Friday, August 27, 2004

A conversation with an elder

I'm not sure I've found what I'm looking for.

You're not supposed to. Not now at least.

Will I never be satisfied?

Perhaps, but men seeking something bigger than themselves are rarely content.

What about buddah?

What about him?

Didn't he find answers to the greatest questions in contentedness itself? In just being?

Perhaps. But I get the feeling that his path is not yours.

I'm afraid I might slip. I'm going to need a do-over.

You have an infinite number of chances.

But I heard that "the only second chance in life is the chance to make the same mistake twice."

Who told you this?

A movie.

You are stuck because of how you see your life.

How do I see it?

You see it as a straight line.

I've heard this "circle of life" bulshit from a movie as well.

Circles are simple and beautiful objects, no doubt, but life is more complex than a circle.

Than how do you see it?


An etch a sketch.

whaaa?

It's a continual line. Leaving a trail that swirls and overlaps shadow's and retraces lines laid down before it.

But you never can see where the etchasketch dot is going.

A true artists sees his painting on a blank canvas.

Well I can't shake my life up and start fresh whever I choose.

Must we really go there too?

Does it always have to be this way?

This is the way it has been for thousands of years.

But it hurts sometimes.

That's just to remind you that it's all real.

there's a hole in me, how do I fill it? how did u fill it? With time? With love? With Beliefs?


come closer.

Closer.

It's not about believing or living or loving or waiting. It's not about what you have done or seen...

But the...

Shhhhhh.

You are what makes it ok.

When you are in my shoes.

It's about laughing at the rediculousness of it all.

It's watching everyone do the same shit over again.

And realizing there is one damn thing you, me or anyone else can do about it.


Monday, August 23, 2004

The amount of pasta that I consume is inversely proportionate to the amount of flowage at the time. I am once again a student, I signed a lease that way mre than I can afford and my roomate has decided he has no need for the www at our digs so I am stuck with the entire bill. Suddenly this adds a new dimension to the equation. The amount of pasta I eat is directly porportionate to how much I love y\'all. I will be eating a lot of pasta for the next couple months. Yum yum.

Today was a day of beginnings for many people. The beginning of a long journey for the AQ. Scribbs has left us as well and also the beginning of the my new busblog. Cute girl at the bus stop this morning. Black hair, skinny but smart looking. she smiled pretty big when I walked past her. I smiled back. Just me and her waiting. I love where I live. No trash ridden bus or broken escalators. Nice bus. Everyone smiling. Everyone says hello and goodbye and thank you to the driver. I got off the bus and rocked it to class.... yes, me in class. I was depressed but it's like an old baseball mitt really. Then the strangest thing happened. Just as I began to feel I was abandoned and helpless and beyond saving. Just as I thought I would have to get up and run out and never come back. That's when the girl from the bus stop walked through the door. College I thought to myself. Yes, this is college. Not the college I once knew. No. But this is college. College reinvented. College in a way you poor bastards would never live it. There will be much pasta. Ya, maybe there will be a lot of pasta... Or maybe I should just go get a job working in a sorority. Welcome back everyone. Welcome back.

