second day of school

in the autumn of our affair the sidewalks were still warm but the darkness came earlier and brought with it a chill. the routine of the morning kept me going as if without it i had nothing left. cars rolled by with their windows down and the old women on the stoop looked blankly out at them. men played cards on rickety tables, adjusting their hats and scratching their chins. their tells told and small half smiles below their eyes reflected upon their winnings. in the house a quiet heat stirs around the kitties shedding fur. i need a comb i need some food refill my water and change the litter box. the meaningless clicking of the keyboards keys and the bright white of the screen like a mockery of the day. the sun was at a simmer and the coffee cup left a stain. i thought about the future, about the winter, about the cold soon to come. i thought about the end of the month and the beginning of the season and being buried beneath it. it is the close of august and our hearts are tired and worn. it is without me that the world moves on.

another five

this saturday i must begin the school semester. im taking a fim theory class that day, a spanish class monday and wednesday, and a history class early the same wednesday. the selection this semester was slim, no literature courses nor writing workshops, no curious philosophy classes or abstract art lectures. i had to choose by when the time was convenient for me, and i have very little time of convenience.

the spanish class really fucked me up, being spread over two days instead of the normal, one class a week routine that most courses at my school are offered in. this meant that two of my nights were taken from the get go. so i had to take a class on saturday, which is fine, but also a class during the day on wednesday, which is not fine. i have to be at campus by 1 in the afternoon, and wont be able to leave until 830 that evening. thats a full day at school. a full day in which i can do nothing but sit and listen and read and write. i suppose there could be worse things to fill my day with. but this squeezes the amount of free time through a funnel.

that funnel is tuesday.

see, i work on thursday and friday, as well as sunday. so that i have class on monday, wednesday, and saturday, leaves me with just one free day: tuesday. so on tuesday i have to get all my errands, social activities, meetings, greetings, chores, relaxing, fun, and homework done on that one day.

its going to be rough.

i suppose its only a few months, and that i should just live with this suffocating schedule without much complaint. there is nothing i can do about it. no reason to get bent out of shape. ill just hunker down, shut my mouth, focus hard, and try to accomplish.

fingers crossed.

trivia night

last night i went to the bar for the inaugural trivia night event. it was a success as far as the spectrum of successes go, meaning people showed up and played but the hope is that a lot more players show up as the weeks progress. there were a smattering of regulars there, and a few randoms that just came in for a pint and got caught up in the spirit of the event, which was casual and inviting and with an easy edge of competition. i walked in a half hour before the game started. there were a few people there i knew, and i said hello to all of them.

first the girl that sits alone and drinks vodka cranberries because she doesnt want to get fat. she smiled flirtatiously and i smiled back. then on to a friend ive known since i started working at the bar, who sipped her wine and fiddled with her phone. then the guy whos name i always forget but who acts as if we have been friends since elementary school. and there was the guy that ive been talking to about getting a job, we spoke for a while as he ran down a strange experience he had to me.

he came home one evening after a long night at work and then out drinking. his door was unlocked but this was expected, as a friend of his had stayed the night and then shut it, but didnt lock it, when they left. upon entering though, he noticed something strange, a pillow on his floor in front of his bedroom. and his bedroom door was closed, which he never does. he went to the door and opened it and there in his bed was a young girl, completely naked, and fast asleep. he ran through his mind, searching for who it might be. it was one in the morning, and he didnt expect any visitors. his girlfriend was out of town, and he had no exes that bold or desperate.

he poked the sleeping body.

she awoke in a start, startling him even, and he asked her who she was and why she was in his apartment. she mumbled something he couldnt understand and he asked her again. this time she asked him where she was and he explained she was in his apartment, and she hadnt been invited, and that they did not know each other. without blushing, she asked if she could get dressed and he left the room to give her privacy. the whole time he was still confused on who she was and why she was in his bed, and he listened to the door to ensure she didnt take anything. when she re-emerged she bolted by him and out the front door. he chased after her in a panic. she wasnt wearing any shoes.

he yelled that she empty her pockets so that he could know she didnt take anything. while running, she pulled them from her pants, proving they were empty. still chasing behind her he yelled that he could call someone to help her. he yelled she didnt have any shoes. he yelled that it was late and the streets were dark outside. but she didnt stop.

