if you do shady stuff....

do you get your shoes back?

So here's what's driving this question. A nice guy, by all accounts, is befallen by physical misfortune and becomes seriously, though not critically injured.

"It's a terrible thing, what has happened to him," we all say.

We e-mail him, call him and send over our best wishes for a speedy recovery. Days pass and there is no word from our fallen comrade, so we re-up our efforts and send another round of wishes and inquiries as to when he'll return to our fold. He writes us back individually saying that he's "turned a corner" and is on the up and up.

"Well, that's encouraging!" we say. "He'll be back after the weekend and we'll all help him get back on track."

The days stretch on and then the communication cuts off completely. We listen to the proverbial crickets, worrying all the while that the head injury he has suffered is perhaps much more serious than anyone thought and that no such "corner" has been turned. No reply, no proactive communication on his part.....what is going on, we wonder?

And then comes the shady part. Now I am in no position to judge his physical condition. I did not see him after his "accident", nor did I speak to him, so I have no way of verifying whether he was actually hurt or whether the whole thing was a clever ruse. What was a ruse, however, was the amount of time he spent convalescing on the company's dime.

Turns out that while our friend was sucking off our our sympathy, unearned vacation time and pay, he was actually out looking for a new source of gainful employment. Prospecting, interviewing...the whole thing. Shady. So the point of my original question lies here: there are many of his personal effects still adorning his workspace, including a drawer full of shoes. Nice shoes. Cole Haan and Kenneth Cole business shoes, Nike runners and the like. Knowing what I do about men and their shoes, I would say this probably comprises a large chunk of his shoe collection.

But if you deceive people who are concerned about you and trying to help - if you take advantage of their compassion and concern in order to suck off of your employer and get paid to look for another job.....do you get your shoes back?

torture chamber

No, I'm not talking about my childhood home; I'm talking about Pilates. So Pilates is for chicks? For pussies? I must admit I've never used this device, but I now have a healthy fear of it, because this could easily be a video of me.

duh dum, chhhhh.....

"Hey, you got anything over there to eat? I'm starving like an Ethiopian." "Anything besides nuts, that is......I'm not in the mood for nuts right now."

"Well, my dear, I don't have any nuts over here, but I've sure got some melons. Want some melons?"





athankyouuuu, I'll be here all week.

the stupid world

I live in New York. I used to live in Orange County. Before that I was seen frequently in both Boston and Paris at times and I travelled to Philadelphia about 10 times a year. I sing myself no praises on being well-travelled where the continental United States and western Europe are concerned because what I'm aiming for here is how amazingly different and unique all of these places are. Each city in the US has a different attitude, accent and set of stores, habits and weather patterns that make it unique and fun to explore. By the same token, each of the countries and cities I have lived in or to which I have traveled abroad, too has its own culture, language and idiosyncrasies that keep it curious and fascinating. These nuances are what make me love to travel and uncover things that are new to me.

Those glamorous and exotic tid-bits aside, I have observed in my decades on this planet, that there is one thing - one dirty truth in which they all share a common bond regardless of culture, language, musical preference or any other normally delineating feature. This phenomenon is worldwide and inescapable and yet widely ignored by the local population in any township, metropolis or country out of what I can only figure is hope that it will just disappear. It is the parallel universe beneath all of them: the stupid world.

There is the normal world and then there's the stupid world. In the normal world, people are working toward some sort of goal, be it work related, financial or otherwise. They are relatively aware of what's going on and get up every morning and go to work to conduct their business and contribute their time and efforts to their own well-being and the furthering of whatever common pursuit they have chosen to adopt with their co-workers. Sometimes these people do things that are considered "obnoxious" or "air-headed", but by and large, they are competent human beings that would be considered "smart" in their field.

Filling in the holes between these "smart" people are the stupid people. The people who seem to be out and about with no clear direction or purpose, other than to slow down and irritate the "smart" ones. These are the people with whom no one can avoid contact, no matter what cranny of the world you are in or passing through. These people do things like the following:

* walk extremely slowly in large, fast moving crowds, while weaving as if intoxicated or suffering inner ear trouble.

*stop suddenly (on foot or in vehicles) because of a shiny object in their path or the jarring interruption of a thought, and cause those behind them to shift or run into each other or stationary objects.

*speak in "valley" at elevated volumes, while airing the dirty laundry of anyone they have ever encountered.

*block doorway entrances and stairwells for no apparent reason other than to stare off into space.

I marvel at these people. What is it like where they are? How do they get through the day and more importantly, who pays them? What are their thoughts on our world? Do they find the smart people as fascinating and annoying as we find them? How did they go global, slithering just beneath the current of productivity and embed themselves so deeply in every culture known to man? Are they constantly frustrated by our competence and logic and if so, what are they saying to themselves as they shake their heads and squinch up their faces in disapproval?

I can only hope that one day I have the mountain of available time required to conduct a thorough study of these people and their parallel world so that I can finally answer the universal question.....

