Thursday, May 27, 2010


It's getting hot out there...

Dripping bodies flapping around, leaving sweat stains for foot prints, and rain drops of salt sprinkled in their path.

Mouth open, eyes half shut, shoulders down, and dry lips, occasionally getting slapped by a fossil tongue, cracked and filled with dust.

Try to swallow. Ty it.

But we still keep walking. Feeling every hair on our body, now coated with a grease, rubbing our skin, trying to throw off the stench like it's a buzzing mosquito. But you can't brush it off - you can't even stop the sucking. It just keeps on biting and tearing until you're empty of saliva and piss and only a carcass of rubber is left, now matching all the torn tires on the big, big trucks spitting out the black smoke.

It's summer time, and the livin's easy.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Short Story

Slow day at work...


“What if I choke on a cracker?”

“You won’t choke.”

“But what if I do?” the boy said, and the father picked up a Bible.

“If you choke, then you can drink the wine.” The father tapped the cover. The boy looked ahead. Burning candles surrounded them.

“Mom says drinking is wrong.”

The father flipped the pages. He then placed the Bible back on a shelf attached to a bench in front of them.

“Mom’s not here.”


“Well, when mom's not here I’m in charge. And if you choke on a cracker I give you permission to drink the wine.” The father spoke sternly - stern enough to silence the boy’s questions.

“You won’t choke, though…No one does…and your mother’s right, drinking is bad.”

The father picked up the Bible again. He tapped the cover. It was a dark room, even with the burning candles.

“You probably wanted to play basketball or something,” the father said. He adjusted his position. “I wasn’t sure where you’d want to go…Ra…Your mom said you liked architecture.” He stared at the ceiling, noticing the different colors of painted glass.

“I don’t play sports,” the boy said.

“Me neither,” the father said. “I don’t really like architecture either, though.”

They were silent. People prayed all around them.

“You probably shouldn’t drink the wine, though…Your mother’s right. You’re young.”

“I know you’re supposed to be 21. I’m not dumb.”

The father smiled. “21. That’s right.”

He looked down at the boy, and for the first time he didn’t immediately look away. For the first time he noticed the familiar blue eyes.

“You do well in school?”


The boy spoke sharply, and the father paid close attention.

“Well, good…School’s important…Your moms told you that, I’m sure.”

“I like Art,” the boy said, without being questioned.

And then people all around them stood from their benches, mid prayer. They moved to the front of the church, forming a nice, neat line, heading straight for the candles. It felt as if everyone was leaving them.

“See…No one will choke. Watch.”

And the boy watched, just as the father told him to.

“I can do that,” the boy said.

“I’m sure you can,” the father said. And he laughed under his breath - a condescending laugh. The boy quickly stood. He was now the tallest.

“I’ve drunk before,” the boy said. And he moved past the father’s legs.

“You don’t want me to come with you?”

The boy neither stopped nor spoke, and simply took his spot at the back of the line. He was the only child, a sight that amused the father as he watched the boy move forward one small step after another. He then stood in front of a priest and a small cracker was placed by his mouth. Not hesitating, the boy took it, faster than anyone had before him, and he put the cracker in his mouth. Before beginning to chew, he took a sip of wine, though it was not offered, and he moved away, causing the other people to turn to his direction, as if he was the only person worth noticing.

“Did it taste good?” the father said.

The boy continued to chew, making a face that required no response. The father smiled. He leaned in close and stared at the boy's familiar blue eyes.

“I don’t like wine either,” the father said. And they sat. The boy swallowed. The father silently laughed - not a condescending laugh.

“I like the buildings near my school,” the boy said. “I like the designs...That’s what my mom meant.”

“Oh,” the father said, and he looked to the front, noticing people still waiting for their crackers, all different sizes, shapes, and ages. But with no children there, it was far less entertaining to watch.

The father stood. He tapped the Bible resting on a shelf attached to the bench in front of them.

“It’s early,” the father said. And the boy looked up, noticing the father staring at his own feet, waiting.

So the boy stood. He was much shorter than the father - just as it should be.

