A tune blasts from the other side of the room. Usually shit like this would piss me off but it's kinda awesome and is fitting somehow. It's 'I will always love you' by Whitney Huston. The Whit. I don't know how to describe how one jams out to a song like this, the early 90's have a language their own, but the whole second floor is. You gotta believe me, this is the non fiction floor of the library after all.
The Whit-whip, spark your lighters.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Salt and Breadcrumbs
I can't exactly explain why I felt like a laugh. Like the monkeys that eat the Banana bread bagels, the dangling light bulbs and an ugly waitress.
We're all here again.
I remember coming here with my buddy, back in the day. These same damn brick walls were here, but the paint was different. And yet for some reason, even tho I don't see him anymore, it seems like those old times. The vague understanding I do have is a basic, raw intellection.
Like an intra-personal lingua franca. So how could I even begin to say it words?
“What?” she's pissed off in a way someone could only get from a day of work, getting frustrated on work things. I could say alot of things in response. So many little things, somehow all related.
Overwhelmingly, it's back in the day. With those damn monkeys and the model air plain in the corner- shooting down the dangling light bulbs. Back then, me and my buddy said alot of stupid things. We laughed at alot of stupid things.
Silly things and contradictory things.
Outrageous things and ignorant things.
All sorts of things. But I think all those laughs came from the same place. Off the shoulders and threw the throat.
But this is still a laugh, and I can tell it's just coming from a different place. Down in the gut. Like even when you are really happy sometimes you cry.
“I just felt like a laugh” After all, it's true. And it's not like I talk to my buddy anymore. He lives down in Florida now. On facebook, we never comment on one anothers posts. We haven't said anything to one another in a long time.
But
As soon as I said it, I realized that's not what someone is suppose to say.
Like, I could see how it looked. She's pissed. She was pissed off before and now she's even more pissed off.
But I don't feel like I need to appologise or anything. After all, I'm the one who's caught off guard here.
We're all here again.
I remember coming here with my buddy, back in the day. These same damn brick walls were here, but the paint was different. And yet for some reason, even tho I don't see him anymore, it seems like those old times. The vague understanding I do have is a basic, raw intellection.
Like an intra-personal lingua franca. So how could I even begin to say it words?
“What?” she's pissed off in a way someone could only get from a day of work, getting frustrated on work things. I could say alot of things in response. So many little things, somehow all related.
Overwhelmingly, it's back in the day. With those damn monkeys and the model air plain in the corner- shooting down the dangling light bulbs. Back then, me and my buddy said alot of stupid things. We laughed at alot of stupid things.
Silly things and contradictory things.
Outrageous things and ignorant things.
All sorts of things. But I think all those laughs came from the same place. Off the shoulders and threw the throat.
But this is still a laugh, and I can tell it's just coming from a different place. Down in the gut. Like even when you are really happy sometimes you cry.
“I just felt like a laugh” After all, it's true. And it's not like I talk to my buddy anymore. He lives down in Florida now. On facebook, we never comment on one anothers posts. We haven't said anything to one another in a long time.
But
As soon as I said it, I realized that's not what someone is suppose to say.
Like, I could see how it looked. She's pissed. She was pissed off before and now she's even more pissed off.
But I don't feel like I need to appologise or anything. After all, I'm the one who's caught off guard here.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Not to Renege
O'Shea(OshYeah80) met Vasnner(Vas_blaster) soon after getting out of boot camp, when he actually had a little time and freedom to do things. The two weren't even on the same base. O'Shea was in Kentucky and Vasnner was in Germany. They met on Yahoo! games, playing euchre. The both of them being in the military was coincidental. Because the game allowed chatting among the players they quickly figured out that they were both in the armed forces, same branch even. It was nice for O'Shea because Vasnner was about 10 years older and he had some wisdom to pass down.
Vasnner was just ending his stint at this time, he was looking forward to being done with the military. It came to be that Vasnner, being shuffled around base-to-base on his way back home, and O'Shea, being shuffled off to Iraq, were at the same base at the same time. During their free time they both found a real game of euchre in rec room- the same one- and played. Both of their on-line names were plays on their actual names sowed on to their coats and so after some talking about the game they figured out that one another was the guy they'd been playing with on-line.
They became partners and talked, even after the game had ended, and found out that they were from the same county. Days later Vasnner made his way home, for good, while O'Shea was shipped off to Germany and then Iraq soon there after. They still played euchre on the internet, altho over the years the games with the two became less and less. After 6 years O'Shea was done with the army and he had hardly talked to Vasnner anymore, with the exception of a few random emails that were usually generated from O'Shea's combination of being drunk and cycling threw old contact lists for entertainment.