when he went back to his house he began checking around to see if anything was missing. nothing was. but in the kitchen, on the counter near the sink, he found a pile of mail that wasnt his. after leafing through it, noting that half of it was open, he realized it was mail from his neighbors. not just the neighbors in his building, but all those in his neighborhood. she had stolen mail from places within a 4 block radius. random mail. bills and spam. birthday cards and investment tips. nothing seemed to be taken, but a lot of them had been opened.

he called the cops and they arrived to find the girl still huddled in front of his building, sobbing uncontrollably. aside from the story i just relayed to you, he had no information on her. they discovered she was a resident in a mental institution not very close by, and assessed that she had escaped without any shoes, and wandered around brooklyn, stealing mail and checking doors to see if they were unlocked. there was no rhyme or reason to her actions, she simply hadnt taken her meds. when he asked what he should do with the pile of mail in his kitchen they told him to take it to the people it belonged to. like anyone, he silently refused to do that, delivering opened mail to you neighbors isnt the best look. new yorkers dont usually get that involved.

i was impressed by the story, shocked and entertained as i should have been. then we shook hands and i went to my stool to play the game. i was on a team with my friend and we did ok, but not good enough, only securing second place. the questions werent too hard but were far from easy. everyone playing had a grand time, and the bar made more money on a monday night that it usually does. next monday i have school so cant go, but i plan on visiting as soon as i can. hopefully ill get something out of it. if not a good time, then a good story.

the d the i the d the d...

ive got a few minutes so i figured id say whats up.

whats up?

i few things ive thought in the past 24 hours:

after having read that steven tyler is going to take over as one of the judges of American idol i stopped to think. first, i wondered if i was really going to follow through with a thought about american idol. then, after i did, i wondered what made steven tyler qualify as a judge. sure, hes in one of the most popular rock groups of all time, and even if you dont care for the later, more recent efforts of Aerosmith, which i will agree suck balls, you cant deny that "Sweet Emotion," is a pretty awesome tune. but how does that make him a good judge of talent?

sure, he can commiserate with his band members about what songs are good and what songs arent, for aerosmith, and there his opinion might carry some weight. but unless every contestant is in some unofficial tryout for the band, then how is he going to know whats good or not for american idle? its not as if hes produced any great pop acts, nor is it like hes guided any young up and coming singers to stardom. hes just been in a band, and is a musician. outside of the choices he makes in aerosmith, i dont care what he thinks or says. he is not an expert by any means.

[i know it sounds as if im way invested in the show, but truthfully i havent even seen one episode of the past few seasons, and can only name a couple of the winners. but i understand the construct of the program, and the "purpose" it aims to achieve, so sort of consider myself an informed viewer]

that being said, i think the perfect and most obvious choice as new judge on the program should be none other than p diddy. not only has he already hosted a similar program, where he searched for a pop act, held auditions and acted as head judge, then molded them into what he considered a most viable performer taking into account the talent offered, but he did this in a ridiculous fashion that not only yielded a successful pop act, but worked as pure entertainment as well. diddy would have no problem telling someone their performance sucked [something i fear not many "artist" will do, as they have such an empathy for the rejected, they cant bear to be the giver of sour news] and he would probably do it while he typed on his blackberry. he would also be able to spot that special something in a person that could potentially lead to an act we might remember for once. now i wont say im the biggest fan of the man, but i wont withhold credit where credit is due. the guy would not only help find the best contestants, but the ratings would soar in the process. it seems like a no brainer to me.

but then again, what do i know. and its american idol for chissakes. who cares?

sit down stand up

i dont have much to say today, and i only have a few minutes to really get this down.

what this is im trying to get down im not sure just yet.

lets just say that the day has gone by and that it was relatively easy. that the fan is blowing and the tv is on. that a beer is in my hand and it is 4pm and it is monday, which is my saturday, and im almost out of cigarettes. lets say that my wallet is empty and my fridge is too. lets say that my bills arent going to be paid on time. lets say that i ate too much last night and i woke up with a miserable stomach ache and immediately went to the bathroom before i did anything else. lets say that the sun fell behind the clouds and the rain blanketed us with warmth. lets say the books that surround me have too many words. lets say the books that surround me have too little words. lets say i have close friends and these friends fill me with sensations beyond confession and lets say that if it werent for these friends i wouldnt be able to type right now. lets say that the accents that i hear are hard to place by i try to make out the words anyway. lets say the colors blue and red mean nothing to me. lets say the colors yellow and gray mean more. lets say i have to leave but want to stay and lets say in many ways i have no choice of the matter.

then lets say i wrote and thats what i wrote and we shall move passed this like we do everything else.

