Benjamin

This isn't a bad thought, it's just a thought that's kind of bad.

I remember being younger and wondering if any of my friends parent's would ever seduce a teenager.

Now, I wonder which one of my friends will be the type of parent who might seduce a teenager.

The Beginning Of Something New

My Grandmother never had a will, instead she used a black permanent marker and wrote the name of one her 16 grandchildren under every piece of furniture and nick nack she owned.

As an 8 year old boy, I remember running around her house looking under tables, chairs, and other figurines to see what I would one day be left when she died. There was a wooden fish, about a foot long, and it rested above her fire place. I was happily surprised to see my name written under this, but even more taken aback that one of my cousin's names was previously written and then crossed off, as if he had done something to loose the right of getting the wooden fish, and I had simultaneously done something to earn it.

I was on my best behavior that day.

Brunch

I had brunch of Sunday and my waitress looked oddly familiar. She was around 20, tan, short black hair, petite. I couldn't stop staring at her. She gave me the oddest feeling, and it took half of my fried chicken meal to finally understand it. She reminded me of my mother, a younger version that is.

My mother is tan, short black hair, petite, and she used to be a waitress.

So I stared at this young woman and wondered where she would be in 25 years. I wondered if she would have a son and what he would be doing.

I had no money on me that day, and therefore couldn't contribute to the bill. I was a baby, letting other people take care of me.

Fitting.

Ocean's Three

Yesterday on the subway platform I saw three men standing together, huddled around something small. I was a bit taller than each of them, and I got curious, so I walked close enough to the men without being too obvious, while still being able to see over their shoulders.

They were looking at an iPhone. One man, in the middle, was using the calculator feature. I can't recall the exact numbers he was using, but it was something close to this:

4,500,500/ 3 =

He then paused, looked at the other two men, and pressed enter.

1,500,000 came on the screen.

They were still, until one of them slowly walked away and then jumped high into the air, celebrating. They then all high-fived, sweating, and the train came.

Yellow Cover

SOOOOO I heard that everyone in the universe is reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Is this true?!

Well, since, you know, I want to write books and all, I thought I should also read it, so I can see what everyone in the universe likes. I'm about 250 pages in; very easy read. It's good and all, but as I'm reading I can't help but imagine bad SNL skits you could parody from it.

Anyway, I'm not here to give a review, I'm here because three days ago I was on the subway and the guy next to me and guy across from me was also reading the same book. If you haven't seen it, it has a bright yellow cover, so it's very easy to spot. And then I looked around and I saw a women reading the third book in the series, The Girl who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.

What the fuck!? I felt like I had been infected with a virus (if that's even something you can feel), so I quickly closed the book, now feeling very embarrassed.

"I wasn't actually reading this!" I wanted to say. "How did this book get in my bag?!"

So THEN I just felt like a dick! Because, you know, I think it's kind of annoying when people lash against something just because it's popular.

That being said, I think this is a very interesting book; though not interesting because of the text, but because it gives me a funny feeling just by looking at it.

That's pretty neat.

A New Law

OKAY, so today I’m going to institute a new law that should be enforced globally:

When you see someone accidentally drop something, and they don’t realize they’ve dropped something, you need to fucking say something, or at least offer some kind of body gesture to clue the person in.

Today I got off the subway and had to wait on the platform for another train to come. I opened my book bag, fiddled, and then stared out to the universe. Next to me was a man, a woman, and a teenager. Oddly enough, all three of them were staring at me, like something was off but they were unsure how to say it. So after a moment, naturally, they returned to their musings: iPod, kindle, cell phone.

“Hm,” I thought. “Why did those people just stare at me?”

I wiped my nose. Clean. I wiped the edges of my lips – some toothpaste, but nothing worth staring. So then I finally turned in a circle, thinking something around me must be off, and that’s when I saw it... My notebook. My poor, innocent composition notebook, lying helplessly on the ground, flipped open, naked and leaking papers. They were about to blow away with the oncoming train, so I had to quickly kneel down and start gathering things up frantically…It was kind of pathetic. And from the ground I looked up like a beaten dog. The man, woman, and teenager, who had managed to take another five second break from their electronic distractions, we’re all staring down at me. For a second I thought they might laugh.

Now why the fuck didn’t they tell me I dropped my notebook? Seriously. Were they worried I would turn that into some drawn out conversation? Were they worried I’d say, “Fuck you, I dropped that notebook on purpose!”

I think I’m being a little too sensitive about this whole thing (actually, I know I am), but honestly, it made me really sad that these people didn’t tell me I dropped something. And even sadder to think of the reasons why.

This has not been that best start of a day.

Up North

I was in Montreal this past weekend. For anyone who actually reads this, sorry for my lack of posts...