O'Shea went back home and made it a point to contact Vasnner. He wasn't drunk this time, just lonely. Dispite having a cushy position in Korea for the last two years, it was clear that O'Shea was not used to civilian life- still wound tight. He couldn't make friends and he pissed off all his old ones. Vassner felt sympathetic. They started to play cards on-line again. They still made good partners and won easily.
During the holiday season, Vassner, in the spirit of things, invited O'Shea to a dinner party he and his wife were throwing. It was the kind of dinner party where people whore sweaters. O'Shea was told explicitly to wear something nice, like a sweater, so he went out and bought one. O'Shea felt a little uncomfortable at first. He didn't know anyone there, but at lest Vassner, a near stranger in the physical world, was easy to talk to. The wine made O'Shea feel more comfortable and then mix drinks came after dinner. This made him feel even better.
Eventually O'Shea felt comfortable enough to be talkative with everybody. He was numb to the discomfort in the room he caused when telling stories that were mostly tactless to the ladies and crude to the gentlemen. Old war stories. Eventually most everybody was offended- not Vassner, but he was still embarrassed for all his guests. At the climax of evening an older guy, with grey-speckled hair, was dictating to O'shea how to find a good career now that he was out of the army. O'Shea punched and broke his tooth on the grounds that "he didn't know what the fuck he was talking about". O'Shea was shit faced at this point and Vassner called him a cab.
The older guy was never in the army himself, but he did have a sticker on his Camry that read "Support Our Troops". He had to get alot of dental work done, but it was all covered by insurence. While his mouth was still healing he would sometimes say to his wife, in a numb-lipped grumble, "what a disgrace that guy (O'Shea) was to the armed forces".
Vassner had to call the cab and get O'Shea out of there that night but didn't really mind beyond that. They were all mostly his wife's friends anyhow. Either way, O'Shea and Vassner feel back into the pattern of speratic electronic communications, even tho they continued to live in the same county. And then after a few years it all tapered off to silence.
Vassner hardly plays euchre any more. Doesn't really have time for games. He has a wife and a kid now, after all.
Vasnner was just ending his stint at this time, he was looking forward to being done with the military. It came to be that Vasnner, being shuffled around base-to-base on his way back home, and O'Shea, being shuffled off to Iraq, were at the same base at the same time. During their free time they both found a real game of euchre in rec room- the same one- and played. Both of their on-line names were plays on their actual names sowed on to their coats and so after some talking about the game they figured out that one another was the guy they'd been playing with on-line.
They became partners and talked, even after the game had ended, and found out that they were from the same county. Days later Vasnner made his way home, for good, while O'Shea was shipped off to Germany and then Iraq soon there after. They still played euchre on the internet, altho over the years the games with the two became less and less. After 6 years O'Shea was done with the army and he had hardly talked to Vasnner anymore, with the exception of a few random emails that were usually generated from O'Shea's combination of being drunk and cycling threw old contact lists for entertainment.
O'Shea went back home and made it a point to contact Vasnner. He wasn't drunk this time, just lonely. Dispite having a cushy position in Korea for the last two years, it was clear that O'Shea was not used to civilian life- still wound tight. He couldn't make friends and he pissed off all his old ones. Vassner felt sympathetic. They started to play cards on-line again. They still made good partners and won easily.
During the holiday season, Vassner, in the spirit of things, invited O'Shea to a dinner party he and his wife were throwing. It was the kind of dinner party where people whore sweaters. O'Shea was told explicitly to wear something nice, like a sweater, so he went out and bought one. O'Shea felt a little uncomfortable at first. He didn't know anyone there, but at lest Vassner, a near stranger in the physical world, was easy to talk to. The wine made O'Shea feel more comfortable and then mix drinks came after dinner. This made him feel even better.
Eventually O'Shea felt comfortable enough to be talkative with everybody. He was numb to the discomfort in the room he caused when telling stories that were mostly tactless to the ladies and crude to the gentlemen. Old war stories. Eventually most everybody was offended- not Vassner, but he was still embarrassed for all his guests. At the climax of evening an older guy, with grey-speckled hair, was dictating to O'shea how to find a good career now that he was out of the army. O'Shea punched and broke his tooth on the grounds that "he didn't know what the fuck he was talking about". O'Shea was shit faced at this point and Vassner called him a cab.
The older guy was never in the army himself, but he did have a sticker on his Camry that read "Support Our Troops". He had to get alot of dental work done, but it was all covered by insurence. While his mouth was still healing he would sometimes say to his wife, in a numb-lipped grumble, "what a disgrace that guy (O'Shea) was to the armed forces".