Anna

did i ever tell you about Anna? we dated in the summer of 2001. a hollow romance to begin the millennium. she was tall and thin and had one of those strikingly beautiful faces, the kind everyone is taught to love. she felt awkward in her beauty though, and this made her even more endearing. she was an undergraduate med student, in many ways smarter than i'd ever be, and was celebrated among our friends as a humble, well meaning citizen that exceeded all our trust. at the time a close friend and myself shared an incurable crush on her. she was everything you could ever want in a girlfriend. whispering our affections to each other when her back was turned, we revered her. put her in an ivory tower. placed her on a pedestal way out of our reach.

so you can imagine my surprise when gossip started circulating about her having a crush on me too.

i did try to charm her whenever she was present. acting as a buffoon for her slight attention. and apparently, my clownish approach towards seduction had begun to grow on her. soon the hushed talk turned into casually intimate inquiries turned into subtle prodding turned into a sly set up for a date. and we found ourselves sitting across from each other on a table top ms. pac-man game, making shy glances and nervous jokes, fidgeting with our hands and trying to get to know one another.

we went on a few dates, mostly where i just made out with her, afraid to go too far for some reason. one day she asked me why i hadnt try to have sex with her yet. i couldnt really answer, stumbling over my words, unsure just how to say that i was scared, so i just said i dont know and she leaned in and kissed me and we had we had sex right then and there.

it was... ok.

i blamed my own nervousness on it. it not being so good. no way could my dream girl not be good in bed. it had to be me. im sure it really was. but either way, i tolerated it; it was the idea of her that i wanted, way more important than the actual thing, right?

we continued dating. we went to see independent foreign movies at the fancy art house theaters downtown. we groped each other at the underground parties on a bench or in the corner of a warehouse. we went to the beach and listened to the gulls. we had dinner at the fancy restaurant she worked at. she laughed at my jokes and whenever she made one, i laughed at hers. but she didnt talk much, i did most of the talking. and sometimes her awkward silences would grow boring. but my anxious adoration of her would win over, and id try to find something profound in her blandness.

so, i had my idea and we had our clean romance, and when she first told me that at the end of the summer she was moving to new york to attend NYU med school, i frowned but shrugged my shoulders. it was fun, but i knew it would never last. id been involved with the princess, but im no prince, so she would never marry me. we made some final dates that would carry us till the end of summer, and i thought that would be it.

but wouldnt ya know: it wasnt.

at some point between her telling me she was going to leave and her actual leaving date, i convinced myself that i was in love and would not be able to live without this girl. i grew desperate to talk to her, trying to see her in all our free time. i began to get more maudlin in my emails, more sappy and emotional. i grew weak, i told her i loved her. i think i even said it in the subject line! that was my way of initially telling her how i felt. in an email, with the words 'i love you' in the subject line. it was pathetic. i became unbearably vulnerable. a fragile, dead weight of a person. and when she finally moved to new york, i'm not faulting her for feeling finally rid of me.

but of course, the idea still raged on.

so i kept in contact with her, trying to maintain the relationship as if there wasnt an emotional chasm of 3500 miles between us. i made plans to visit new york in the fall, we would stay together over a long weekend. but the relationship would be running on empty by then. when my flight finally landed, that November at JFK, she had already decided it was over. even though i knew it was coming, it still hit me like dull surprise. she never even said it, it was just an ache. by this time the towers had already fallen. we spent the thanksgiving holiday forcing ourselves to smile at one another. me brooding about, stinging from her rejection. her sighing and blushing, paralyzed by how uncomfortable it was for me being there. we slept in the same bed, in a loft she was subletting in chelsea, but i swear it was one of the loneliest holidays id ever have.