They then walked through the isle, using the candles to light their path, side by side, silent as they exited the church.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

A Very Good Day

Something I found in my notebook. June 2008?

This is what I did yesterday:

- Woke up at 11am
- Made love
- Had cereal
- Played guitar
- Took a shower
- Went to a park
- Took a nap
- Got a sandwich
- Got some ice cream
- Met with a friend
- Bought some records
- Bought some beer
- Went home
- Talked on a roof
- Watched a movie
- Made love
- Ate some seafood
- Drank some wine
- Went to sleep at 1am

Monday, May 24, 2010

Your Picture

A few weeks back I was out eating dinner. About halfway through the meal I noticed a middle aged man pacing by the front entrance. He was peaking through the windows, rubbing his hands together, and continually patting the sides of his head, trying to fix a head of hair that was already perfect.

He was waiting for someone. Someone special.

Then another man entered. He was bald, no hair to fix, but I bet if he had some he would have been nervously trying to fix it as well.

The two men walked to each other, real slow, neither smiling, just in a daze as if they were floating a few inches off the ground. Then when they were a foot a part, one of the men raised his hands and carefully held the others face.

"You look just like your picture," the man said. And they hugged for over a minute.

Friday, May 21, 2010


Something I found in my notebook. May, 2009?

SO I'm on the subway this morning and I'm sitting next to a woman who's reading my favorite book. And not only is she reading my favorite book, I notice she's reading my favorite page of my favorite book. Oy vey! Basically, there's sex, death, a character loses an eyeball, and another character loses his penis. It's a very exciting page...

So the woman is reading away, and I can tell she's really in to it, so in to it that she doesn't even notice when I start reading over her shoulder, not being very tactful about it either. And THEN I get so in to it that I don't even notice that I'm reading over her shoulder anymore. Like I said, very exciting page.

So! Now we're both reading away. I start to sweat, my heart's pounding, and I'm reliving all of my emotions and memories from this stupid, little book. And at the end of the page, when it all hits the fan, I have the same reaction as the first two times I read it. I moan. YUP! Not sexual like, but definitely a release of some kind. The first two times I read it, however, I wasn't moaning four inches away from a female stranger's ear...hence the post title.

Then the woman looks at me - I quickly back away. We share a few glances, and it's obvious neither of us know what to say, do, or think. So after a long pause she looks down at the book again - starts the next chapter. And I just sit there, thankful she's reading something good enough to distract her from smacking me.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

The Regulars

This morning I bought a cup of coffee at a deli I'm a regular at. So I'm waiting in line, dreaming of my java, when all of a sudden I notice this middle aged woman standing behind me. She looks SO happy. Really. She's smiling big, her cheeks are rosy, and she's bobbing her head like there's music playing only she can hear. She's even winking at people! Smiling and winking and dancing. It's great.

So finally, when it's my turn to order, the guy behind the cash register looks around me, making it real obvious, and he giggles.

"Louise! You got your braces off!"

And the middle aged woman smiles...even wider than before.

"Yeah, just got them off yesterday...Nothing big."

"Nothing big?! You look beautiful! Truly beautiful!" And me and the other people in line turn to her. Louise poses, we all nod, and her cheeks get rosier until we all start to giggle.

She really did look beautiful.

Then I get my coffee, small with cream and sugar, and I head to work, happy I'm a regular at that particular deli.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Year Of The Tiger

I discovered a band this morning, one I really like. Now usually I wouldn't share something like this, but since the band happens to be made up of two of my college know...


Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Human Beings

Tonight, I had a cup of tea and a beer with a good friend of mine. For the purposes of this anecdote, we'll call him Billy Bob.

Now before I go any further, I have a thought to divulge... Sometimes I fear all of my memories might be fake (now, now, don't click away just yet). But really, I worry everything before this moment could be a dream, because honestly, what the hell is out there to prove otherwise? But when I see Billy Bob, I see a glimmer of proof.