Vassner had to call the cab and get O'Shea out of there that night but didn't really mind beyond that. They were all mostly his wife's friends anyhow. Either way, O'Shea and Vassner feel back into the pattern of speratic electronic communications, even tho they continued to live in the same county. And then after a few years it all tapered off to silence.
Vassner hardly plays euchre any more. Doesn't really have time for games. He has a wife and a kid now, after all.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Foundation in the Snow
Me and Bryan shook hands and then I left down the street to smoke some kind bud.
When in reference to the winter, most people's first response is to bitch. It's understandable; The winter makes it difficult to do things like walk down the street or drive to work. You have to pay more in utilities for heating. The days are shorter and you get cabin fever.
Sure, it's all true. But there are redeeming things about winter too.
Last night was Bryan's last night in Kalamazoo. Or at lest it was the official day to say farewell. He's always been a nice guy. Knows alot about coffee, too. So I went up to the Strutt to say goodbye and good luck and all that. Luckily he was still up there even tho it was pressing on 1am.
I was broke and couldn't afford any beers so I asked him to join me outside. I came prepaired with a half pint of Popov. I took a pull and handed the bottle to him. I tried to say something nice and wise. I think whatever I said just boiled down to 'worse case senario, this will at lest be a fun adventure for you'.
I don't know how wise or deep it all actually was, but the cold winter night made it seem profound.
Winters are good for making things outdoors seem theatrical.
The cold that blows in during the Fall is blunt. It's the kind of cold that's wet, sluggish and makes your teeth rattle.
But the dry, pure cold in winter is sharp and precise. It dosen't hit you, it cuts you all up and makes you numb.
I looked at Bryan, he looked at me. We shook hands. It was as close to something mushy as two guys would want to get. I looked him in the eye and wished him luck. He had a giant lip stick kiss mark on his cheek.
It was subtly funny, like something out of a Wes Anderson film.
That being said, there's nothing more that can be done. If it were a move, the camera would swoop up into the sky as the credits would roll.
But it was real life. I went to smoke some weed. Life moved on.
On the way home that night, like I usually do, I cut threw the lot by the apartment building on Academy. That building has a big ol' florescent light. Walking away from it, going up a hill I thought how it reminded me of Mars, the eerie orangish-yellow light casting long shadows on the bumps and divots of the virgin snow.
Then I pretended like it was the apocalypse, and I was walking down a barren landscape with my back to the exploding super nova.
Did I mention I was high?
Then something interrupted my rock-n-roll fantasy. It was all this stuff in the middle of the parking lot. But it wasn't trash like you'd normally see. It was a bunch of make-up and stuff.
I walked on but in the morning I passes back threw for reasons simulare to that of the night prior.
After only a little while of walking in the cold I kinda detach from myself. Everything that is exposed to the outside is senseless. It's just my thoughts floating down the street and December slightly kills me with numbing slices.
It reminds me of something that I can't put my finger on.
I think and remember the pile of make-up, it's still there. I examine it as I walk by again. This time I can see everything. There is lip gloss, an empty pill bottle letters, and a couple of used hypodermic needles.
I was intrigued because you usually dont see something like that in Kalamazoo. Well, at lest not in this area.
I felt like I was finally on the other side of the looking glass. I could only imagine the events that lead up to the junkie girls purse getting poured out on the lot. I could only imagine, but whatever it was I'm sure I've been in a simulate situation. Now I am the normal square looking at the aftermath of capitalist-cultural turmoil.
I pick up a hand written letter and take it with me. It was a letter from her man talking about having a family and better days ahead and all that. It must have been written from jail. Given the content, the type of guy the writer was would never write a letter that long, by hand, with that nice of penmanship unless he had to AND had some time to kill.
There was also some paper work from the hospital stating that the girl had anxiety problems and instructed her how to take her script of Xanax.
Keep On Rockin the Free World.
When in reference to the winter, most people's first response is to bitch. It's understandable; The winter makes it difficult to do things like walk down the street or drive to work. You have to pay more in utilities for heating. The days are shorter and you get cabin fever.
Sure, it's all true. But there are redeeming things about winter too.
Last night was Bryan's last night in Kalamazoo. Or at lest it was the official day to say farewell. He's always been a nice guy. Knows alot about coffee, too. So I went up to the Strutt to say goodbye and good luck and all that. Luckily he was still up there even tho it was pressing on 1am.
I was broke and couldn't afford any beers so I asked him to join me outside. I came prepaired with a half pint of Popov. I took a pull and handed the bottle to him. I tried to say something nice and wise. I think whatever I said just boiled down to 'worse case senario, this will at lest be a fun adventure for you'.
I don't know how wise or deep it all actually was, but the cold winter night made it seem profound.
Winters are good for making things outdoors seem theatrical.
The cold that blows in during the Fall is blunt. It's the kind of cold that's wet, sluggish and makes your teeth rattle.
