Just two days after my intense Mr. Bojangles dream, I walked over to Penn Station and went down the stairs to the lower corridor on my way to the Big K-Mart pharmacy to renew my prescription of migraine pills. There was a woman playing guitar and singing at one end of the long hallway, and at first I didn't make out the song, but then I suddenly realized that it was "Mr. Bojangles!"
I didn't stop to listen, though, because it was my lunch break and I had to get that prescription. It turned out that my prescription had expired anyway—so much for that. I had some more dreams that keep almost coming back to me but don't. Just a few minutes ago the significance of all this seemed profound, but now the significance escapes me.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
"Mr. Bojangles"
I had a dream where I was videotaping some public street performers, though it wasn't on the street, but some big room, like maybe a train station waiting room that wasn't much bigger than a good-sized apartment. Everyone was standing around, and it was crowded but comfortable. There was someone playing guitar and singing "Mr. Bojangles" and they were pretty good, and I got a little footage. It was okay.
I went back some days later to the same place to get some additional footage, and there was someone ELSE singing "Mr. Bojangles"—also a really nice version. So I got some footage of this person. (I don't remember anything in particular about these performers, now, except that they sang in beautiful, soulful voices.)
I went back another day, kind of haunted by that song and the performances by these public singers. Now there were THREE people singing "Mr. Bojangles!" They were standing in three corners of the room and kind of playing off each other. One person would start the song and another would continue it. Before I was able to set up my camera, they stopped. I noticed that there were SEVERAL people there videotaping, including some professional television crews. Then someone set up a podium and it seemed like something official was to take place. I happened to be directly behind to podium—I had an amazing spot for getting footage of whatever was going to transpire, but nothing ever did. I just filmed from behind the podium, with the podium in the foreground. But there was no longer anyone singing "Mr. Bojangles."
I went back some days later to the same place to get some additional footage, and there was someone ELSE singing "Mr. Bojangles"—also a really nice version. So I got some footage of this person. (I don't remember anything in particular about these performers, now, except that they sang in beautiful, soulful voices.)
I went back another day, kind of haunted by that song and the performances by these public singers. Now there were THREE people singing "Mr. Bojangles!" They were standing in three corners of the room and kind of playing off each other. One person would start the song and another would continue it. Before I was able to set up my camera, they stopped. I noticed that there were SEVERAL people there videotaping, including some professional television crews. Then someone set up a podium and it seemed like something official was to take place. I happened to be directly behind to podium—I had an amazing spot for getting footage of whatever was going to transpire, but nothing ever did. I just filmed from behind the podium, with the podium in the foreground. But there was no longer anyone singing "Mr. Bojangles."
Saturday, March 6, 2010
A Ghost Is Not A Monster
So far I have failed to write in this journal like a daily diary as intended, but that doesn’t mean it’s all a loss. I may still get it together as far as that is concerned, as soon as my surgery scar stops hurting and I stop getting sick on a weekly basis, and I kill stress before stress kills me, and I get around to thanking people who sent me stuff on my birthday, and answer emails in general, and do my taxes.
As far as money goes I have to keep working in the job I’m working in, or find a better paying one—but anyway, I can’t stop working, or even look for a part-time job. I am making pretty much exactly enough money to get by. While my job is stressful and annoying, and often makes me tired—and like today, on a Saturday morning, ache all over, and possibly be beginning a daylong migraine ordeal—I actually like it in a way. It’s not boring, and I like the people I work with pretty much. Stress is as much of a two-way street as anything—meaning it’s not just the job that’s stressful, it’s my reaction to stress—which is, of course, something that’s possible, though not easy, to change.
Sometimes I wish that I was 20 feet tall and weighed 500 pounds and I could walk down the street crushing everyone who walks too slow, doesn’t watch where they’re going, and “multitasks” while walking. Half the subway car would clear out to accommodate me, and I would have a miner’s hat with a light on top for reading. But would I, then—would I be just another monster? Really, that’s not what I want at all. I want to be ghost, to go here and there unseen, entering through the most minute cracks and exiting without saying good-bye. Able to read in the twilight, unaffected by my surroundings, and without any need to tell the world about what I’m reading.