on the last day there she finally just admitted to me that she wanted to break up, even though we already technically were. it was hard for her to do but i didnt care. i guess i wanted to hear her say it, since i had flown all the way across the country and all, and pressured her to do so. it was one of my final petty gestures in the relationship. on the way back to san francisco i leaned my head on the plane window and cried for the second time over a girl. i felt minuscule. insignificant. i was hurt like id never been before. and i know she felt hurt too, but it was the hurt you prefer, not the one you usually get. she was on the other side, only feeling the pain of moral guilt. the hurt you get from hurting someone. in truth, she was already ok, it was me who had yet to begin the healing process.

of course i did heal. it all passes, things happen, we grow. there were more girls who would break my heart even worse than she did on the vista. so i would stop pining for her, and eventually not think about her much at all, but i will never forget Anna. she put a light upon the darker roads so that i wouldnt get lost going down them again. she helped me discover an ugliness inside that ive been refining ever since. its not easy becoming who you are, but its part of the whole thing. the thing we go through.

a rose for a stranger

she met her at the bar. they just happened to be sitting next to one another when a conversation between the two started. she doesnt remember how it did, but it did, thats the way things go with her.

her name is rosa and shes from Nicaragua. only been in the country for a month or so, at least thats what she tells everyone. shes pretty, in her early thirties with short dark hair and big, excited eyes that always seemed to be opened as wide as they can be. shes not too tall, and is rather thin, but with generous hips, such as her lineage offered.

i met her a few weeks ago while i was bartending. she came and sat at the end of the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. she crossed her legs, lady like, on the stool, and quietly observed the room while it filled up with the late night thursday crowd. i didnt talk to her much, i usually let a new customer breathe a bit before i strike up conversation, but it wasnt long before someone sat next to her and she began chatting them up in her innocent "im new here and just want to make friends" way.

it was a guy that sat next to her that night, someone i knew, a good looking fellow who was waiting for a date to show. rosa, once he sat down, introduced herself with her small, thin hand extended in greeting. he took it and looked her in the eye and smiled. well this works, he thought, a pretty girl introducing herself to me. not bad.

before she got up to sit at another stool which wrapped around the other end of the bar, she had given him her number and made him promise to call. then he gave her his number and confirmed the promise. i watched the whole thing go down from the corner of my eye, so when he relayed the interaction to me later i just nodded my head, already knowing. my barback that night got the same treatment. she introduced herself to him, her huge eyes batting and her full lips pouting, her legs still crossed and her wine glass still half full, and explained how she was new to the country and was eager to meet new friends. then gave him her number and made him promise to call, and took his to confirm the promise. you should take me dancing, she said, with her head cocked so that she looked up at him, making her eyes even larger, and he agreed that yes, he should.

i found the situations slightly strange —its not often a pretty girl offers herself up like that— but wrote it off as cultural differences and an enthusiasm for attention on her part. for some reason i kept my distance from her though, i have an aversion towards being seduced (it makes me feel vulnerable), and thought whatever game she was playing id prefer not to partake in. that and, for some reason alarm bells went off in my head when she was around. there was something slightly off about her anxious approach towards people. pretty people, ive learned —and make no mistake she is pretty— dont have to show such longing for companionship. she seemed to be a little too eager for notice. for some reason it didnt add up.

then last night rosa came in again, and sat down at the bar next to a girl i slightly know. she was alone as always, her wide eyes scanning the room and her thin legs crossed in her stool, and a conversation was struck up between the two, and a new friend was made.

they left together later that night. i didnt think anything of it. they paid the tab and tipped me well and were out the door, slightly drunk, arm in arm as if they'd known each other forever. i didnt know where they were going and didnt much care. two girls out on the town, perhaps heading to another bar to meet some guys with unfamiliar faces. have fun ladies, good luck with that.

then in the tail end of the night, while i was out front smoking a cigarette and the bar was mostly empty and the barback was starting his closing duties, the girl i slightly know rode back up on her bike.

hey, she said, did you know that girl i was talking to?

slightly, i answered, but not too well.

she sighed and blew her bangs from her face. is she a little crazy? she asked

i laughed. i little, i suppose. why?

i think she just tried to give me a drugged drink, she replied soberly.

i gasped quietly and smiled because it was the only thing i could think to do after getting that information. the girl then went on to explain to me how rosa offered her a glass of water repeatedly, holding the glass to her face so that she drank THAT water. and no matter how many times she casually declined, rosa kept offering it. pushing it on her. desperate for her to take a sip. a sip of that water, no other water.

