
I know how the flowers felt.

“Lodged” by Robert Frost. Kind of a long story behind that one, which will appear later perhaps.

I was just in a café and they were playing Sirius satellite radio, the Eighties channel. “Careless Whispers” to hear that being played in an organic coffeehouse with peace and justice literature stacked near the doorway, that’s weird. Also slightly weird was when “Your Love” by the Outfield (”Josie’s on a vacation far a-way, come around and talk it over….”) and someone yelling out, “I love this song!” When did Eighties music turn from nostalgic secretive pleasure to hipster ironic pleasure? And more importantly, do those fucking 25-year-olds even pause when “Boys of Summer” comes on??

Earlier I was in the same café and saw someone had left behind a NYTimes. In it, there was an article about a man who had moved to San Francisco in 1978, and had lived throughall the gay clichés there, including being diagnosed with AIDS, but has since been proven to beone of those people immune to AIDS (a chronic non-responder, he’s called). He had written a book chronicling the life of the late Seventies and early Eighties (always write out decades, it makes them more momentous seeming).

I was going to go to San Francisco this year, and was looking forward to touring in the Castro District. Although I’m not gay, nor LDS, I feel fascinated by both cultures. I recall David Sedaris writing in Naked’s essay “The Incomplete Quad”:

“San Francisco wasn’t a Beat town, it was a beat-off town. My friend left three months after being asked to enter his penis in a taste test.”

I also recall Police Academy movies, and I saw this particular scene on TV when I was home on vacation recently, where someone goes into a gay bar and everyone is handlebar mustaches, leather biker gear, and chaps. I also remember reading Truly Tasteless Jokes and coming across this joke, easily one of the worst I’ve ever heard:

What’s in the air in San Francisco that prevents women from getting pregnant?
Men’s feet.

Not understanding it, I either asked a sibling what it meant or there was a footnote that explained it. “Oh, there’s a lot of gay people in San Francisco?” I noted, the same way I noted Millard Fillmore was a president once or Jupiter has a certain amount of moons. I knew it, but I never thought of it.

In And the Band Played On Randy Shilts writes that thousands of men were moving to San Francisco each month in the late Seventies, knowing it was the gay Mecca. For some reason I find this fact cool, the way maybe gay men dismiss women so completely, to the point that it drives straight women berserk how irrelevant they are in the gay world. Or beats me why I like this topic, I just find it has a lot of mystique.

Peace.

Random memory

2005-08-12T19:34:00.000-07:00

I asked a student once, when I was a high school librarian, "Did you know there' a third part of the Internet, besides email and web pages, that is even more addictive and comprehensive?" I used to post a lot in the Leonard Cohen newsgroup on usenet. To me, usenet is the heart of the WWW, not the Internet pages which everybody uses. It's funny, no one ever mentions usenet, but you see reports on websites and email all the time.

A LC poem:

Go by brooks
Where fish stare
Go by brooks, love
I will pass there.

Go by rivers
Where eels throng
Rivers, love
I won't be long.

Go by oceans
Where whales sail
Oceans, love
I will not fail.

And another:

I wonder how many people in this city
live in furnished rooms.
Late at night when I look out at the buildings
I swear I see a face in every window
looking back at me,
and when I turn away
I wonder how many go back to their desks
and write this down.

---

I'm looking for a new apartment, a floor through, near a subway, a supermarket, and a laundromat. Tomorrow I'm going to M and BP and maybe DH nabes to see. Wish me luck.

Awake at night

2005-08-10T20:35:00.000-07:00

What is there for me to do on those nights when I wake up at 2 am and can’t sleep because of the humidity? Lying there, listening to the BBC doesn’t seem to help, since after 15 minutes the news repeats itself. Getting up to check the TV and see what’s on at that hour—that’s more interesting. Carson Daly ends late I think, and there’s a lot of weird shows on with very little rules about what they air. I’ve never been a real night person, so I watch fascinated.

I was roaming the supermarket yesterday and saw they had packages of Italian ices on sale, in cherry and lemon. Thinking of those nights, I thought it was a perfect solution to those humid nights. Get up, go sit on the couch in my underwear, and have some icy snacks while I check out what’s on TV at 2 am. Flickering light in an otherwise darkened room. Is cool.

---

I see Alyson Hannigan is going to be on a sitcom. It’s kind of sad to see how actresses aspire to become stars, taking roles that require them to do somewhat humiliating things. Remember the sitcoms with Jason Alexander on them? I wonder what the other actresses auditioning for the role thought as they stood there, nervously fingering their head shots and checking their appearances, when the door opens and Alyson Hannigan from Buffy the Vampire Slayer walks in. “You’re auditioning for this part?!” one particularly brave person might ask.

Or how about models who basically get hired because they are attractive, to pose in some kind of magazine spread in Men’s Health or something. There’s this ad in the back of a lot of men’s magazines for a cushion to use in the bedroom, and the models posing on it all have this aura of “final dignity” about them. I recall being in Boston when Coke with lemon came out, models hired to hand out the drinks in the subways doing that thing public hawkers always have to do: the balance between standing in the street getting constantly rejected, recollecting yourself, and sizing up people passing by. As I walk around I see people with clipboards who straighten up to ask me, and as I get within 10 feet they suck in air to begin their spiel.

It’s interesting. Peace.

Chess

2005-08-07T14:11:00.000-07:00

I was playing and studying chess last night, in between watching the Mad TV Best of 10 Years show, most skits of which I saw on the original air date it seems. That show's been on for 10 years? Doesn't seem like it.

I read Assassination Vacation this weekend, by Sarah Vowell. It was ok--the jokes kind of fell flat a lot, and she'snot as self-deprecating as she should be to make the reader sympathize with the story. Then when she starts raving about how much she hates George Bush, I kind of rolled my eyes. Why is it no one can ever write with eloquence about that subject? Plus, in a book like that, it totally kind of doesn't belong.

But what the hell do I know? There's a lot of reading to do in New York.

Suddenly there's a million movies I want to see, plus a ton of books beside my bed.

When I play chess, I sometimesblunder because I am too focused on one move, and I don't noice the knight or bishop has a lock on my whatever exposed piece. So I'm not very good. But "good at chess, bad at life." Although I want to get a little better at chess.

Peace.

Various whys

2005-08-05T19:53:00.000-07:00

Why I don't read science fiction:

Jenna MacEagan has been Banrion in Inish Thuidh since the end of the devastating conflict with the lords of the other Tuatha.

This is the first sentence of a blurb on a sci-fi novel I saw recently.

Why I don't read the Daily News:

The five-part Victoria Gotti articles bemoaning how corrupt the federal government is and horribly Curtis Sliwa treats people. I emailed the Daily News and told them their paper "totally sucks and I never buy it but I flip through it occasionally to see how much you suck."

A friend of mine told me his father was watching The Sopranos for a while, but apparently there's one episode where Tony Soprano gets mugged by two black guys. My friend said his father started to feel sorry for Tony Soprano, and then concluded he couldn't watch the show any longer, since it was manipulating him into feeling sorry for mobsters. I tld him, "Yeah, I completely agree."

Why I haven't posted this week:

Bee emailed me and said she felt bad, then on her journal (which has pictures of her, www.livejournal.com/~bumblyb) she wrote about feeling bad. Plus I've been sleep-crazy lately, and also a minor health problem.

So peace.

Filament

2005-07-31T18:03:00.000-07:00

Puttering about in my apartment, I noticea white speck offlecked paint lying on the floor. I ignore it. Hours later, passing by, Ipick it up and bring it to the trash. As I hold it, I feel a hair lying with it. A long hair, blonde. Elizabeth's.

I pause. I wasn't going to blog tonight. But here I am, aren't I? I was thinking about her, how the New York Times and the Met was her idea of New York living. I thought that was rather cliched, until coming back to here on the train and reading the Times for the first time in over a month. During the reporter scandal they had a few years ago, one staffer was quoted saying, "All in all, we still put out a pretty good paper." True.

When you're in Lewiston, you read the Sun-Journal. When in New York, you read the Times. What could be wrong with that?

Just a random thought, all brought together into one coalesced understanding by that one tiny filament.

Peace.

The news

2005-07-28T19:15:00.000-07:00

I am going nuts over getting up! I want to get up at a reasonable time to do some thngs around the apartment, like sit with a mug of tea and write while BBC Morning Report with Vicki Barker plays on my radio. However, that show comes on a 5 a.m. When I set the alarm for 6 a.m. it comes around and I feel like a zombie. When I try 7 a.m. it comes and I feel like lying in but not falling asleep.

“Oh, tomorrow, I’ll get a good night sleep, I’ll be all set.”

Tomorrow comes: Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I’ve got to get one of those six-plug things for my bedroom, so I can use my bedside lamp. I used to never use it, but eh, reading in bed, I can get into that. I never feel like watching TV at night, so it fits.

I was thinking for some reason I was required to write a big long story about the week, given some reason I had not examined. Sleeping with someone three days in a row? Must make a good blog entry. Romance on the vacation? Makes a good blog entry. However, I feel a little ridiculous, playing it out. What is the point? I guess the point is, it’s my story, and you read things here if I post them, so if I feel like writing about it, I will. And email m your own blog s I can reciprocate.