As far as money goes I have to keep working in the job I’m working in, or find a better paying one—but anyway, I can’t stop working, or even look for a part-time job. I am making pretty much exactly enough money to get by. While my job is stressful and annoying, and often makes me tired—and like today, on a Saturday morning, ache all over, and possibly be beginning a daylong migraine ordeal—I actually like it in a way. It’s not boring, and I like the people I work with pretty much. Stress is as much of a two-way street as anything—meaning it’s not just the job that’s stressful, it’s my reaction to stress—which is, of course, something that’s possible, though not easy, to change.
Sometimes I wish that I was 20 feet tall and weighed 500 pounds and I could walk down the street crushing everyone who walks too slow, doesn’t watch where they’re going, and “multitasks” while walking. Half the subway car would clear out to accommodate me, and I would have a miner’s hat with a light on top for reading. But would I, then—would I be just another monster? Really, that’s not what I want at all. I want to be ghost, to go here and there unseen, entering through the most minute cracks and exiting without saying good-bye. Able to read in the twilight, unaffected by my surroundings, and without any need to tell the world about what I’m reading.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Time Management
I've just been tired lately. I have been writing posts on this exclusive version of facebook that is just for complaining and saying negative things-- don't look for it, it's exclusive-- it's by invitation only for members of the complainer's hall of fame and museum. The other complainers come up with a lot of solutions to your problems, and here is a list of the solutions I have been awarded with:
1. Find a spiritual life; join a church; serve a higher power; embrace a spiritual calling.
2. Exercise; join a gym; swim; ride bike; do yoga; walk an hour a day; stretch; try pilates.
3. Simplify your life; throw everything away; eliminate the clutter; un-join facebook.
4. Work on you novel and NOTHING else. Focus. Don't email, don't get sidetracked.
5. Cultivate an active social life because, in the end, it's ALL ABOUT PEOPLE.
6. Go on antidepressants. There are a lot out there-- try them all until one works.
7. Go to therapy. Find a good expensive therapist or a free so-so therapist-- maybe both!
8. Go to AA; go to AA every day; find a sponsor; become a sponsor.
9. Find a new job that isn't so demanding and pays more and is fulfilling.
10. Cut down on coffee; drink more green tea; cut out caffeine altogether.
11. Stop reading message boards, especially those about sports.
12. Maybe try cocaine? It seemed to work for those guys in the 1970s.
There are more, but I'm a firm believer in ending lists at or before twelve items. No exceptions. Anyway, all of these are great suggestions, but when I considered them, I realized that they could be divided between “Things That Free Up Time” and “Things That Take Up More Time.” Maybe time management is the answer I'm looking for. It's no secret-- though they don't exactly write this on your bank statements-- that money doesn't actually exist, but is really only a placeholder for time. This recalls the character of Calico Jack in my six hour Portland epic, "Seafood"-- who is a time broker, essentially. And also this character, Adrian Prussia in this book I just read, "Inherent Vice" -- a loan shark with an idea about time like Calico Jack; if you want to make an "impression" on someone, you take away some of their time. Breaking someone's kneecap is more about the time-sucking inconvenience than it is about pain.
I got this mass email from my aunt who forwards everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I liked this one-- it described really well this particular idea:
"Times are tough, everybody is in debt, and living on credit. On this particular day a rich tourist from up north is driving through town. He stops at the motel and lays a $100 bill on the desk as a deposit saying he wants to inspect the rooms in order to pick one to spend the night. As soon as the man walks out, the owner grabs the bill and runs next door to pay his debt to the butcher. The butcher takes the $100 and runs down the street to retire his debt to the pig farmer. The pig farmer takes the $100 and heads off to pay his bill at the feed store. The guy at the Farmer's Co-op takes the $100 and runs to pay his debt to the local prostitute, who has also been facing hard times and has had to offer her "services" on credit. The hooker rushes to the hotel and pays off her room bill with the hotel owner. The hotel proprietor then places the $100 back on the counter so the rich traveler won't suspect anything. At that moment the traveler comes back into the office, picks up the $100 bill, states that the rooms aren't satisfactory, pockets the money, and leaves town. No one produced anything. No one earned anything. However, the whole town is now out of debt and looks to the future with a lot more optimism. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the United States Government is conducting business today!"