But the dry, pure cold in winter is sharp and precise. It dosen't hit you, it cuts you all up and makes you numb.
I looked at Bryan, he looked at me. We shook hands. It was as close to something mushy as two guys would want to get. I looked him in the eye and wished him luck. He had a giant lip stick kiss mark on his cheek.
It was subtly funny, like something out of a Wes Anderson film.
That being said, there's nothing more that can be done. If it were a move, the camera would swoop up into the sky as the credits would roll.
But it was real life. I went to smoke some weed. Life moved on.
On the way home that night, like I usually do, I cut threw the lot by the apartment building on Academy. That building has a big ol' florescent light. Walking away from it, going up a hill I thought how it reminded me of Mars, the eerie orangish-yellow light casting long shadows on the bumps and divots of the virgin snow.
Then I pretended like it was the apocalypse, and I was walking down a barren landscape with my back to the exploding super nova.
Did I mention I was high?
Then something interrupted my rock-n-roll fantasy. It was all this stuff in the middle of the parking lot. But it wasn't trash like you'd normally see. It was a bunch of make-up and stuff.
I walked on but in the morning I passes back threw for reasons simulare to that of the night prior.
After only a little while of walking in the cold I kinda detach from myself. Everything that is exposed to the outside is senseless. It's just my thoughts floating down the street and December slightly kills me with numbing slices.
It reminds me of something that I can't put my finger on.
I think and remember the pile of make-up, it's still there. I examine it as I walk by again. This time I can see everything. There is lip gloss, an empty pill bottle letters, and a couple of used hypodermic needles.
I was intrigued because you usually dont see something like that in Kalamazoo. Well, at lest not in this area.
I felt like I was finally on the other side of the looking glass. I could only imagine the events that lead up to the junkie girls purse getting poured out on the lot. I could only imagine, but whatever it was I'm sure I've been in a simulate situation. Now I am the normal square looking at the aftermath of capitalist-cultural turmoil.
I pick up a hand written letter and take it with me. It was a letter from her man talking about having a family and better days ahead and all that. It must have been written from jail. Given the content, the type of guy the writer was would never write a letter that long, by hand, with that nice of penmanship unless he had to AND had some time to kill.
There was also some paper work from the hospital stating that the girl had anxiety problems and instructed her how to take her script of Xanax.
Keep On Rockin the Free World.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
On the Subject of Fall Cleaning
Yesterday I took on the task of a Fall Cleaning. I know that Spring Cleaning is what most people do but I prefer Fall Cleaning because Fall is the time that things die off and all that. I tend to let trinkets, notes, fliers, all sorts of things of that ilk build up thinking at the time that I will want to hang on to them. It's in my blood, ask my sister. But fall is a good time to let somethings die, that's why it's best to clean then.
When furniture is left idle things tend to accumulate.
The things I found:
6 pairs of white tube sox
$3.25 in change
notes and memorabilia from various woman I met over the past year
Lots and lots of dust
A bag of gift wrapping bows left in the closet from the previous tenant
CDs over a decade old with outdated Linux programs
Old desktop, old harddrive in that desktop.
Some things stick with you over the years, move after move. Like that movie about that little wooden toy ship that some how sailed across the world. What ends up making it is most surprising.
A various artist album that my japanese pen pal sent me 11 years ago.
Johnny Thunders shirt that Canadian Dave stole (from Canada)
A flier for a Blanks 77 show dated 1998
Socket set with no matching socket wrench I bought from a yardsale when I was 7
But the most interesting to me was the harddrive. It's been with me, for whatever reason, sense my early days of Linux. We're talking about RedHat before it was FedoraCore. Just like any other avid Linux user it is partitioned with a number of Linux flavors.
I have and external harddrive adapter (via USB) so I was able to search threw a bunch of files from back when I first moved out of the parents house on to 813 Oak st. It was really cool to go over some of the old programming projects I had writen and it was nice to refind some forgotten about music too.
Today I will share with you an account I had written at the time of the incedent about my misadventure to Moscow. Cringingly, I will post it with out editing it at all. It's nice to know that my spelling and typing skills have gotten a bit better over the years.
It's pretty fucking long, so I would recommend just skimming it
==================================
when I was exiting the JFK airport a man whom I was passing asked if
I need transportation in Russian. I told him that I might later.
From there I looked for a place to buy a calling card and I asked if the rest of
my round trip ticket was still good. They said I'd ahve to ask customer service
and the machien vending the calling cards ate ten of my dollars. A man that
worked in some sort of possion at the airport told me it was merly out of $10
cards and I needed to insert another $10 to get the $20 card. His logic was
that when I pressed the button to select the ten dollar card the number ten
would appear indicating that i needed to put ten more dollars in, I kept trying
to point out that when I tap the twenty dollar card button the number twenty
comes up. I didn't feel like risking ten more dollars so I gave up the
argument seeings how it wasn't getting me anywhere. Then I noticed a pigeon
walking around inside the building, I took a picture.