Because you see, Billy Bob is more than just a person, he's years of memories and stories. Memories and stories that only we've shared, and more importantly, memories and stories that are only real when the two of us are together. And if Billy Bob was to ever leave, then what's there to prove any of our experiences actually happened? Nothing. That's the point. I can only prove they're real because of him.

"Hey, You. Reader! Remember that time we were 14 and we got hit on at a laser tag place?" No...I guess you wouldn't. That only happened with Billy Bob.

"You! Sitting at the computer! Remember that time I broke your collar bone?" Nope. That's another Billy Bob story.

I guess as I'm getting older, I'm realizing that all the people who are close to me are more than just people. They're the physicalization of my life, and if god forbid one of them was to die, I now understand why part of me would die.

Tonight, Billy Bob and I sipped our tea, gulped our beer, forming another memory that the other six billion people on this planet will never know. That's something... And right after you finish this, you'll do the same.

Babe Ruth

Yesterday I saw two little boys playing baseball. Instead of using conventional equipment, however, (a bat and a ball) they were using a broken broom stick and an empty soda can.

The pitcher winded up, threw the can, and the batter hit it across the street. It might as well have been Fenway...They were cheering, throwing their arms up, and staring around the streets waiting for everyone to call out their names.

Then one of the boys picked up a fresh soda can and dusted it off.

"Batter up!"

And I kept walking by. I wish I could have given them a real baseball (a bat, too) but honestly, it was nice seeing kids be creative and use anything they could to keep playing. To turn eyesores into something special.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Some People Just Be Leakin' Money

Today I was walking behind a man who had a dollar bill sticking out from his back pocket. Another man, who may or may not have been homeless, came to his side. I was only a few feet behind them, allowing me to clearly hear their conversation.

"Excuse me, Sir. You gotta dollar bill hanging out of your back pocket."

"I do?"

And the man reached for his dollar.

"Now I ain't no criminal, but I could have taken that money. So how about you just give it to me as a gift instead."

And then the man walked faster. He held up his hand, let the dollar fall to the ground, and he scurried into the distance. The other man, who may or may not have been homeless, then knelt. He was right in front of me, causing me to stop walking.

"Some people just be leakin' money," the man said. And I nodded and walked around him.

Thursday, May 13, 2010


You know those guys who hand out the free Metro Papers when you get off the subway? Well, my guy, Jerry, he's the best one there is. Everyday I get off at the 125th street stop in a sea of disgruntled workers, and Jerry's always there lifting our spirits. Handing out his papers, doing his little dances, and singing to all the passer byers in his high pitched, raspy voice. I only see Jerry for about ten seconds each day, mind you, but it's always a very memorable ten seconds, and a great way to start things off.

"Help a fella out!" Jerry says. And he hops on one foot holding a pile of his papers.

"I don't bite! I just pass out the information!" Jerry says. And he turns in a circle, laughing like a maniac and winking non stop.

"I'm Jerry!" Jerry says. "Start your day with a boogie!" And he boogies.

The guy's out of control, but I love it. Sometimes he even has a partner, a much quieter guy who let's Jerry do most of the talking/ cheering. He just helps hand the papers out, snickering a bit. We all snicker... Now I don't know the partner's name, or anyone's name on the subway - I just know Jerry. Because that fella is something special. A ray of sunshine in the underground tunnels of New York City. And you know what? I hope I always have someone like Jerry to help start my day.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010


Something I found in my notebook. Oct. 2008?

I always have a knife on me...In case zombies attack or I find myself in a John McClain-esq situation.

So today I'm getting off the subway and I walk by a police checkpoint. You know, those bag searching stations they have to ween out terrorists. A cop, whose name I read is McGovern, calls me to his neat, little table at his neat, little searching station. He looks me over, head to toe, and in a very clear, enunciated voice, like he really wants me to hear each syllable, he says...

"Hand over the book bag, Kid."

Now I've had to do this before, maybe because I look more suspicious than the average subway rider, and each time it's the same thing: they open my bag, look inside, and send me on my way. But not officer McGovern! He's really going at it. Taking out notebooks, my tupperware, flipping through pages of my book. Everything! It's like he's got one of those classic cop hunches and he won't give in until he finds some hard evidence and takes a bite out of crime.