Of course, not just "today" but ever since the invention of trade. And the whole thing breaks down pretty easily once the guy at the Farmer's Co-op decides he can't afford the prostitute and turns to the pig farmer instead. But no matter, I think it's a good illustration of the meaningless of money and the value of time, and the magic that can take place when time is managed properly. The trick, of course, is getting that "rich tourist from up north" to take long enough to inspect the rooms that all of these transactions can take place.
Or am I missing the whole point entirely?
13. Stand at the edge of the chasm. Gaze into the chasm. Yell into the chasm. Jump into the chasm.
Not literally, of course, the jumping, or the chasm. I like "pee into the chasm" -- though that's such a male thing-- anyone can piss on "it"-- but the male anatomy is advantageous when pissing into something like a chasm. Do I spend too much time thinking about stuff like this?
1. Find a spiritual life; join a church; serve a higher power; embrace a spiritual calling.
2. Exercise; join a gym; swim; ride bike; do yoga; walk an hour a day; stretch; try pilates.
3. Simplify your life; throw everything away; eliminate the clutter; un-join facebook.
4. Work on you novel and NOTHING else. Focus. Don't email, don't get sidetracked.
5. Cultivate an active social life because, in the end, it's ALL ABOUT PEOPLE.
6. Go on antidepressants. There are a lot out there-- try them all until one works.
7. Go to therapy. Find a good expensive therapist or a free so-so therapist-- maybe both!
8. Go to AA; go to AA every day; find a sponsor; become a sponsor.
9. Find a new job that isn't so demanding and pays more and is fulfilling.
10. Cut down on coffee; drink more green tea; cut out caffeine altogether.
11. Stop reading message boards, especially those about sports.
12. Maybe try cocaine? It seemed to work for those guys in the 1970s.
There are more, but I'm a firm believer in ending lists at or before twelve items. No exceptions. Anyway, all of these are great suggestions, but when I considered them, I realized that they could be divided between “Things That Free Up Time” and “Things That Take Up More Time.” Maybe time management is the answer I'm looking for. It's no secret-- though they don't exactly write this on your bank statements-- that money doesn't actually exist, but is really only a placeholder for time. This recalls the character of Calico Jack in my six hour Portland epic, "Seafood"-- who is a time broker, essentially. And also this character, Adrian Prussia in this book I just read, "Inherent Vice" -- a loan shark with an idea about time like Calico Jack; if you want to make an "impression" on someone, you take away some of their time. Breaking someone's kneecap is more about the time-sucking inconvenience than it is about pain.
I got this mass email from my aunt who forwards everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I liked this one-- it described really well this particular idea:
"Times are tough, everybody is in debt, and living on credit. On this particular day a rich tourist from up north is driving through town. He stops at the motel and lays a $100 bill on the desk as a deposit saying he wants to inspect the rooms in order to pick one to spend the night. As soon as the man walks out, the owner grabs the bill and runs next door to pay his debt to the butcher. The butcher takes the $100 and runs down the street to retire his debt to the pig farmer. The pig farmer takes the $100 and heads off to pay his bill at the feed store. The guy at the Farmer's Co-op takes the $100 and runs to pay his debt to the local prostitute, who has also been facing hard times and has had to offer her "services" on credit. The hooker rushes to the hotel and pays off her room bill with the hotel owner. The hotel proprietor then places the $100 back on the counter so the rich traveler won't suspect anything. At that moment the traveler comes back into the office, picks up the $100 bill, states that the rooms aren't satisfactory, pockets the money, and leaves town. No one produced anything. No one earned anything. However, the whole town is now out of debt and looks to the future with a lot more optimism. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the United States Government is conducting business today!"
Of course, not just "today" but ever since the invention of trade. And the whole thing breaks down pretty easily once the guy at the Farmer's Co-op decides he can't afford the prostitute and turns to the pig farmer instead. But no matter, I think it's a good illustration of the meaningless of money and the value of time, and the magic that can take place when time is managed properly. The trick, of course, is getting that "rich tourist from up north" to take long enough to inspect the rooms that all of these transactions can take place.
Or am I missing the whole point entirely?