Sunday, August 22, 2004

Sorry kids, I got nothing. Rode the bus today fo rthe first time. A homeless guy wanted to ride the bus accross town. Didn't ahve any $. I gave the driver a dollar for him. The bum sat next to me and proceeded to beg me for more money. I have decided I am no longer going to be charitable to random bums. I have been drinking. Not heavily. I think I am going to start drinking heavily again. I have to pay for high-speed in my apartment all by myself. That is really going to suck. Sorry, I got nothing else. Why? I work in an hour. Catering until 1 AM tonight and then hitting class at 9 AM. Where or where did I go wrong? Want to be back at the Super Cool Mag. Maybe soon. But for now, let me say, i am a changed man. Or a changing man. Ir really jsu tthe same man in a different place. Great. Grand. Wonderful.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Sometimes I think this blog needs to relax. Sometimes I want to just ill it like That Ashley Girl. I could spend all day talking about sex and people I want to sex and people who I have sexed and how damn sexy I am. But really I'm not sexy. I'm a dude and dude's aren't sexy. I mean, we can be handsome and maybe even attractive but not sexy. Sexy doesn't have a hairy ass. I am a guy and us guys have hairy asses. What could possibly be more disgusting that a hairy ass? I am so glad it's on the back side of my body because I would definitely have a serious break down if I had to look at it everyday. And I'm sorry to all those girls out there who have to look at all us guys. Cause you all are so damn sexy. With your long hair and your shaved legs and shaved whatever else you have shaved (and if you haven't shaved or waxed anything else I really think you need to take a long look at yourself and come up with a good reason why you haven't). But really you are sexiest when you know you are sexy. And when I can feel it in when you look at me and in the way you talk on the phone and in your e-mails and your smile. You're just all so damn sexy. But for some reason you're not sexy when you tell me that looking in my eyes makes you want to be a better person. I don't know why. It just doesn't.

There are really only 2 reasons I can think of that I would really love to be in a movie. The first one would be to do a dance scene like Napoleon Dynamite. The new TV spots brought that memory back to life. I just want to get up there and show y'all that I have skillz you would never believe. The second and most important reason I would want to be in a movie is so I could do "the walk." You know the one. The slow-motion walk. Maybe with a posse too. One guy to might right, a guy/girl to my left, but just one step behind. There really is no uncool way to do the walk. All you gotta do is walk and look expressionless. The camera does the rest. Just once I want to see me doing the walk. And if by some feat of unknown luck I got to both do the dance scene and the walk my third choice would be to walk around New York City, alone, maybe in the rain, looking really sentimental, intoverted and maybe a little sad with Randy Newman belting out a song in the background. In fact, that might come before the dancing one. So here's the new list, the walk, Randy Newman in NYC, the dance, a month long orgasm, and that thing about all the children of the world joining hands and singing a song of peace or whatever... That reference might be a little too old for most of you. Oh well.

In other less dramatic news, I found a place to live. I didn't cut it too close this time either. I only have to be out of my apartment by tomorrow. So it's moving time. What does this mean for you and me? It means I won't have to make up some crazy excuse that I had a horrible debilitating virus this time when I don't stop here...I mean..uhhh...nevermind. Tomorrow is my send off lunch at the magazine. Ironic that they're going to send me off and then ask me to come in for work on Friday. But I shall persevere. Soon this blog will be my very own busblog. Thanks to the free bus pass I am provided as a student, I will now ride the bus from my new abode into town whenever I'm too laze to ride my bike. The sad thing is the new place is in the nice part of town and sits on top of a hill. So really the ride into town would really be more like a coast.

Is there anyone out there watching the Olympics? I don't think so. Apparently there are hundreds of seats that just aren't filled in tons of events. I guess that's what happens when the world's noblest sporting event is in a crackpot city and designed for the sole purpose of selling all the kids Coke cans and Nike Shorts. Sorry, I'm bitter. At least Tyler Hamilton took a gold in the Cycling time trial today. I felt so bad for him in the tour. I'm hoping Italy will represent in 2006. But I'm mot so sure anymore.

Last but not least, I have never watched Sex In The City. And though I realize it's a tamed down version, I enjoyed checking it out on TBS last night. It's witty in the I-don't-have-to-think-to-hard way. And it gives me a peek-even if it's a skewed one- into the world of the female mind. It gains my seal of approval. If only I had HBO. If only I had HBO and Tivo and a rabbit in a hat and a six foot bat.


Monday, August 16, 2004

You know what? Vh1 nailed it. There really is no place I would rather be this summer than on the cast of Ocean's 12. Who wouldn't? It's called party time, Europe style. Late nights on the boat with Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Matt Damon, Julia Roberts, and I guess Catherine Zeta-Jones could tag along too. We'd be tooling around Europe. Clooney's Italina Villa? Check. Wakeboarding? Check. Backflips off a $20 mil yacht? Check. Feeling like the born again Brat Pack? Check. I was inspired by their European shenanigans. I decided I know a lot of shit. I know a lot of shit and have more common sense that most of you out there. No offense, it's just the truth. I just have a ridiculous amount of common sense. But I don't have that worldly knowledge. I don't know what it's like to walk through the Italian piatza or to surf the Chilean breaks or to Ride a Japanese bullet train or walk through the ruins of a Nazi Concentration camp in Germany. I love where I'm from but sometimes you have to leave home to realize you have he right house.