And then he smiles. He slowly raises his arm and removes my keys, letting only one key chain hang down - Yup. My black Swiss Army knife.

"And what do we have here?" Office McGovern says.

"A black Swiss Army knife."

"Is there a reason you have this?"

I pause. I know where this is going, and where my knife is going, too.

"I didn't think so," Officer McGovern says.

He removes my knife, not even asking, and I feel like I'm being robbed and I should call the police. Fuck, right?

"Why are you taking that?" I say.

"Because this is a weapon," Officer McGovern says. "You think we want everyone walking around with weapons?"

Now here is where I want to let my tongue run wild. I swallow and hold my breath. I want to ask why HE has a weapon, why HE'S randomly rummaging through MY bag, and remind him of a little paperwork this country has called the mother fucking constitution, which clearly states you can't randomly search someone without reasonable cause, and how for whatever reason our government has given up on that idea and let a few spoiled eggs take away all of our personal freedoms. "FUCK THE POLICE!" is what I want to say. But I just stand there.

"But my grandfather gave it to me," I say. And McGovern pauses. He looks at me, and what I imagine to be the puppy dog eyes I now have, and he looks back to my knife he's still holding.

"Your grandfather?" Officer McGovern says. And then I say something real bad, so bad that I'm pretty sure it'll send me to hell one day.

"Yup. Right before he died."

It was a lie. My grandfather didn't give it to me. He probably didn't even own a knife. I actually stole it from a friend, if you want to know the truth, so if there's kharma out there then I deserved to have it taken away, regardless of my "damn the man" internal dialogue.

Then Officer McGovern pauses. He looks from side to side, waiting to see if his cop buddies are looking in our direction, and he hands the knife back.

"I'm sure your grandfather wouldn't carry that around the city, though," McGovern says. "And you shouldn't either."

Then he tips his hat, like a cowboy in the old west would, and I scurry back to the crowd, lost in a sea of zombies, which, stupidly enough, I still imagine I might have to fight off one day with old trusty.

And so it goes...On this day, empathy beats suspected crime.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Bloody Feet

Last night in Bryant Park I saw an art installation by Kate Gilmore. It was pretty wild art, Dude! Really, it was.

Now if you'd like to find out more information about the installation, click ART, because what I'm here to talk about is something else entirely - bloody feet.

Last night one of the art participants cut her feet due to the tight high heels she was wearing (follow the above link to read how the hell that could happen at an art installation). It wasn't a serious injury, but things sure did get a little messy, only adding to the piece and giving the thousands of passer byers in Bryant Park another thing to gawk at. So this is what I'm getting at...

I wish writing could be more interactive. Sure, theater and screenplays are interactive, but I'm talking interactive like I cut your feet up interactive. You! Yeah, YOU! Now don't misconstrue this as an anger management issue, I just wish these words, and all written words (not speeches, Mr. Yes We Can!), could physically shake people up. I mean, sure I've read things that keep me up all night or make me sick to my stomach, but that's an emotional thing. I want to slap people around and cut their feet!

WARNING: Do not read this book if you're pregnant or have low blood pressure.

WARNING: Please wear a helmet at all times while reading this book.

That's the stuff! To have more fine print on the bottom of book covers advertising the horrible and wonderful things that could happen if you read them.

Ms. Gilmore's piece was amazing - job well done, Madame. Now I'm just trying to figure out how to give the rest of those passer byers another thing to gawk at, you know?

Monday, May 10, 2010

The To Do List

Today's adventure...

I sat next to a woman on the subway this morning. She had the following to do list written on the side of her left hand:

1 - Tattoo removal?
2 - Brushes
3 - Healthy NY
4 - Shit head

So I stared at it, trying to piece together the items and imagine who this woman was, where she was going, and how these random, and a bit nonsensical tasks, made up her daily chores.

And that's when she stared up at me. She curled her lips, appalled, like I had somehow violated her by staring at her hand on a crowded subway, and I quickly turned away. But I still watched the woman with my peripheral vision, I couldn't help it, so she smiled, took out a pen, and crossed out number 4 on her to do list.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Short Story

HEY! I wrote a short story yesterday. It's a bit silly, but that's that!


