Thursday, May 26, 2005

After Hours "at the Brain Wash" (sing to "Car Wash" tune)

One time, when I was 21, and living in NYC, I got so trashed in the A.C.E Bar that I smoked a pack of ciggs I swiped for fun off the pool table (I don't even smoke), tongue kissed my friend's sister, put her in a cab back to Brooklyn at 4 AM. She passed out and had to pay $40 from the cab circling her block a few times. After sending her off, I stood by the "walk up" pizza window and ate 4 pieces of pizza with hot pepper flakes, which caused the worst burning tummy ever, so, to cool it down, I got a vanilla ice cream cone. The ice cream melted in my hand and dripped down the entire front of my three quarters black wool coat. It looked like pin-stripes, at least from my drunken point of view, so I left it on there to dry, as in, I totally thought it was cool looking.

Well, I really wasn't drunk enough yet, so I figured I'd find an awesome after hours. So I walk over to Ave B and stroll (stagger diagonally back and forth) down the sidewalk listening for music indicative of a rockin' after hours. I hear cymbals and bells and thought, 'huh must be a live band'. I enter an establishment that reeks of incense. People are dressed in brown robes and have shaved heads, one of which comes and asks me if I've entered to worship and to please remove my shoes. I remember thinking 'this is code talk for come in and we'll check you out to make sure you're not a cop, then we'll lead you to the real party in the back.' I sit in front of this Indian-looking shrine but I'm so drunk I can't even sit up straight so I lay back. The guy keeps coming over with a brass incense burner and letting puffs of pungency waft around my already light head. There's one black guy in the front playing finger cymbals, he hasn't shaved his head and still has an Afro. At this point another robed worshipper comes over and tells me I can't lay down in the temple. Temple? This dump is a temple? I tell him, "Dude I'm cool, can I go in the back now?" He shakes his head no and smiles. The incense guy comes over again to surround me in stinky smoke clouds, and the whole place breaks into a repetitive round of "Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna...(again again again)."

"I'm gonna pray," I say to nobody in particular. I thought it best to clarify that I was leaning forward to "worship" rather than leaning forward to take a brief nap. As I get my head near the floor, I lose my balance and skid my forehead on the rough woven mat. "OUCH!" blurts out in a decibel higher than the current chant. Can't this place afford Berber, it would be less abrasive?

As I drift into a peaceful sleep... 'That tune is kind of catchy....I like the finger cymbals....I wonder where I can get one of those robes....Maybe I should shave my head, my hair just annoys me anyway.....WHAT! I'm being brain washed!' I jerk awake and sit upright.

I look around dazed and shockingly realize this is NOT a front for some cool after hours and these guys don't want to drink illegally. They only want my soul, and maybe my shoes, but I'm not selling either, especially not to bald and stinky men dressed in potato sacks. If it were the Women's Swedish Ski Team, perhaps, but alas, they are not. (Though I really want to ask where they bought those cool finger cymbals) I grab my newly ice cream pin-stripped coat and fancy work shoes and dash out of there lickety-split before they take me in the back, shave my head and this guy makes me drink blood like when Indiana Jones is in the Temple of Doom and that guy transforms him into a zombie. Still walking zig-zag up the sidewalk towards Tompkins Park in my sock-feet I see a cab. I wave for my rescuer to come and save me and they whisk me back to the Upper West Side away from the Bohemian Ghetto!

**Please note that for the next 2 years I'd hang out practically every weekend in this neighborhood. But at that particular moment I was still learning the ropes, still being pretentious, and still very moody from having an incense headache. Ah, memories (that I still remember).

Friday, May 20, 2005


.....being a particle on a ringlet of a spring. The top rung of that spring is your goal, and the bottom is where you've started from. Most springs are made from one contiguous wire wound one level above another. Imagine making your way to the top looping round and round (like the Guggenheim Museum!), but the entire time the spring you're on is bouncing (life's ups and downs), though you're still moving towards the top (the goal). The points where the spring is compressing - when the world is no longer flying by - the other ringlets (past and present) seem to be closer, more in perspective, more viewable. You can see where you're going, and where you've been. If there is any detail you missed along the way, you can "catch up" on it at these points of compression. You can clearly plan the future trek.

Now imagine that particle is tied to the spring so inherently that when the spring travels up, you feel on the rise, when the spring travels down, so goes your mood. When the spring stops moving and is being squished down and smashed by inertia against an immovable too, feel the pressure.

That is how I feel. Life's current routine is pressuring me to change, I'm at a "bottom", ready for a move up, and during this time I'm able to see the past, and see the future all the while maintaining the present. Though, by "bottom" I don't necessarily mean emotional depression, just that the energy level or momentum of the current "path" has hit a stand still and is being collected to spring forth on a new trajectory.