I now faced the fact that I had nothing else to do but find a place to hang my
hat, at lest for the day. I needed to figure out just what I was to do with
myself. I wondered back outside in deep concentration. Suddenly the Russian
spoke to me again in english becuase my Russian was so bad the first time we had
spoke. I told him how I needed to find a calling card so that I could call home
and he let me use his cell phone. The reseption was very unclear but I spoke to
my step-dad, Mike. I let him know that I was in New York and I was OK. After
that the Russian pressed me again about needed a ride. I was more inclined to
take a ridefrom him simply becuase he let me use his phone and I knew cabs were
expensive anyhow. We walked to his car in a near by airport parkinglot. I told
him a little of my story and I got a little of his. He wasn't Russian, but
Georgian. As we were getting to his car I asked how much he wanted for the ride
to what he said was the cheapest place he knew of. He told me whatever I
thought was fair. The closer we got to his car the more I kept thinking of that
one traveling tip I seemed to read about over and over again: NEVER TAKE GYPSY
TAXIS.
I told him outright that I felt susspicious, that no one resolves on what one
thinks is "fair". So I asked him to set a price. He wouldn't. "Fine" I said,
"$20". "My friend," he said, "the normal Taxi would cost at lest $40 to get to
Brooklyn". Then I started to wonder if he was married and had two children like
he said he did because he had no wedding ring. He told me that in Georgia they
didn't use wedding bands, and this may have been true but I had decided not to
trust him. When i first told him that I was feeling suspicious, he told me that
I could of cource trust him and so I offered him my had. It was a quick and
undefined handshake that he gave me. I looked at his car- it was an everyday
Ford... Purple. I wondered if the doors opened from the inside. I declined and
took a normal taxi.
I wanted to go to the comfort inn, and the nice man that was incharge of hailing
cabs for the airport assured me that he could get me there. Of cource once we
were about a mile out the cabbie asked for the address of the comfort inn. I
told him that I didn't know the address and that he knewwhere it was. After all
if he didn't, he should have told the man that hailed the cab and araneged where
to go for me. Well I was being either being scammed or very unlucky because he
said he still didn't know. He sugested the Holiday Inn. $130 after taxes...
For being New York it wasn't totally bad. After all, it came with this nice
wirting desk filled with stationary and stuff. There's also a coffee pot in
the bathroom.
I feel lonesome now, sitting in thehotel room. $130 just to get by for the
night. So as long as I had a ruff over my head and I'd be happy, but they brougth
me here.
I walked around the surrounding naghborhood. It reminded me much of a a given
residential area in Flint. Oh yeah, but alot better. I felt only in danger
because I was about the only white guy walking around, i never been to New York before so I really didn't know what to expect as far as social segeration was concered . I didn't get messed at all, even when I started to play my harmonaca while i walked down the street. Now that I think of it New York is probebly one of the most integrated spots in the world, so everybody is used to seeing everybody else.
I'm gladed I decided to walk around despite the door mans concernse he gave me when I left. I got a chance to see a completely different naghborhood.Like in flint there were many small houses almost built on top of each other. Unlike Flint every two thirds of the houses wasn't either burnt,caved in, or borded up.
It was a nice walk. Saw a new najborhood and now I wathc the sun set over
Queens,or where evere the fuck I am and wiehgt for my friend Rich to show up.
Thank God I know some people here in New York, else I'd have to pay like twenty
bucks just to go to centeral park.
--
Me and Rich went to a near by white castle shortly after he arived. There, the
whole staff was latino and the best english speaker who was also one of the
youngest and by far one of the most beutiful took our order. Rich complained
about white castle food keeping in his cinical charactor. There have never been
any white castles in Flint that I've known of and this was the first time I
actually ateat one. By the time i hadmade it to the 5th and last burger i could see why
people make fun of white castle. So we decided to save it to throw at something.
We got nice and toasted off some 40s of Steel Reserve back at the room at talked
threw out the night. With out knowing it i feel asleep, was I that drunk? One moment I remember watching TV and now Rich is currled up on the floor and I'm face deep in a pillow. I told rich I could share the bed, noticing that my spraw was dominating most of it. I consolidated my self to one portion of the bed and went back to sleep.
It was a slow event wakking up today. Outside was an overcast, it was a dim blue morrning. It's almost noon now, and almost time to check out. Rich was kind enuff to ask me to stay at his place, so I guess we're gonna check out New York today. See what the big deal is.