As I was sitting with Bee in the bar, she kept giggling and falling sideways in the booth. She was pretty spunky. I thought, oh cool, a fellow dork. But the next day, when she took off her purple bandanna, she was a babe. She kept mentioning how ugly she thought she was, in between stories of her stalkers and men pursuing her. She had those kind of full, clear fingernails which are so alluring, plus the kind of clear skin with a light color that is just plain sexy. She kept talking about how pale she was, although she was actually tanned. We drove to her campsite and I was stealing glances at her, realizing she was one of those all-black clothes art babes I’d always worshipped from afar at Vermont. I kept looking at her and thinking how perfectly styled and stylish she was the Volkswagen Golf she drives, the all black wardrobe, that million T-shirts, the million friends, the attitude of fun, the semi-vegetarianism.Sigh. How come I never meet the dorky, non-hippie, non-sci-fi women when they’re single? And why do women still intimidate me? Man, that’s fucked up.

She kept talking about her ex, to the point I realized she was not into me but saw me as a friend. At one point I said to her, "Please don't talk about your ex when we're in bed together." I like talking about past relationships and what I've learned from them, but I also like teling the other person how great they are, too. However, it’s hard for me to resist a bouncy 27-year-old who works in a library field, especially when she sleeps in the bed next to me. “Do you want some company over there?” I asked one night, plunging in. “Sure,” she replied. “That was pretty spontaneous.”

“Not that spontaneous,” I answered.

But twin beds are hard to sleep double in, although they are snug to be alone in. Elizabeth told me she couldn’t really sleep when we spent the night together, she wanted to sleep on the couch. But I saw her point (two months later).

It was so hot that night I returned to my bed. “Is it cooler in your bed?” she asked.

“Yes, want to join me?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“OK.”

To you, humble reader, this may be dull. How\ever to me, it is a script that fascinates me for its rarity. I like retelling it, being one of the main characters in the story. (Like an old joke: OK, enough about me, let’s talk about you: what do you think of me?)

I was teetering on the edge of the bed the whole night, plus I was trying to get comfy without tossing and turning too much. My arm under her neck, or across her tummy on her belly, or on her shoulder. At one point, she said, “Oh, John…” and I rolled over and said, “I’m crazy about you, Bee” and kissed her. It was on the nose, and she said, “Want to try that again?”

When I would kiss Elizabeth, she would plunge her tongue into my mouth. Sometimes she would suck it so it felt like it was tearing out of my mouth. I’d yelp in pain (mouth pain, the worst pain) and she’d let go and laugh. With Bee, it was harder to tell how much tongue to use. It only lasted about 15 seconds, but still.

The next night was more kissing, the kind with moans and turning over to hold each other. However, it was also the night I realized it was me kissing her, not her kissing me. And me caressing her, not the other way around. When I mentioned this to her, she said she was shy. People who call themselves shy are rarely that shy. Again I slept on the bed rails, until I couldn’t stand it anymore and went to my own bed. She lay sleeping, not coming over.

After going to the bar and having her tell me, “Do a car bomb with me!” I was thinking I should be in a good mood. A nubile, hip, young woman wants to hang with me, do shots, then share my bed. However, I looked at the big picture: I’d buy the drinks, she’d go on about her ex, she’d ignore my comments or stories even though I ask her follow-up questions all the time, she’d cuddle but not want to go as far as I wanted to, then I’d be one of her random friends from the world she’s traversed. I read her website and she wrote simply "Went to the mud flats with this friend I made." Um...ok. My mom asked me why I can’t just enjoy things, but it’s hard when I feel I’ve got to play-act a role instead of being myself. Proust wrote about how hard it is to be a friend, I first understood that a few years ago.

The only time I felt I was myself with her was when we were in Friendly’s, eating breakfast, which was after I told her I was getting sick of her and had basically done an Evil John. I am open on this blog, primarily about the misunderstandings I get into with women, who I just do not understand. So despite the story, I feel like venting it, if just to remark on it to myself, and to preserve my feelings. I guess I'm just totally bitter with romance and can't trust people at all.

Ughh…this post is getting so long. Plus it's actually making me less clear about things. I’ll continue later, maybe I’ll do the café thing for added wit. Peace.

Bee and other people

2005-07-26T18:49:00.000-07:00

I saw on Mad TV they were making fun of Cold Case again. They had a skit where the background music was a song with the chorus,

This show is nothing but one long
Music video.

It was sung in the style of the Team America: World Police song “Pearl Harbor”: kind of slow, jokey, but actually really melodic and catchy.

For official record keeping: I think that show is hilarious and great, although it’s only the final 10 minutes I watch when I can.

When I was home, I went one night to Wal-Mart. I have a love-hate relationship with that place, mostly hate, but also a curiosity. I wanted to know what kind of DVDs Wal-Mart stocked, and I wanted to look at their books. In places like Scottsbluff, Nebraska, places which are basically towns built up enough to seem urban to the people in the state. There are a lot of states where people have attitudes like that, where the biggest town around to them is the “city” and is urban. And there is a Wal-Mart there, a real big store, because of course cities have big stores in them. They may live in a village or town of 8,000, but they go to the town for things, to buy nice things, or the go to dinner. It’s part of what people mean when they speak of “Middle America.” And also, it’s kind of complex, the things that go on there. I mean, it’s certainly enough for a bunch of novels ( cough cough).

I saw a couple movies with an actress named Michelle Williams with a lead role in them. Both were produced by IFC Films, which has a new theater in Greenwich Village which I should look into becoming a member or something. She must be like the American Audrey Toutou, who came from seemingly nowhere.

It does wonders for my self confidence, sleeping with two women since April after no one since 1996 (December 31st-January 1st of 1996). Even more so, the fact that women want to feel safe all the time and that that is their primary concern with a guy, making sure he’s safe and can be trusted and is not a psycho and will protect her, I never knew that. I mean, sort of I did, but the extent of how it’s so important, I never knew. I once saw a TV commentator mention how George Bush got reelected because he talked about national security so much, and it made women feel safe, and so this traditionally Democratic population was more Republican than expected.

So the fact that someone I had met only the night before basically moved in with me for four days, that is pretty satisfying. I’ve heard of couples meeting and the woman basically from hour one decides this is her hero, her protector, her companion, and the two of them fall straight into couplehood without any of the preliminaries. They both know intuitively it’s the perfect person, the one person who will get it, and so there it is. It’s not even like a real big effort, being in the couple. Everything you do or say is perfectly understood and each person trusts the other so well, they look past all the million misinterpretations of conversations you have when you’re dating (at least I do, as much as I can be said to have dated).

So at the reception when I turned around to see Bee standing there looking at me, a face which I realized later looks a lot like the projectionist woman I’ve often lusted after when I attend this festival, and I also thought of a quote I read, how “Everyone at cocktail receptions is doing the same thing: wishing someone would come up to them and talk as they stand by themselves trying to look occupied.” So I just asked her, “Have you been to the festival before?”

“Nope, this is my first time.”

The line for food was slow, so we chatted. My standard small talk: what do you do, how did you hear about this/how do you know the hosts/are you a proficient reception attendee-opening attendee-fan. This will be enough to get people to talk, although some people prefer being the listener as the other person sets the tone of intimate conversations. So of course, therefore, I have some things to say there: lit crit, movie reviews, essays I’ve read (remember I read a lot of papers and art stuff, so I always have good things to say. It’s kind of like talking to someone in a sexual way, or in bed: you have to give them the script, the story they’re looking for. I remember sitting with a friend of my brother’s talking about the Grateful Dead and how people show upto their concerts and just basically say,” Give me the total expericne, the whole cosmic things and everything.” And they’d deliver, presumably, with the help of some drugs if the person didn’t want to worry about a potential wasted evening.

Like a lot of people, I assume that if I were simply 10% better-looking, I would be pretty devastating to the opposite sex (or whatever sex you chase). I have good conversation, I work, I read, so what’s not to like, eh?

So the next night, after seeing a Michelle Williams movie (like I told you, she’s everywhere) I was walking up the aisle and I saw Bee again. She was sitting in the back of the theater, watching me, it was obvious she was doing so. As I strode up I smiled (involuntarily and truly) and called out to her. “Hey,” it went. What did you expect?

And then the rest I’ll write another time, when I can. Probably not tomorrow though. Peace.

2005-07-24T17:59:00.000-07:00

I feel better now--I'm going to a reception tonight. Take care.

As my vacation draws to a close...

2005-07-24T12:54:00.000-07:00

As my vacation draws to a close and I return to New York tomorrow, I have a lot on my mind. The first week home was relatively uneventful--breakfasts, large lunches, shopping and errands for various things. Reading a book for my book club.

However, my second week was more eventful. It involved my meeting a 27-year-old woman, someone attending the film festival going on this week like I was doing. We met Tuesday, at a reception, and saw each other again on Wednesday. It was 11:15ish when the movie ended and I saw her in the aisles, and I asked her to go with me for a drink. She accepted, and we spent the night out, and had to come back to my place at 1 when everything closed. She was camping out rather far from town and she told me, "You know, you're stuck with me." At 4:30 after talking for a while in front of VH1, we went and bought some breakfast at a local gas station/convenincce store. Then we went to bed, I in mine and her in the spare next to me in the same room. Her name is Rebecca but she goes by Bee.

And so she basically moved in with us this week, and her and I slept together two and a half times but with no sex, and I felt insecure around her, and we argued this mornng, and now she's gone like planned but I feel like shit.

And I'll spend a long few hours in the cafe Monday night writing how I feel about it, and I'll post it. But right now I feel like shit, I feel like the 32-year-old virgin I am, who's been to Europe once and is shy, and I'm traveling (in transit) tomorrow so please be patient. During the movie last night, I wanted to start writing again, I really felt it like an itch. And I wanted to put down some stories, to write stories based on the feelings I feel, not just meandering mood pieces. So I'm at least glad about that.