The unfortunate part of my common sense is it comes packaged with the same crap that most western males are plagued with: ADD. Most guys in this culture just cant' sit down and focus on an intricate task for too long. Girls, no sweat. If you're from another culture, say if you're asian, you have a much higher chance of being able to concentrate. So here I am with my ADD, can't keep my head in the present and I'm already deciding that next summer I want to travel. Great, I want to travel but I get kicked out my apartment in 2 days and I'm not sure where I'm living. That's my curse. Inability to live at all in the present. It's impossible. That's how I keep myself focused. That's how I keep myself safe. By thinking way into the future. I see myself next summer. I see myself at 40. I see myself at 60. But right here right now? There's a "be back in 5 minutes" sign. And you can stand in front of this store all day but no one is ever gonna come.

It feels like school all of the sudden. There's people everywhere. Kids. Girls. Young girls. Blonde ones. The kind who look just a second too long into your face as you pass them by. I could be worrying a lot. I could be a little freshet out. But really I'll save my freaking out for bigger problems. I'm tired and I'm undersexed. But I guess that's what happens when you get west nile and then decide that a girl 2000 miles away is maybe worth it. Even if you're worried that maybe there are no sparks. Even if she sends you a DVD of Conan from Italy to make up for the fact that she couldn't get you tickets. Even if she asks you not to open it until she comes to visit because she promises that she will come soon. Even if you know that you're just counting down the days until you fuck it all up and she never wants to talk to you again. But I'll stay undersexed. I will, I promise. I wonder if I'll ever be good at writing about anything other than myself? Damn I am a self-centered bastard. Well, we'll talk about me more soon, that I promise.

Sunday, August 15, 2004

The Comeback Kid Comes Back

I was happy. I was free. You couldn't touch me. Fish factory is Alaska? You can't touch me. Leave all my friends behind? You can't touch me. Give up all the years of hard work? You can't touch me. Step it up to compete against the best in the world? You can't touch me. Make it all look oh so easy? You can't touch me. No one had the balls to do this. No one else was willing be scared for a moment. To really take a chance and walk-away from everything they knew.

I was on top of the world looking down. I was unphasable. And who was there is the entire world who could bring me crashing back down? Who out there thought they could knock me down a few pegs? I never saw him but I knew he was there. Always lurking in the corner of my eye. Waiting for that moment of weakness. That moment of self-doubt. I could hear him. You don't belong here. Why are you wasting your life away? This will never satisfy you. Who the fuck did he think he was. Was he my conscience? Was he just a incarnation of the pressure that got put on me? By my family? By my friends? By society? By myself? Slowly he crept creeping. He slithered his way into my subconscious. My dreams started to change. No longer about medals and glory. My smile started to fade. You Can't touch me. No... wait... he did. Every time I stared in the mirror he was breaking me down. He made me feel inadequate. You're bigger than this. You're bigger than what you can do here.

By the time my season had ended I could take it no more. So I packed up my bags and left. I came here, I met with the right people and I locked down a spot at the magazine. My life was changing. I don't know what I saw on the horizon but suddenly it I was looking in a totally new direction. Maybe The Hyphen wants to think it was because he kept calling me a "slacker dropout" that I made a decision. But really it was that same bastard who ruined everything at the start. I t was his fault in the first. It was his fault I left that prestigious college where I was making it look easy. It's his fault I ended up at a shittier school to follow some stupid notion of a dream. It's his fault I left altogether. It's his fault I haven't stayed in one place for 4 years running. And now it's his fault that next week is going to be my last week at the Super Cool Magazine. And that the following monday I'm somehow a student once again.

