Thursday, September 28, 2006

The late week roundup via bullet point:

*According to the Apple genius I am the first to his knowledge ever having reported seeing a plume of smoke rise out of his ipod while it was playing. Despite the sincerity of my claim, this brings his accreditation as genius into serious doubt.

*Yes, I got a brand new ipod.

*I love my dead end job at a restaurant. I hate my job at the T.V. Production company. Ironically the restaurant job pays a million times better. Does that make me a dead beat?

*I hate coming to my own blog and seeing all those ex-girlfriends staring back at me. That is my biggest motivation for posting. Have to write enough to get them off the main page.

*Six Degrees is everything a chick show should be. Grey's Anatomy and Desperate Housewives are not. 6D is about the best in all of us. About a little hope. The other two are about everything that's left over when we think the best is gone.

* I still don't know how I feel about Studio Sixty. The dialogue is interesting but the characters are as thick as cardboard.

*Both my dreams and my heart are in New York City and everyday I wonder how that happened and what the hell I'm doing here and why I'm not there.

* I took some friends to see John Mayer and though I've been singing his praises since the first time I saw him five years ago, my friends finally saw the light. Forget the radio play. Forget the sappiness in the lyrics. They saw it. They know. The man can play.

*Sometimes I steal from him but I'm pretty sure if he knew he'd be OK with it.

*When you need to run off somewhere (say Aspen) for business and you're worried about being bored, it's great to have a flight attendant-related friend.

*I'm not sure if it's great to do dirty things to her. I'll get back to you.

*Sometimes I kinda want more bad shit to happen. Just want to prove to everyone what I'm made of. Does that mean anything to you?

*I dream about writing more. But I need your help. Yes you. It's on you now. Don't F it up.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Yes, I stole your facebook photos

The most evil part of the internet is way it helps keep the connections to all the wrong people. Any time-wasting or new friend excitement I've ever managed to gain from Facebook and Myspace and instant messenger have been outweighed a hundred fold by the harm of stalking around my own past.

Thing is, there's no such thing as a clean break anymore. Any two people, whether they're connected by friendship or by a twinkle in the back of each other's eyes, manage to tangle themselves up more deeply with one another over invisible servers and streaming data then most people are ever able to do in RL (that's real life from now on). They call it a web for a reason. It caught all of us up together and it sure as hell won't let us go.

I've nearly collapsed lungs running as fast and as far away from some people as I could. But twenty feet or two thousand miles doesn't matter anymore. The damage of sifting through ex-girlfriends' facebook photo albums is irreparable. Doesn't help that I broke up with them. Doesn't help that it's been countless years. Doesn't help that I wasn't even really that into them. All that matters is here I am, staring at the photo album of the old girlfriend with the new guy sharing something that we barely if ever (and usually never) shared and wondering why I'm the one sitting at home staring at a screen. Nothing more gut twisting then watching a girl and a guy flirt on their facebook walls, waving it in the face of every unlucky mouse clicker.

If this was a limited occurrence then maybe, just maybe, I could pull myself off the mat and force all the stars in my eyes to go away. But it's a high school girlfriend's roadtrip through Vegas to CA highlighted by facebook albums that include the Vegas bedroom underwear shots. It's the cutest blond thing you ever saw, left crying while I left for California but rescued in the arms of someone who fills up her myspace wall with more loving words then I could ever get to come out of my mouth.

It's the AIM name of someone still more than two thousand miles away but now also more than two years lost into my past. It's every time her idle icon disappears and hundreds of little flirtations and conversations and haha's and hehe's take place. None of them mine. But any of them just a mouse click away. Each one passing just millimeters from the information blood of my fiber optic internet veins.

None of them are more than a few www's away and that's scary as hell. Maybe it's time to unplug. But that girl from t he stairs in LA just sent me an e-mail. She's coming this way. Wants to hang out. Has new stories. Old stories. It's almost a revolving door. But the building's made of glass. Nothing you can see from the inside that you can't see from the curb.