13. Stand at the edge of the chasm. Gaze into the chasm. Yell into the chasm. Jump into the chasm.
Not literally, of course, the jumping, or the chasm. I like "pee into the chasm" -- though that's such a male thing-- anyone can piss on "it"-- but the male anatomy is advantageous when pissing into something like a chasm. Do I spend too much time thinking about stuff like this?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Still Recovering
I'm still recovering, not feeling 100 per cent yet. I'd say I feel 83.7 per cent. Of course. What if it was the other way around? It would seem like something was weird.
Anyway, a lot of my resolutions and "new ways" and grand ambitions have been put on hold a bit. I have to finish sending out calendars and writing back to people and cleaning up. I'm still letting myself have the big surgery excuse. But not for long.
Anyway, a lot of my resolutions and "new ways" and grand ambitions have been put on hold a bit. I have to finish sending out calendars and writing back to people and cleaning up. I'm still letting myself have the big surgery excuse. But not for long.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Birthday
Note: I wrote this, but forgot to post it, on my birthday, January 19.
I keep trying to write longer and longer stuff on facebook, not to mention twitter, which those formats just aren’t for. Whatever their good points and drawbacks, they don’t work as a diary, for me. So I decided I should work on this journal more...
I woke up with a really vivid and weird dream on Martin Luther King holiday, and thought about the word dream and I was compelled to read the text of his “I had a dream” speech which is of course as good as you remember it but better. Plus, just interesting, and interesting to try to think about what it might have felt living here in 1963.
Of course, I was living in 1963, I was three years old. Today, incidentally is my 50th birthday, which means, I guess, I’ve been here for fifty years now. You could say I’m beginning my sixth decade, if you want to make me feel even older.
But I don’t feel old. Or rather, I’ve felt old for a long, long time now—since I was twelve at least, or maybe 14 anyway. But I don’t feel much older now. I’ve had physical ailments pretty much spaced out all that time, but I’ve recovered pretty well. I feel like I keep learning stuff, but that doesn’t make me think I was a former dumbass or anything. I don’t think that I have to necessarily start acting a different way now, though at any point I might decide to start acting a different way or try to reinvent myself someway—but just because I can, not because it’s expected of me.
I don’t feel like I’m at all satisfied with what I’ve done in my life, but no matter what I do, I don’t ever expect to feel that way. You look at what could be considered some people’s accomplishments and say, holy shit, what must they think when they think about themselves? Do they go, “I’ve sure done a lot! I should just take it easy now.” Most likely those people are people who are never satisfied, and that’s why they do so much. But then, maybe they do get to some point where they say, “I’ve done enough. I’m just going to take walks and smell the smells of the world and live in the moment and relax.” Good for them if they feel that way, no matter what they’ve done or haven’t done—like that stuff can really be measured anyway. Good for me, too, if I ever feel that way.
I keep trying to write longer and longer stuff on facebook, not to mention twitter, which those formats just aren’t for. Whatever their good points and drawbacks, they don’t work as a diary, for me. So I decided I should work on this journal more...
I woke up with a really vivid and weird dream on Martin Luther King holiday, and thought about the word dream and I was compelled to read the text of his “I had a dream” speech which is of course as good as you remember it but better. Plus, just interesting, and interesting to try to think about what it might have felt living here in 1963.
Of course, I was living in 1963, I was three years old. Today, incidentally is my 50th birthday, which means, I guess, I’ve been here for fifty years now. You could say I’m beginning my sixth decade, if you want to make me feel even older.
But I don’t feel old. Or rather, I’ve felt old for a long, long time now—since I was twelve at least, or maybe 14 anyway. But I don’t feel much older now. I’ve had physical ailments pretty much spaced out all that time, but I’ve recovered pretty well. I feel like I keep learning stuff, but that doesn’t make me think I was a former dumbass or anything. I don’t think that I have to necessarily start acting a different way now, though at any point I might decide to start acting a different way or try to reinvent myself someway—but just because I can, not because it’s expected of me.