The comeback kid comes back. Back to where he started. Back from far away. Back from the depths of his heart and his soul and back to everything that made him who he was before it all started. The comeback kid comes back and you can't touch him motherfuckers. You can't touch him.

Saturday, August 14, 2004

Eyes on the floor, still on the floor, always on god's floor

I think I quoted this before. "Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying future is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum." So I'm taking a vacation from my typical Woody Allen neuroticism and self-deprecation. Cause I'm not really all that worried. If something happens or doesn't or goes or comes back, it's fine. My head is 3 months form now anyways. I'm never thinking about what I'm doing, just about what I'm going to do.

When more than 2 people get together from the HV 303 it's an occasion, when you have 4 of 5 (Tank, stop fucking around in Europe and get your ass back here) it's about as monumental as a solar eclipse. Last night The Hyphen, JG, myself and The Almighty Quinn caught the train to the city. Tagging along were two Brazilians guys fresh off the boat. The night began with a comfortable-albeit loud-sports bar where no one was bashful to throw down for a pitcher (wait, did the Hyphen ever buy drinks? You cheap bastard. Get a Job!) and everyone was intent catching up. But really I was having a lot of fun talking to the Brazilians. Because they come from a culture that's waaay more sexually uninhibited. "most nights I go out I kiss at least one girl, maybe 2" one tells me. I explained that I didn't want to kiss any girls tonight because I like one girl. They chuckled. When I told them she was 2000 miles away they hooted and hollered. "You want to marriage her?" one asked. No, I don't think so. I haven't thought about that at all. They grinned. "It will be good, if you sleep with other girls and still you want to make her your wife then it will help," one professed. American girls don't really see it that way, I interjected. "We will have trouble with these american girls I think," the other said...I noded.

I can attest to the open-mindedness of the Brazilian girls too. I remember the night I met one. We were working together for a ritzy catering company a few years back. After a long night of work the whole crew headed to the nearest bar after work. She sat down right next to me. There was nothing coy about it either. We chatted about 2 minutes until she said. "you are very cute. I want to take you back to my room." (we had all been put up in a hotel as part of the gig) I smiled and laughed it off. "why not?" she said. "we are two people, we are young, we are beautiful and we should have some fun. You do not agree?" Uhh, no I do, I just... well I'm just not used to hearing that. "you american's don't know how to have fun. Let me show you." She grabbed my hand and led me out the door, winding past the knowing eyes of at least 8 co-workers. 10 minutes later she was naked, back arched and straddling me in my bed. All I remember is the smell. When I kissed her I could smell something different. Something exotic. Well, maybe I also remember it because I think, to this day, it's still the most times I've ever had sex in one night. And the wildest sex. The kind I feel guilty about in the morning. So I sulked to work the next day with my head down. My tail between my leg. I was a dog who'd just peed on the living room rug.

Wait... Where the hell was I? Six of us, in a bar. Downtown. Pitchers, jello shots etc etc and The Almighty Quinn informs us he has a free pass to some ridiculously overpriced dance club. The HV kids are skeptical but the brazilians want to see some americans shake it. They love the blonde hair. So we went. It was one of those places you don't go unless you're 26 and already driving a BMW. Or unless you're a late-30 something women who wishes she was still 25 and parties like it. I danced a little. but soon I was hating life. The Brazilians were getting their kicks watching the paid dancers grope eachother on stage. I bought my fucking $8 drink. And the way I drank it made sure that everyone around me know how disgruntled I was for paying $8. I could take it. No, I couldn't. I had to get out. Fuck this scene. Fuck any scene. So I left. JG and The Hyphen followed. Now I was pissed. My night was ruined. I had to go home. We caught the train back out of the city, got to the car and headed home.

End of story, right? Wrong. Right as I pulled into the neighborhood I got the call. It was the no-longer-almighty Quinn. The humbled quinn and his international companions had missed the last train. They needed me to come pick them up. Fuck. I wanted to tell them to shove it. Yellow cab. 777-7777. But they had already ruined my night when they drug me to that slut-filled crack house with the wanabe model standing at the door with her 80's hair and her VIP list. . So fuck it. I drove, I picked 'em up, I got in bed at 4:30 and I hated life. But tomorrow is a new day. In fact, tomorrow is a big day. Because tomorrow the comeback kid comes back. You'll see.