Today, Jacob woke up naked and already smiling. He hopped out of bed, slapped his round belly, and walked down his narrow hallway whistling a high pitched, jolly tune. In the living room, which was barren besides a couch and an unplugged lamp, he did jumping jacks. Only fifteen to be exact, for despite his energetic mood he was still a very out of shape, malnourished, middle aged man. And then he waltzed. Jacob put his hands up, now holding an imaginary partner, and he danced from side to side while puckering his lips and kissing the air.

"See," Jacob said. "You're the best dancer in the world!"

"Oh, stop," Jacob replied, in a much higher voice.

"It's true," Jacob said. And then he spun, a much more graceful spin than you'd imagine a man his size could do, and he landed by his front entrance, boarded up with six pieces of lumber. Jacob then turned. He stared at a calendar drawn on his wall with a thick, red marker. It was of numbers, counting down from 631 to 0 and stretching across the wall like an array of family photos. Each number had a red X through it, all except for one that is, the last number - the number 0. Jacob smiled and puckered his lips. He kissed the air and crossed the 0 out, just like he had done to every other number, every other day before this.

In the bathroom, Jacob had five buckets of water. He had not taken a bath in four months, since all water had to be rationed for drinking purposes, but he still purposefully set aside the following five buckets, only to be used for today. He then poured the buckets over his fifthly, spotty flesh, causing him to flinch due to the water's cool temperature, but mainly because the sensation of showering had become so unfamiliar.

And he bathed and kissed the air.

In front of the mirror, Jacob stared at his naked body, shaking and spraying water in all directions like a rabid animal. He smiled wide and slapped his round belly.

“Keep dancing with me. Please.”

Outside, Jacob was as naked as the day he was born, except for a pair of tennis shoes he now wore. He took small, careful steps, cautiously turning from side to side with each random sound. Cars were turned over, store windows were broken, and the occasional body could be seen lying on the ground, none of which fazed Jacob, however, at least not today.

"Hello," a voice said, and Jacob turned, spotting a man lying next to a burning food cart. He was dressed, unlike Jacob, and if wasn’t for a bone protruding from his left leg it would have appeared he was simply taking a nap.

“You don't have any clothes on,” the man said.

“Well, it's a very warm day,” Jacob said.

“It's always warm,” the man said, and Jacob finally walked to him, realizing he was of no harm.

“You’re fat,” the man said. “How are you fat?”

“Canned food. Lots of it.”

“Hope you shared some.”

“I did once.”

“I used to share things, too.”

"What happened?"

"The same thing that happened to everyone else."

Jacob squatted. He stared at the man’s broken leg and the heavy amount of blood still seeping from his body.

"Hey,” the man said. “Want to go to the tunnels?"

And they both laughed. Jacob’s naked body jiggled and the man clapped his hands, until he could laugh no longer and he began coughing uncontrollably. Then they were silent.

“Will you stay with me?” the man said.

“No,” Jacob said.

“You want to be alone for this?”

“I'm not alone.”

“Yes, you are. We all are.”

“Look up. She's coming. And if she's coming then we're not alone.”

"So, now it's a girl?"

And they were silent again. A loud thunder was heard and a cloud covered the sun. Jacob stood. He looked down at the man and then slowly walked away.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “Please stay.” And Jacob never looked back.

The temperature rose, and sweat dripped from Jacobs thighs to the ground, leaving little water droplets to the sides of his tennis shoes. He had been walking for two miles now, past burning buildings, the occasional erratic civilian, and ruble, seeming to grow by the seconds. They meant nothing to Jacob, however, and he kept walking steadily, step by step to the red, brick school building.

Inside, photographs of high school students covered the lobby, and trophies rested on the sides of ledges. Jacob scanned the walls, searching through class photos until spotting the graduating class of 1987. Jacob removed the frame and puckered his lips. He kissed the glass and then dropped it, causing glass to shatter in all directions. One piece cut his left shin, though Jacob took no notice of it and he continued on his way.