the girl began to feel more uncomfortable than she already did, her discomfort initially being because she had been coerced to go up into rosa's apartment, and before she could say anything rosa had offered to "put something more comfortable on," and retreated to her bedroom before materializing with the glass of water in hand. the girl, a very sane one by my own assessment, began to almost panic when she realized that she was being somewhat preyed upon. without waiting for an answer, the girl hastily readied herself, made a thousand excuses on why she had to leave, and headed for the exit. as she was walking down the hall, a burning fear tickling the edges of her skin, rosa called after her.

hey i forgot to get your number, she yelled.

i dont have a pen, the girl lied.

oh, ok just call my phone and ill save it, rosa held the phone in her hand and patiently, with a smile on her face and her large eyes beaming at her.

oh, ok, the girl pulled out her phone and, by the graces of god, it was dead. sorry, she shrugged, i guess we'll have to just see each other around.

rosa smiled. we will, she said.

thats when the girl road her bike back to the bar to ask me what i thought of her. if perhaps maybe she was being dileriously paranoid. if perhaps those were false alarms ringing in her head. but i confirmed it. no, rosa was a little off.

i knew she was weird, but i didnt think she was ax murderer weird, i joked.

the girl, looking off into the dark night sky, didnt smile.

beaches

in the summer of 1987 i went to the beach almost every day. it was me and Dion usually, but sometimes his two cousins would come with us (they lived in the richmond district, just a few blocks from the coast). the water was always cold, and we would challenge each other to just run towards it and dive under one of the small, cresting waves that broke close to the shore, promising that the initial shock would dissipate by the time we emerged from the water. this was only half true, you could get used to the chill quicker by diving straight in, but it took more than just that one first dive to do it. it took two or three, and time spent wading in the strong, salty sea, before your body finally calmed and the goose pimples settled. it was more common for us to slowly walk into it, first allowing our ankles to adjust to the temperature, then our shins, then our thighs, and finally our waist, before we would take the plunge into the curling surf.

once inside though, we would splash around for hours, searching the ocean floor with our hands and feet, catching the breaking waves with our bodies, and battling with the undercurrent. the northern pacific is a beastly body of water, unforgivably murky in areas with a merciless tow beneath. sometimes we would get pummeled by a wave and find ourselves violently rolling along the sandy floor and then, after coming up for a panic of air, being dragged back out to sea by the strength of the waters bottom pull. but this was a danger we were aware of and ignored. just another element of the fun.

when i became a teenager i would still go to the beach but at this point it wasnt the water i looked to for excitement. it was where friends and i would gather for isolation, away from the prying eyes of the law. we would bring stolen alcohol in our book bags and try to find mischief in hushed laughter and illegal bonfires. girls were involved then, and the strongest undertow was our hormonal urges. we would go at night, when nothing else but the homeless and their hidden tents or similar, makeshift teen parties occupied the beach. sometimes we would see couples watching the moon glow above the rising tide, finding romance in its lunar reflection, and we would sit and stare at them, whispering quietly to each other, waiting in hopes that they would have sex.

it wasnt until my first trip to san diego that i found out ocean water could be warm and inviting. it was there, in my early twenties, that i fell in love with the cleansing effect of a quick dip in the sea. i was staying at a house directly across the street from the beach and would wake early in the morning, still half drunk and sweating out chemicals from the night before, then lean as i walked to the ocean. i would dive straight into the water, dolphin kicking a few yards beneath the waves, before i emerged fully wake, ready for another day. i wouldnt even bring a towel with me, nor would i wear a shirt. the sun would dry me off. id simply surface from the water and walk towards my slippers. after sliding them on i would stand and watch the epic movements of the water, the surfers riding along the rolling white caps, the waves deep into the horizon, breaking with the currents. i would take a few breaths, inhaling the wet, salty air, and appreciate just where i was in life at that particular moment.

when i went to hawaii the water was unimaginable. the beach culture was so deeply ingrained with the land that it was hard to separate the people from the sand. every road led to the ocean, most every action brought you to the beach. the water was so warm and clear and filled with beauty you would have thought it was made by man, solely for vacations. i spent almost every waking hour, nights as well, in the water. you would wake and go to the water, then eat and go back to the water, then have a few drinks and go back to the water. there was no dangerous undercurrent, no hesitancy before diving in. i went skinny dipping at midnight and there was romance and adventure beading up from every pore. the water was like a womb. i never wanted to leave it.