Oh, and one more Brazil makeout pic for you too.

Friday, August 13, 2004

Normalcy and a letter to Tony P.

Things are getting back to normal. I rode my bike to work this week. Some time I forget how lucky I am to live where I do. And I have to kick myself. Cause I forget that my everyday things are beautiful. I saw many things this week. I saw a lot of pretty girls. I went to the bars. I drank. I danced. I got e-mails and wrote e-mails and I wondered, just like I always do, how the hell I ended up where I am. A girl I have worked with at the catering company come up to me in the bar last night. She was drunk and looking for some lovin. This town is filled with beautiful, young girls in tight shirts and short skirts. Filled. And I'm realizing I'm in a bad way. I read Tony Pierce's post today about Gov. McGreevey being unfaithful to his wife. And how Tony kept faithful to a girl he loved:

college was tough. I gotta say that.
jeanine and i were madly in love, but we had some neighbors, and friends who were tempting.
hell, all of isla vista was a calvacade of hot tamales walking around in their miniskirts or cut offs.
i learned a technique that i ended up using later in life because it worked.
if i saw a hot chick walking down the street i looked down on the ground
if a cutie said hi to me, i would look at her shoes.
people probably thought that i was a rain man because i wouldnt look them in the eye and i would stutter a lot and i would say definately a lot.


And I really wanted to write him a letter and ask for some help. But that kid from Chokey Chicken beat me to it. I'll let it slide because I read his story about the Doctor's Visit from Hell some weeks back and have some respect for him. But I still wanted to write Tony. So I wrote him an e-mail anyways. And right before I sent it I thought, maybe y'all should hear it too. So ya, I'll sell my soul to the blogosphere. That's fine. Maybe you can weigh in too.



My Letter To Tony Pierce of the Busblog:

Hey Tony,
I've been cruising the busblog today and I saw what you said about McGrady and cheating and being in love, etc etc. And I dunno if you've seen the truth blog lately but I kinda got myself in an interesting situation. What the hell am I writing you for? Well your post kinda hit home. When you talked about Jeanine. Cause like you I live in a town with a lot of pretty girls. A lot. And I'm in my early 20's and though I'm no Fabio, I can go up to a good looking girl and feel confident enough she'll at least talk to me. And somehow I fell for this girl who lives forever away. And I don't know if it's worth it. Already I am at the bars looking at pretty girls. And they're looking at me. And I'm so young. And so foolish.

I'm not asking you what I should do or what you would do if you were me or... Fuck. I don't really know what I'm asking. I guess I just feel like you have been there. Or in the town next door. And I want to know how you know when that girl, that amazing girls who's funny and witty and beautiful and brilliant and quirky and wild in the sack and maybe just what you've been dreaming of and thinking of and hoping for just can't work. How do you know when the distance is to far? How do you know when the other pressures are just too great?

There's always a million reasons to go your separate ways and only one reason to stay. But when is that one reason not enough? Do you ever wish you stayed with Jeanine? Do you ever wonder what if? And I won't take that "oh, you'll just know" bullshit for an answer. Cause I know where that leads. I just don't want to turn out like McGrady. (And though I hope you will not need the reassurance, I don't mean the gay part, I mean the cheating part). I'm not even with the girl officially. That's the best part. It's the unspoken togetherness. And I don't want to ruin it. Can I do bad things to other girls and just not tell her about it because she is so far away? Should I hold out? Should I say goodbye? Should I say that maybe we just need to wait? I dunno. Sorry, this letter has deteriorated. Probably like my fidelity soon will. Anyways, any insight form you would be helpful. Thanks Tony.

The truth blogogoger


So I put it here for you to read. Comments people, comments.