Okay? Here's some lyrics from a song I've been singing in alone moments, no particular reason for it:

Since you're gone
The nights are getting strange
Since you're gone
Well, nothing's making sense
Since you're gone
I stumbled in the shade
Since you're gone
Everything's in perfect tense

I can't help it
Everything's a mess
I can't help it
You're so treacherous
Where's that tenderness?

Since you're gone!
I missed the peak sensation
Since you're gone!
I took a big vacation
Since you're gone!
Well, I never feel sedate
Since you're gone!
Well...

Peace.

Chance meeting

2005-07-09T08:16:00.000-07:00

Random thoughts as I begin my vacation:

Why does Subway put the meat and filling of the sandwich on the top of the bread? I had to tell them the other day to reverse it, and they hardly understood.

I work in an ethnic city. Hence, I might learn Arabic. I saw a box set of tapes entitled “Colloquial Arabic.” Just enough to be able to speak with the Arab families who come in. I’ve written here before about hoe much I love immigrants, for a lot of reasons but one of them is how much they love all the tings Americans take for granted. There is a touching picture in the latest GQ (the one with Jessica Simpson on the cover and the interviews with soldiers who had guarded Saddam Hussein) in a list of the best things about America. In a set of photos, it shows a Serbian family in their backyard in Serbia. The kids play in a dirt lot, the parents stand in front of a dilapidated shack. In Florida, the same family in outside again. The green lawn, the small house, a working flush toilet. It’s just really touching.

I went to a bookstore last night to get some books for my vacation. This is the place with the daughter of a couple who owns a bookstore chain in Canada, and the daughter runs this store in SoHo. She is 26-27, really tall, really thin. I asked her where a book was (I really couldn’t find it) and when she walked over to show it to me, she threw her shoulders back and walked with her hands draping to her sides, nearly behind her back. When I went to the writers’ conference recently, I saw her in the street and later discovered she was a trustee. Naturally, a really tall, poised, brunette businesswoman is someone you remember.

There was a Eastern European woman working in the café they have there previously, but she wasn’t there. Feeling like having some Indian food, I walked over the Greenwich Village. But I hate eating alone in a white-tablecloth place unless it’s some kind of personal celebration thing, so I just went to the café where my book club used to meet. It’s cheap.

As I sat polishing off my meal, a very bright light came on next to me. I turned and noticed that two people were setting up for a film scene in the corner, with my table the closest. An attractive young woman passed by and began browsing the desserts in the dessert case. I peered at her, recognizing her: the bartender from my favorite happy hour place. She looks like my ex Sophie, has a hippie child name (Zoe), and tends to wear red tanktops when she works at the bar. Whenever there is a female bartender there, there are a few men who seem to linger solely to chat with them. Since I find it mildly creepy and borderline-alcoholic to do so, I refuse. Also, I like to read those bizarre newsletters cafes like that always seem to receive truckloads of. She’s not someone I have a crush on, just you notice her since she’s pretty and people treat her so. I know her anem since one time a coworker went past her and yelled, “everyone, this is the amazing Zoe!” She was simply standing there, looking 23 and ripe, and turned and smiled awkwardly.

As she returned, I said, “Excuse me, is your first name Zoe?”

“Yes…I work at ----.”

“Sure, I go there all the time. So, I take it you’re an actress?”

She nodded and mentioned she recognized me as a regular. She was ordering something and took a menu. She asked me my name, and we shook hands. I said, “I’m trying to get the guy to bring my check.”

“Oh, I’ll stand out of your way then!” And she moved to the side, leaning on the wall. So I sat there, sipping Earl Grey tea, while the guy was oblivious. She leaned against the wall, browsing the menu. When I paid and got up to leave, she was look away, but our eyes met and she said “See you.” (Hey, that’s my line).

This morning I wondered if I should have asked her to sit down at my table. I assumed she was about to begin working, as the director was there telling everyone what to do. She cleared my plate away since it was teetering on the narrow table and the cameraman was in danger of backing up into it. Also, maybe he was trying to get rid of me. I hope she doesn't think I was ungentlemanly.

Well, let me sign off with my usual vacation tag:

I’m going to a coastal state for two weeks or so, so I’ll write again in some time. Tomorrow is the day of the long highway, the transformation of travel. I know where I’m going. I'll write more later. See you then--see you in the spaces. So long.

The news

2005-07-07T08:50:00.000-07:00

I am not happy about this new era of terrorism, where world leaders are obstinate and the fundamentalists get angrier and angrier. Every reason the terrorists give I basically agree with: Israelis out of Palestine. Even Ariel sharon admits the settlers should leave.

Also, I find Iraq to be very strange. What is the reason we are there? Is it to try o turn the Middle East into a democratic region? Why is that so important? What about the Far East, China, North Korea. Are there other regimes in the Far East, such as Cambodia or something? I should look that up.

There was a piece in the Times this past Monday about two friends from North Dakota who joined the army. People from small towns, they see the army and being a veteran in all the full ways it's portrayed to be. When I was 18 and the Persian Gulf War was occurring, recruiters would call and berate me for not being interested in "power, honor, and" something I forget. Actually, it was only once.

Although there are moments when I think the Iraq occupation might be a good idea, as maybe a stabilized, democratic place, mostly I think there is no reason to be there, the people who fight and die there do so for no good reason, and that I can never think of Iraq service as some kind of proud fight, the way it would have been if Clinton had invaded Yugoslavia or in Somalia. I kind of hoped Clinton would invade Serbia, so I could get drafted, sit around with Eastern European female refugees, and of course survive. Life during wartime: was is it like? I've always wondered.

I liked Bush when he would talk about copassionate conservatism. My idea of the perfect political affiliation is a very liberal Republican. I just associate Republicanism with small town life, and not the lick, Texas-Bible Belt Christian robots all wearing ugly blue suits with generic ties, with generic hairstyles and zero intellectualism. The Christian right has got to be the worst plague on America I can think of--they are the absolute worst. By the way, my church, the UCC, was the first to declare homosexual marriages legit. Woo-hoo! (I'm not gay--that should be obvious enough from reading this blog.)

Tomorrow I want to go pick up some books to read over my vacation. I was going to post some jokes here, but the bombings made it seem wrong to do so.
Maybe I'll catch a movie too tomorrow--"Me and You and Everyone We Know."

Um...peace.

You might recall

2005-07-05T08:11:00.000-07:00

You might recall that I once met an Orthodox woman from Crown Heights and hung out with her. She came over to my apartment and we watched House of Sand and Fog. She got a MFa in writing from Iowa (in poetry, however, not the fiction degree).

Anyway, last night I was sitting at home listening to the fireworks. Öh, what the hell, I'll go." I never really considered myself a fireworks person. So I got on the subway, headed to the waterfront, and walked over. It was ending as I arrived, so I basically turned around and moved along with the crowd. I got bac to the subway platform, and went to the extreme front.

"Hmmm, she looks familiar." I said, eyeing a Jewish looking woman standing nearby. The train came, we got on, and after a few stops I asked her if she had gone to Iowa.

She nodded.

"Do you remember me..." I began.

So we got off at the next stop and walked around, looking for a bar. But everything was closed, except for the cafe where I seem to always end up with women. We walked to my place so I could get my wallet and cigarettes. Then we went to the cafe. She told me her and I should start a literary magazine, she'll read the poetry, I'll read the fiction (what about the nonfiction, I realize in retrospect).

I'll reserve the details about the random time spent with a random person, but I waited with her on the subway platform for nearly an hour until her train finally came. She said, "Look for my email." We'll see.

The news

2005-06-28T20:50:00.000-07:00

There was an article in the paper yesterday about the best Gothic church in Brooklyn. Brooklyn is called the "borough of churches," unfittingly to my mind. Although I get the impression.

Which church was it? The one two blocks from my apartment. The one Julia Roberts filmed part of Mona Lisa Smile inside.

I was bummed about the NBA Finals--I think Tim Duncan is a clown. When it got the the fourth quarter with a tied score, I was jumping up and down on my sofa with glee.

I'm going to have enormous amounts of reading on my upcoming vacation. Two train rides, four hours to sit and listen to tunes. I think I need to pick up some new CDs.

Sunday night I read over the comments on my last group of novel excerpts from when I was in the writing class. I was encourgaed, although I have hardly touched the thing for a while. I was in the cafe the other day and they were playing "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" and these two Italian women (at least that's what they souned like they were saying). The younger, prettier one was bobbing her head to Led Zeppelin.

"It gets louder," I said to them.

"Oh yess? Oh, louder! Oh my!"

Then came final part when he hits the cymbal on every note, the kind of "loud" that if you listen to it on headphones, after you've got tintinnitus.

And the drum part in "Dazed and Confused" I've always liked.

Peace.

Skip to My Lou

2005-06-25T09:17:00.000-07:00

Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

Fly's in the buttermilk,
Shoo, fly, shoo,
Fly's in the buttermilk,
Shoo, fly, shoo,
Fly's in the buttermilk,
Shoo, fly, shoo,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

Cows in the cornfield,
What'll I do?
Cows in the cornfield,
What'll I do?
Cows in the cornfield,
What'll I do?
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

There's a little red wagon,
Paint it blue
There’s a little red wagon,
Paint it blue
There’s a little red wagon,
Paint it blue
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

Lost my partner,
What'll I do?
Lost my partner,
What'll I do?
Lost my partner,
What'll I do?
Skip to my lou, my darlin'.

Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

I'll get another one
Pretty as you,
I'll get another one
Pretty as you,
I'll get another one
Pretty as you,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'

Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

Can't get a red bird,
Jay bird'll do,
Can't get a red bird,
Jay bird'll do,
Can't get a red bird,
Jay bird'll do,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.
Cat's in the cream jar,
Ooh, ooh, ooh,
Cat's in the cream jar,
Ooh, ooh, ooh,
Cat's in the cream jar,
Ooh, ooh, ooh,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip, skip, skip to my Lou,
Skip to my Lou, my darlin'.

2005-06-22T20:45:00.000-07:00

I see Amazon.com is now listing book stats such as word count on its website.

Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time(great book, buy it NOW): 260 pp., 61,000 words

The Namesake: 306 pp., 102,000 words.

That had been my number one question that, no matter how many times I asked it, never seemed to be answered satisfactorily. “60,000 to 90,000,” people would say. “So how many pages is that? Then the conversation moves on, or if they answer, I’m still not clear. They themselves don’t really even know; more often than not, that’s the answer given.

So now I know. The Namesake is a paperback the way I like paperbacks: with dense text, black type on a white page, yum yum yum. My vacation coming up, two weeks plus, all I’m going to do is read.

So I’d known for a while Woodlawn in the Bronx is an Irish neighborhood. So I went there, wondering it is was the type of place to move to, if their WFUV reception is good, and how Irish it really is. However, at the end of the subway line, the Woodlawn stop actually lets you out in between the park and the cemetery, not in the neighborhood itself. So you need to walk 10 minutes and then cross this major highway.

Hwever, the neighborhood is most definitely Irish, and WFUV coms in super-good there. (WFUV, the Fordham rado station, actually mostly plays adult alternative, and there are NO commercial AAA format stations in NYC, shame of shames--I'm getting XMRadio!). As I walked around they were playing John Prine’s first album, the one with “Hello in There” on it—most depressing song ever, or pretty close to it.

I don’t know why I’m so into Irish things, since the Irish people you see in Woodlawn and Woodside (in Queens) are knotty, thin young men with buzz cuts, Umbro shirts and Adidas soccer shoes, and standing in groups outside every pub. The romance of Irish people in NYC is a complete fiction, but I’m too dumb to get the hint, I guess.

However, were I to fall asleep on the subway, I would now know how to get around if I woke up at the final stop.

John Prine’s “Hello in There” (a song I first heard Oct. 31, 1993, in Bristol, Vermont):

We had an apartment in the city,
Me and Loretta liked living there.
It'd been years since the kids had grown,
A life of their own,
left us alone.

John and Linda live in Omaha,
And Joe is somewhere on the road.
We lost Davy in the Korean war,
And I still don't know what for,
don't matter anymore.

You know that old trees just grow stronger,
And old rivers grow wilder every day.
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say,
"Hello in there, hello."

Me and Loretta, we don't talk much more,
She sits and stares through the back door screen.
And all the news just repeats itself
Like some forgotten dream
that we've both seen.

Someday I'll go and call up Rudy,
We worked together at the factory
But what could I say if he asks "What's new?"
"Nothing, what's with you?
Nothing much to do."

So if you're walking down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes,
Please don't just pass 'em by and stare
As if you didn't care, say,
"Hello in there, hello."

The Archive (Or, "Go east")

2005-06-21T19:38:00.000-07:00

There was an article in the paper on Sunday, in the NYTimes, entitled "Go East, Young Man." It was about how the edge of East Williamsburg keeps getting pushed further and further east. When I first moved to New York, there was an article I read about an East Williamsburg gallery called "Fifth Stop"--as in the fifth stop on the L train as you're going into Brooklyn. Montrose Ave, it's called. Now this article mentioned the sixth stop as the edge, Morgan Ave. Having only gone as far as the fourth stop, Grand Av., I figured why not. (A running theme, apparently).

Also, a coffeehouse I'd seen advertised recently, The Archive, was there, and *ahem* that was my original idea, way back in 2002.

East Williamsburg is mostly blocks of one-story warehouses, with tiny signs or no signs, with major streets looking like side streets and every street anonymously including chain link fences. I got up aboveground and couldn't tell which way was Bushwick or which East Williamsburg. But I found my way, along Flushing Ave and Knickerbocker (although the group of young Hispanic men milling aobut intimidated me.) Either Hispanics or skinny white people with asymmetrical, super-tight retro polo jerseys with the collars up.

I've alwasy wondered what people think when they see white people moving into the neighborhood and gentrifying it. "Oh, great, rents will be raised," they may say. Soon weird art galleries open with brain-wrackingly difficult art hung on the walls, with streams of peope gathering for some unknown lure. What the hell do they find so fascinating with the orange canvases and dumb, jokey one-offs?

The Archive was cool: friendly staff, showig some endless Bjork video. I got a large coffee for !1.50 and then read this feminist magazine, the kind with three columns of text and zero graphics.

Then I went to a movie.

Tomorrow I'll write about Saturday, when I went to the North Bronx and walked around in the supposedly Irish section.

Peace.

Where to begin?

2005-06-19T22:13:00.000-07:00

Where to begin? I was sitting on my stoop during the first few minutes of the overtime of the NBA Finals game last night, with my upstairs neighbors, and their two German friends visiting for the week. Suddenly, a thin, short Hispanic man crashed into our gate, obviously completely drunk, chattering about something. My upstairs neighbor, the female of the couple, is Spanish (although I always think of her as German, she has light brown hair and fair skin and is not at all Latin-acting or sounding) spoke to him. He was lost, he had no idea where he was or how to get home. Then he falls back and lays on the sidewalk in front of our apartment building.

"He's drunk," I said.

"Yes, but still," my male upstairs neighbor said.

The female speaks to him for a bit, trying to get his phone number. They give him a cellphone as he lay on the concrete, but he is imcomprehensible and slurring every word. Then he says he needs to use a bathroom.

I am smoking a cigarette and am lying on the pavement to be more at "his level." Oh, why not, I figure. "He can use my bathroom."

So my male upstairs neighbor and I take him upstairs, carrying him like I'm sure I've been carried before. Along the way I tell him I'm Irish and done this before, trying to cheer him up. He is nonresponsive. We take him into my apartment, into my bathroom, where I close the door. Minutes later I check in on him--fallen off the toilet seat, his pants around his ankles, leaning on my tub. "Moises!" I yell. (That's his name we've learned) Sit there!" Then I hand him a Sharpie and a notebook to write his phone number on. Then minutes later when I check on him, he's getting sick onto my bathmat, his underwear around his ankles as he sits on my toilet.

Strangely, however, I find everything amusing in a sort of way. How many times did I hear about my friend cleaning up after me when I was stone drunk? And I'd always wondered when it would fall on me to do the same. "Well, he's a human being, and polite, so who really cares? Plus it's only my superabsorbant bath mat, which I've never liked the color of."

But I pick him up, command him to pull up his pants, which he does. Then I walk him down to the sidewalk with my neighbor's help. Moises lays on the sidwealk, his eyes go glassy, and he stops moving. "Moises! Moises!" I yell into his face. Nothing.

My male upstairs neighbor goes to the precinct a block away. The cops ocme, try to get him to respond. Nothing. Then as they write up paperwork, I try to feel his heart, see if it's beating. I sincerely am not sure if it is or isn't.

As I feel his chest, he raises his head, tries to sit up. "Tell him it's ok," I tell my neighbor. She does.

"Tell him he's with friends," and she does.

The cops say, "Look, he's awake," and run over.

Eventually, we learn he's a fresh Guatamalan immigrant, under 21, and lives nearby. He has money for a cab ride, and after much discussion, he rides away in a cab.
I keep saying, "Isn't there a drunk tank anymore?" But I guess not.

My neighbors are like, "Wow, so nice of you, he threw up in your bathroom." Yes, but it was only something to roll up and throw out. Plus--Christian duty, man doing kindness to man, all that.

Quite a night, huh? I did a lot this weekend actually, I'll wrote more later.

Peace.

Bloomsday, June 16, 2005

2005-06-16T18:54:00.000-07:00

If you're going to read only one chapter of Ulysses, a book which actually is both easer to read and a lot duller than it's cracked up to be, read the second-to-last chapter called "Ithaca." It's the section that is in the form of a questionnaire, in the form of questions and answers, written in a scientific-sounding voice. This is my favorite part, a scene where it's four in the morning and Bloom and Stephen Daedalus (Joyce's alter-ego) are in Blooms's house, Bloom has made hot chocolate for them, they talk, and then Stephen leaves, and Bloom stands outside listening to him walk away:

Where were the several members of the company which with Bloom that day at the bidding of that peal had travelled from Sandymount in the south to Glasnevin in the north?

Martin Cunningham (in bed), Jack Power (in bed), Simon Dedalus (in bed), Ned Lambert (in bed), Tom Kernan (in bed), Joe Hynes (in bed), John Henry Menton (in bed), Bernard Corrigan (in bed), Patsy Dignam (in bed), Paddy Dignam (in the grave).

Alone, what did Bloom hear?

The double reverberation of retreating feet on the heavenborn earth, the double vibration of a jew's harp in the resonant lane.

Alone, what did Bloom feel?

The cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees below freezing point or the absolute zero of Fahrenheit, Centigrade or Réaumur: the incipient intimations of proximate dawn.

Of what did bellchime and handtouch and footstep and lonechill remind him?

Of companions now in various manners in different places defunct: Percy Apjohn (killed in action, Modder River), Philip Gilligan (phthisis, Jervis Street hospital), Matthew F. Kane (accidental drowning, Dublin Bay), Philip Moisel (pyemia, Heytesbury street), Michael Hart (phthisis, Mater Misericordiae hospital), Patrick Dignam (apoplexy, Sandymount).

