Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

Walking through Astoria, and sitting on the subway (as I am now), sometimes I am reminded of Istanbul. No, Astoria doesn't have seven hills to knock the wind out of you or calls for prayer coming from every direction. Instead, among the Greek store fronts and Spanish enclaves are growing numbers of Middle Eastern immigrants and second and third generation families blooming. Walking along Astoria Blvd the keen and half-awake observer will see men in fezs and turbans, covered women, and clicks of the tongue of languages far from the romantic variety. As I walk along I chuckle as I hear conversations about dinner, tea, and life. I then realize that I understand more than I should, or more than those around me think I do, as we tumble along these well worn and sometimes grimy streets. Along Crescent (I think), a few weeks back, I stopped for a long desired Türk Khave and I ordered it sade without thinking. After all, I've always ordered them in Turkey. The cafe owner was so tak...

Yea, perhaps the last post was misleading.  No, I'm not still hung up on someone, and  no I'm not going bat shit crazy over a lost moment.  More so, random neural firings cause you to look back on things and reevaluate, or to evaluate.  That's mostly what yesterday was.  I don't really believe in the whole Carrie Bradshaw character module that someone has a "Mr. Big."  More so, I'm in the camp that some people will end up alone out of logistics, population percentages, and the cards of life.  On that note, I should note that on the 17th at 11:55pm I got a message from a certain Jackass.  Says he hopes "New York Redux is going well." What I should tell you is that he never, ever messaged me on my birthday, always the day after, and if I was lucky a week later he'd say something labor-laden about happy birthday.  He knew my birthday, and I don't appreciate the sentiment a day later considering he knows about my birthday history.  Let'...

I'm not really somber at the moment, just . . . but sometimes thoughts cross your mind in the strangest way, and they always happen at the strangest times.  Right now . . . I sometimes wonder if I had known what would have happened if I would have told someone ten years ago that we shouldn't wait.  In all reality, ten years ago I was in no kind of place to make a relationship . . . not that I really wanted to.  Instead, the past ten years have been littered with good and bad.  Grad school, new jobs, being po', books, relationships from levels of hell Dante never wrote about, and teaching in the pokey among other things.  Eh . . . So much happens in ten years that it is hard to say if it would have been worth it.  The idealist in me likes to think that instead of having an apartment share in Astoria, I would be living with him in Astoria.  Again, what can really be certain? Assertions are just that . . . educated guesses and romanticized moments of ...

So today I went on the hunt for a dresser.  I braved IKEA again, on the quest for something cheap and functional.  Perhaps this is where I should say I do not enjoy the vortex of IKEA.  the first time I went into an IKEA I was hobbling along on crutches as I had broken my foot.  Perhaps it was the pain pills, perhaps it was the July heat, perhaps it was the massive crowds that day . . . But, ever since I have detested the place. I'm just not a fan of winding through the vortex of IKEA, with only one way out--through more crap.  To make it even better all the furniture blurs into itself after about five minutes, and winding through the maze of assemble-yourself furniture of pressed wood and veneer it feels like a vortex has sucked you in.   Mixed in are rooms assembled with signs attesting that "This is rooms costs 1000."  Components share and match, and mix, and . . . scores of folks run about designing their room to look like something from the stor...

Blogging in traffic. Sometimes life has a funny way of working out. Six weeks ago I came back up to NY with wild hopes of staying and refinding my lost dreams of self-respect, redemption, and career. I guess persistence, fear, and shame paid off as I've landed adjunct lines, health insurance, and an apartment share. I emailed every call for adjuncts, and I hit up schools not advertising. I prayed under a star lit sky, along the shores of the island I once called home. In all reality, I never stopped calling NY home. Memories of spending nights in the city haunted and drove me on my quest to find my solace in the city of dirt, grime, dreams by the dozens. The classes kind of fell into place, and after a week of scouring Craigslist for housing I found something great. Of course, I had the handful of crazies and jerks, but persistence paid off as I didn't feel at home in College Point, Queens city, and Kew Gardens. I had secretly had my sights on the sometimes grimy but deeply...

As I sit in LGA waiting for an overdue departure to RIC, thoughts of mine continue to stir and echo. Two years ago I left NY two months after the premiere of the -Sex and the City- movie. I've never been a huge -Sex and the City- fan, but I did go see it with a friend. I groaned a bit while watching, feel in love with some shoes on the silver screen, and grew appalled at some of the story. Yet, Carrie going back to Big makes sense as they orbited around everyone. None-the-less... I will never say -Sex and the City- gave me an epiphany, but last night while watching it on HBO I couldn't help but laugh, sigh, and ponder. NY was my home not long after I moved, and it wasn't until the prolonged debacle with Jackass that I got irritable with Long Island. In all reality, I should admit what I have yet to do. I've always loved NY, much of my identity comes from it, and I've always enjoyed the residential enclaves of Queens. For years I spent an obscene amount of time i...

In May 1994 my Dad gave this to my Mom for Mother's Day. Okay, in reality he rescued her from neglect.  She was about a year and a half to two years old when we got her, she had lived with a cat for a year, so she was . . . She acted like a cat most of her life, tried to climb trees after squirrels, and chased my dog Charlie.  She taught him to climb on the back of our couch, which is why until his death the sofa had a permanent dip in the back.  Charlie died about six years ago, and she loved to hang on his fur and be carried around the house.  Best trick Muffin had, I had taught her to find Charlie for me.  Charlie was a medium sized dog, so the six comparison was amusing to say the least.  He was loud, chased lunch-meat trucks, and belched and farted on command.  My high school friends and I can take credit for that trick.   Sorry, I don't have one of the two of them on my computer.  Honestly, I don't have it in me to dig up ri...