It was a long day. People here keep to themselves more. And why not? People here are a dime a dozen. There is no need to go out of your way to know somebody because the chance of encountering someone that one would concider to be werth meeting is high just by keeping on with ones own normal rutine, or so I would asume.
We drove down the express way wich seemed to be just more organized but not that much faster than street traffic. On the way watched, as I ussually do when I'm riding shotgun. I watched the senery, building after building of occupied space. I watched the things near to me zip by while the tall buildings in the distance slowly krept by. While driving in a car speed fluxuates and even appears to be different relitive to what you judge it with, but the constant that I can find is speed its' self. No matter what precices measurement of motion, it is true that there is motion. Everywhere I looked i could eventually be, no matter how slowly coming it may apear to be.
All around Richs' car is New York lincense plates (ofcources). There were a lot of local commercial trucks and road repair vehicals that in some way indicated NYC, be it address of “property of”. Rich pops in the new NOFX cd, which was not quit yet out or just recently releced. What dose that do to your head... your opinion when you live in NYC? You see your city in movies, TV shows, the news. I mean I know Mayor Julieoni better than the mayor of grand blanc, I dont even know who the current mayor of Grand Blanc is. Does knowing your city is important change you relitive to knowing that your city is a dot on the map?
We got back to Richs' place. He lived there with his Grandma, who is a very nice lady. Rich's room is much like my sisters. Every spot on the floor occupied by something. To get around you have to look for the lowest mounds with a bowlegged hop, like stepping on stones to get across a stream. A utility shelf holds most of his gamming stuff, among wich is a modified XBOX, that is networked to his PC via samba. A spindel of DVD-Rs each holding anywhere from one to four bootlegs XBOX games. Keep in mind he has not every system but just about every system including the likes of a NEO-GEO. But by far the XBOX has the greatest access to hacked and bootleg stuff after modification among all the other current generation gamming consoles and it was the only one we played all night.
Ahhh, I'm pulled into a gamming rant. We drank a few cups of coffee and played the soon to be released “Enter the Matrix”. A Max Pain type of game done really well. For that breif moment I was happy that Atari put out such a good game, “way to go Atari!” but then I remembered that Atari's name as been bought and sold so many times through out the years that Atati, Atari games.. whatever, has little if anything to do with the company that we all so adore. Infact Infogrames had the rights to do a matrix title for years now (which is probebly why its so well done) and had just recently bought the Atari name. (*cor america effect)
So after playing games for a bit we venture off to see New York. Rich, who was born there originally and moved back about three or more years ago, tends to play more games then get to know his city of residence so we really didn't have set destination besides “go to central park and stuff”. Last night I talked Rich into smoking pot with me if we could find some. He had never smoked before and agreed. So on the way we stopped at a corner store to get a blut wrap just in case. Rich blew is month long streak of not smoking and bought a pack of Newports for something like $7.50 and I got two big ol' cigars.
We caught a bus going to the subway station. It was filled to the brim. Not just of fat, depressed and poor people as I am acustumed but of people from about every walk of life. After a few stops I had the chance to take a seat, and was sitting by a cute Asain girl who was wearing pink and blue Converse AllStars with opposing colored laces. After a while I look to her and say “That's cool, I like that” indicating her shoes with my fingure. She agrees and thanks me for the complement. But the conversation dies there. Pleasant sounding and not rude, but indeed with no disire to continue the conversation. And why not? There's so many people around that the slight moment that we had and the slightly longer moment we could have had are a dime a dozen. Is that why? Or perhaps some people are not as socially out going as others?
A couple stops later the girl gets off and a few after that we do and walk some yards to the subway station. This is the big time here. Every move or TV show that is placed in NYC has a subway scene it seeems. To me this is the most popular subway system in the world and i was about to ride it sitting inbetween a tattooed freak and a pregnet mother of ten on welfare, and hopfully get muged!
While Rich was figuring out the route I called my cousin on a payphone. I told her that I needn't stay at her place because I had Rich's to stay at. But we plained on eating somewhere or something like that later. After all was figured out we swam through a sea of people and peoples, one of which I noticed speaking French, and got to a subway train.
The ads that lined the over head we all at lest bi-lingual. A few having as many as five different languages. I sat in silance, absorbing all around me, while my friend stood across from me. The train would rush along the tracks and the site given from the windows would suddenly brake out of a sheltered station area to expose a vast tundra of man's touch only to crash back into an enclosed area where old faces wereexchanged for fresh faces. I no longer had the jones to make new aquantances, just to sit and watch the ruff tops float by. I kept refering the question “I wonder what it would be like to live there?” to different buildings that I found to be intresting.