As for Montreal, it's a city that makes me want to write poetry. That's all I can really say about it. So...I wrote a poem.

There's a freckle of a speckle below your left eye.

Why?

Because I need it.

BFF?

On the subway this morning I actually found a seat. Happy day! But of course, next to me is this guy - rapping, beatboxing, and hitting a railing with a pair of drumsticks. Geez! Just my luck! So naturally, everyone's annoyed at this guy, most of all me, and with the increasing volume of his beats and rhymes, it's safe to say he's not making any new best friends this morning.

Or is he?

So the guy is drumming away, dropping his beats, when all of a sudden he accidentally hits his wrist against the railing and bangs his watch.

"Shit!" the man says.

Everyone turns. They're silent.

The man then takes a tissue out of his pocket, polishes his watch back up, and smiles; relieved there is no permanent damage.

And here's the funny part....We're wearing the same watch! I know, I know, it's just a coincident, and it's not like I have enough money to buy a "one of a kind" watch or anything, but it still made me laugh. I mean, I love watches. I'm a watch nut! And seeing this guy get so concerned over his own watch made me realize we share the same love for these little ticking wrist bands.

So then I started thinking...Maybe we have more in common than I realize! Maybe we could hang out! Maybe we could even drop beats together! Maybe I could teach him the guitar and he could teach me the drums! And you know what else?! Maybe we could perform on the subways together across the great land of New York City!

Yeah! Frog and Toad, Dude!

So that's what happened this morning - in a matter of seconds a person transformed form being a disturbance to my future BFF.

I find this fitting for my 100th post. Thanks for reading!

Three Feet Below

This morning's subway ride was more crowded than usual. One of those days where you literally have to put your arms above your head to prevent your shoulders from being bruised. There's a lady in my armpit, a guy breathing on my neck, and another large dude pressing his round belly against the indent of my lower back. It's a pedestrian orgy.

So I'm standing there, "hangin'", when all of a sudden I look down and see the face of a little girl poking up between a dozen sweaty arms. Unlike the rest of us, however, she seems content, safe and comfortable under a world of commuter chaos. And guess what she's doing? Making faces! She's sticking her tongue out, pulling her cheeks, and even pointing, all directed to the dozens of working stiffs standing three feet above her. Ha!

I really wished I could have joined her.

Love

I'm with my sister's family this weekend in Syracuse. Here's the best part - I don't think I've ever seen another person in my life so in love; my sister to her son, that is. Don't get me wrong, I know she loves her husband, and all the other nerds in our family, but when she stares at James, my nephew, it's something else entirely. It's like watching someone's life flash before their eyes before they've even lived it. She stares at him and sees hundreds of memories - his first day of school, trips, their first dance, all of it. But at the same time, I know she never wants these memories to come, because that would mean this moment would end - a sixteen month year old boy with blond, curly hair laughing at her feet.

Can you blame her?

Ham Sandwich

Sometimes I worry I stare at people too much. It’s not even staring really, it’s more like picking a random person, keeping your eyes on them, and then falling into a daydream, or what I like to call zoning out.

Senior year of college.

Today I’m in Union Square – waiting for one thing or the other. Across from me is an older man, mid 50’s, dirty, and eating a sandwich that looks like it was recently picked out of a trash can. It’s 90 degrees out.

Yum.

So I’m staring at this guy, probably being a little more obvious than I should, when all of a sudden he looks back at me, lets a drop of thick mayonnaise fall from his lower lip, and says:

“Fucking faggot.”

Now obviously, I want to look away. I should look away - but I don’t. I just blink a few times while making a conscious effort to keep my eyes steady and firm. Because you know what? Fuck this guy. Really. Why can’t people stare at each other every once in a while? What’s the big deal? Now I understand you may not want someone ogling/ eye fucking you, but what’s wrong with zoning out towards someone? Harmless stuff.

So I blink a few more times, tapping into something deep inside of me, and I stare forth at the presumed homeless man. And this is when things get a bit silly...For whatever reason I now find it appropriate to pucker my lips. Not sexy like, but in a way an old lady would right before she kisses a toddler and grabs hold of their cheeks. I’m laying it on pretty thick too, and let me tell you, this guy does NOT know what to make of this...I'm not really sure either.

But what’s done is done, and now I have to commit to the fact that I’ve been staring at this guy for over five minutes and then proceeded to make gestures that can easily be construed as sexual.

I should have just read a book.

So the guy slowly stands, letting more sandwich bits fall to the ground, a feast for the pigeons, and he walks off, not even hinting that he wants to leave a response behind – and I was looking.

It’s 90 degrees out; maybe even hotter by now. I’m covered in sweat, thirsty, and now realizing there’s more gray area between ogling and zoning out than meets the eye.

Hm.

