Laps

I just passed the block where I got jumped the first November I spent in the city. That would have been 2002. Six dudes jumped me and a friend as we were making the block. I had this habit of doing laps, it still comes out from time to time. I'll be out with friends drinking, enjoying, and all of the sudden, I have to leave to make a quick run around the block.

I think it's just that I have too much energy. Or ADD. It all started back in Georgia. Decatur, Georgia to be specific. Back then you could still smoke in bars, which only added to my need for a change in scenery. And it was a place called Trackside...yep, the wrong side of the tracks.

Anyway, that night on 106 and Broadway, we got jumped mid-lap. They put me in a headlock and took the $40 I had tucked in my bra. It wasn't as scary as it may seem. But getting jumped wasn't even the kicker. The real kicker for me was that I was wearing the freshest of fresh jackets. I called it my Michael Jackson jacket. It had a couple of zippers, no, not as many as his, but the jacket made me feel bad. The good kind of bad. The Michael Jackson pre-BAD. And somehow in the series of events that occurred, it got covered in blood. Angry? Nope, I was feral cat mad. It was the first time I'd worn it. An inaugural night! And to think it ended up in the garbage somewhere on Broadway.

So now, anytime I buy something new that I just adore, I wear it to the nearest bodega or bank first. Somehow, taking my suede leopard heels from Buenos Aires, or my grandmother's fur out for a dry run to the corner for powerball ticket seems to break the jinx. Knock wood. After a dry run, and only after will I even think about taking on any kind of lap anymore.

New world

I saw a t-shirt today that read, "I love immigrant New York." Now, I'm not big on t-shirts saying things, but with this one, I agree. And then I thought, isn't that redundant? All the talk about stopping illegal immigration? Aside from those native to this continent, aren't we all immigrants in some way? And a lot of those to avoid persecution, a lot to absolve debt, a lot for the belief in new opportunity? I can't help but wonder, have we lost that pioneering spirit? I know, it's never that simple. But what's the difference between a pioneer and an immigrant? Doesn't it seem like the same kind of person, to leave all you know and make a new life in a whole, new place? I guess it's just seems like we forget sometimes where most of us came from, how we ourselves ended up here.

Adventure girls

Lynn left today, folks. She's headed to hike the state of Vermont, then back to Savannah. After that, she's going to be a cook on a fishing boat in the Caribbean. And she's tying it altogether with a final few years homesteading in Alaska. And you think I'm nuts?!? I'm really going to my fellow Georgia peach. Cool girl, man. Cool, cool girl. Be careful, sister!

Solitary

It's weird but sometimes I feel more alone here, in a city covered in millions, than I did traveling South America. Alone. It's as though in places where there are tons of people, you should feel a connection. You should feel that sense of closeness, but you don't. In reality, you can feel more secluded, out of touch, untouchable. It's strange but sometimes it seems like New York is one, big island full of solitary creatures. It makes me sad to think about the people who live their lives alone. The owner of the restaurant wants me to plan Thanksgiving this year, to which I am heartily opposed, and as it turns out, the seats at the bar are even full. Single people eating alone on Thanksgiving. Sometimes I fear that will be me.

Singapore 2nd

Walking down 1st Avenue today, the girl in front of me in a black dress covered in those popular, kinda cheesy cherries starts talking about cigars she'd bought. In Singapore. Hmm. My parents live there now. Interesting. Then she mentions that she bought them, had them all wrapped up in paper, hoping customs wouldn't take them, because they were a present for some guy in her life. Apparently, his birthday is August 2nd. Nice. Thirty seconds of conversation I guess I was supposed to overhear!

A little shameless birthday self-promotion never hurt anyone...did it?

Ain't that a shame

I spent yesterday moving my stuff out of storage, my friend's into it. Blah, blah, blah. But on the way to load her stuff, we passed a streetwalker. My girl had on black patent leather 4 inch heels and a gold lamay slip dress. No undergarments, unfortunately. As we passed her she sighe, "Oh my god. My feet is killing me!" I love New York. And my neighborhood.