I over herd a dispute between two groups of school boys. Two or three were black and the other was an American Irsh kid. From their words one can see their adolecent minds explore what they knew and how to aplie it. Never violent but the whole dispute was over violence. The Irish claimed he could box better than all of the others, and ofcource the others thought otherwise. They both expressed this by evidence that seemingly had little if any relivance to the subject at hand. But that's because it wasn't about fighting at all. It was a learning experince, an excersize for nagatioating with opposition. I could help but think of myself at that age and what kind of sence this would mean if I were them. Like actors playing out a part, their minds acting a part that they could swear is athenticly themselves inoder to figure out who themselfves really is, and who everyone else is. *Like actors rehersing a part to understand their motive.
We finally get to central park. Are sub-mission is to find weed inorder to get Rich high for the first time. This shouldn't be too hard, right? Just look for a guy posted on the street somewhere with a backpack. Could it be that much different from michigan?
We walked down a street that was one of the most memorible and buteafull I had ever seen. It lead to Central Park from the subway station. Apparently some private school had just let out because there were younge girls in uniforms. The kind of uniforms that I thought only exsisted in movies to represent temptful youth.
Central Park is probebly my favorite part if New York. I wonder if I would have been more impressed by the great metropolitain NYC if I hadn't been exposed it it threw modern day media. When we were on the subway I couldn't help but to think that the only diffrence between that and seeing a NYC subway in a movie is actually being there. Central Park, on the other hand, was a truly unique experience. It is a clam oasis of serenity in a city so intese and fast that it has it's own minute. To get the full and true experience I bought a soft pretzle and hotdog from a park vendor. A man, he seemed to be right out of the pages of National Geopraphic article on sherpa, licked his fingures and fished out a hotdog out of the pool of hot water that they were being contained in. He gave me my food with a blaten disregaurd for care and mummbled what I understood to be the price.
When furniture is left idle things tend to accumulate.
The things I found:
6 pairs of white tube sox
$3.25 in change
notes and memorabilia from various woman I met over the past year
Lots and lots of dust
A bag of gift wrapping bows left in the closet from the previous tenant
CDs over a decade old with outdated Linux programs
Old desktop, old harddrive in that desktop.
Some things stick with you over the years, move after move. Like that movie about that little wooden toy ship that some how sailed across the world. What ends up making it is most surprising.
A various artist album that my japanese pen pal sent me 11 years ago.
Johnny Thunders shirt that Canadian Dave stole (from Canada)
A flier for a Blanks 77 show dated 1998
Socket set with no matching socket wrench I bought from a yardsale when I was 7
But the most interesting to me was the harddrive. It's been with me, for whatever reason, sense my early days of Linux. We're talking about RedHat before it was FedoraCore. Just like any other avid Linux user it is partitioned with a number of Linux flavors.
I have and external harddrive adapter (via USB) so I was able to search threw a bunch of files from back when I first moved out of the parents house on to 813 Oak st. It was really cool to go over some of the old programming projects I had writen and it was nice to refind some forgotten about music too.
Today I will share with you an account I had written at the time of the incedent about my misadventure to Moscow. Cringingly, I will post it with out editing it at all. It's nice to know that my spelling and typing skills have gotten a bit better over the years.
It's pretty fucking long, so I would recommend just skimming it
==================================
when I was exiting the JFK airport a man whom I was passing asked if
I need transportation in Russian. I told him that I might later.
From there I looked for a place to buy a calling card and I asked if the rest of
my round trip ticket was still good. They said I'd ahve to ask customer service
and the machien vending the calling cards ate ten of my dollars. A man that
worked in some sort of possion at the airport told me it was merly out of $10
cards and I needed to insert another $10 to get the $20 card. His logic was
that when I pressed the button to select the ten dollar card the number ten
would appear indicating that i needed to put ten more dollars in, I kept trying
to point out that when I tap the twenty dollar card button the number twenty
comes up. I didn't feel like risking ten more dollars so I gave up the
argument seeings how it wasn't getting me anywhere. Then I noticed a pigeon
walking around inside the building, I took a picture.
I now faced the fact that I had nothing else to do but find a place to hang my
hat, at lest for the day. I needed to figure out just what I was to do with
myself. I wondered back outside in deep concentration. Suddenly the Russian
spoke to me again in english becuase my Russian was so bad the first time we had
spoke. I told him how I needed to find a calling card so that I could call home
and he let me use his cell phone. The reseption was very unclear but I spoke to
my step-dad, Mike. I let him know that I was in New York and I was OK. After
that the Russian pressed me again about needed a ride. I was more inclined to
take a ridefrom him simply becuase he let me use his phone and I knew cabs were
expensive anyhow. We walked to his car in a near by airport parkinglot. I told
him a little of my story and I got a little of his. He wasn't Russian, but
Georgian. As we were getting to his car I asked how much he wanted for the ride
to what he said was the cheapest place he knew of. He told me whatever I
thought was fair. The closer we got to his car the more I kept thinking of that
one traveling tip I seemed to read about over and over again: NEVER TAKE GYPSY
TAXIS.