He walked from room to room. The classrooms were still full of desks, though they were scattered, set up with no apparent order. In one room there was a note written on a chalk board with large, bold letters. It read: “I’m sorry I was wrong. Nothing will be okay.” Jacob stared at the note, sighed, and slowly erasing it with the palm of his hand.

More thunder was heard, and outside it was getting darker. But Jacob still walked, taking his leisurely time, still in the nude. In one room, he found the dead body of teenage girl, or at least he assumed she was of that age due to her clothes. She had long, thin hair, and her eye sockets had sunk in, causing her skin to be tight around her soft skull.

Jacob lifted her bony body and prompted her up straight, examining her from head to toe, comparing their heights. A worm stuck to her cheek, which he slowly peeled off, careful not to take any skin with it, and he flung it to the side.

And then they kissed.

In the cafeteria, Jacob now held the girl’s body against his own. He let her heavy head flap into his neck, and from a window above he saw it was beginning to hail. The hail bounced from the roof tops, setting a beat that Jacob happily tapped his foot to.

“Will you dance with me?” Jacob said.

“I don’t dance,” Jacob replied, in a much higher voice.

“Sure you do,” Jacob said. And they danced, swaying between tables and under large posters advertising sporting events and school dances.

Jacob found another worm attached to her ear, and he lovingly peeled it off and smelled her hair.

"See," Jacob said. "You're the best dancer in the world!"

"Oh, stop," Jacob replied.

"It's true," Jacob said. And then he spun. With the body in his arms he was far less graceful at spinning, and he soon stumbled over his tennis shoes and fell to the ground. He laughed. He pulled the girl's body on top of his own, forcing her face into his chest, protecting her and covering her eyes. Through the window he saw it was getting darker. More hail and more thunder. The walls now shook, the temperature rose, and Jacob kept laughing and laughing, until it was a cry. Then he slapped his round belly and smiled.

“Keep dancing with me. Please.”

Friday, May 7, 2010


Man, babies are fucking adorable. Now clearly this isn't a new or profound thought. I mean, people have been saying babies are fucking adorable since the beginning of time. But for me, I'm finally realizing why they're so special. It's not because they're a dream, which I'm sure you've read on a few dozen birth announcements, it's because they ARE dreams. You see, when we see a baby we have no idea what they're going to do one day, who they're going to to be one day, or how they're going to act. And that's a beautiful thing. Now when we see a dirty guy with a big beard sleeping on the street, however, we technically still don't know what he'll do one day, who is going to be one day, or how he's going to act, but we make assumptions, even the obvious, negative ones. We can't help it, and this is not a beautiful thing. So this is what I'm getting at...Babies are too cute, clueless, and helpless for us to make negative assumptions about them. I mean, if I was looking at a baby and I heard a guy say, "Man, that little girl is gonna be a slut one day." I'd say, fuck you, buddy! She's just a baby! And that's what anyone would say. Because when we see a new, innocent life we just naturally assume they'll do amazing things. They're our dreams. We say things like... "That baby could cure cancer one day!" Or... "That baby could be president one day!" Or maybe..."That baby will have all the answers one day!" It's hope, and the easiest thing in the world to have hope in, or better yet have faith in, are the things we can't question or understand.

But as I'm writing this, I'm feeling a bit sad. It's wonderful that we have so much hope in babies, but is it wrong that we can't give the same credit to all the other guys and gals wandering around?

Thursday, May 6, 2010

The Jungle Book

Something I found in my notebook. March, 2009?

Last night I got inebriated and walked outside for a bit. I saw a bunch of people with fireflies in their hands and tree vines hanging out of their skulls.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010


I buy most of my books from vendors on the street. They're cheap, convenient, and have more personality than most books you find in the store, which stupidly enough has a lot of importance to me.

