Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

When my last book released, another academic marvel and a monograph this time, someone asked how my book party was and where it was at.  I stood there, rather stunned, as--well--there was no launch party.  None of my books, articles, or literary forays have ever gotten a launch party or social nod.  Instead, my reviews and critics have generally been kind and warm with notes of praise, yet when you are me, and always on the outside looking in there is no one to throw a party for as we say.  I'm still taken aback by the question.  Still shocked by how hard it hit me. Yet, the reality has long been there.  Waking up alone is one thing.  Always being alone another.  Never having anyone to celebrate with . . . well, that's a marker in and of itself. Though, as any socially adjusted adult does (I use that term loosely) I attempt to engage in adult activities, socialize, meet people for drinks, and do this tango from hell called dating.  I...

As I rock along the subway line, and pass with throngs of others up and down the stairs, escalators, and ramps, and pour onto the city streets, I can feel the hum of the urban hive.   Its rhythms, its rhymes, its pulse.   It's heartbeat.   These are the things I see.                On an average Monday, with mid-fall overcast skies and leaves beginning to change, billows of steam erupt from the sewers and rooftops.   Those from the lower domains carry the odors of the city, those that out of towners notice and I've long learned to ignore.   The ones from above, I look at them and wonder if they are the cast off dreams of New Yorkers awakening to find themselves in the cog again.   Or, I wonder if they are the cast off dreams of New Yorkers who find themselves awash in regret the morning after, in the middle of, or years into the game.   Are they the bellows of exasperated parents bemoan...

Since February has been a revertible roll in the hell fires and outright damnation, leaving me with little desire beyond pouring gasoline and lighting a match to it, I deviate from the broken soul, transgressions of life, disasters and other affairs on the sewing machine, and Lifetime Movies via travel to perhaps loose my NOW card.  Okay, really, I probably lost the NOW card ta couple of weeks back when I saw a mouse--in my trash can--and went running to an upstairs neighbor and banged on the door in panic.  To add to that imagery, I was in a pair of well-worn sweats from an alma matter, a pair of Uggs, and since I was home post working hours I was sans bra.  The wife beater, under the hoodie, did not really shield the bounce as I jumped on the bed when my neighbor pulled that mouse out of my house.   Judge me later.   On that note, since it is Leap Day--a damn fictional day that should be an international holiday since what do you do with this day beyond...