Wednesday, June 30, 2010


Last night my girlfriend and I opened a bottle of wine and said a toast for a woman we both know who was in labor. We raised our glasses, said our silent prayers, and hoped everything would go smoothly.

I'm not sure what it was, but it was the most delicious bottle of wine I've ever had in my life.

And then this morning we found out the baby was born - healthy, safe, and with a full head of hair.

Monday, June 28, 2010


I just had a thought. Probably something I shouldn't share here...but...whatevskies.

"When you watch the World Cup, everyone has momentary turrets."


I've started running.

Two miles at a time, four days a week. I'm not here to talk about exercise, however, I'm here to talk abut flip books. Remember flip books? Well, they're great. A bunch of pictures in a book that you flip to form a short movie.

Yup, you got it.

And for me, that's what running is. You go around this circle over and over and see the same people in the same spot, but in a slightly different position. And if you run long enough, you eventually see a story...

Lap 1 - Man on bench

Lap 2 - Man drinking beer

Lap 3 - Man sleeping

Lap 4 - Woman yelling at man

Lap 5 - Woman and man sitting next to each other

Lap 6 - Woman and man are gone

At this point, I can only run up to six laps, but I tell you, the funny folk in Maria Hernandez Park are really encouraging me to run longer. Because the more laps, the more story.

And who doesn't like stories?

Saturday, June 26, 2010

A Very Stupid Thought

Whenever I press my keyboard and wake my computer up, the top right of the screen says the time it was when it first entered "sleep mode", not the current time.

Then all of a sudden the screen flickers, the computer catches up, and it gives me the correct time. I like this, because for a second it feels like I'm time traveling...hence the post title.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Doughnut & String Bean

I live next to a portly little boy, who for the past year and a half I've called "Doughnut."

Now please don't think I'm making fun. Doughnut may not sound like the nicest nickname, but when I use it for this little boy, I'm only imagining the best features of a doughnut...Really. And as you know, doughnuts have A LOT of great features!

I love this kid. He's always running around, cheering, getting into trouble, running through the spraying water of a fire extinguisher - it's cute stuff. But I think my favorite thing about Doughnut is that, oddly enough, his name is also Sean, something I found out very quickly last year when I began hearing:

"Sean, get out of the road!"

"Sean, leave them alone!"

"Sean, no more ice cream!"

And then I would see Doughnut, smiling that cute smile of his.

Now, it's always odd when you meet someone with the same name as yours. It's like the world has chosen the same one/two or three syllable sound to define who you both are. But as for Doughnut, I think the funniest thing about him is that I've given so much thought to him over the past year and a half, and to him I'm nothing more than just a random guy who gets in his way when I walk in front of his apartment. That's until something happened yesterday - something I'm a bit embarrassed to write about, because it honestly almost made me cry.

I was walking back from the supermarket. Minding my own business, whistling, when all of a sudden Doughnut came running around his porch. BAM! Knocked right into me. This happens quite a bit, as you can imagine it would when you live next to kids, and every time it happens he always runs off, not saying a word. This particular encounter, however, was different. Doughnut crashed into me, looked up, smiled that cute smile of his, and said:

"Sorry, Sean."

I paused. I almost dropped my fucking groceries. He knows me. Doughnut, THE Doughnut knows who I am. I felt like I just ran into Lady Gaga or something. And then he ran away, off to more adventures, and he started yelling to his friends.

And here's the kicker...Want to know what he was yelling?

"String Bean! String Bean! String Bean!"

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

New Kid's Story

Here's a newish kid's story I wrote. I actually have a copywrite on this...silly, I know. So no stealing! Hope you enjoy...

Little Boy Toe Nails

There was once a little boy

With the strangest dream in the world

To have the longest toenails

No matter how much they curled

He grew his toenails

And they grew and they grew

He grew his toenails

Till they shot through his shoes

But as weeks passed by

His sister started to wail

“Little boy, little boy,

You must cut your toenails!”

But the boy had a dream

No matter how strange it was

So he followed his heart

And he did what he loved

He grew his toenails

And they grew and they grew

He grew his toenails

Longer than a canoe

But as weeks passed by

His mother screamed without fail

“Little boy, little boy,

You must cut your toenails!”

But the boy had a dream

No matter how strange it was

So he followed his heart

And he did what he loved

He grew his toenails

And they grew and they grew

He grew his toenails

Like he lived in a zoo

But as weeks passed by

His father shook and he flailed

“Little boy, little boy,

You must cut your toenails!”

The family was angry

At the little boy’s dream

So they drew up a plan

Even if it seemed mean

That night in the dark

They tiptoed with joy

To cut the boy’s toenails

Like all other boys

But poof! In a flash!