What prospect of what phenomena inclined him to remain?

The disparition of three final stars, the diffusion of daybreak, the apparition of a new solar disk.

Had he ever been a spectator of those phenomena?

Once, in 1887, after a protracted performance of charades in the house of Luke Doyle, Kimmage, he had awaited with patience the apparition of the diurnal phenomenon, seated on a wall, his gaze turned in the direction of Mizrach, the east.

He remembered the initial paraphenomena?

More active air, a matutinal distant cock, ecclesiastical clocks at various points, avine music, the isolated tread of an early wayfarer, the visible diffusion of the light of an invisible luminous body, the first golden limb of the resurgent sun perceptible low on the horizon.

Some humor

2005-06-15T20:24:00.000-07:00

There's this unicyclist I see every now and then who rides around Park Slope. He juggles as he goes, up and down the sidewalk, and I've seen him probably four times. My immediate reaction to him was, "wow, a unicycle." However after I looked closer and noticed he was juggling, I thought, "what a showoff." He probably imagines that people who pass him exclaim,

"Oh! A unicyclist juggling! Well, well, well, this just goes to prove New York is one crazy place! You just don't see things like that in East Bumfuck, U.S.!"

As he pedals down the sidewalk, instead of looking at him, people ignore him. I find the guy a clown--I feel like sticking a stick in his spokes. Not really, thouugh.

---

I read in the paper an article about Mike Tyson, which quotes someone writing about an earlier boxer from last century: "He was built like a Greek statue, but with fewer moves."

---

It was hot yesterday and I put on a T-shirt and shorts to run errands. The colar of my shirt seemed awfully high, riding up onto my throat, but being too low in the back. "This shirt is cut funny," I figured. I roamed around, the grocery store, the laundromat, up and down my neighborhood. Then I noticed the back logo on my shirt was on the front. Could it be, I thought. I reached for the tag--ah it's in the front. My shirt was on backwards. oops.

Usually when it's so hot that when or custodian fills the air conditioner with freon, which I didn't think was really possible, I tell him, "Hey, spray some of that stuff on me! I could use a cool-down!" He looks up with a huge grin, "No!! No!! You can't spray freon, so get outta here!

The news

2005-06-14T19:08:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth emailed me yesterday, chatting and singing off by writing,

"Extending experiemental e-handshake of goodwill."

So I emailed her back and chatted, and signed off,

"Returning amiacle attitude."

I am going out each night this week except for otnight. Yesterday I went to a reading on memoirs (yawn). Tomorrow a storytelling party, hosted by Ethan Hawke (suposedly he will be there). Thursday is Bloomsday, so I'm going to go up to the UWS and walk around with my headphones on, to listen to the broadcast of the readings. And have some beers somewhere. I actually enjoy several sections of Ulysses so I'm looking forward to it.

Actually, game 3 is tonight, so I'll watch that. I had a friend come over Sunday night, I gave him three beers. He was staring at himself in the mirror as he rambled on, he was s fascinated by the experience. Guys night in, huh?

Peace.

My darling...

2005-06-11T17:10:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth and I broke up last night. We met for dinner, I picked her up at her place, and we walked over to her favorite diner. I had been feeling uninterested in her lately, and our daily emails to one another were turning into chores. I felt myself trying to force up good stories and things to say; the chemistry just wasn't there.

So as we sat, I mentioned something odd that happened the other day. After my morning meeting, I went home for lunch. A woman from the same meeting was walking with me. We've known each other for a while, we were hired around the same time, she is 27 or 28 I think. So it turns out she was walking home for lunch herself, and she lives less than a block away from me. As we got to my stoop, I kind of was like, "well, I'm here now." She said, "OK, I'm going home too, bye." And we parted.

I told this to Elizabeth. She asked, "Is she close to your age?" I said so. "Well, maybe you should ask her out."

So we kept eating, and about fifteen minutes later I asked why she thought I should ask her out, and if it was because "we're not going out anymore." "I wouldn't want to hold you back from anything, if you find someone you really like, I don't want to stand in your way."

So we finished eating, she paid (she had offered to pay, since it was a cash-only place and I had no cash on me). Then she asked if I wanted to walk in the park. We went up there, and as we strolled she said, "So, I guess I screwed up again, huh?" We were talking and I was laying out my recent unhappiness with things. She said very little, and I kept asking her why she was saying to little. She would either not respond, or say something like, "What am I supposed to say? I guess you're right. I agree wih you."

Then as we were walking she suddenly stopped and took off her shoes. "I can't walk anymore with you. I'm going home. Goodbye." And she stood there, looking at me angrily.

I told her to stay, she moved to walk off a few times, never actually beginning t stride, and I convinced her to sit on a nearby bench. She asked if I had been faking everything, and I said no. Then she asked if I wanted her to apologize, although she thought she had apologized a thousand times already. I replied no, but I wanted to know if she wanted to talk about how things were going. "What's the point? I agree with what you're saying." She told me that she was going to walk across the grass in order to leave, which was why she took off her shoes.

So we walked back to her stoop, we hugged, I told her she was being awfully defiant, passive-aggressive, and it must be nice to just listen to my side of things and not have to give her side. I'm really conflicted here, and I'm hurt that you don't really seem to care on way or another." "You let your own feelings be hurt," she said. "I hope you don't expect me to cry, I'm not going to cry."

I didn't like all the tension, obviously. I figured she would behave the way she did when she dumped me a few months ago--we'd both relax, the tension wold lift, we could talk freely. I was hurt she was so blase about it. When she would quote things I'd said, she put a nasty tone in my voice, and the things she'd bring up were (to me) totaly out of context and typical of everything: everything came out wrong with her, but she talked so much I just shut up and let it slide by. When I finally wanted to get my words out, she shut up and refused to even try.

She asked me, "Do you want to get married ever?" "Sure," I said. "But not until your 40?" "No, basically as soon as possible. What about you?" "Ye-es..!" she chided me, sort of, nicely.

Walking home, I felt bad how things turned out, since she probalby is going to chalk me up as some older guy who only used her, or something. It's like she wanted to get me to dump her, and then once it happened, wanted to avoid me. But she said I love you at least once! Women: who can figure them out. Well, she is 22...what do I expect? I cringe imagining the myriad ways she could misinterpret my intentions, but I also blame myself for letting the relationship take that course instead of asserting ymself more. I'm not an assetive person! I assume once I become assertive, people will be angry and reject me. It's somethng I work on.

Well, at least I've go the weekend to chill and unwind. I had about five different instense dreams last night, ranging from kind of cool to absolute nightmares. Peace.

The news

2005-06-09T20:53:00.000-07:00

There was an elderly couple I saw, the woman with Alzheimer's apparently. As they were leaving the store I saw them in, the woman put her pocketbook strap over her shoulder, messenger-style. The strap slipped off her shoulder as she did, and the elderly man reached up and slipped it back gently. Then he held her hand as he led her outside.

Ah, the NBA Finals start tonight. Potentially seven nights of the pure sprts experience: game on on a weeknight usually, two and a half hours or so, the perfect excuse to get smashed. I know what I'm doing the tonight, Sunday, Tuesday, and Thrusday. And avoiding a sweep, next Sunday and so on.

I am currently reading:

Fabric of the Cosmos, a book on cosmology
"A Problem from Hell": America in the Age f Genocide, a book about...um, aboutt hat
Stop-Time, Frank Conroy's memoir of growing up (he ran the Iowa Writer's Workshop and recently died)

plus others. I wanted to start up reading Ulysses again, since it's June, so maybe I will.

Elizabeth and I are going to dinner on Friday, I'm wondering if I will feel like breaking up with her. All the reasons we stopped seeing each other before, which actually in retrospect was kind of a bummer, are still present. However, what do I know about romance?

Elizabeth

2005-06-07T20:46:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth and I had our first fight last night. I had been away this weekend at my father's committal service. So last night after emailing her during the day and having her reply, I called her. As I was chatting, she spoke to someone (it sounded like that) and I asked what was going on. "Nothing!" she chirped.

Then I was telling a story and she sensed it was coming to an end, and she said, Fine...fine, fine, fine." And then jumped in with soemthing of her own to tell.

Then I was talking about my family, describing the weekend, and she interupted me. "This car just hit to parked cars! Oh, if my landlord had seen that, he would have said something! Anyway, as you were saying?"

I paused. "Yeah, I just trying to tell you something important about my family."

"I'm sorry, you were saying...(and then she repeated my last two sentences, verbatim.)

"You know, I think I'll call you back," I said.

"Sorry!" she said, plaintively.

Then I looked at my cell phone, the red END button, and pushed it and hung up on her. Then I turned off the phone, in case she tried t call me. Why should I talk to her? I thought. She's only half listening. She even interupts me in the middle of a sensitive family story. I got up and washed my facing, stewing over her, like all women, always selfishly thinking of themselves. She's 22, what did I expect? She's clueless.

But then I recalled she had repeated what I had said to her. She was listening, although not actively or with much effort, so that I felt it. I went back into the living room and called her.

"I'm really, really sorry," she said when she picked up. I explained to her why I had hung up on her, but that it was wrong, and that I was sorry. I was being touchy over what she had said, I told her.

She told me her roommate was angry with her, and I asked why. "She's mad at me," she said.

"How so? What behavior is she mad about?"

"Oh, she thinks I was rude and insensitive."