Yesterday I was walking back to my apartment and I past an auto shop. I saw a man on his knees changing the back tire of a car. Behind him was another man giving him a sensual massage.

I never thought I would see that.

The Boss

There's a guy I work with, and for the purposes of this story we'll call him Bruce. Bruce is a pretty funny guy, a little sarcastic at times, but in a jokey way, never insulting.

Since I've only been at my job for a week, I know nothing about Bruce, or anyone there for that matter, besides what they've told me and what I can decipher from body language/ speech mannerisms, which is not a lot.

Now here's the story:

For the past few days Bruce has been coming in and out of my "office," diddle daddling with papers, and he's always talking about how hard his boss is working him, which in all honesty sounds pretty hard. He says stuff like...

"Boss has been tough this week, Sean!"

And...

"My boss is never ending!"

Now I'm not exactly sure what Bruce does at my work; I don't really know anything at this point, but I have figured out that Bruce's boss sounds like a tough person to work with, so naturally I started worrying that I'll soon have to deal with him or her - Dang.

Today at 3pm I heard a baby's cry. I stood, wiped my eyes, and left to go investigate. Bruce was in the next room over holding a baby boy, nine months old. He was adorable. I'd say the second most adorable baby boy I've ever seen in my life. Bruce was rocking him, lightly kissing his cheeks, and whispering into his tiny ears, which is pretty much all you can do to a baby as delicate as this one.

I was speechless.

"Meet my boss," Bruce said.

And I smiled and exhaled.

That Little Something Special

I don't have a unibrow - I have a uninose.

What is a uninose, you ask? Well, it's something I made up, or at least I think I made it up since none of the appropriate images surface after a google search.

Here's the scoop...

Uninose - A patch of hair that grows on your nose an inch or two lower than the gap between your eyebrows.

Get it?

Honestly, I'm not really sure where I stand on the hairiness scale for the average man. But let me tell you, the tip of my nose is out of this world. Really, really. Every few days I have to give it a clean swipe with my Mach3 razor otherwise I'm left with little hairsies curling up to the heavensies - my little friendsies.

So why am I reporting this? Because I'm convinced that everyone in the world has a little something special on their bodies they're unsure of/ embarrassed of.

And I'm not talking about weight or height or any of that other obvious stuff. I'm more talking about the weird things people find that make them wonder if anyone else in the world has it as well. Maybe they even have a name for the weird thing, something charming like, and you can't even find it on the Internet with a google search. EVEN with the safety features off!

Mine is the uninose.

Have a nice day.

Batteries Not Included

Someone once told me that whenever you look down at the subway tracks in New York City, you will always see an old battery. It's true. No matter where you are you'll see a rusty, cutup battery. Weird.

Which means once upon a time, many moons again, people would wait for their trains and open up their CD players, toys, remote controls, who the hell knows...

I wonder if one day we'll see old iPods on the subway tracks.

The Doobie Sisters

Today I tried a new restaurant at my new work!

I sat down, was given a menu, and then quickly realized my surroundings were much fancier than I first noticed, for everyone there was either dressed in a suit or business attire. BUT, the menu was reasonably priced, and since I love elaborate meals I decided to stay.

I was halfway through my lunch, a very yummy one at that, when all of a sudden something peculiar happened. I looked up, winced my eyes, and deeply inhaled. I smelled it, and everyone else smelled it to. Pot. Thick, sweet pot, and it settling on top of us like a rain cloud.

Now I'm not here to give my insights on marihuana, though if you'd like to discuss them we can meet. Right now all I know is that someone, somehow was smoking a major doobie in the upper east side this afternoon right outside of my restaurant.

And here's the funny part. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE in the restaurant snickered at this. Business men, business woman, people being interviewed, people on meetings - the whole kit and caboodle of the upper tax bracket giggled at the idea of someone nearby smoking weed. It's like they were all silently saying, "Remember when we smoked weed?" Or "Remember when we were kids?"

It was great. I loved it. It made me want to stand up and shout, "Hey, Everybody! I used to smoke weed, too!" But I decided it was best not to, since this was only my first time there.

Anyway, I would rate this restaurant on the far end of the stuffy meter, but I shall return.

Growing Pains

Now that I've been living in my area for over a year, I'm noticing the different kids growing up. This one boy always wears pajama bottoms (cute ones; white and blue) and as the months pass they're beginning to end higher and higher on his legs - like a ruler showing his growth spurts.

Part of me wishes someone would just buy this kid some new pants, but on the other hand, it's funny seeing more of his ankles each week.

He's really growing like a bean stalk...

Good

I found out today I was accepted into a writing residency in Vermont. It's a month long, so I'm doubtful I'll be able to go, but it still felt good to read the letter.

I think more people should share what they feel good about. Wouldn't that be nice? But I don't know...Do you think sorrow is more interesting?