Fire filled up the hall

They ran to a room

There were no exits at all

In the corner they stayed

Alone and afraid

Until the little boy came

Ready to save

With his feet out the window

He said, “Follow me!”

“Slide down my toenails

And down to safety!”

So the family all slid

One by one to the ground

Until the boy was alone

There was no one around

It was then the boy thought

No matter how strange it was

“I’ll get to my family

using all that I love.”

He cut off his toenails

And tied them like rope

He lassoed a tree branch

And swung with all hope

Swinging next to his family

He shouted “Ahoy!”

“Yay,” said the family

“What a brave little boy!”

The fire soon ended

The family never did part

Everyone was thankful

The boy followed his heart

Tuesday, June 22, 2010


Washington D.C. is like an exotic fruit. I'm not sure if I actually like it, but I keep trying it because of the odd sensation it gives me.

I was in our Nation's Capital this past week. Many stories, many emotions, and many silly, little blog posts to write. But at the moment, I only want to write/ share one.

It was Saturday night. I was drinking, dancing, "house parting", when all of a sudden one of my friends from high school looked over at me and said:

"This is the most fun I've ever had in my life."

Granted, he had been drinking (quite a bit actually) but I really think he meant it. I know he did. Then you know what happened? My phone buzzed, I opened it, and I read a text message from one of my college friends.

"Howard died."

And I stared at it. Howard was one of my old teachers. That quintessential guy. You know the guy, right? That beautiful, quirky, somewhat perverted person who is truly unforgettable (the type who deserves a writer better than myself to describe him...but one day I'll try. Just not today).

It didn't make me sad when I read the text message, however. It was just a new rush of emotions that I wasn't sure how to handle. I still don't. You see, I was with people who I loved, living, who had never met Howard, another person I loved, now dead.

Does that make sense? Maybe it's not supposed to, because I guess that's what this weekend was: A juxtaposition of life and memories. I guess that's what everything is.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


My girlfriend saw a man masterbating by Union Square two days ago. REALLY!?!? Come on fellas, I know we're all sort of pervs and all, but dang, right in front of Shoemania?! All those cheery, unexpecting shoe shoppers minding their own business, looking for some pumps and stilettos, coming outside to find a guy going at it. Geez...

So oddly enough, I'm now going to transition into a story my Nana once told me:

Once upon a time when I six years old, I was sitting on a couch picking my nose.

My Nana then came up to me and said...

"Sean, I'm going to tell you something. Everyone picks their nose. If they say they don't, they're lying. But you never, ever pick your nose in public. You just don't."

The end.

What a wise woman, am I right?

This makes me wonder if Mr. Shoemania had a Nana.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Kissy Face

A story from my Junior year of college:

A homeless man gave me a kiss today. I had just finished giving a guitar lesson when I went down to the subway and saw him sitting on a bench wearing a glittery, Happy New Years hat and patting his knees like a drum.

And then he said this:

"Hey! You gotta guitar on your back! You play guitar?"

"I do."


And he started playing an air guitar.

"Where you play guitar?!"

"Just down the street."

"Down the street!"

"Yup, down the street."


And then I sat next to him, since he was a very charming homeless man.

"I bet you have lot's of girlfriends! Wearin' a guitar on your back and havin' lot of ladies."

"Not really."

"I bet you take a different lady home every night!"


"Well, you should! They should be giving you kisses!"

And the homeless made a kissy face. He kissed the air and stretched his neck out.

"Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss."

And I started to laugh.

"You want to give me a kiss?"

And I laughed some more and turned away (though I probably should have left). That's when the homeless man leaned over and kissed my cheek. I quickly pulled away. He stood, giggling.

"Gotcha! I gotcha!" And he played his air guitar.

Then the subway came and I watched it zoom behind him before coming to a stop. He was very happy with himself...He got on. He was gone.

I missed my fucking train.

Monday, June 14, 2010


I just stared eating sushi.

Man, sushi is AWESOME! Why didn't anyone tell me how awesome it was?! I mean, really! I feel like I've wasted 25 years of my life by not eating it. SO much catching up to do...

Star Woman

Spent some time on a roof this past Saturday night with some lovely people. At about 11pm, I rested on my back and stared up at the the sky, enjoying the pitter-patter of conversations all around me. It was a cloudy night, and I kept hearing people say how they wished the stars were out. But you know what? Even when it's cloudy, if you stare up at the sky long enough you'll eventually see a star shine through. Really. It's like your eyes start adjusting and you can see a secret world that no one else can. And after fifteen minutes of lying on my back, I began seeing dozens of more stars all around me, too beautiful and powerful to be hidden by the clouds.

"I wish the stars were out," I heard someone say. But I didn't respond. Tonight, the secret world was just for me.

It was a lovely night.