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Distance is... It's what it is

Maybe I just need to tell you all the truth. It's not right to keep secrets. Maybe I should tell you that none of it is real. That I'm just here all by myself making up a story of a life that doesn't even exist. Maybe I should tell you that there is no G2K. Or that there is, but that I just left her there. 2000 miles away. That she never came here. That we write eachother the occasional e-mail and that's all. Maybe I should tell you it wasn't because I was out there 2000 miles away that I didn't write you. Maybe it's because I was just tired. Tired of all of it. Tired like I had just woken from a dream. I dreampt that I boarded a plane and that she was waiting there at baggage claim to see my face. That we got lost in traffic but it didn't matter because I would sit in the passenger seat and stare at her for days if I could. Maybe I never made it.

Maybe I never made it to her house, to her bed, to that little nook in the side of her neck that I know I can always kiss to make her smile. Maybe I spent the majority of the last 7 days at home in bed by myself, not with her. I didn't walk through Grand Central Station. I didn't stand on top of the Empire State Building. We never sat under the trees and Christmas lights in The Village on a bench watching the miniature sailboats wofting around the lake in Central Park. I didn't sit at her desk shaking that little snow globe with the Empire State Building inside. All if it wasn't real. The BBQ's and the kisses and the sex and the fights and the planes and the trains and the smiles and the feeling that someone is sleeping there with you who might be sleeping there with you the next night and maybe every night until you told them to leave. And even then they might be there too.

But this morning I woke up in my own bed alone. It was all a west nile induced dream. I rubbed my eyes and lifted my head. I saw the alarm clock with my note next to it. WORK TODAY! I had to be at the magazine in an hour. I stumbled out of bed towards the bathroom. I tripped. My fucking backpack was lying right in the doorway. Who the hell left that there? I thought. Oh well. I decided I should pack it for the day before I forgot. I grabbed my iPod and opened the top pouch to make sure I would have some stimulation to carry me through the day. That's when I saw it. Or did I see it? I closed my eyes and opened them again. No, it was there. The snow globe. The one from her desk. A golden empire state tower standing alone. But wait, there was a pink sticky note too. So you don't forget... it said. It's old and it's scratched and enough water has leaked out that the very tip of the tower is rising above the water line. But it was real. It was in my hand and I shook it and the snow fell. I could feel the snow falling on my face. I tilted my head back. I stuck my tongue out. No, it wasn't a dream at all. Now she's on a plane to Italy. And I'm here. I get kicked out of my apartment on Tuesday and I don't know where I'm going to go. But I don't care. I'll move under a bridge if I have to. Just me and my snow globe and my iPod. You can't touch me mother fuckers. Maybe I hugged her too long in the airport. Maybe I told her we would always be saying goodbye. Maybe I told her this couldn't work. That this wouldn't work. It doesn't matter. I didn't have to say anything. Distance is.... well, it's what it is.

Saturday, August 07, 2004

I am in NYC. or at least nearby. I could never live here. I would crack after 2 weeks. I tried to see conan yesterday and failed. Ended up on Today and TRL instead. TRL studio is lame. Still a little sick with West Nile. Geting better. Oh no. She is coming. She cannot find you. Gotta run, big stories in the making.

Monday, August 02, 2004

Got the West Nile Blues

I guess the good thing about getting West Nile Virus is that now I don't need to put on bug spray because the mosquitos can do no more damage (not that I was putting it on earlier anyway). It's true that I was down and I was out for a little while because that's what can happen when your body suddenly become host to millions of new residents. My body isn't very hospitable so he turned up the heat to make everyone want to leave. There's been fever and there's been hallucinations (the TMG called and I could have sworn it was the G2K and I asked her how the weather was 2000 miles away!) and now I'm just tired. Really tired. I wake up, but I don't wake up. My brain is kinda in an inbetween state. And I'm not gonna write to you until everything is back to normal. But I'm still going 2000 miles away tomorrow. Cause apparently, when the G2K was here she got West Nile too! Oh the irony. So I guess we can be sick together. Ugh. Wow. Back to lying down. I'll return, and it it will be triumphant. You hear me? TRIUMPHANT!