Sunday, October 31, 2010

I Wrote a Kid's Story

The Garden Song

The sun rose, the baby opened her eyes.

Mommy was there, stopping her cries.

She held her baby, touched her soft skin.

“Come child, outside we begin.”

And in the garden they would sing…

We water the flowers…
We pick the weeds…
We dig the dirt…
We plant the seeds…
We lay in the sun…
We feel the grass…
Mother and daughter…
We play and we laugh…

Years past, the baby grew to a girl.

She went off to school, and out to the world.

But she always returned, where mommy would wait.

“Come child, outside till it’s late.”

And in the garden they would sing…

We water the flowers …
We pick the weeds…
We dig the dirt…
We plant the seeds…
We lay in the sun…
We feel the grass…
Mother and daughter…
We play and we laugh…

Years past, the girl grew to a teen.

Wild and crazy like no one had seen!

But ever so often, away from her friends.

“Come child, let’s play once again.”

And in the garden they would sing…

We water the flowers…
We pick the weeds…
We dig the dirt…
We plant the seeds…
We lay in the sun…
We feel the grass…
Mother and daughter…
We play and we laugh…

Years past, mommy’s girl was all grown.

She went off to college, and left her small home.

She met a man, they started a life.

They traveled the world, she soon was a wife.

But she always returned, whenever she could.

To visit her mother, like a good girl should.

“I miss our playing, I miss your face,”

“Come, mommy, to our special place.”

And in the garden they would sing…

We water the flowers…
We pick the weeds…
We dig the dirt…
We plant the seeds…
We lay in the sun…
We feel the grass…
The family together…
We play and we laugh…

The End

Friday, October 29, 2010


A man and a woman were walking down the street, hand in hand. Another woman, much younger, walked in the opposite direction, and the man turned to stare at her young hips and thin legs vibrating down the street. When the man turned back around a pillar from a construction site hit him in the bridge of the nose.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

A Scary Story For Halloween

My best friend was kidnapped. We were eleven years old, passing a football in my backyard, when a middle aged man walked to my side. My mother, the chaperone for the day, saw the man from our kitchen window and ran to me, leaving my friend on the other side of the yard, alone.

“Can I help you with something?” my mother asked. She put her hand on my shoulder and walked us backwards. The man breathed heavy. He wore a maroon suit, had a dark red beard, and stood well over six and half feet tall, one of tallest men I had ever seen. I don’t remember his face, I only remember closing my eyes and hearing the man’s low voice, but no words. When I opened my eyes my mother began to cry. She wrapped her arms around me, so tight I couldn’t move or see anything behind me. We just cried, and when I finally broke free the man was gone, and in the distance, where my best friend had been standing, was a football.

D words

I love watching young dads play with their daughters. Even more so, I love watching adult women who are watching young dads play with their daughters. Was that a bit wordy?

I was in a park yesterday and I saw a young man, say early 30's, playing with his daughter, around 4. Nearby was a handful of women, all ages, and each one was completely captivated by the dad and daughter. It's like they were all imagining a time when they too were little girls, and their fathers could pick them up, chase after them, and tickle them into an uncontrollable laughter.

There's something special about a father/ daughter relationship. Frankly, I don't get it - at least not yet, but those women sure did, and they loved it.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Spare Change

It makes me really sad when I repeatedly see the same homeless man on the subway, and each time he has a different story of why he's homeless.

Thursday, October 21, 2010


I have a bad case of the sniffles right now.

So I was just outside, and I sneezed so hard I almost fell off a bench. Then an old woman walked up to me and said:

"Don't breathe New York City air, you'll do much better that way."

Monday, October 18, 2010


I think the Siberian Husky is the only dog I would have sex with. I mean, just look at this dog! Beautiful! So there's a woman near my work who has two of these little guys, and she's always walking them around town, struttin' their stuff. Now I've always considered myself a dog person (I mean, dogs are great), but when I see a Siberian Husky I actually get excited (no, not sexually - that was a joke, by the way), I just feel like I'm seeing an exotic animal on the brink of extinction.

As a New Yorker, I unfortunately don't get the chance to see that much wildlife, so I like to pretend these dogs are my escape to the safari...or the arctic...or anywhere else that's more bad ass, in a nature sense, than NYC.

Basically, my sense of the outdoors is becoming very deluded, and I'm in desperate need of a camping trip.