I'm starting a book called "The Joke's Over" by Ralph Steadman. It's an autobiography about him and Hunter S. Thompson working together back in the day. The introduction reads, "Don't write, Ralph. You'll bring shame on your family." It's a quote from his buddy, Hunter S. Thompson. Good god, can I identify. I have a certain discretion that sometimes I'd love to abandon. Guess I'll have to come up with a phantom identity! Oooooh, fun! Any suggestions out there in the world??

Sneaks and scarves

Rock n' roll karaoke last night. Fun, for sure! Arlene's Grocery brings down the house on Monday nights. Also, I bought new sneakers yesterday. Lebron James' sneaks. I don't know who he is but, apparently, everybody else does. It makes me giggle. He's supposedly the best pro player in the game right now and me, I'm unknowingly wearing his sneakers. Of course, I am on the up-and-up enough to have heard about the scandal with that NBA ref and his fixing games. Ooooh. That could get ugly.

Ok, so let's talk about the lovely people I have in my life. I have to say, I'm thrilled to share moments with a lot of them. Yesterday, I hung out with Dwayne, Ed & Sarah for a bit, then Lynn, Tiiu & her brother, Lori & Crystal. And Lucas and his "ex," too. I'm happy because I feel open and able to meet new people and like them. I used to clam up around new people. I know. The spaz, big mouth, also shy?? Never! I was a closet introvert or something. Not anymore. Phew!

I just passed a Muslim woman and her daughter walking through Tompkins both of whom were wearing head scarves. The girl was on a scooter, the mother walking behind her. Only their scarves had the Calvin Klein insignia on them. CK scarves, evidently, the material was black but the letters irridescent. It looked nice but it seemed to be a contradiction to me. Not sure I think of Islam and Calvin Klein as bedfellows. Excellent. That just changed my perception. I love it when that happens.

Nor'easter

I just left my house in a short skirt and flip flops and got pretty close to mowed down by the wind and rain. I'm not sure how nor'easter didn't register in my brain. The forecast said it. I heard it. But doesn't seem like it sank in with me until I was in the middle of it. Skirt blown up to my waist. Quick change to jeans rolled up to the knees and I'm back out.

I'm not using a journal anymore, I'm using scraps of paper. Right now, I'm writing on paper sent to me in the mail for free from the Nature Conservancy. The tag line reads, "Saving the last great places on Earth." What a motto, right? Before this paper, I used a notepad from my old job. Broadview Networks, " Making connections that make a difference." Hmm. Maybe we should get them together. "Making connections that save the last great places on Earth." Or "Saving the last great connections that make a difference?" Hmm. First one's better, right? Anyway, the Nature Conservancy paper has my name at the top. Just feels so official. I found it in my apartment somewhere, and before I go buying any new stuff, it feels like I should use up what's already there. But it's also kind of a trip because I have these papers everywhere, some dated, many not, and every couple of days I have to piece them together like a puzzle. What happened when? Where am I? And ironically enough, I then end up stuffing the scraps in a blank journal. How does that make any sense? I guess I write on scraps cuz you just never know where you're going to be when a good idea's going to hit.

The Social Security Administration is empty today. It's 3:17 pm coupled with a nor'ester, good stuff. I took a number, sat down and within 2 minutes, got called to the desk. Yippee frickin skippy. Ok, people. The SSA, then to the USPS to mail a friend a package, and I walked out at 3:43 pm. That means, in total, including walking 2 blocks and an avenue and a half, dealing with the SSA & USPS, all got taken care of in, count em, 26 minutes. Today feels like Supermarket Sweeps or something.

I love to ride.