What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?

office umbrage

It's hard enough to wake up on the wrong side of the bed in the morning after an annoying exchange with a 'loved one'. Hard enough to haul one's hefty ass out of bed and trudge to the office in the pouring rain as the cuffs of your pants soak up every drop of water that comes anywhere near them. It must be done, however, so that's just how it is. The motto for the day becomes "Get in, bust ass and get out, so I can go to the gym". Actually, that's kind of the motto for everyday, but it takes on a whole new significance on days of grumpiness.

And then starts the singing. The little snippets of songs you absolutely do not want in your head during your workday for any reason. Bursting snippets of songs which make you want to stab yourself in the eye with a screwdriver - Phillips or standard - repeatedly until it stops.

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone......" "you can stand under my umberrelllla......" "if i had a hammer......"

Actually, the last snippet is the reel that plays in my head after the song burst. It's usually followed by some sort of violent and destructive line that amuses me and soothes my urge to maim myself or those around me.

Now I can't blame every inappropriate thought I have on the songstress, because in truth, she's really an okay gal, but the singing is accompanied by a smattering of other quips, noises and comments from a 360 degree field around me, none of which needs audible time by anyone other than the utterer. But this is the office; the place where everyone comes to actually live their lives out since the commute takes too long to have anything other than a shower and sleep at "home". So we hear each other out and stuff down the frustration of being annoyed day in and day out by the seemingly innocuous blurts and comments lobbed out to pollute the office air.

Perhaps this is a good time to look at my violent tendencies and examine why such harmless bits rile me to the point of fuming. Nah, I'd rather just toss on a pair of headphones, turn on Bad Religion and stew.

pov

i find the online aspect of my journaling follies to be quite interesting and random. so random in fact, that i'm concerned about finding a point of view. must one have a clear topic trunk from which stories seem to branch out? must the postings all tie into the main theme at some point?

I ask only because a) no one reads this so i'm forced to wonder why i actually have this question in the first place, and b) i don't think i have the attention span necessary to carry out a task of that sort. the fact that i'm writing about it at all is something i find quite curious. then again, in appreciation of the greater picture, i don't think that having a clear point of view is even socially demanded anymore, so i can get away with having the attention span of a gnat.

think about it. everything comes to us in bites now. sound bytes, brownie bites, bug bites....okay the last one was inspired by the mosquito bite on the instep of my foot that is currently driving me nuts, but even when reading or listening to the news, you get your world handed to you by the spoonful. nice, small bites to accommodate your busy schedule and lack of interest in the bigger picture. i'm sure this formula is well-accepted in the red states. no one seems to want to get deep anymore; outside of the porn industry anyway. we are all so insulated by our daily lives from the events and crises going on in the world that just knowing that something is going on somewhere seems to be enough.

does this mean that having a point of view is now blase? perhaps not, because in my travels i have found that there are still intelligent beings on this planet, you just have to slog through a sea of idiocy to find those who have some interest in how and why things got the way they are - relative to any subject. it's almost jarring when i meet one of these creatures because i almost don't know what to do when i've met them. i feel like maybe i'm going to come off a little crazy or aggressive because i'm so enthralled by someone who not only has an opinion, but has the metal capacity to make reference to specific events or experiences which helped to shape it. a real, live person who wants to understand the world and who sees it from a different, new and articulated standpoint. i'm getting a little excited just thinking of the prospect.

but, i digress. since all i've managed to do here is dissect a subject of curiosity without having a clear path of my own, i suppose i'm part of my own, aforementioned frustration. today, anyway. and where writing is concerned, who gives a fuck, anyway? it's only online because i can type faster than i can write, so if i lack a direction, i welcome myself to flog me for such an offense anytime.

i should probably start embracing capital letters at some point, too.

a healthy dose of....

ah, friday. supposedly the best day of the week. time to relax, ditch out of work early and go enjoy drinks down the street with co-workers before eventually running into a significant other or going home and passing out in anticipation of sleeping in.

today, however, is a day where i must think and think and think. scheme, plan, plot....how the fuck am i gonna get money?

i sort of pride myself on my ability to adapt. i have been existing on far less than i care to, for about 10 years now. i had a couple of spurts in there where i was actually making some money, but it was all short-lived and in most cases, i gave it all up so that i could train for the ever elusive national and olympic teams. i get it though....it wasn't in the cards, nothing to slit one's wrists over, so i picked up and moved on to face the next series of challenges. the problem with facing said next series is that when starting in the hole by say....several thousand dollars, it is a serious uphill climb.

as it turns out, people like to be paid for goods or services rendered. this becomes decidedly inconvenient when trying to recover from roughly 10 years of accrued debt in less than 12 months. i would like to take just a second to pat myself on the back, because so far i've got more than half the job done, but that still leaves quite a bit on the table. what i'm operating against now is the equivalent of being swallowed by quicksand at an alarming rate and the person coming to my aid is a 96 year old lady with a broken hip, cataracts and one orthopedic shoe that eclipses the other in size. the branch she holds out is about as sturdy as a handful of blades of grass.