Now this place, this is a whole new headache/heartache just waiting to happen.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Heroes is great. It's like X-men plus Lost plus Ed. Aspen is also great. Working at a fancy restaurant is great. so is not knowing. I'll be around the bend. Closer than you think.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

I've started to live in the parts of the day measured by blocks of paid programming and empty beer bottles. My friends are worried. They think I'm getting ready to slip through the cracks. But deep down I think they know I'm on top of the game. And even if they don't, deep down I think they know that nothing they will do or say could hold me up. I think maybe once I said something about how a man is really only made up of the people he loves and the people who love him. Sure, I'll stand by that. But sometimes you just got accept that love and then tell everyone to get the hell out of the way.

There's lots of pressure to keep moving, forward, backward, doesn't matter because so long as you're moving no one's really getting a fix on you. If anyone asks it's easy to say, oh yeah, well I'm here but I'm headed here. People respect movement for the same reason baby's like mobiles above their crib. For the same reason that they like shiny things.

I'm perfectly still and it's scaring people. They're used to only seeing my face as a blur. Maybe they just don't understand. Once I get started it's so hard for me to stop. Have to choose my races so carefully. Have to be patient. It's coming. I know it's coming I just have to wait my turn. But for now I'm just sitting on the cracks, plenty coming down the pipes, praying to god that when it hits I won't get washed away.

Monday, September 11, 2006


That five years have so quickly passed since that morning I awoke in a small New England town with nothing but hopes and dreams for the future is all the more reason to keep the Sept. 11 ritual alive. That day, that feeling, that experience was all about making the intangible tangible. The anger and fear of people thousands of miles away became real. That tense gripping in my chest had a face and a name. The tears on all our lost faces were given a physical link, a moment, a place. If all I can do is patch together what's still in my head than that's exactly what I'll do. This was my September 11th:

8 am huddled under my blanket hiding from the chilly Maine air and just 30 miles down the road there had been bad men with fake smiles passing through metal detectors with no explosives and no guns and horrible ideas in their heads. They were ready to change the world and I spent my morning learning how, for millions of years, the earth's plates had shifted. The tide had rolled in and back out again. It had carried the sand down the beach and left it somewhere new. For longer than I can comprehend things had changed slowly and the only single act that had really left so much as a scratch was a giant meteor from some far off galaxy.

By 10 I was asleep once again dreaming of knights and dinosaurs and Transformers and mountains covered with fresh, white snow. When the phone woke me up it rang just as it had a dozen times before. And when I answered it I couldn't help but hide the sleepiness in my voice. My roommate's father. I asked how he was. And as he answered I could hear a hesitation in his voice. He was ok. On the outside at least. "Tell my son that I'm alright?" Ummm, OK, anything else?

That's when he told me. I think I smiled at the absurdity. A plane? An attack? I assured him that I would tell his son that he is fine. My shoes slid on just as they always did. Down the three flights of stairs to the living room where cable wasn't yet installed. How could I find out what happened? The girl on the first floor heard me approach? "I just heard something about a plane in New York." I told her what I knew and together we left to find a television. A decision I would later regret.

As the two of us walked into the cafe there was an eerie silence. I saw the burning buildings. Gaping holes and plumes of smoke and I stared and I stared and I stared. Could it be real? Could it be true. I kept staring. Hoping it was a horrible trick. And then it happened. The second tower crumbled in on itself. I couldn't watch. I couldn't breath. I couldn't stand up.

I walked out the door onto the bright green grass and I found a tree. No building was safe but the tree was solid and it was strong and it was close. I sat down against the trunk in a nook. I pulled my knees to my chest. I put my hands to my face because I wanted to hide but I couldn't hide. All I could do was weep. I wanted to be part of the tree, to curl up within it and feel its unmoving strength. I wanted to feel the warmth of the water and the nutrients, roots to leaves to roots to leaves. All I wanted was to be something other than human, or at least something other than American. Than a target.

It's five years gone. Five years and still a gaping hole in lower Manhattan. Five years and still my countrymen fight a war of unintelligible reason and violence on the other side of the world. Five years and a White House administration who continues to hold one day over heads. Five years and still my chest hurts.

You can fight it. You can tell yourself that everything's fine and everything will balance out. That it will all come back to equilibrium eventually. But you're kidding yourself. The default setting is chaos. And when we let default run our lives that's exactly what we get.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

I'll be back soon with the product of my invisibiliy...