Manhattan is an obstacle course. At least on a bike, it is. I love it. Taxis and busses and pedestrians, oh my! Or maybe it's like diving with varying degrees of difficulty. He's going to attempt a triple with three full twists, backward. On Lexington Avenue, going the wrong direction! A difficulty of 5.7. Ok, I'm getting a little carried away here. I'm on a Bianchi now. It's blue. I retired my Specialized Hard Rock last summer. After it got stolen, something just changed. I found it months later, somehow, under a ton of trash at Red Square on Houston...that's a story...but it just wasn't the same. The gear shifts had been downgraded, the wheels, too, the handle bars rigged in a couple of pieces, the whole frame covered in brown paint, which I chipped off, and stickers, which I couldn't. I donated it to a guy who fixes bikes in the neighborhood but kept the seat up until last week. I just couldn't give the seat away. When the bike got stolen originally, I had walked out of taking a practice test at Kaplan, seat in hand, and found the bike gone. I had a seat, but no bike. It was sort of like the memory of it lived on in the seat. Is that silly? The new wheels I'm driving, though, have the same spirit as the original. They're brothers bikes. Or cousins maybe. Isn't it funny the things we value in this life?

Issues

Feels like I'm working too much. I am writing for days past and it's not ok with me.

I talked to a friend the other day who mentioned he had just lost his job. They ran a background check and let him go after one day of work for "legal reasons." He was confused because he doesn't have any legal issues, misdeamors, felonies. Traffic infractions, fine. So it made no sense to him. And when he asked for specificiation, they told him that they had to let him go because of "some issues." So, the only thing he thinks it could be is discrimination over mental health concerns. Hmm. New York is a right to work state. You can fire a person within that first 90 days of hire for any number of reasons. But to fire someone over "some issues," is that legit? Once you've already hired the individual, let him work for a day, and upon receipt of vague info from the background check company, you let him go? And what if it was because of time spent in hospitals for mental health? Is that discriminatory? And I think his pride is also affected. He's never been fired from a job before in his life. Sometimes it's just weird to watch how our lives unfold.

I saw my girl Lynn today with her new boyfriend Rick. It made me cry. To see her so happy. I lived with her in Decatur when she was with her last boyfriend. That was 8 years ago. She lights up when this one's around. It's lovely to see your closest friends in love. Here's to good things coming to those who wait!

Made in Italy

Found a new bar in my neighborhood last night. Actually, a couple lately. One last night, another one last Sunday, for Jillian's birthday, but we'll get to that later. This one's on C (that's an avenue for non-New Yorkers, aka Alphabet City), which could be problematic, given my friendliness and its proximity to my house. You just never know in this life. And they play salsa music. And Stevie Wonder. Needless to say, I pulled a muscle in my side dancing...I'm getting old. My friend Paul said that it's so weird to see how your body starts to deteriorate. He's only 34, people. But has bad vision and is freaking out about that going...

Tonight I went to Gradisca for dinner with a kid who works with me. He'd gotten hired in the kitchen while I was gone. I think he's nice, but you know me. I'm just not sure yet. My friend Tony lets people into his life, boom, like that. Me, it takes me a while to decide about people. Gradisca is a lovely Italian restaurant on 13th in between 6th and 7th: www.gradiscanyc.com. Go! They have great food, and it's relaxed and welcoming. And tasty! A friend of mine is the sous chef. I had lobster pasta. My friend had ravioli, homemade, on the spot per order. The waiter was really cute, too. Stefano. I figured he was gay. Let's face it. That's the reality with a large percentage of attractive men in the world in any big city. Then my buddy mentioned, "Nah. He's just Italian." Right! I forgot! His comment brought it all back! When in Rome, all the men looked homosexual, at least "metrosexual," so Tony & I had to see who checked him out and who checked me out to know. No such thing as gaydar in Italy. They're almost like peacocks there. The men paint themselves up all lovely, well, not like makeup or anything, but they always present themselves well. They just look nice. Dress nice. Going to the frickin supermarket, they wear a suit coat. They may be badasses, but they still look stylish and classic. Made in Italy. It just sounds so good.

The launch

Worked today. Really hope it doesn't get in the way...work. Rather, the restaurant. Work is cool. As long as it's on me. Workin' on me. It's really a wonderful place and I love the people there, co-workers and customers alike. But I've got this product launch I'm working on. And I'm the product.

Impact

I don't think we realize the impact we have day to day. In people's lives, on people's lives. Those we encounter every, single day. Today I got a pedicure, the first mine feet have seen since back from the southern hemisphere. A scary lot indeed. But the Nepalese woman who often takes care of me, the only one strong enough to work out the knots in this hussy's back, mentioned that I had been gone a long time. She even knew that it had been 6 months. Wow. Sure I was in there every week or every other, but I guess I made a good impression. You just never know the impact you have on people. She has glasses now and they look great. She's just lovely. Maybe Nepal is next...