I don’t feel like I’m at all satisfied with what I’ve done in my life, but no matter what I do, I don’t ever expect to feel that way. You look at what could be considered some people’s accomplishments and say, holy shit, what must they think when they think about themselves? Do they go, “I’ve sure done a lot! I should just take it easy now.” Most likely those people are people who are never satisfied, and that’s why they do so much. But then, maybe they do get to some point where they say, “I’ve done enough. I’m just going to take walks and smell the smells of the world and live in the moment and relax.” Good for them if they feel that way, no matter what they’ve done or haven’t done—like that stuff can really be measured anyway. Good for me, too, if I ever feel that way.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Surgery
I'm at home right now recovering from hernia surgery. It feels kind of weird to have had this surgery, because the situation wasn't quite dire yet-- I mean it was troublesome and uncomfortable, but not immediately life threatening-- but still I made the decision to allow someone to cut into me with a blade, or scalpel, or Martha Stewart Santoku knife, or whatever they use. I know that some people have surgery ALL THE TIME. I can't imagine it. For me, it's incredibly hard just to have to go a week without walking, to have to take pain pills, and to get out of my regular schedule. Sure, it's nice to not have to go to my job for a few days, and have more time to read. And I'm finding time, obviously, to write THIS. But I would trade in an awful lot-- maybe even my 3-D triple action Pete Rose/Darryl Strawberry/Steve Sax baseball card-- for perfect health and an uninterrupted, creative, writing schedule.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Happy 2010!
I wonder if it is tormenting people to say "happy new year" all the time if there are bad things going on in their lives. I don't know... at least it makes more sense to me than "happy holidays" and "Merry Christmas." At least it is an expression that could be saying, "have a better year this year." Have hope for the future, and since none of us know what is going to happen in the future, why not?
I'm busy making those usual, yearly, soon-to-fail resolutions, and will continue to be throughout the year. I should pretty much be smart enough by now to give up on the idea of ever being organized. What does that even mean, anyway? I'm all for increasing simplicity, but I'm also, always, for increasing complication. I guess the more complication I take on, the more simplicity I also have to take on to keep the complication from becoming overwhelming.
I started this journal to try to write something frequently, in order to make up for the lack of letter writing, emailing, phone calls, and other communication I have a lack of. I guess I'll see if I can put this to use this year.
Happy new year!
I'm busy making those usual, yearly, soon-to-fail resolutions, and will continue to be throughout the year. I should pretty much be smart enough by now to give up on the idea of ever being organized. What does that even mean, anyway? I'm all for increasing simplicity, but I'm also, always, for increasing complication. I guess the more complication I take on, the more simplicity I also have to take on to keep the complication from becoming overwhelming.
I started this journal to try to write something frequently, in order to make up for the lack of letter writing, emailing, phone calls, and other communication I have a lack of. I guess I'll see if I can put this to use this year.
Happy new year!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Black Cats Creep Across My Path Until I’m Almost Mad
I don’t really care much for Halloween, actually, but the title of this entry, “Black Cats Creep Across My Path Until I’m Almost Mad” is the first line of the intro of the song, “Everything Happens To Me.” It’s a funny song, really, not at all gloomy, because it’s funny, and I wish I could be the same way, but I’m not quite up to it at this point.
I haven’t written any entries in Henry Reed’s Journal for a couple of weeks, I guess, or longer, even. A couple of weeks ago, our cat Emu died. I guess for one thing, I’ve been too sad to write anything funny, or goofy, which is about all I’m capable of. A lack of enthusiasm has overtaken me. But I couldn’t really write anything else here, in this private journal, because how can you go on like nothing happened? I guess I figured the next thing I’d write would be about Emu, but I still don’t feel up to it. Even right now my words feel clumsy and cheap. I’d put a picture of him here, but I can’t even bear to look at pictures of him yet. I suppose someday. Anyway, there is nothing profound about this. I’m just sad, and it’s not a literary kind of sad, it’s just sad.