The Bat Mobile

I know this guy who has speakers attached to his bike, so he can ride around my neighborhood blaring his tunes for the world to hear. Actually, I don't know this guy...I just wish I did.

Man, you should see this bike! It's really something. Speakers on the handlebar and back tire, like he was going for a surround sound effect, and he's got his "control panel" right by the seat, so he can change the radio station or put tape cassettes in with ease. Yup, that's right, I said tape cassettes.

Now as awesome as this bike is, what really makes me giddy is imagining someone construct this technological phenomenon. He must have been REALLY excited to share this with the world, and it shows every time I see him pedaling away, nodding his head to the beat of his boombox on wheels.

Good for, Sir! Now that's innovation!

Sunday, October 17, 2010

The Giving Tree

There was a tornado in Brooklyn a few weeks back that killed many trees in my favorite park. I've tried writing about this a few times with little success, because honestly it makes my heart hurt.

When I moved to my area I felt very nature deprived, as I imagine many city dwellers feel. I took solace in this park, walking in it, sitting on the grass, and eventually jogging, a "hobby" of mine that is very on and off. But regardless of how often I went to the park, life was better because I knew it was there. I knew that only a few blocks away was a place I could feel grass on my bare feet, a place I could stare up at towering trees and let their branches draw shadows on my face, and a place I could watch leaves sail through the air and get lost on a breeze.

And then the tornado came. Trees, huge trees, were pulled up from the ground, leaving their roots exposed like the intestines of a wounded soldier. Branches were broken, and trees that had once reached across the earth were now naked and nothing but a wooden pole. I don't mean to be overly dramatic, and I would never equate the death of a tree to that of a person, but the fact still remains, whenever I now walk past the park I smell the scent of death. So they shut it down.

They've been fixing the park for the past few weeks, slowly but surely, and they recently reopened it. I was hesitant to go back, but I decided to walk there yesterday, and I saw what I was expecting - Tree stumps. All around me were tree stumps, looking more like tombstones than anything else, and it made me want to cry. But instead I remained still, and then walked to where my favorite tree had once been, and I slowly sat on its stump, feeling very much like the old man from The Giving Tree. I stared all around me. There were no more branches to draw shadows on my face, and much of the grass was now covered in mulch. But in the distance I saw something that made me want to cry even more. People were planting trees. They were very tiny, not even big enough to sit under yet, but one day they would be.

I most likely will never see this park covered in towering trees again, but someone will, and that's enough to make me feel better. It's enough to turn the smell of death into life.

Friday, October 15, 2010


It's amazing how much of my happiness is based on the proximity of good food.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

The Beginning Of Something

I fell in love with a woman who couldn’t speak. I slowly walked to her through a crowded room, forming a path between dozens of dancing bodies, until her pale skin and blond hair came into complete focus, and her eyes, blue, as if connecting the sky to the sea, were now wide and never blinking.

“I’m Cole,” I said. “Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”

She seemed to fully exhale and then raised her left hand, pale with freckles, holding index cards organized by bright colors.

“I’m mute,” the top index card read. “I can hear, so please don’t shout.” The words were handwritten in beautiful cursive, the kind people often comment is vanishing with the growth of our technology. She then turned the card over and I read the name “Clare.”

I smiled, she smiled, and a tear filled my eye. Now I was unable to speak.

Sunday, October 10, 2010


This weekend I went on a tour of a water purifying plant, which was actually much more interesting than it sounds. Anywho, before the tour started I sat on a bench and watched two older women, say mid 60's, talk to a male staff member, similar age, who worked at the plant. They were too far away for me to hear their conversation, but between the giggles and the smiles it was clear they were having a grand old time - and that they were flirting. So then the tour starts, but before I stand I watch the older women say goodbye to the staff member. The first one gives him a kiss on the cheek. She blushes. The second older woman does the same, but stays a little longer than needed with her lips pressed against his flesh. She then whispered something into his ear and softly licked his ear lobe. I was the only one who saw it. She then pulled away, smiled, and the two older women began the tour, leaving the staff member completely still and silent. But eventually he smiled, and it was a big one.

Then I stood and learned how water in New York City gets purified.

Friday, October 8, 2010


I always feel a little funny when I run into people I know.