So I'm walking around the other day and I stop at a book vendor. He's got a lot of dirty books (grimey, not erotic) but I still take the time to flip through a few. And that's when I find a biography on Van Gogh, an artist I honestly know nothing about, but have an odd attraction to, as I imagine many people do. So I flip through the pages and accidentally find an old postcard tucked halfway through. It's a bit banged up, but the image is as pristine as I imagined it was the first day someone bought it. It's of an apple tree. A pretty, pretty apple tree. So I'm staring at the card when all of a sudden the vendor looks up at me and smiles. It's obvious I have no desire to buy the book, but the postcard is a different story.

"Go ahead," the vendor says. "Take it."

Then I look from side to side, like we need to keep this transaction a secret, and I quickly walk away, a bit worried he'll soon take his offer back.

Then when I'm about twenty feet away or so I raise the postcard and stare at it again, at the pretty, pretty apple tree. New York is a cluster fuck, but this image is really putting me at peace. Then I turn it over...Now I'm not sure why, but I've always loved finding old inscriptions on the back of book covers. It's like finding a love note you were never meant to read, engraved in ink so it will last forever. As for this postcard, which is more of a bookmark than an inscription, I have no idea how long it will last, regardless of the ink, but I do know that I won't soon forget it.


They say Van Gogh was the saddest soul that ever lived. But now that you're gone, I might have him beat. I hope you enjoy your new neighborhood, and your new neighbors. Thank you, Vito. I'll always cherish our little orange table and our little orange chairs.


Tuesday, May 4, 2010


I saw someone speak last night, probably the most influential writer in my life. He gave a good talk, read a good story, and answered good questions. But you know what was great? His shadows. Somehow the lights were set up to give him the most powerful shadows on each side of his body, like he had butterfly wings or was some kind of god. When he got excited, he raised his arms and the shadows flapped and took over the stage. When he laughed, the shadows shook, and my seat seemed to vibrate, like he had the power to move the world below him.

Now I'll probably never meet this man. Honestly, I'm not even sure I want to. But if I ever do, I'll tell him I saw him speak one night, and he had the most impressive shadows I'd ever seen.

I bet he'd like that.

Monday, May 3, 2010


I had the silliest conversation on the subway this morning. There were two boys, say around 12 or 13, and they were screaming the word "Avatar" over and over. Yup, straight up "Avatar" chant. So the other passengers and I are rolling our eyes, turning away, and covering our ears. But finally, when "Avatar" is screamed in my ear at about the 100th time or so, I finally snap.

"Listen!" I say, and I slowly walk up to them. The boys check me out, snickering a bit, and I stare them down. "Avatar sucked."

Then they get all quiet, and it's obvious they don't know how to respond. People are staring at us now, and one guy even applauds the silence.

"You didn't like Avatar?" one of the boys say.

"Gay-vatar," I say, and they gasp. Now I try not to use the word gay in a derogatory sense, but this particular situation really called for it.

"But James Cameron is awesome!" one of the boys say.

"I know he's awesome! Trust me, I know! But Avatar...come on! The Terminator - awesome. The Abyss - awesome. Those are movies worth chanting about."

And then they just stare at me, unsure of themselves and everything I'm saying.

"I mean, you have seen The Terminator, right?"

More silence. They shift their weight and shuffle their little feet.

"Come on guys, you've had to have seen that movie." Nothing. So then I lean back a little and turn to the other passengers, horrified, excepting them to have the same reaction as me.

"What about Aliens?" I say. "Tell me you've seen Aliens?"

"Monsters vs. Aliens?"

"No! God no! Aliens the movie, man. That Cameron's best."

"Well, I think Avatar is his best."

"Well, that's because you haven't seen his other movies. What about Titanic? I'll even take that."

"Gay-tanic," one of the boys say, and they high five.

"No, No! Listen to me! You need to go home and watch these movies! You have no idea what you're missing!"

And now the other passengers are turning away again. They're covering their ears and they're rolling their eyes. But I can't help it. I don't care if I sound as a ridiculous as a 12 year old boy screaming on the subway. I need to do this. To bestow some wisdom on these prepubescent boys.

And then guess what happened? I missed my fucking subway stop. Yup. I got so worked up debating these two little boners about action movies that I ended up being 30 minutes late to work.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

A Childrens Story

More sharing time! WOOT WOOT.