Friday, June 11, 2010

The Ant

I saw an ant crawling near me on the subway yesterday morning. He was a little guy...Now I didn't feel the need to kill him, but at the same time I didn't want him crawling on me, so you know, I gave him a little flick.


But the weird part is, afterwards, I couldn't see where he landed. I know he's small and all, but no matter where I looked - nothing.

"See ya, little friend!" And I got off the subway.

So around 14 hours later I'm in bed reading. And all of a sudden, yup, I see an ant crawling down my forearm.

"Hey, friend," I say, and then I pause. I have one of those epiphany moments, even though I'm not coming up with an idea.

Now obviously, the likelihood of this being the same ant from the morning is pretty slim. But maybe it was? In fact, I'm going to pretend it was, especially while writing this, because I kind of like the idea of having a millimeter creature hanging out on my shoulder all day. Talking to my friends, seeing my co-workers, watching me eat lunch. I mean, it's hard to share all those details with a person, even if you really try. Actually, I think it's impossible. But with this little ant I didn't have to share a thing, he was already there - part of my stupid day, hitchin' a free ride.

And who doesn't want a free ride?

So I picked the ant off my forearm and brought him outside.

"See ya, little friend." And we both keep moving.

...Then I started wondering if my apartment has ants.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Fender Bender

Something I found in my notebook. June, 2009?

Yesterday at 5:30pm I was walking up a staircase to leave a subway station. This is New York's pedestrian version of rush hour. Instead of cars being bumper to bumper, it's bodies pressed again one another. Instead of cars stopping and going, it's people taking baby steps inch by inch to home.

So as I'm walking, as usual, I can feel the person behind me. Something's a bit off, however, because I feel their presence more than I'm used to. I feel their chest hitting my back. I feel their breath, hot, moist, and heavy, hitting my neck. But instead of turning around and telling the person to slow down, which I should have, I get sucked into the communal feeling of anxiety and impatience(which is what pedestrian rush hour is all about), and I start moving faster. And then it happens...The woman in front of me, elderly, I'd say around 75, accidentally hits her foot against my shin as she's climbing the stairs. I got too close; completely my fault (even in pedestrian rush hour there are collisions), and the old woman nearly falls. She leans to her side and grabs the railing, tilts her face up, winces her eyes, and clenches her teeth. It's awful. Really. So I stop walking, barricading the human traffic behind us.

"Hurry up!" a man says - the same man whose breath I felt. But I don't hurry up. I just turn around and stare at him, not saying anything with my voice, but with my eyes I say, "Relax, buddy, or I'll rip your esophagus out." And by his reaction, and the people's reaction behind him, it's obvious they received my silent message.

"Are you okay?" I say to the old woman. I slowly, lightly put my hand on her shoulder, and she flinches. Not because I surprised her, but because she's actually frightened I might hurt her. Again.

I quickly pull my hand back.

"I'm sorry," I say, and the old woman looks at me, at all the people waiting behind us, making impatient faces. All the dozens and dozens and dozens of people waiting to get home, to errands, to work, and to life. So she gives a defeated smile, swallows, and beings to slowly climb back up the stairs, limping.

When we get to the top, the old woman sits on a bench and I continue to hover around her, repeatedly asking if I can help or call someone. She just sits there. I want to make an excuse up of why I almost tripped her. I want to say the guy behind me made me go too fast. But that wasn't it. I was the reason she almost fell.

"It's okay, sweetie pie. Everyone's just in a rush," the old woman says with a smile.

My Nana calls me sweaty pie. If I ever saw a man push her down, I'd kill him. Really, I would.

Then the old woman tells me to go. I hesitate, but I finally leave, since I can tell she really wants me to. In fact, she's happy to see it. Can you blame her?

So now I'm gone, taking slow steps, inch by inch, even though there's no one left around me. And then I get to thinking...I love New York, but sometimes I wish I lived in a city - no, scratch that. Sometimes I wish I lived in a world where no one ever felt the need to rush.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

A Kind Of Concerned Father

Yesterday's adventure...

On my way to the subway I saw a man talking on his cell phone. He was pacing, yelling, sweating, kicking, and occasionally pulling his hair. So naturally, I stood on the other side of the street and listened.

"I don't care! I said, I don't care! If you're breastfeeding, you shouldn't be partying! It's as simple as that!"


"It doesn't matter that he's out of you, cause you're still putting part of your body inside of him! And if you get drunk, you're giving him the drunk stuff!"

A few people then walk by, all keeping their heads down. I'm now pretending to text.

"What?! You're gonna stop?! For what damn reason?!"


"But you read the books. Then he won't feel that connection when he's older..."


"Well, if I could I would, Woman! But I can't. But you! You! You could do this but you'd, rather drink than-"

Then the guy is quiet. He lifts the cell phone up and stares at it.

"Fuck you, bitch!"

And he walks off, almost knocking another guy over as he turns the corner.