On the subway this morning I spotted a young man that I had gone to college with. He didn't notice me, however, so instead of tapping him on the shoulder and saying hello, I put my head down and hid. Nothing bad happened with this man, mind you, in fact, he's actually very special to me. Four years ago we studied abroad together, and although we weren't particularly close on the trip, we did spent a night wandering the streets, drunk off our asses. That might not sound very special, but it's enough to always hold a place in my heart. In other words, definitely the type of person worth saying hello to on the subway. But I kept still, and I just watched his face get lost with dozens of other faces, belonging to people I would never know. I wondered how many of them I could be friends with, or maybe even wander the streets drunk with.

The subway stopped, he left. I really should have said hello.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Navel Time

I think it's wild how when women are pregnant their bellybuttons stick out. Earlier this week I walked past two pregnant women; they must have been pals, cause they were side by side, power walkin', feelin' the burn, wearing tight white t-shirts outlining their perfectly round belly's.

They were pretty cute, too, and their bellybuttons were pointing due north.

I couldn't imagine being pregnant, bellybuttons aside. Honestly, I couldn't imagine growing anything other than a beard.

A little life was in those women, taking up so much space they couldn't even leave room for a little old bellybutton. It's just wild.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

No Woman Ever Shot A Man While He Was Doing The Dishes

Yesterday I was alone in my apartment doing dishes. I grabbed the soap bottle, squeezed, and an unusual amount of bubbles came out. It looked like there were hundreds of them, now floating all around me like fireflies.

"Pretty," I thought.

So I finished the dishes, puttered, tidied, and when I finally went back to the kitchen about fifteen minutes later, I was amazed to find a dozen bubbles had landed in the sink, still unpopped.

"Super bubbles," I thought.

So I went to my room, read, surfed the web, made a call or two, and then went back to the kitchen for some chocolate. By now it had been well over an hour since my dish washing, and the beautiful, everlasting bubbles had vanished from my mind. But guess what?! YUP, there they were - bubbles, happy and as lively as ever.

There was no logical explanation they could still be in the sink. I mean, these bubbles came from C-Town soap, not Willy Wonka. So I slowly put my finger on top of one and then quickly retreated. It stung me, almost cut the tip of my finger. And then I leaned down at the bubbles, real real close, and finally realized what they were. Little circles of glass. The previous night I had broken a cup doing the dishes, and although I had thought I'd cleaned them all up, I must have missed a few (or a lot), because dozens of pieces remained, glazing the top of the sink.

I guess that's life for you. What you think is beautiful and delicate can actually slice your throat. So look close.

Sunday, October 3, 2010


I was in my girlfriend’s art studio this weekend. She was making a sculpture, but by the way I was positioned, I couldn’t see it, I could only see a wooden pillar, which was hiding the sculpture behind it. She kept circling the sculpture, looking up at it, and it was amazing - seeing a person focus all of their creative energy on what appeared to be nothing but air.

If 6 was 9

Near my apartment there's an abandoned building, or at least it appears to be. On the front door of the building someone spray painted a black figure with a bright, white face. It horrifies me. I hate walking by it, and as silly as it sounds, I constantly imagine the spray painted figure coming to life, chasing me, and swallowing me whole.

Yesterday I walked by the abandoned building. On the front door was the black figure, as always, but someone had changed its face. Instead of something bright, white, and horrifying, there was now the face of Jimi Hendrix. Someone, somewhere, took the time to transform this ghoul into a rock and roll legend, and now I would do anything in my power to have it come to life.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Two for One!

I wrote these both in the same sitting. SOOOO, I thought I'd put them together!

Must be tough being a woman sometimes. Must be tough having people stare at you, and knowing the only thing they want is your flesh.

I knew a girl once, and she said she hated when people, mostly men, complemented her eyes.

"I don't have anything to do with my eyes," she said. "It's genetics, they were passed down to me. I want to be complemented on things I've created."

As a man, unable to fully understand how it actually feels to be a woman, the above idea is the closest I can get to figuring it out.

It makes me realize that sometimes women must feel like they live in a world where no one wants to know who they actually are, but instead, everyone just wants from them the things they had no choice in creating.

Maybe that doesn't make sense. Maybe it shouldn't. Maybe anytime a man tries to describe this sort of thing it should be indecipherable - like caveman writings on a stone wall.

I'm sitting on the steps of a church right now. It's dusk. People are continually walking by, occasionally looking up, and making strange faces pointed in my direction. But I'm completely still. It took me a bit, but eventually I noticed the half of a dozen homeless people sprawled out behind me. The kind where it's obvious they're homeless.

People keep walking by, they keep making faces, and I'm surprised how comfortable I feel.