"Oh..." I replied, lamely. See a pattern?

Then as we went to hang up, she said, "Do you forgive me? because I really didn't mean to offend you. Becasue I love you."

"I love you, too."

Then that was it. We went to supper last weekend and as we were making out on my couch, I told her I loved her, and she replied, "Thanks for sharing that, honey." Not that I minded--I heard a definition of love as being when you are concerned about another person's interests, worries, and well-being as muh as your own. Not as much as my own, but sure, a lot I guess.

I mean, I guess there's a lot fo people I love. And a lot I don't.

Peace.

Coffeehouse news

2005-06-02T20:20:00.000-07:00

I was listening to the Flaming Lips last night. I discovered them one day when I was in the Park Street Cafe in Boston, in 2000. I was listening as their album The Soft Bulletin played. I kept thinking it was a new Beck album, but when I asked they told me. I had always known about them form that song "Tangerine" which was a minor, minor hit in the early '90s.

However, Park Street Cafe closed soon after and I figured, there goes my favorite coffeehouse, I guess it's time to move out of Boston. There were many reasons I moved, but missing a good cafe was one of them. The place was essentially a Bostonian Tea Lounge.

I was playing "Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell" and "Waiting on a Superman" for Elizabeth the other night, she liked them both. That band is full of jokesters but their songs are technically perfect, with lots of acoustic guitar accents and touches that I really dig.

Some lyrics:

I was waiting on a moment
But the moment never came
All the billion other moments
Were just slipping all away.

and...

Tell everybody waiting for Superman
That they should try to hold on, best they can
He hasn't dropped them, forgot them, or anything
It's just too heavy for Superman to lift.

That song was the first song I played on my car's CD player, so I think of that car everytime I hear that song begin.

Peace.

2005-06-01T19:50:00.000-07:00

I'm going to a book signing tongiht, where my old writing teacher is signing copies of her new novel. It's on the far west side, beyond Hell's Kitchen, on some pier.

Elizabeth has a new job: at a lage publishing company, well known for its genre fiction of a certain type. She did the thing that truly signaled her new security: she resubscribed to The New Yorker, her favorite magazine. Kind of the magazine that made me want to ask her out. She mentoned the cover where Adam and Eve are being banished over the Brooklyn Bridge, to Broklyn, out of Manhattan. "That's going to be one of the famous covers they always reprint," she told me later. I heartily agreed. I thought, If she reads the New Yorker, she is not merely another 22-year old fresh from college wanting to get trashed, but soemone who likes long ruminative essays and (kind of overhyped) pieces. When the New Yorker is good, it's very good. But when it's mediocre, which is more often than is worth subscirbing to, it's Newsweek-mediocre.

I'm a total book nerd. I got an edition of the U.S.A. trilogy by John Dos Passos from another library, myself the first to check it out (I can look up those kinds of things). It is kind of a documentary novel of the first half of the 20th century, ful of scenes of train-jumpes rolling through Syracuse on their way to Chicago, and Irish immigrants in Terre Haute, Indiana, living in tenements and seeing football games for the first time. It's pretty fucking awesome. One of those books you likc your chops to tear into.

Peace.

Yahoo Messenger

2005-05-29T18:44:00.000-07:00

I dowloaded Yahoo Messenger last night onto my laptop. This is kind of the most popular chat forum, Internet chat being something I did in the late '90s but never since. Last night, I realized how sophisticated some bots are. Also, I had an interesting experience.

It was around 1:30 am (I couldn't sleeplast night) that I logged on. There is a way to look at people's webcams, and I browsed a couple. But they kept denying me permission, because I guess the webcammer needs to allow youto connect to their computer. However, one woman from Ohio let me. Bear in mind, it was 12:30 am in Ohio at the time. She was grossly overweight, and just staring into the blue light of her monitor. But her living room was large, and you could see the old brown sofa in the background with liter and junk strewn about it. It was actually kind of depressing. I looked at it for a few seconds and then closed the window. She was simply sitting there, staring into the monitor, alone in the dark room.

Every time I think I'm missing out on some kind of engaging world of chat, I log on and quickly get disabused of that notion. The relentless hookups, bland nicks, idiotic emoticons. The people who seem to apparently abandon their lives to spend into front of a computer screen until, as David Sedaris writes, "your eyes cross."

---

I'm going to do some writing tonight...Elizabeth and I are going to hang out tomorrow, she finally could fit me in. She took a picture of me a few weekends ago and she had it hung on her bulletin board, in the center. Then on Thursday when I was there, it was no longer there.

"What happened to me picture?" I asked her.

"Oh, just putting things away," she replied. Huh?? What does that mean?

The party

2005-05-27T19:53:00.000-07:00

I went to Elizabeth’s housewarming last night, after work. There were around 25 people in all who came. Most of them were in their early twenties, 22 or 23, although some of her former colleagues came and they were late twenties. As I was standing around, sipping Guinness and chatting platitudes with some random people, Elizabeth would pass by and tickle the inside of my arm. Or she would slip her arm around my waist. At one point, we were in her room having a brief makeout, when someone passed by. She shoved me away, startling me.

Later as we kissed she had recently eaten a peanut, and a tiny bit of it was in her mouth as we French-kissed. It moved into my mouth, where I ate it. Ah, swapping bodily fluids!

It’s weird, because ethere were so many literate, gabby, attractively stylish women there. It is awfully hard to not wonder what dating a 27 year old would be like when you’re dating a 22 year old who is really, really intelligent, but also does things like call in sick to her lifeline job over the course of three weeks. Whenever I enter a room, I always look around a bit and unconsciously notice who is the best looking woman in the room. Are there qualities that override purely feminine beauty, such as brains and intelligence, grace, style, good humor, supposrtiveness. I didn’t really like Sophie because I felt it was “join me or else.” I am getting that feeling with Elizabeth. Also, it was strange being around those people who are still full of energy and are un-serious in serious ways. Um…not really sure.

This weekend I can already tell is going to be one of those “lost weekend” things. A long weekend, sunny and warm, with nothing to do but ride in elevated subway cars over formerly Italian neighborhoods, to the ocean, to a movie theater, maybe walk over a bridge, sit in a park, meet my date to celebrate her (apparent) job news. I just learned about it.

Peace.

I was looking up someone

2005-05-24T20:44:00.000-07:00

I was looking up someone, an actress, last night, and came across her listing in Wikipedia. Wikipedia is a free, do-it-yourself encyclopedia which is pretty browse-friendly. I always try to resist getting *too* into Internet things, having had a friend of mine in college starting including his Undernet nicknames in his email signature every time I'd talk to him. And of course, it got to be less and less that we'd talk, let alone see each other.

There was a link to the Internet Movie Database there as well, or www.imdb.com. That site lists every actor/actress and everything they've done. You come across people who appear in one film from 1984, and then never again. I wonder, what happens to them? Are they what I think of as the typical actors, living in Los Angeles, staying in one of those condo-style places you see on Blind Date when the camera crew goes along as they pick up their dates?

Eventually, after the put out audition after audition, reading Variety and whatever else, they land something in a B-movie. But then they decide to move back to the South, or the Northwest, or wherever. Maybe they get married or something. And from being a potentially famous person, they now just pull out a tape (or not, depending on the B-levelness of the thing) and show it off at their barbecue as they sit around drinking beer or wine.

Well hope your day is fine. Peace.

The news, seriously

2005-05-23T19:39:00.000-07:00

I had to laugh, this morning when they mentioned Ariel Sharon getting heckled at a speech. The hardest of hard-liners being the one to finally pull out (partially) of Gaza, how unlikely is that? There was a big article in the paper today that had a picture of some 14-yrear-old screaming into the camera, for Shjaron to quit acting like Hitler and selling Jews down the river. Give me a break...Jewish people can be such racists. I don't see how any reasonable person can not sympathize with the Palestinians. The Jewish argument is basically, "We're Jewish, that land should be ours."

Elizabeth slept over on Wendesday night, making three nights. Then yeterday the words slipped out: "I love you." I guess my instincts when it comes to romance are off enough that I can see what becomes of this. I mean, every time I think I've got something figured out, I have no clue. It is nice dating someone really, realy intelligent, whose body of knowledge complements my own so nicely.

So...we'll see.

Public TV

2005-05-17T08:32:00.000-07:00

I was home watching public TV last night. The production companies that make the shows, NOVA or AMerican Experience and others, are these old-school media companies with '80s-style graphic designs on their logos. It's weird to see them. Public TV and radio both have these cult folllowings, with all these shows coming on at the most godforsaken hours. Sometimes I lie in bed listening to them, and wonder, "Wow, who else is listening to this?"

I also feel that way with certain books and songs.

Elizabeth slept over Friday night. The moment we're both like, "Okay, let's get into bed now" is the coolest. "Which side should I sleep on?" she asked me. Then we pull back the covers, each climb in, and throw the covers up onto ourselves. Then the typical cuddling stuff.

She's having a housewarming next week, I'm invited. I think I'll get her a blender, she mentioned she needed one.

I guess there's news but I haven't felt it was blog-worthy news, really. Peace.

You Oughtta Be in Pictures

2005-05-13T19:25:00.000-07:00

This link has my picture:

http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2005/05/08/arts/20050509_NOVE_SLIDESHOW_2.html

I am the man in the background on the far right, to the left of the (foreground) man in the orange check/striped shirt with the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. I have my right hand up to my ear, looking like I'm making a cell phone call (I might have been) and my left hand is up in mid-poise. It looks like I'm wearing colored-lens glasses, but I'm not.