I see mistakes I've made, though I wouldn't change them for the importance of the lessons involved, I do want to improve upon my process of operation. I see life as very cyclical so I want to trend the lulls and plan ahead, though, nothing too rigid, too routine as to fall into a complete and utter stall. It's time to bounce this spring to a new environment. So if you see me bouncing by, say "hi!"

***It might be added that I do NOT possess a degree in philosophy, physics, nor psychology, so any references, ideas, or visual connotations used in this blog are completely pulled out of my a$$.

###Deeper discussions and comments are welcome, but subject to time constraints in researching your points of view. In other words, I'm at work bi*ch.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

mixer of blatherings

Mine serendipitous fabric of self being -
and whence thou cometh Tailor of Life's Lessons?
shorn from bolts mightier than I?
None exists possessing such claim as that.
Cradled in my heart a dream as in my arms a babe:
my future, my past, my present
my hope and my demise.
My very own eyes gaze back at me,
Will watch me and learn -
Things that I wish, more that I abhor.
Unless so large a rift open fostering freedom from remembrance -
an independence -
A loneliness known by none for there are none at these far reaches.
Then changing direction - I towards the past; he towards his future
All the while, Father Time never ceases his ravaging march on both parties
I reach where my future was and is my present, and he reaches what was his past
a vapor, a memory, a dead unchanging land.
A land of familiarity every aspect scourered for meaning,
The past bequeaths all knowledge obtained presently upon review to the future hopes of this varacious soul.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Wishing Well

Tuesday was absolutely wonderful in terms of weather. I get out of work at 3:30, so I figured I better enjoy the sun while it's out as it may rain for the next 40 days. Ohio skies are like that - unpredictable but more likely rainy or gray. Anyway, I called my cousin and we went to Highbanks Metro Park, which evidently was created by all the debris razed in front of the glaciers during the last ice age. Well that's all interesting, but the coolest part of the park is this bridge crossing a tiny flat rock bed stream. From the bridge people toss coins and make wishes, the coins land in the shallow water and shine like little diamonds in the sun. I'm here to tell everyone that wishes do come true. We started craving a hot fudge cake and French fries from Frish's Big Boy. I already knew I'd forgotten my moola, as did my cousin, so what do any self respecting people enjoying nature, but wanting to enjoy greasy and sweet food, do? They take off their shoes and wade into the creek for those coins representing many people's wishes. A whole $4.50 was collected, quite enough for French fries and hot fudge cake. My gratitude to all the people that made MY WISH come true! Thank you!

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Cotton Ball Consumption

If you've ever wondered how royal or Holy people take a dump, check out this site, hilarious!

Questions and Comments concerning Cotton Ball Consumption by Anorexics to stop hunger:
1. Are they getting the daily intake of fiber by doing that?

2. If they eat enough cotton, can they shit out a table cloth?
3. Do anorexics have and exchange cotton ball recipes?
4. Do they bring Cotton Ball Casserole to potlucks?
5. Does the cotton industry condone this consumption, because the slogan should then be changed to "The touch, The TASTE of cotton. The fabric of our diets."
6. I wonder if cotton farts smell like White Linen perfume?
7. Do they chew on the end of Q-Tips at parties like finger food/appetizers?

Could you imagine walking into a party attended by only anorexic cotton ball eaters? There'd be trays of cotton balls with toothpicks sticking out of them. Puff pastries would take on a new meaning. Wearing synthetic fibers would be required so nobody chomps down on someone's clothes! I made up the following song about this subject, enjoy!

I eat cotton balls and
I'm really really skinny
When I take a shit
It's like a spinning ginny
I cram in the white fiber
It makes me feel so full
The taste is so delicious
It could replace lima beans at school.
If I get real hungry
And there's no CVS in town
Better watch your gym socks
Cuz you know I'll munch 'em down.
Whoop! My song is ending
And it's been real dandy
Ooo it's time for dessert
Look! my favorite...cotton candy!

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Speaking of Wineboxes...

Liz's readers mentioned wineboxes in her comments, which got me to thinking... What a perfect cure for the American homeless situation. Donate a winebox to charity. The homeless wine-o will no longer need to beg for change, they can use the winebox's stacked one upon the other to form a rather sturdy home, and then, they can just lay there opening the spout as wine pours from the walls into their stank mouths. They could even have running water, because once the wine is emptied, they can refill with fresh water. No more stinky people on the streets, they can shower in their home! I may even visit someone in a winebox house if it was the House of Merlot. Just a thought...(surprisingly not a drunken one)