Now! I'm not sure how I feel about this guy. I mean, this obviously wasn't the right place to be having this conversation, nor was he handling it very maturely. But still, something about him felt right to me, and that his heart was in the right place...wherever that place may be.

And if anything, it reminded me to get my dad a gift for Father's Day. Have you done that yet?

Friday, June 4, 2010

Hey, Dude

For the past year I've been a regular at a restaurant near my work. And during this year, I've seen much of the wait staff come and go - except for this one guy.

You see, this one particular waiter is always there, and more importantly, he's always wearing this one particular big, baggy rastafarian hat (the place is pretty hippity dippity, so they probably encourage Bob Marley look a likes). Anyway, today I go to the restaurant for probably the hundredth time, and for the first time EVER I see the waiter...without his hat on!

Big whoop, you're saying. NO! This is a HUGE fucking whoop! The waiter had hair down to his knees! I kid you not... HAIR. Down. To. His. Knees! It wasn't dirty hair either, just thin strands of blond and brown dancing up his legs and always following in his path a second behind.

Now, I've always wanted long hair...because, you know, long hair is great. I've even grown it down to my shoulders a few times, and with each attempt, I'm sorry to say that I look pretty goofy. So long hair probably isn't destined for my future, but I can still admire the long locks of another dude...right?

"Dude!" I say to the waiter as he comes to my table. "Your hair is crazy long."

"I know, almost a decade in the making, man."

"Wow, dude. That is...AWESOME!" There are certain situations where I can really talk like a surfer, this being a prime example.

"You should always wear it down," I say. "Don't cover it up with a hat!"

"I would, man, but upper management, man. They say I have to keep it covered. Some health thing."

Then we both sigh and are silent, sharing an immature feeling of hate towards "the man keeping us down"...if you're reading this, you know what I'm talking about.

But then he smiles. He looks from side to side and leans into me so his hair is lightly swaying only inches from a my face, like each strand is an individual flag of individualism.

"But you know what?" the waiter says. "Fuck it. Sometimes you have to let your hair down." Then he smiles, drops a few napkins on my table (the cloth kind that you can rewash) and he walks away. I just sit there... I want to say something to the waiter, thank him for this little moment in time, but all I can do is swallow and let out a soft chant.

"Yeah, dude."

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

The Fashion Beast

Beauty and the Beast is by far my favorite animated film. Now I'm sure you'd love to hear my long winded reasoning behind this, but's another thought for your brain:

I often walk by groups of children on my way to work, and as of recently, I've been paying more attention to their little book bags and their little t-shirts.

Weird? Yes. Pointless? No.

You see, I'm starting to notice something...there's just not a lot of Aladdin book bags out there anymore. Lion King either. OR my beloved Beauty and the Beast. In fact, unless you're willing to go to garage sales or spend some time on the internet, I'm beginning to realize it's pretty hard to find any kid's parifinalia referencing movies older than a decade.

And this is what I'm getting at... The fashion of a young child is predetermined by whatever popular cartoon movie happens to be out, because naturally that's what the larger shopping marts will be stocked with. And that gets my goat! I mean, really! What a sham that a kid can't walk into a Wall Mart and find a Lion King book bag... Yes, yes, I know there's probably Cinderella and Snow White accessories every which way you turn, but what about the other animated films that don't fall into the instant classic category? I mean, should kids born after the year 2000 not have the option of sporting a multicolored Jungle Book hoodie? That's denying the bare necessities!

In conclusion - kids are only exposed to what we show them. They don't have ability or know how to log onto netflix and pick movies, nor to log onto eBay and buy vintage t-shirts. Therefore, we (meaning adults) have the responsibility, the duty, to expose children to some culture - even the animated kind. And this is one of the many reasons I know I'm not ready to be a parent. Because above anything else, I'm very nervous about what type of movies I'll share with my kid.

Fuck the booster shot.

An Aspiration:

If I ever fall into a lot of money, I'm going to open up a restaurant in Williamsburg, Brooklyn and call it "Boners."

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

A Tale Of Two Cities

Last Thursday on my way to Laguardia Airport I saw something off the highway that truly took my breath away. A cemetery.

Now in general I find cemeteries to be very dark, beautiful, and spooky places (a standard a hotchpot of emotions for me), but I'd rarely use generic lines like "take my breath away" to describe them.

This particular cemetery, however, was different. It was in front of the skyline of Manhattan. All those big rectangular buildings holding thousands of people behind all those small rectangular tombstones representing individual people.

You see, I always imagined cemeteries as being separate from the rest of the world. They shouldn't be touched, or better yet invaded, with everyday life. But seeing New York City behind all those tombstones made me realize something; not a profound thought, but regardless, still something I'm having trouble with: Cemeteries are just cities for the dead.