The story is from nytimes.com and has a headline "Would You, Could You, in a Box (Write, That Is)?" Search for "Flux" (it was at the Flux Factory) and it'll come up. The picture is the second frame in the slide show.

Yawwwwwn. Quiet day today, really.

I didn't realize that Star Wars is coming out next week, I hadn't realized it was so close.

Peace.

Finally

2005-05-12T21:52:00.000-07:00

I was reading last night and finished Reading Lolita in Tehran. Then I got up, walked around my apartment, and noticed I had nothing left to start, so I could finally start The World According to Garp.

Last night was one of those million-chore nights, which are good to fall into bed after, but which are daunting to actual perform.

So anyway, I read 15 pages, and now it's my "carry around in my bag" book. I don't know why I got so into John Irving lately--I guess because of the hugeness of the books, the New england settings, the "classic modern author" thing. Who knows.

Readig is fun!

Peace.

Iran in the '80s

2005-05-11T19:17:00.000-07:00

For my book club, we are reading "Reading Lolita in Tehran." It is set mostly during the late '70s and early '80s in Tehran, Iran, during the revolution against the Shah and for Islamic fundamentalists. And it is pretty fascinating! Although the writing style is kind of precious, and the pace moves slowly and could have been edited down to make it sharper, it is pretty good reading.

My writing teacher emailed me and mentoned a book signing for her new novel, called "Journey to Bom Goody." Which I immediately thought was a brilliant title. It has a certain cachet, very catchy, I think.

Well...elizabeth and I are going to dinner this Friday. I wonder where this is going. Both of us are holding back quite a bit--me beause I'm not sure how crazy about her I am, although she's good for me, I'm not sure how good TO me she is. She doesn't show much interest in seeing my place, or asking me about myself. She mentioned that she was "manipulative" and I can see it, since it's kind of like, "Come buy me dinner, enact my fantasy of an older, sophisticated guy to pursue me, and then leave." What do I get out of this? Of course, people might answer, "well, what do you do anyway? Sit home and blog about how much you love this new snack mix from the specialty store?" Um...good point.

I might have to raise these things Friday...she has been having job interviews lately and I don't want to disturb her, but I mean, I need clarity! I understand life does not play out according to the script in your head (man, do I understand that) but I think it's reasonable to bring up ow out-of-place it feels.

Reminds me of a story I once read, called "What It Felt Like, Seeing Chris." A so-so story.

Peace.

The news

2005-05-09T20:30:00.000-07:00

I noticed that John Irving is coming out with a new novel, one that is more than 800 pages long. I really miss the experience of having a huge book to settle into, like Infinite Jest or something. I might read The Stand at some point.

I have a few magazine subscriptions which I bought so I would kind of "improve" myself. However, one of them, Christianity Today, turned out to be a little too much reading. I am letting it lapse, and the next time I have a hanering for junk reding on subways and buses during weekends and holidays, I will just go to the newsstand.

---

I went to the snack store Thursday and bought two bags of that snack mix I like. Then I ate an entire bag in one sitting...it was a little bit of a bad idea. Especially since tonight I have a free evening to sit and read, it would have been ideal. Funny, I think I can only read when I'm drunk now. Or at least, it's a lot more fun.

Peace.

The La's

2005-05-05T20:25:00.000-07:00

I had this roommate my freshman year in college, he listened obsessively to some small market alternative station from southern Vermont. It was annually listed as like the number 3 or 4 best small market station in America by Rolling Stone. However, the reception for the station in northern Vermont (where we were) ended in our parking lot. As if.

Anyway, one day I was zoned out,but this song from the La's hit me like a ton of bricks:

If you want, I'll sell you a ripe story...

The song was "Son of a Gun" and it was the first song on a 12-song album. The finalsong, "Looking Glass," is eight minutes and indexes, like Revelations or some codex, the entire previous work. I've listened to it about 10 times these past two days, which, considering all else that's gone on, is a lot.

---

I wrote a review of William F. Buckley's memoir on Amazon.con; I said it sucked. So I get an email from someone with the last name of Buckley, claiming to be 17 and"growing upin the Buckley household" telling me off. However, being 32, I can answer these questions pretty well. Someone else once emailed me about that review, and when I emailed back how I burst into tears at Bush's 2000 acceptance speech in Philadelphia (at this story:

A couple of years ago, I visited a juvenile jail in Marlin, Texas, and talked with a group of young inmates. They were angry, wary kids. All had committed grownup crimes. Yet when I looked in their eyes, I realized some of them were still little boys.

Toward the end of the conversation, one young man, about 15 years old, raised his hand and asked a haunting question, "What do you think of me?" He seemed to be asking, like many Americans who struggle: Is there hope for me? Do I have a chance? And, frankly, do you, a white man in a suit, really care about what happens to me?

A small voice, but it speaks for so many: single moms struggling to feed the kids and pay the rent; immigrants starting a hard life in a new world; children without fathers in neighborhoods where gangs seem like friendship or drugs promise peace, and where sex sadly seems the closest thing to belong. We are their country too. And each of us must share in its promise or the promise is diminished for all.

If that boy in Marlin believes he's trapped and worthless and hopeless, if he believes his life has no value, then other lives have no value to him, and we're all diminished.

When these problems are not confronted, it builds a wall within our nation. On one side are wealth, technology, education and ambition. On the other side of that wall are poverty and prison, addiction and despair. And my fellow Americans, we must tear down that wall!)

this woman emailed me back: are you really a guy?

I was like, huh? What the hell are you talking about? I guess years of metrosexualism working in a female-dominated field has made it hard to tell. Although, I find it amusing to be the only guy on committees and such: it feeds my natural sense of loneliness or something. Who knows.

Peace.

Well...

2005-05-04T21:44:00.000-07:00

I slept with Elizabeth last night. Only slept, I should add. She emailed me last week and asked about hanging out this sunday, so we did. We went to the Chrerry Blossom Festival.

Then we went to her apartment, and chatted, and then had a brief make-out session. Then the next day she emailed me saying she was thinking of me.

Then last night she called me at 9:30 and asked if I wanted to come over. So I went, we talked for an hour or so, and then went to bed.

It was the classic sleep-together thing, which I haven't done since 1996. Incidentally, she laughed at how I remember exact dates for everything. "Chronological memory--isn't that what that's called?"

It was weird, lying in bed on 9th Street, the train rolling by at three a.m., the distant hum. Her lying close, against the wall, me on the outside. Then I had a really intense dream, two actually. When I woke up, she made coffee and then I left.

Hunh...go figure.

The news

2005-05-03T07:21:00.000-07:00

I was in the grocery store last night, I saw a gallon of beer on sale. It was a mini-keg with a red plastic tap. I went home and figured it out, it was "1 GAL. 1 QT." so that means it's 20 pints.

Also, there is this snack mix I've been devouring at this happy hour nearby; it is apparently on sale at a store in lower Manhattan.

Hence, instead of worrying about rushing home and if there's a good seat, and if the attractive bartender thinks I'm a dork for reading by myself all the time, I can have the exact same experience at home. Because, alast Thursday, I stole the glass I was served the Guinness in. this was at the going-away party I went to.

---

I went to a writer's conference this past weekend; it was not all that enlightening except for a few things, but it was enjoyable. Would I go again? I'm not sure. I got to mingle a bit, but not much. I met other writers and swapped some phone numbers; also it seemed I got hit on a few times.

I like reading, and I'm not sure how gung-ho about writing I am right at the moment. I have a lot going on, really. I have stories I want to write about, but I've also understood in some ways I need to do more living, etc. Also, my personal life is too disorganized. I still can't get up that early.

---

I saw a satellite radio walkman on sale recently; it comes with a home kit for playing when you're...uh, at home. Maybe that'll be something I pick up at some point.

Peace.

How does it feel?

2005-04-28T19:43:00.000-07:00

You go to your book club meeting, wondering if there will be any attractive women. And when you get there, there’s no one you recognize. But there’s a woman with a white blouse sitting in the back of the café, and as you walk back to look for the group you check her out. And she’s sitting with Renee, a regular, so you join them. And you hope you didn’t check out the woman too much.

Then more people show up, but not the organizer, Xavier. But you, John, were the only other member to be there when Xavier and you chose this month’s book. So people just assume you are the organizer. And you can kind of act like it.

I mean, you watch Jay Leno, and on Leno he lets people talk about themselves. He sets them up to talk. Instead of “I used to do this” he asks, “What do you think of doing this?” So people enjoy themselves and you never speak but you ask them how they feel and think.

And as the night goes on, as you encourage the the group to talk, you chat with the attractive brunette. And one woman, Betty, tells a story about how someone she knew who used to travel with no luggage except he would wear two of everything. All his clothes, he would wear everything. So we joked about it how it was funny he would wear all is clothes rather than use luggage, and a few people made dumb jokes about being hot all the time. But then this person went to Amsterdam, and he met up with a prostitute, got AIDS, and died.

And did you think what I thought? Tell me if you did.

I said, “Well, I guess we know what he wasn’t wearing two of!” And everyone died laughing, and three people said, “God, that was great!” To me, this was an obvious joke.

Later, after talking with the group, you mention how the group usually goes for a beer after the meeting. And you look away from her as you say it, but she agrees.

And then outside the café you mention the three places you’d gone before, and hope people will decide to go to the Red Lion since there was a blonde waitress there the last time you went. And the white-bloused woman, Dana, says that she’s always wanted to go to the Red Lion and so that’s the end of it.