now it is 2010 and im in front of my computer and im half a month late on rent and the hot gray sky is falling down on brooklyn and all i want is to escape. i want to go to a beach and look out onto the horizon and see the earth curve away. i want to feel the celestial glow of a warm quiet night. i want to be far far away, watching as the planet rises up to swallow the sinking sun.

vids

i, like most other people that spend their day in front of a computer, stay well aware of all the internet memes that become weekly obsessions for the short attention span set. and like most people, i probably only get 75% of them, where as the others go over my head. sometimes they are too geeky or video game oriented, and because i am neither fifteen years old nor very smart nor do i play video games, these memes bore me. sometimes i get the meme, but i dont understand why they are so funny, or why they have caught the attention of so many people. sometimes the meme is so simple it baffles me how it could generate so many different variations. and sometimes the memes are just plain cruel. depended on how funny these are determines if i like them.

some memes are just phrases that seem to catch on for any number of reasons, and although these are good [and some, like "all your base are belong to us," or "do not want," become ingrained with the internet lexicon so thoroughly that many people who use it dont even know its origin], these, although some can be fun and even funny, arent really my cups of tea. they usually start on a forum of sorts, most likely as innocent replies to a post, and mutate into catch phrases that sound funnier and more meaningful when said entirely out of context. some phrases are just one word ["FAIL"] that transcend every element of internet communication, from chat logs to emails to videos to pictures, and out into the real world, where people use them in everyday situations.

but my favorite memes involve some sort of visual element, be it a video or a picture. and today i think i just want to post a few videos of memes i like. so without further adieu [is that how you spell that?] here are a few vids:

this is my favorite "people unwittingly dancing to dubstep" video


this is my favorite "do they mean to be so racist?" video


this is my favorite "sports history thats so awesome i cant believe it" video



this is my favorite "double rainbow all the way" parody video [current fav]



and finally, this is my favorite "wierd clip that my friend alex made" video


i know, they were random and most didnt even qualify as memes, but i was bored and wanted to write so there ya go.

day off

ive been lazy all day. this is neither abnormal nor a thing of shame, just a fact im stating. a way to start a post. i thought long and hard about what my first sentence to this post would be. i wondered where it would take me, what explorations it would lead to. i could have written many different things. almost anything, really.

-montana fishburne, aka Chippy d, really should have planned the release to her porno a little better.

-the ice cream trucks in my neighborhood have more on their agenda than a sweet, frozen treat.

-i cant remember the last time i heard a new electronic song.

-im looking to get a new job.

but i decided to write the first thing that came to my head, which was a simple statement declaring my current laziness. its strange that after all that thinking (and i had been planning to write all morning and afternoon, it was the gentle undercurrent of every thought, every action, and every decision of this, august 7th, 2010) that was the best i could come up with. but i realized at some point in the day that the longer i thought of what to write, the less actual writing i was going to do.

see, i had this notion that i had to write a particular thing. that the first sentence would have to lead to a cute little story, a meaningful musing, or a surreal idea fleshed into a series of well articulated paragraphs. there were things i knew i didnt want to write about (which, in the end, is only going to prevent me from writing. should not all subjects be open to consideration? why feel something is beneath my words, it surely isnt beneath my thoughts. if something is worthy of even my faintest concern, than how can it not be worthy enough to write a few sentences about. especially in this black bin of insignificance i call a blog?). and there were things i thought i did want to write about (though these were vague aims, i had no concrete ideas, no sneaking suspicions, no slight inspirations or arguments to make. i simply had dim ambitions that exceeded my accepted capacity). but in the end there was nothing in me to come out. nothing inside that i could be proud of.

all day ive been surfing the internet and thinking half heartedly about life. the big blur of time and age that contiues moving on regardless of my own agenda. and i have stayed in my pajamas, a pair of shorts and no shirt, and instinctually, without much thought at all, clicked on my mouse. the hours have passed, the clock almost mocking me, and the feeling that there is nothing new and will never be anything new has settled into my gut without my even noticing. i cant tell if it is laziness, exhaustion, or just a general ennui, and the truth is i dont really care.