And did you know that it's tradition for Nepalese women to have their noses pierced? It's really pretty. But neither of the two at the salon likes hers. It's a cultural requirement not as much a choice.

Identification

So I'm applying for a replacement social security card. Lost the last one, 2 years back, or so, when I left a bag in a taxi. Waited til now because I didn't really need it til now, and in the past was always working. Never found or made time for details like those before. Also, I'm getting a NY state driver's license, which is the reason for the new ss card. And I have to register to vote here, too. And then, I'm going to renew my passport. Pretty funny list of things to do. Replace all IDs. It's a shame about the passport. I just got all those cool stamps in South America! Guess I'll just have to go back! The GA ID photo is hideous so I'm stoked to be trading that in soon. Yes, a touch of vanity, here and there...I've been getting carded a lot lately, too. Which is strange. And kids who look like they may just be 20 are checking me out. Really, people, does a tan make you look younger or something? I'm going to hit 31 sooner than later and yet seem to have become young stuff bait. What is that about?

On the ss card application, you have to check a box, "Asian, Asian American or Pacific Islander, Hispanic (Not Black), Black (Not
Hispanic), North American Indian or Alaskan Native, White (Not Hispanic)." Those are the options. You also have to list your mother's & father's last names at birth and their socials as well. And the Social Security Administration office was full of people. Lucky for me, it's 6 blocks from my house. I can come back later. The guard said they're slower right when they open and just before they close...

Next steps

I called Lori midday and went to her & Tony's. Jillian is subletting Tony's room while he's in New Hampshire and today is Jill's birthday! Happy 25! I haven't seen her in years. She had been in Vegas dancing as a showgirl for the last 4 years. She looks awesome! In the last show she did, her last number involved a feather suit and a birdcage hat that extended from her head to past her waist. The outfits were heavy, she said, and cost from 10 to 15 grand. How cool! A showgirl! So she's back in the city to see what else is out there for her. Luck, Jill!

And Lori's official. She got her tour guide license and is going to start booking gigs showing people the city.

And me? Not sure I want to put it out there yet...

Private eyes

Ok. It's official. I've been back in the city 3 weeks and a day today. They say that anything you do for 3 weeks straight is supposed to be a new habit. I think I've written every day for the past 6 months. Do you think this is a habit? God, I hope so.

I'm still using a bag I bought in London. Back in 1998. One thing I love about New York, it has mad food lines. Maybe it's just at Tompkins. Hope not. But not only do you get to eat for free but you also get to sit in the park to eat. How nice is that? And probably a welcome relief from the worry and stress of your life. Or maybe the park is your home.

I wore my new strapless bra to work tonight. Only with straps. I think it'll work. Hopefully. Not sure I can return it post use. I'll tell ya, it's an experience gettting fitted for a strapless bra. I went to a place called Town Shop. They take your name and you wait to be called for your fitting. Once in a dressing room, a woman comes in, guesses your size and then leaves. She returns with handfulls of bras. And the fitting is the funniest part. She straps you in to your potential, new strapless bra. You have to lean forward, or at least I did, and it's weird. A woman you've never met, may never see again in life, is staring at you half naked to make sure the bra fits. And the worst is when it doesn't. So there you are, exposed. In a bra that you're poking out of somewhere awkward. She knows it and you know it. I kept telling Tony when he was here in the city that I've lost all worries and inhibitions about my body. Traveling, you share space with people you've never met, so you just pretty much stop caring. Well, this fitting almost resurrected them all. Oh, who cares? Bodies are just some strange forms that all of us are stuffed into and forced to own.

After work, I rode my bike home with Blake. Around midnight. His girlfriend just touched down in Australia. Cool, right? So we rode home through Central Park. Nice ride indeed. He broke off in the 30s. So many people infiltrate the neighborhood on the weekends. And they're not always fun either. But they're there.