I haven’t written any entries in Henry Reed’s Journal for a couple of weeks, I guess, or longer, even. A couple of weeks ago, our cat Emu died. I guess for one thing, I’ve been too sad to write anything funny, or goofy, which is about all I’m capable of. A lack of enthusiasm has overtaken me. But I couldn’t really write anything else here, in this private journal, because how can you go on like nothing happened? I guess I figured the next thing I’d write would be about Emu, but I still don’t feel up to it. Even right now my words feel clumsy and cheap. I’d put a picture of him here, but I can’t even bear to look at pictures of him yet. I suppose someday. Anyway, there is nothing profound about this. I’m just sad, and it’s not a literary kind of sad, it’s just sad.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Just Today and Throw Away
I invented a new thing today. I always write notes for myself, lists of things to do, and then they sit around undone and the lists pile up on lists, and eventually I'm writing on my lists, "look at lists." So I had this idea, I'll make a NEW KIND OF LIST, and it's called "Just Today and Throw Away." That means it's a list of things I'm going to try to do today, and then I'm going to THROW THE LIST AWAY—whether the stuff is done or not. I think this might work... it has a nice ring to it... it's got that rhyming thing going for it... and it makes a lot of sense. I'm thinking this idea will likely put me on track for one of them Genius Grants, too. I'm pretty excited about it. Right now it seems like one of my best inventions, but then practical application sometimes has a way of putting these things in a different light.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Please Don't Even Read This
I spent the whole day yesterday watching college football. It was more than entertaining, it was like going to church and actually talking to God at church, or what I imagine that might be like if you go to church and actually talk to God, and aren't just going to church because you think maybe you should or you always did and are just in the habit or something. College football; Ohio State, the Alabama Crimson Tide, Florida and LSU, and Michigan and Iowa. Sometimes I think I just like the colors of the uniforms, the way I'm obsessed with pocket billiards and croquet because of the colors of the balls. But then, I'm reminded, it's just dumb sports on TV. Why do I like it so much? Is it a character flaw?
If your answer to that question is "yes"—please don't answer. If your answer to that question is "no"—also don't answer. Please don't think about it any further. Please just pretend you never read this.
If your answer to that question is "yes"—please don't answer. If your answer to that question is "no"—also don't answer. Please don't think about it any further. Please just pretend you never read this.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Gone Nuts!
For the past couple of weeks, maybe, about fifty percent of the cats haven’t been able to sleep at night and instead keep poking me with a paw, sometimes even emitting a little verbal cat expression, saying, “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up.” It’s been kind of hard to get enough sleep, but worse, I have been worried about cat mental health, aging, demonic possession, etc. Then I remembered that it IS autumn, after all, and this is something that happens to some degree every year. Last night the wind was bending the trees over sideways, and while the leaves all pretty much held on, it reminded me how there is a particular day every fall where the wind comes in on a big cold front, and in one day half the remaining leaves are gone and there is a frost residue in the morning, and THAT’S the first day of winter.
Then I remembered back a few years ago when I lived in Wisconsin, and my cat, Louis, generally a calm individual, would go nuts for a few days every fall. I figured he could sense the weather changing and some deep instinctual programming turned him temporarily into a nutty squirrel. I would look out the windows as the wind whipped around and watch the squirrels run around like maniacs trying to gather food and hide it away for the long winter ahead. That’s when it occurred to me that the expression “gone nuts” most likely originated when describing squirrels or comparing the nut in question to a spastic, busy squirrel. “Going nuts is about running around like a madman trying to hide away nuts for the winter!” I told Louis excitedly. “And you, sir, are acting like a squirrel.”
He didn’t seem to care, as his activity was deeply rooted and unconscious, and he was soon back to normal, sleeping most of the day. It’s not just cats, though. I encounter thousands of people a day as a walk around the city, and I can’t help but notice patterns I would never see if I saw only ten people a day. Today there was testiness, fear, panic even, as some survival instincts from generations past pushed people toward rude self-centeredness and longing for isolation. I shouldn’t judge them, but then we’re supposed to be civilized. Maybe fifty percent of their cats were keeping them up all night and they were just sleep deprived. It’s okay, though; soon they will be tired from the harvest and will settle into mending drafty things and making acorn squash soup and hot cider with brandy and watching sports. Who of them cannot be happy that they’re human beings?
Then I remembered back a few years ago when I lived in Wisconsin, and my cat, Louis, generally a calm individual, would go nuts for a few days every fall. I figured he could sense the weather changing and some deep instinctual programming turned him temporarily into a nutty squirrel. I would look out the windows as the wind whipped around and watch the squirrels run around like maniacs trying to gather food and hide it away for the long winter ahead. That’s when it occurred to me that the expression “gone nuts” most likely originated when describing squirrels or comparing the nut in question to a spastic, busy squirrel. “Going nuts is about running around like a madman trying to hide away nuts for the winter!” I told Louis excitedly. “And you, sir, are acting like a squirrel.”