So I've been dusting off some old writing lately, because...well, I don't know why... Anyway! Here's a kids story I wrote about four years back. After this it will probably collect more dust, so enjoy!


Up the mountain, past the fields, and over the trees, Grandpa Joe goes on a hike with his three favorite people in the world; little Bobby, little Sara, and Grandma Jane.

“Grandpa Joe! Grandpa Joe!” little Bobby yells. “Why is this tree white and the others are brown?”

With his hand on his chin, Grandpa Joe thinks as hard as he can.

“This tree is white because a bear painted it that color! This is his favorite tree, so he painted it white so it would stand out from the others and he could find it easily!”

With a smile on his face, Grandpa Joe continues up the mountain, over the fields, and past the trees.

“This way little Bobby. This way little Sara. I have a secret for you,” Grandma Jane says in the back.

“This tree is white because it’s a birch tree. There are dozens of trees in the forest, all different sizes, shapes, and colors. Each one is important in their own special way to help the forest grow.”

With a smile on their faces and a new understanding of the forest, little Bobby and little Sara continue up the mountain, over the fields, and past the trees to find their Grandpa Joe.

“Grandpa Joe! Grandpa Joe!” little Sara yells. “Why are those twigs wrapped together in a circle?”

With his hand on his chin, Grandpa Joe thinks as hard as he can.

“These twigs are wrapped in a circle because at night the trees come alive! They tie small branches together and play catch with them to have fun!”

With a smile on his face, Grandpa Joe continues up the mountain, over the fields, and past the trees.

“This way little Bobby. This way little Sara. I have a secret for you,” Grandma Jane says in the back.

“These small branches were tied together by a bird. It’s a bird’s nest. It’s where they live and raise their families. Just like us, animals need a home too.”

With a smile on their faces and a new understanding of the forest, little Bobby and little Sara continue up the mountain, over the fields, and past the trees to find their Grandpa Joe.

“Grandpa Joe! Grandpa Joe!” little Bobby yells. “Why is the center of that flower yellow?”

With his hand on his chin, Grandpa Joe thinks as hard as he can.

“The center of that flower is yellow because it’s wearing a mask! Flowers love to dress up and wear different clothes! Today that flower wanted to wear a yellow mask!”

With a smile on his face, Grandpa Joe continues up the mountain, over the fields, and past the trees.

“This way little Bobby. This way little Sara. I have a secret for you,” Grandma Jane says in the back.

“The center of that flower is pollen, which is the color yellow. Bees eat pollen to feed themselves and their families. Just like us, all animals need to eat their food.”

With a smile on their faces and a new understanding of the forest, little Bobby and little Sara continue up the mountain, over the fields, and past the trees to find their Grandpa Joe.

“Grandpa Joe! Grandpa Joe,” little Sara yells. “It’s getting dark out. Where does the sun disappear to?”

With his hand on his chin, Grandpa Joe thinks as hard as he can.

“The sun doesn’t disappear at all! The sun goes up high in the sky where it plays with the stars for hours and hours!”

With a smile on his face, Grandpa Joe continues up the mountain, over the fields, and past the trees.

“This way little Bobby. This way little Sara. I have a secret for you,” Grandma Jane says in the back.

“At night time the sun doesn’t disappear, it goes to a different part of the world. The world is a very big place, so big that the sun can’t be everywhere at once. It can be nighttime here and daytime somewhere else. Right now it’s getting dark out, which means somewhere someone is about to start their day, which mean it’s time for us to go home and end our day.”

With a tired smile on their faces and a new understanding of the world, little Bobby and little Sara begin to go down the mountain, over the fields, and past the trees until they’re finally home.

Grandpa Joe and Grandma Jane tuck little Bobby and little Sara in bed. The little boy and girl go to sleep and have the sweetest dreams about the forest, the world, and everything else they’ve learned that day.

Grandpa Joe sits in the next room and smiles, thinking of the next time he’ll go back up the mountain, over the fields, and past the trees with his three favorite people in the world.