Then as you get up to leave, the Serbian woman who is also there and is pleasant to talk to says she lives in Park Slope. And you say, I live in Park Slope too. And she says, do you want to go home with me? And everyone laughs about her double entendre.

So there’s four of you going to the Red Lion, you, Dana, Renee, and an older guy. You walk to the bar, her and you talking, the other two chatting. And you get there, order some beers, and then it’s Jay Leno Mode: get them to talk about themselves. Women want to be safe, talk about themselves, and to dance. So let them.

And the guy singing is playing sad Dire Straits songs, ”Romeo and Juliet” which the other two have never learned. And when you and Dana remark on the line “Oh Romeo? You know I used to have a scene with him.” They both look at you and whisper to each other out loud enough for you to hear “they’re making a big connection, let’s just leave.”

So you two talk about classic rock, and the guy keeps playing good songs like “Dead Flowers” and “Hallelujah.” Renee asks for another beer, so you all do.

Then after one beer Dana asks for another, and so do you. Then you discover she’s from New Hampshire, and that she went to the Red Sox parade, like you. Then she asks for another, and so do you. And then a fourth.

Then she says to you: “You want to hang out a bit or do you need to go home?”

“I want to hang out a bit.”

So she says to the other two, “We’re going to hang out bit. See you next month.” The stay for a few more minutes but then get up and leave.

So you just relax. And you hold your liquor as she spits as she talks, raving about eh classic rock tribute bad on stage, and then you hear a flick and look down and she’s handing you her card. “I love this bar!” You should come hang out with me here.”

Then it’s late, 11:30, and you both need to go. You see her to a cab, and you take the train back to Brooklyn.

Hmmph… funny how meeting a new person, someone you immediately think, “She’s the best looking person here,” and then having her turn into someone you could actually get close with, can make you feel happy.

Peace.

'Tis

2005-04-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

I am reading 'Tis by Frank McCourt,his second memoir. I nearly fell off my seat yesterday, noticing scenes which take place a block form my apartment here in Brooklyn. Um...it was pretty cool.

One scene I recall for osme reason:

He gets fired from his job as a laborer and as he waits for the elevator to leave, one of the managers of the company comes out of his office and starts talking with him. Note: he never uses punctuation for dialogue.

McCourt, isn't it?
I nod.
You're Irish, isn't that so? From...ah, no from where is it? Ah, wait wait, I know...Limerick! Aren't you from there, McCourt?
I am.
Well, a fine man you are! You need only be waiting, son, and it's a matter of time when you'll be joining us up here in the office now!
I was just fired.
For God's sake! For what?
For letting a union organizer talk to me in a coffee shop.

"I was just fired." He seems to say that with such plainspokenness. Later he walks around Manhattan all night, staying up on Fifth Avenue to watch the parishioners coming to St. Patrick's Cathedral. All because Alberta, his fiancee, left him.

---

I thought I was going to have a date tonight, the third night which I had saved for this woman. But she emailed me the past three nights saying, she had other plans. I told her on the phone tonight I had plans until Sunday, which is true. She asked if I could meet her tomorrow. I have plans, I said. Why did you want to meet if you had no time? I asked her. She replied, Well, tonight I had free, but then I wanted to take a nap.

That's flattering to hear.

This one story

2005-04-21T19:07:00.000-07:00

This one story I was thinking of writing, and having an hour or two to kick around before I watch Tori Amos perform on the Tonight Show, is this:

I thought of a cool title for a memoir, A Life Wasted in Cybercafes. I was going to have it be about male anomie or something. But rather, I think I will write it about this mistaken-identity thing. And sort of a weird travelogue. It's just the kind of thing that I might like, since it's odd and funny.

But the thing with writing: I feel like instead of staying in writing, I should be out doing things, meeting people. I used to assume my lack of friends and indifference to hanging out with people all the friggin' timewas a clue that it was more apt to stay in. But writing these past few months,well it's been nonexistent, and frankly I have hardly even tried it.

I missit, and think about it all the time. ButI did tell myself I would read more to learn more about writing, since I just has not read widely enough in fiction. And there are times of course when I think I have read too much.

I have ideas coming out mymy head, like crazy, and that is reassuring in those times I feel people think I'm "boring."

This one story started because I felt I had a need to expunge this feeling, and in a story, like "So Good to See You" did, was the best way.

Peace.

Folds, Ben

2005-04-19T18:41:00.000-07:00

Sometime in 2001 I think it was, I was sitting in my kitchen listeing to this adult alternative station from Portland. A song came on, sung by a man with a high voice:

Good morning, son.
I am a bird
Wearing a brown polyester shirt
You want a coke?
Maybe some fries?
The roast beef combo’s only $9.95
It’s okay, you don’t have to pay
I’ve got all the change

Everybody knows
It hurts to grow up
And everybody does
It’s so weird to be back here.

That last line: "so weird to be back here." It was "Still Fighting It" by Ben Folds. Later, after an all-day teacher's conference, I drove over to Brunswick and bought the album with it. As I was leaving the school, walking out to my car, a group of former and current students drove by. I was wearing my leather jacket and I thought later I must have looked super young. Someone recently told me, "You look like you're 26." The album has pictures of him sitting in some dingy Seventies-style house. I also saw a live album of his, except he DOESN'T play that song...as if.

---

I might have a date this Thursday, I'm not sure. That "mistaken identity" thing: someone emailed me thinking I was someone else. I kind of played along, but then she apologized and that's the end of it, just about.

Peace.

2005-04-18T19:11:00.000-07:00

I was home, listening to the radio on Maine Public Radio at night, when this one song got me feeling all dreamy and spellbound. Then they announced it: "Born" by Over the Rhine.

Over the Rhine?! I bought there album on a whim in 1993, and loved it ever since. They're follow-ups didn't have the same mystic-folk-rock appeal, and I noticed they were no longer on I.R.S. Records, but I knew I had to pick them up.

Then I went to Barnes and Noble and the possibly lesbian, short-haired clerk there saw what I was buying and exclaimed, "Oh, I love them!" She had put up their double album Ohio on display and I bought that too. And flirted a bit:).

I'm kind of in the middle with something weird right now...mistaken identity-type thing. Um....there's something I want, but I'm not sure about the other person. We'll see.

My vacation: I spent a lot of money, for one thing. I returned here and the weather has become summertime, full-time.

I did very little reading, although on the bus home, I did read.

Well there might be some interesting news later on in the week.

Peace.

The news

2005-04-08T19:28:00.000-07:00

Going to a coastal state tomorrow, leaving in the morning. So tomorrow is the day of the long highway, the transformation of travel. I know where I'm going. I'll update sometime, but it's not a priority. See you in the spaces.

Peace.

We fit

2005-04-05T22:49:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth and I broke up last night. We’d been dating for a week and a half about, and when I first used that term she laughed a bit. But she agreed it was an ok term. She’d told me to call her sometime, and I called last night. The call seemed forced and it was hard for me to think of things to say. Also, she hardly said anything.

If I had been more into her, I would have been depressed about it. I was trying to entertain her, to be sociable, and finally I said, “Let’s meet up and hang out.”

When I date people, I usually assume a weekend date, like a standing thing, and then a few calls during the week. I’m not the kind of guy who calls every day, who asks her out twice a week to dinner and then to a play or concert.

So we met up, and she was friendly, and everything seemed like the usual. But as we sat in the café, holding hands, she said, “So, where do you think this is going?” We began talking about how we both were just going along, going through the motions, neither one really into it, but each thinking the other one was. She mentioned I was the only older guy she’d dated (one being 50 who asked her to marry him after 6 weeks) who she didn’t have to “save” and who actually liked her for being a smart Smith grad. But I kept thinking, Sure, she’s an opera buff and sings in a choir, but she’s still only 22. Plus, it was her friend I was interested in, and I basically shrugged my shoulders to go out with her—why not. I told her I had been more into her friend, and she said, “Of course, it’s only natural, she’s 35.”

When we parted, we hugged for a while, and she said, “We fit.” Like all memorable lines, it has multiple interpretations: our bodies fit, our personalities fit, we fit as a couple. It was actually rather sad.

Still…I hope she succeeds and all.

Elizabeth

2005-04-03T21:58:00.000-07:00

The woman I've been writing about recently is named Elizabeth. Today we met for brunch, a meal I loathe. All the dishes are things such as:

Steak and gouda cheese omelet served with hollandaise sauce

Arugula and cream cheese wrap served with french fries

To me, even though it's noon when we eat, there's nothing wrong with some scrambled eggs and fried potatoes, sausage and toast on the side.

Anyway, as we eat, she mentions, "I love brunch, I should go out for brunch more often."

I had a zucchini omelet with home fries, with coffee. Afterwards, we walked around the Promenade, holding hands. Then I waited in the subway with her for her train. As it pulled in,we leaned in and made out, not the dry kisses we'd shared a few days before. But rather, tongue and lip kisses, open-mouth.

I'm worried about being a cad: when I met her, she was with a coworker close to my age. Elizabeth is 22, although with a personality of 28. Her coworker was sitting right next to me, being extremely luscious. But as we talked, I was shy. These women just want to attend some event and have a fun time with a cute guy like me, without the guy thinking they want to get asked out. Although later, Elizabeth told me they sat next to me hoping I'd speak to them.

Then, it was Elizabeth who came over and aksed if I wanted to meet their author, and then offered her card. Rather than Heather, her friend. Arrrghhh.

Thus the great contradiction: people going for the unattainable, rather than the Person Who's Good for Them. The sexy stranger, just in case it does work out, rather than the person you know it will work out with. Hence, I'm a cad. I'm a fucking cad! That sucks.