He didn’t seem to care, as his activity was deeply rooted and unconscious, and he was soon back to normal, sleeping most of the day. It’s not just cats, though. I encounter thousands of people a day as a walk around the city, and I can’t help but notice patterns I would never see if I saw only ten people a day. Today there was testiness, fear, panic even, as some survival instincts from generations past pushed people toward rude self-centeredness and longing for isolation. I shouldn’t judge them, but then we’re supposed to be civilized. Maybe fifty percent of their cats were keeping them up all night and they were just sleep deprived. It’s okay, though; soon they will be tired from the harvest and will settle into mending drafty things and making acorn squash soup and hot cider with brandy and watching sports. Who of them cannot be happy that they’re human beings?
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
World's Largest Gothic Pig Nipple ICBM Six Pack
I spent the last three days during my lunch hour trying to find this building I saw from a distance—I could only see the top of the skyscraper, so it was hard to tell how far away it was. This is one of those dramatic structures I’ve noticed from time to time but only when I’m on the right street or at the right angle. It’s a spectacular building with, I think, six pointy gothic towers extending majestically out of the top. I wanted to find out what it was, but I didn’t know how to search for it on the internet. I guess there are some new image recognition search engines, but as far as I could tell you have to pay to use them, or be registered or something. I tried to search for something like "world's largest Beneath the Planet of the Apes Missile six pack"... also with no luck. My best bet seemed to be to walk toward the structure, and whenever it disappeared keep trying different angles. This was not so easy, however, because once lost it was not so easily found.
Something about what I just typed reminded me of a dream I had last night. I haven’t been remembering dreams lately, except when something triggers the memory like that. But then I’m not even sure, because I don’t remember them.
I looked for the building for three whole lunch breaks, and while I didn’t have much success finding it, I did see a lot of strange sights, like hidden grottoes and alcoves, accidental waterfalls, back stairways, blind alleys, the tryout line for “Lost Idol,” mysterious liquid nitrogen tanks, Pagan Idolatry and wine miniature golf, Serena van der Woodsen and DeVier Posey studying on the library steps, a fake dog poop, a man biting a dog, a three breasted man with a John Holmes Churchill, someone in a Bugs Bunny suit, a houndstooth free zone, one dollar sushi, ten dollar bread, a haunted yacht club, and the singer of Het Dagelijks Brood. I finally did find the building at the end of today’s lunch break, but I’ve already written enough, so I’ll have to talk about it later.
Something about what I just typed reminded me of a dream I had last night. I haven’t been remembering dreams lately, except when something triggers the memory like that. But then I’m not even sure, because I don’t remember them.
I looked for the building for three whole lunch breaks, and while I didn’t have much success finding it, I did see a lot of strange sights, like hidden grottoes and alcoves, accidental waterfalls, back stairways, blind alleys, the tryout line for “Lost Idol,” mysterious liquid nitrogen tanks, Pagan Idolatry and wine miniature golf, Serena van der Woodsen and DeVier Posey studying on the library steps, a fake dog poop, a man biting a dog, a three breasted man with a John Holmes Churchill, someone in a Bugs Bunny suit, a houndstooth free zone, one dollar sushi, ten dollar bread, a haunted yacht club, and the singer of Het Dagelijks Brood. I finally did find the building at the end of today’s lunch break, but I’ve already written enough, so I’ll have to talk about it later.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Red Monday
I was walking through this miracle of advertising today, as usual, at lunch, so much advertising it disappears like all the people. The odd thing is that I noticed a billboard for a show called "The Mentalist" which I'd never heard of (I probably haven't heard of 99% of the TV shows). I think I noticed it because it was black and white and simple and seemed like it was really out of place. I guess it looked like it could be an ad for a movie from 40 years ago. It got my attention-- I guess this is what you'd call "effective advertising"-- at least if your target was me, which, I don't know why it would be. Anyway, I made mental note of it, but then quickly forgot about it. Later, I remembered the billboard and wanted to look up the show, but I couldn't remember the name of it. I should have made a mental note that it was a "mental" note-- that might have worked. It eventually took me a half hour of browsing over TV schedules to find the name of the show and look it up. I guess it was on last season-- though I never heard of it-- and this is its second year. I looked up a listing of episodes and ALL of them have the word red