so i decided that if i was going to write i was just going to write. it didnt matter. i do it now only because its something i feel i have to do, because if i dont then i have nothing. its the last shred of spirit left in me. the very aspiration of one day becoming a writer is the only thing that keeps me going. once thats gone i might as well just get a job working for the city and count the beer cans until im dead. it doesnt matter either way, which is probably why ive been so lazy all day.

on the quiet streets of suburban new york

there are some strange characters out there.

a friend was telling me about a guy from his neighborhood from when he was just a kid in high school. they called the guy Dirty D. its not clear on whether or not Dirty D actually lived in the neighborhood, but its known he would lurk around a particular corner that opened into a quiet cul de sac, standing near his expensive luxury sedan in a business suit with hands in his pockets. not many people paid attention to him, he was quite unassuming in his privileged attire, but Dirty D had, what i like to call, unreasonable desires.

the first person to ever encounter Dirty D, to ever really interact with him, was this kid named Wally. Wally, like most other tweens in the neighborhood, was simply riding his bike around when he came across him. he was alone at the time, and the conversation he had with Dirty D has been lost over the years to other, more memorable exchanges, but what my friend does remember is what Wally told him when he met up with the rest of his friends.

"there is this guy - you know the guy that you always see in the suit - i talked to him. he said he'd give me fifty bucks if i peed on his head, and twenty bucks for my socks."

my friend and his other friends didnt really believe Wally at the time, it seemed not only ridiculous, but the sheer perversion of the act was something they had yet to discover in life [these were suburban kids, sex was still foreign to them, and fetishes had hardly made a blip on their hormonal radar] but like any fourteen year old boy, he was curious. they all were.

so Wally, my friend, and another friend, all went to the edge of the cul de sac, where the man in the suit always stood with his hands in his pockets, and approached him about the proposition. to their surprise [and Wally's smug glee] the man confirmed the story. he would pay them fifty bucks each to pee on the back of his head, and give twenty dollars for the socks on their feet. the dirtier the better, he added. to sweeten the deal, he would have packs of clean socks in his trunk to trade with the socks they were parting with. thick, white, sports socks, just how they liked.

aware of, yet willfully ignoring, the strange sexual perversion of the act, the boys agreed to the transaction. according to my friend, they would go to the spot where Dirty D lurked once or twice a week, each making a little over a hundred dollars [and getting new socks] for their "work." seeing as how they werent even old enough to legally have a job, this was a small fortune to collect.

im not sure how long this went on, but eventually other kids in the neighborhood found out. this makes sense, as any kid with a hundred dollars on his person at any given time and always sporting a clean, white, new pair of socks, is going to raise suspicions amongst his peers. that and as a boy going through puberty, any excuse to brag or tell a story is taken advantage of immediately. soon though, forty kids or so were circling the area where Dirty D lurked, and, judging by his fine suits and fancy car, Dirty D wasnt a stupid man, so he stopped coming around. the Dirty D era quickly ended, the kids had killed it.

my friend is much older now, but he suspects that Dirty D just changed neighborhoods. and now there is a new generation of children sporting new socks and emptying their bladders on the back of Dirty D's head. i suspect this is probably true.

anyway, that is the legend of Dirty D

day of rest

sunday was a miserable day at the bar. barely any asses in the stools, and those that were were too familiar. quiet and slightly brooding, nothing new to say, so saying nothing. they sat and stared at their drinks, slowly nursing them to near completion before raising a hand or nodding their head for a refill. every so often they would look up to me, searching for a solution in my eyes, an answer to the dull ennui that brought them there, but i had nothing. i only stared back from behind my own muted gloom.

i paced behind the bar tired and hungover. a customer would come in and id greet them with a forced cheer and they would smile weakly then sit near the door, as if they wanted an easy exit. they needed not to worry about me though, i wasnt trying to engage them. i was shut off for the day, running on autopilot. from the moment i walked in i knew the day was a wash. no joy to be had or money to be made. it was just a matter of counting the hours until i could close.

i had one or two beers towards the end of the night. by habit more than thirst. when last call came i only had to lean across the bar and explain the situation to a couple sitting near the window. i didnt have to lower the volume on the stereo or scream it three times to ensure everyone heard. i just needed to quietly let these two people know where we were in the night, and alert them that the end of things was around the corner. i barely raised my voice to tell them. i spoke in a slow and reasonable tone, as if i was divulging a small historical fact about the neighborhood, one that not many people knew.