so when the car company, electric company, credit card company, IRS, storage company, doctor, dentist, student loan company and all of the other companies levy their monthly bills, it becomes somewhat of a juggling act to keep them all happy. my latest solution has been to eat mac n' cheese and soup most nights of the week and to take advantage of a boyfriend who likes to go out to eat on the night when i see him. it's worked out so far, but when the "pipeline" i've crafted so carefully starts to drain of its contents and all of the 'deals' get pushed back, where does the money come from then?

now in drawing attention to the actual problem, i skip over the series of feelings and irritations that come with this station in time. these are, in no particular order: total frustration, resolve, anger, fear, denial, reality, patience (or the need for), creativity.....just to name a few. i suppose when added in the right proportion, this is just enough combustibility to equate to some sort of fucked up motivation. not that i've ever lacked for that. maybe for a day or two, but i'm too wound up to sit still and not work.

what a bitch though, right? at about 15 or so, i had made a comment in church and i said "it seems like nothing gets necessarily easier. the problems just change and adapt to where you are in your life." at the time, a handful of people came up and told me that i was very wise for my age. i just think it's a little off that a 15 year old would have that much insight into futility at that time in her life. but i refuse to believe it. there must be a respite where the current pulls you for a second so you can enjoy what you've worked for before you dive into the next series.

that's a spicy dish.

one mile

i went to dinner with the boy tonight and had waaaayyyy too much sushi. i had gone swimming earlier and when i got home, he was already there and we were both ravenous. so we went, we gorged, we joked around, did all the touchy feely hand holding across the table bullshit and we watched two turtles dig frantically through the rocks at the bottom of their tank, looking for their shoes, or maybe one of them lost an earring. it was lovely.

then we left the restaurant and i was faced with the grim reality that i had eaten way too much and i just felt disgusting. belly distended, ready to burst out my gluttonous meal i was in a quandry. what to do, what to do. a walk was the only real answer i could come up with and so off i went. all in all i walked 2 blocks further than a mile down and up first avenue.

if you walk south on first avenue from my house, you will pass the UN. this means that there is virtually nothing else around to do at night because most of the restaurants and shops in that area close pretty early and the rest of it is all residence for dignitaries and filthy rich people. but within this mile, these are the things i encountered.

a boob. not a stupid person, but an actual boob. a girl who was clearly at the top of her drinking game, had on an adorable halter, tie back top. sooo cute. and then out came the boob. i'm not really sure how it initially came out, but it reared it's small, pointy self RIGHT at the moment i stepped past. so she pulled the other one out of the other side of the shirt and covered both nipples with 2 fingers from each hand. very graceful.

an ass. not a donkey or a rude person, but an actual ass. i actually smelled the person belonging to the ass before i even laid eyes on the ass, because the ass was parked on a slatted bench facing the world with a pair of teal colored sweats over the front of this person's body. the person, also clearly drunk, had a cartfull of his or her belongings (hard to distinguish gender in this case), and was drooling, so i didn't think it would really do anyone much good to make him or her aware of the bareness and subsequent eye damage suffered by all passersby.

a lover's quarrel. i was juuuust about at halfway and ready to turn around when i spotted a couple. average looking in every way and holding one hand, their eyes never veered from each other as i passed. it was obviously a solemn moment and the quarrel was happening at a reduced volume, which i noted was very considerate on their parts. i don't like to have arguments in the house either because it brings bad energy in, so i choose to walk and talk about such serious and troublesome things outdoors. they must have felt the same, so i scurried on by, hoping not to have broken anyone's concentration. there is nothing worse than not being able to get your point across because some nosey parker comes by and jars your train of thought.

soon after that i passed a strange, silver obelisk-esque statue, just before tudor city. i decided that was one block further than a half mile, so i turned around. plus i was on a mission for gatorade and didn't want anyone to get parched as i cruised leisurely around. the turn was made and i was back on my way up the street. same street and same side of the street as well.
strangely, the way back up was not nearly as interesting as the way down, although i did see a woman in a diner window sneaking in a pick of her nose while her other party went and paid the bill. what is it about restaurant windows that makes people think they are invisible? we can seeeee youuuuu.

after that i was nearly hit by a rickety old truck careening around the corner at about 25 miles an hour, but since i'm so spry, i lept to my own safety without my heart rate going up so much as a beat.

i realize the story is declining at a rapid rate becuase most of the good stuff was on the first half of the walk, but it was, at that moment, as if the universe knew that i was getting bored and that i needed one more element to add to my tale. and there it was.

it was as if he had his own, personal spotlight on him and i was so excited to be the only other person on that part of the block at that moment. it was a sad clown. i don't really know whether or not he meant to be dressed as a clown, but the flourescent colored madras-style shorts, the seemingly strategically ripped shirt, bright red hair and yellow and green shoes really spoke to me in an o-my-god-i'd-better-get-a-move-on kind of way. it was impressive however, the way he managed to pull that outfit off. one wonders what kind of thought process goes into that sort of getup anyway.

and there you have it. one mile, less than 20 minutes and these are the things i witnessed. god i love new york.