in the title. It pains me a little that while I was working in this crummy mailroom minimum wage job for the past year, I could have been sitting around thinking up episode titles that use the word red. When I thought about it a little more, I was glad I wasn't sitting around thinking of episode titles, though I won't go as far as to say I savor my memories of the mailroom. Anyway, I considered maybe watching the show, so I looked up something about it, and it's about police and heinous criminals. Can't watch it. There's a serial killer at the center of it all, or maybe not the center, but certainly driving that whole "red" business. Apparently, he's an "unseen" killer, at least thus far, which means there is still an opportunity to land that roll... I mean as an actor. But then, no. I have to be able to live with myself. Plus, I've already given this whole ugly world way too much of my thought.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Freaky Friday
It was a rough day at work because I was training a new guy which always makes me hyper-aware of every last detail, from the passing of the minutes to the absurdity of the work, from the minuteness of the details to the absurdity of the pay. My habit at lunchtime now is to walk around eating rice cakes in order to save money. Tuesday is soylent red, Wednesday is soylent yellow, etc. So today I treated myself to lunch at my favorite current Manhattan lunch spot, the Cafe Edison at the Edison Hotel. I sat at the counter and had my usual, the Hard Boiled Egg Plate Egg Salad Platter. As usual, the place did not disappoint me; there is just some kind of energy there I can't put my finger on, but I think it has to do with regulars and old-timers.
As I was leaving I took a few diner mints with me that are in this little plastic sphere by the cash register that I think might have once been a device to dole out the numbers in a large bingo game. No one notices those mints except for a warped few, and they seem like they could be several years old. But they're good. I ate a couple which were licorice flavored, but then the third... it was crazy. There was some flavor I couldn't place. I thought of roast beef, but no, something else. It was like those sick jelly beans that have flavors like buttered popcorn and snot. The flavor kept haunting me, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I swallowed it finally and it was all over, that flavor lost forever.
After that I started to feel very strange indeed. I noticed the temperature rising and the humidity coming out of nowhere, the moods of the crowded streets were somewhere between elated and dangerous. Colors became more vivid and sounds disappeared. "I've been drugged!" I thought, but before I had a chance to panic I pretty much mellowed out and got back to the office. But before I got quite back to normal I entered the building lobby of where I work. There were pots of flowers by the elevators, and there never have been before. I turned to the guard to confirm this oddity, and she smiled and said something about it looking nice in the lobby, but I couldn't understand her. Then I noticed there were HUGE ferns and potted plants along the far wall. How could I have missed those when I entered the lobby? Unless they... weren’t there... and all these plants were materializing in front of me. Before I knew it the lobby had become a jungle. I escaped to the elevator.
As I was leaving I took a few diner mints with me that are in this little plastic sphere by the cash register that I think might have once been a device to dole out the numbers in a large bingo game. No one notices those mints except for a warped few, and they seem like they could be several years old. But they're good. I ate a couple which were licorice flavored, but then the third... it was crazy. There was some flavor I couldn't place. I thought of roast beef, but no, something else. It was like those sick jelly beans that have flavors like buttered popcorn and snot. The flavor kept haunting me, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I swallowed it finally and it was all over, that flavor lost forever.
After that I started to feel very strange indeed. I noticed the temperature rising and the humidity coming out of nowhere, the moods of the crowded streets were somewhere between elated and dangerous. Colors became more vivid and sounds disappeared. "I've been drugged!" I thought, but before I had a chance to panic I pretty much mellowed out and got back to the office. But before I got quite back to normal I entered the building lobby of where I work. There were pots of flowers by the elevators, and there never have been before. I turned to the guard to confirm this oddity, and she smiled and said something about it looking nice in the lobby, but I couldn't understand her. Then I noticed there were HUGE ferns and potted plants along the far wall. How could I have missed those when I entered the lobby? Unless they... weren’t there... and all these plants were materializing in front of me. Before I knew it the lobby had become a jungle. I escaped to the elevator.
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