Matilda looked over her left shoulder toward the eyes she could feel on her back. She saw him. A man in a fidora, long black hair slicked underneath it, dressed in linen. He didn't smile when they're eyes locked, only looked back. She turned her head further and found the eyes she'd felt on her. A woman in persimmon with huge hoops in her ears. Up from her stool, Matilda made for the door. She knew when she was unwelcome. Or being watched.

A priest was reading scripture on the corner. He met her eyes also. But this time she felt acceptance.

She ducked into a bodega on the next block. The back had a lounge and pool tables. And fans. In this heat Matilda preferred to keep out of the sun. The staps of her dress already becoming see-through from perspiration, she pulled out her own fan and took a seat at a table in the corner. She wanted to be sure she'd lost both parties from the last joint.

She ordered a liter of Presidente. As she sipped, condensation dripped down her chest. She thanked god for the few moments of cool.

Different grinds

Walking to work today, a woman in front of me had on a smart heel and suit, carrying an ice coffee in her hand. I don't want that to be me. Not so sure I want to wear that outfit again. We'll see. But yesterday a woman treated me like a servant. Admittedly, I'm a server, but I ain't nobody's servant. As though my only function in this world was to refill her coffee. Period. And I had 3 tables of Europeans virtually stiff me back to back to back. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to do this. And this only. It hurt my heart, man. Offended my perception of the world. Behavior like that. And then I remembered hearing one of my mates while traveling say, "Oh, he's just a waiter." So I added to the tip. Gross. It's one thing to be frugal. Another to be cheap. Fine, semantics. Frugal is nothing more than a euphemism. But something made cheaply falls apart after one use. Something constructed with frugality seems to have everything needed, with no excess or waste, right?

My friend says corporate America equals 2 things: money and stability. That's it. I'm not sure I agree. First of all, my last corporate job was in telecom. Hee, hee! That's one rough and tumble industry, but a fun ride at that. It can be creative. It can be challenging. Rewarding. And it's been a long time since she was in that environment, so hmm. What is corporate America? Anyone want to comment?

So what about a place for me that combines the two? Deals with people and helping them, has structure and policies, and health insurance and cool projects that I get to create and research, and that lets me work remotely. I know, I know. I guess some part of me will always be in the clouds.

On the subway home, a man in a kilt was playing the bagpipes. And well, from what I could tell. I believed the story of the music.

Passion

I'm having dinner with 3 Russians. Pardon, one Russian, two from Uzbekistan, I think. Not sure of the spelling there...Maria just mentioned a Russian friend of hers who comes to NYC to drop cash. It's apparently so cheap here. WHAT?!? This woman is "nouveau-Russian." Hmm. Maria and I met on the Canon del Colca hike outside Arequipa, Peru.

Tonight we saw a flamenco show at Prospect Park. It made me cry. The passion in the world. The love. Such beauty. Why we have to destroy each other, ourselves, I will never understand. A woman danced the bull fight, her skirt the matador's cape. She ended thrusting the sword into the crowd. Not an actual spear but you could feel the triumph, the death in the final thrust of her arm. Serious. Stern. Fatal. I cried four or five times over. Crazy. I cried for love lost, for love yet to be found, for that which never will be.

7/11/2007

So that date 3 times fast. Yeah...I could do it, too.

I have a good life. Not that I'm bragging, or that it's all that amazing what I do from day to day. I just have a good life. I'm proud of my family, proud of my friends, and working toward making me proud of me. I'm not disappointed in me, I just have the desire to succeed in a few new ways. Not so much career, per se, marriage, kids, that kind of stuff, although if those happen, I'll certainly do my best. But more as in expression. Finding that right place for me and my quirky voice and form. Maybe writing, maybe painting, maybe singing...maybe all of those! But expression, nonetheless. What traveling alone for several months taught me is to listen to my own voice. And to trust it. And to let it out. Spend each day putting it out into the world. Sharing. I like sharing. And the creative aspect. Creating characters. I just need assignments. A program of some sort to follow. Research a dead celebrity and write a paper from her perspective. Anne Sexton. Maybe Margaret Thatcher. Wait...is she dead? Mother Teresa. Or maybe I'll write the story of the south. The Peeks & Pangborn pool.

Dawn

This morning walking through Tompkins I saw dog pee that looked like it could have been the symbol condor at the Nazca lines. It was symmetrical. Uncanny. There is no condor image at the Nazca lines, but were there, this would have been the liquid miniature replica. I love the park in the morning. Chinese women in groups doing unusual exercises. Pitbulls and squirrels and drunks. Trees and green. And my mourning doves. There may be no sound more comforting to me that the coo of that dove. I wake to them and know it will be a good day.

The city is pink at dawn. I don't recall the last time I saw it. Normally, I run at the sight of dawn, not realizing how late I may have stayed out, but today I embraced the sunrise. The city aglow in peaches, a pale yellow on the rise in the sky.

Zoo York

Time Out New York this week had a cover story of "Attack of the Single Women." I couldn't bring myself to buy the mag I was so frightened. We live it. Why do we want to read an article describing the dating cess pool we've been wading through all these years? Mind you, I'm not so much of a dater. But what is this? The summer of locust women swarming the island? Which of you told me to come back to the States?? Just about all single women. Hmph.

A guy just made fun of me for taking photos in a bar. Dropoff Service is the name of it. Yep, as in, "We'll take your dirty laundry, sure. Only we might just air it out for all to see first..." I know I have a ridiculous eye and I try silly things that sometimes work and sometimes get me mocked. But, damn, I hate a critic. The kind that doesn't even try to see what you might be looking at, just leaps to a judgment regardless. What's more? Mind ya bizness. This is Zoo York, fool. Then it occured to me that maybe he was making fun of me as a form of flirtation. Bump that. And here's a snipet of the conversation the critic and his friend are having, "Here's our condo. You have to wax the board indoors. That's the surfer secret." Oh, puke. I just looked over at them and it all makes sense. They're unattractive and want to be yuppies. They're psuedo surfers, trying out a new hobby and bought a condo to do so. Double puke. Not my constituency.

Ends are beginning.

Oh, people! I forgot to tell you about "The Alchemist." It's the story of a shepherd who sells off his sheep in pursuit of a dream. It's a dream. Literally. He sees the pyramids and his life's treasure one night in a dream and strikes out to seek it. He crosses desert and encounters wizards, gypsies, an alchemist, all of whom guide him on his Life's Path. I'm thrilled to have finished it. That's the big news. It may be the first book I've ever been overjoyed to finish. Not because I didn't like it but because it ends where it starts. I'm not giving anything away, I hope, saying that but that's its beauty. And it talks about the journey of this life, lately an ever-present topic in missannesworld.

Just a nerd

So one thing about New York that's so New York, you have to pay to go to the beach. Well, Long Beach anyway. Yep. There's an entrance fee. A cover. Not the case at any I went to in South America. It's a funny notion too. We're going to charge you to sit on land. I guess you have to pay to enter parks and all, but charging $10 to get onto the beach? It's just not right.

Some dude, a Long Islander--wait, I think he's from Brooklyn--is teaching a kid to surf. And trying to pick up chicks in the meantime. He just said, "Positive attitude. That's all it takes. And don't get timid." Not sure if he was talking about the water or the girls. Seems like there's good advice following me around. I just need to keep my ears open to it.

Today I sat on the beach with my friend Lynn and soaked in the rays. A beautiful day, all I could think about was living in the stacks. A stray cloud here and there, blue sky, roaring waves, and all day I thought about research. Having an assignment, a paper due, a project, that requires me to research. In the library, reading books. I may pretend to be cool or hip or something, but really, deep down inside, I'm just a nerd.

Sidenote: I'm not a fan of people with perfect bodies. What some may call flaw, for me, it's charming. It's the unusual, the strange that gets me.

The screen incident

I haven't told you about the screen incident! So lately, not gonna say when exactly, but I was hanging out with a friend who lives in the second floor apartment. So, somehow, we got locked out of the apartment (Anne's fault). Now, she lives there. So she should know, if anyone, how to break in. First she tells me, "Don't look up!" She was wearing a skirt that day, without undies. Yes, these are my friends and I love them. So we both decided that it was unlikely that I'd be able to hoist her onto a roof without looking up, so she ran to the car for shorts. Back, she climbed up a chair onto my shoulders. I tilted forward, unknowingly, and then the scrambling began. Thinking I'd dropped her, or fallen, she started crawling for her life on the brick wall of the house. Half her body on the roof, half dangling over the side, she scraped the toenail polish off of her big toe on the right foot. The left foot went through the downstairs neighbor's screen door. Shit. Evidence. And then some laughing. In cat burglar stealth mode, she spouted orders, "Put the chair back! Close the gate behind you!" Still laughing, I complied. And then went up to her place and we wrote a note. Please keep in mind. I imagine that we wouldn't have had any casualties had we been sober. Sllly girls.

Kevin

I hadn't really realized that I'm home. Until I saw Oprah on some crap network rerun at 1 am this morning. Her hair was pulled back, corn rows or something. She looked well. The topic serious. And looking back at that moment, it should have occured to me right then. Back to the usual. Back to the States grind, only this time, I'm my own grind. I do have a job and hope and pray I can make enough money so I can do other things!

Here's a bit of what I wrote today:

Kevin smiled a little as he picked at the scab on his arm. Pick, pick, wince, pick, smile. Then he ripped the whole thing right off. Tears welled in his eyes but he liked pain more than others. Spots of blood popped out of the circle of flesh and then a small pool grew in his arm.

Drops of blood in a bread crumb trail up the stairs, he made a sandwich in the kitchen. Cold cuts on a roll. Two slices of cheese unwrapped and added with ketchup. And yesterday's coke to drink. Into the living room, Kevin's little sister was sprawled on the sofa almost snoring. He turned on the radio, pushed her legs to the side and sat down.

4th of July

Rooftop fireworks. Everyone in the city goes up to his or her roof to watch the 4th of July fireworks. In Atlanta, you go to the top of a parking lot at Lenox. Or to the Square in Decatur. In New York, the fun is on the roof. Some lucky folks have unobstructed views. I bet some luckier have glorious views of more than one show. There are 3, I think, all around the island. Battery Park, 34th on the East Side. The third...not sure. This year I was with a bunch of girls. And one of the girls' brothers. I was quiet. Introspective. Back when I was traveling, I kept looking forward to celebrating and being all patriotic and silly. But none of that really happened. Instead, I stood under an umbrella watching fireworks shoot into the haze over the city. They formed boas in the sky. And there were ones with planets and stars. It was a great show. I'm happy to be back in my country. And New York.

I do miss carrying my pack, though. All of it. The whole frickin thing. I miss having everything I'm responsible for in the world in one bag that I carry on my back. What am I? A camel?

Can't take my eyes off of you

There was a woman sitting on a beach chair on the street outside where I had breakfast today. Probably in her 70s, sitting in a chair on the sidewalk, almost in the street, next to a parking meter. Wonder if she put quarters in...and me, I'm listening to "You're just too good to be true...Can't take my eyes off of you...You'd feel like heaven to touch...I wanna hold you so much...At long last love has arrived..." Yeah, you know the rest.

So a funny thing happened to me today. The younger brother of a good friend of mine called me today to ask if he could register his car in New York under my address. Too many parking tickets where he is...makes me laugh. So I gave him the street and all. Should I worry? I think, no. Lots of history. And I know his family...

My own brother gave me some good advice lately. I think it may have been the first time I'd asked. Like I said, sometimes, and hopefully only sometimes, I'm an idiot.

And sometimes I think restaurants are sort of like the movies. That first time, you're going in for a whole new experience. After that, you go back because you like it. But people exhibit some of the rarest forms of behaviors in restaurants. Snapping, vocally, physically, at another human being. Sometimes yelling. Sometimes fights. Arguments. It's an accomplishment in any job to let another person yell at you and to have him, by the end of the conversation, eating out of your hand. It's not so much a control thing or even a competition thing. It's charm. Not win or lose. Not right or wrong. But charisma. Doesn't always work. But most of the time. And then there are cell phones. You just really wish they weren't there. At the movies. In restaurants. But, then again, I'm still in my anti-mobile phase. I did give in to carrying bags rather than the HIP pack (you can just piss off, Rebecca), but my mobile has stayed in silent mode since I got back. And FYI, I have no text message capabilities. I can't be trusted. With my own car. Not even with my own phone anymore! Pathetic.

And, there's something else I have to say. This whole blog thing started out as a way to keep family and friends informed of my whereabouts so they'd know that I was safe while abroad. But now, sometimes I think, "Hmm...isn't this interesting? Everyone gets a bird's eye view into my mind. But what about alla thems?" Couple of exceptions, yes, I read your stuff. But the rest of you, you better start sending me your pages. Nah, I mean NOW!

For real

I did it again, people. I worked. With another Georgia peach. It was all "ya'll," sweet tea and "Happy 4th!" We may be the only people in the city serving up some sweet tea. It's funny, but them Yankees like it! Southern girls rock, by the way. And two customers wrote comment cards about how nice we were today. Kinda funny. I feel like I'm pretty well-received out there in the world. So please, world, cosmos, don't let it end. I guess if you put good out there....and I do mean well. Sometimes I get a little misdirected...or obsessed with something...or someone...but even then, I still mean well. I just have to let things run their courses sometimes. And I can't believe it's July already. Is this what happens in life? You simply remark on days passed?

So my partner in crime, well at work today anyway, quit after our shift. It's my girl Lynn. We've been friends for about 10 years. Back in the ATL, and here in the NYC. Word. So, she quit. She's going to take off to hike the state of Vermont, is it? And then go work as a cook on a boat and cruise the Caribean for the winter. And then maybe move to Alaska or something? The irony is that she's from Savannah and hates cold. Alaska, man. That's going to be a test for her cold weather tolerance. I'm impressed. Sounds like a good challenge. And I like that I have friends who do wild stuff like that. Guess it makes me feel more normal, wanting to see the world myself. She's going to homestead, too, I think. They're apparently still giving away land in Alaska, but keep it on the DL. At least until she gets hers...

So any of you who might think I'm a liar, well, I'm not. I been known stretch the truth, it's called hyperbole. Even invent things from time to time, that's called creativity. But the stories I tell, they have happened. Dom DeLuise hands? It's for real.

Percepcion

Just ripped up the copies of my birth certificate and passport I've been carrying in my wallet for the past 5 months. Pretty beaten up, the creases worn thin, it was time. Sad but looks like I'm home. No more traveling for the moment. And I'm back on my Ipod. Mobile phone? Eh. Ipod. Full throttle. And music in general. NYC radio. Gimme some. Day 2 back to work. In a restaurant. On the upper west side. No worries. All cool. In 2 days I've got a quarter of my rent. Keep it coming. Keep in coming. I have a Japanese money cat in the window of my apartment. And a seed wrapped up in a $20 bill in my wallet from La Bruja de Iquique. I'm a sucker for superstition. And, apparently, gypsies...

The busdriver just asked me how far I'm going. Hmm...that's a good question. Asia? Australia? I haven't figured out what the connecting link is, yet, though. Will it be writing? Photography? Adrenaline? Will I be skydiving the world? What's the common thread? Not sure. Anyone have any ideas? But that's not what he wanted to know. So, I told him, "Union Square." He was like, "This don't go to Union Square." I'm like, "Yeah, ok. Astor Place...same diff. Same ave...3rd". So, he explained that he was asking because it's his first day on this route. He doesn't know what streets he's supposed to take because he usually drives the M14s. Somebody got sick and he's doing his boss a favor working the M8. Could I help make sure he goes the correct route? Guess I don't look as much like a tourist as I thought. I hopped off at Astor. At least I could get him that far.

So I uploaded all my photos today. Every single flash card I've had since I got this old-ass digital Canon. This is going to be fun...this computer. Graphics, creating fliers for parties...anyone need a promoter?!? YES! ME! Oh, yeah! And wish I hadn't deleted some of the photos I deleted. Checking 'em out on a screen, some of them look killer! Who knew?