I told him outright that I felt susspicious, that no one resolves on what one
thinks is "fair". So I asked him to set a price. He wouldn't. "Fine" I said,
"$20". "My friend," he said, "the normal Taxi would cost at lest $40 to get to
Brooklyn". Then I started to wonder if he was married and had two children like
he said he did because he had no wedding ring. He told me that in Georgia they
didn't use wedding bands, and this may have been true but I had decided not to
trust him. When i first told him that I was feeling suspicious, he told me that
I could of cource trust him and so I offered him my had. It was a quick and
undefined handshake that he gave me. I looked at his car- it was an everyday
Ford... Purple. I wondered if the doors opened from the inside. I declined and
took a normal taxi.
I wanted to go to the comfort inn, and the nice man that was incharge of hailing
cabs for the airport assured me that he could get me there. Of cource once we
were about a mile out the cabbie asked for the address of the comfort inn. I
told him that I didn't know the address and that he knewwhere it was. After all
if he didn't, he should have told the man that hailed the cab and araneged where
to go for me. Well I was being either being scammed or very unlucky because he
said he still didn't know. He sugested the Holiday Inn. $130 after taxes...
For being New York it wasn't totally bad. After all, it came with this nice
wirting desk filled with stationary and stuff. There's also a coffee pot in
the bathroom.
I feel lonesome now, sitting in thehotel room. $130 just to get by for the
night. So as long as I had a ruff over my head and I'd be happy, but they brougth
me here.
I walked around the surrounding naghborhood. It reminded me much of a a given
residential area in Flint. Oh yeah, but alot better. I felt only in danger
because I was about the only white guy walking around, i never been to New York before so I really didn't know what to expect as far as social segeration was concered . I didn't get messed at all, even when I started to play my harmonaca while i walked down the street. Now that I think of it New York is probebly one of the most integrated spots in the world, so everybody is used to seeing everybody else.
I'm gladed I decided to walk around despite the door mans concernse he gave me when I left. I got a chance to see a completely different naghborhood.Like in flint there were many small houses almost built on top of each other. Unlike Flint every two thirds of the houses wasn't either burnt,caved in, or borded up.
It was a nice walk. Saw a new najborhood and now I wathc the sun set over
Queens,or where evere the fuck I am and wiehgt for my friend Rich to show up.
Thank God I know some people here in New York, else I'd have to pay like twenty
bucks just to go to centeral park.
--
Me and Rich went to a near by white castle shortly after he arived. There, the
whole staff was latino and the best english speaker who was also one of the
youngest and by far one of the most beutiful took our order. Rich complained
about white castle food keeping in his cinical charactor. There have never been
any white castles in Flint that I've known of and this was the first time I
actually ateat one. By the time i hadmade it to the 5th and last burger i could see why
people make fun of white castle. So we decided to save it to throw at something.
We got nice and toasted off some 40s of Steel Reserve back at the room at talked
threw out the night. With out knowing it i feel asleep, was I that drunk? One moment I remember watching TV and now Rich is currled up on the floor and I'm face deep in a pillow. I told rich I could share the bed, noticing that my spraw was dominating most of it. I consolidated my self to one portion of the bed and went back to sleep.
It was a slow event wakking up today. Outside was an overcast, it was a dim blue morrning. It's almost noon now, and almost time to check out. Rich was kind enuff to ask me to stay at his place, so I guess we're gonna check out New York today. See what the big deal is.
It was a long day. People here keep to themselves more. And why not? People here are a dime a dozen. There is no need to go out of your way to know somebody because the chance of encountering someone that one would concider to be werth meeting is high just by keeping on with ones own normal rutine, or so I would asume.
We drove down the express way wich seemed to be just more organized but not that much faster than street traffic. On the way watched, as I ussually do when I'm riding shotgun. I watched the senery, building after building of occupied space. I watched the things near to me zip by while the tall buildings in the distance slowly krept by. While driving in a car speed fluxuates and even appears to be different relitive to what you judge it with, but the constant that I can find is speed its' self. No matter what precices measurement of motion, it is true that there is motion. Everywhere I looked i could eventually be, no matter how slowly coming it may apear to be.
All around Richs' car is New York lincense plates (ofcources). There were a lot of local commercial trucks and road repair vehicals that in some way indicated NYC, be it address of “property of”. Rich pops in the new NOFX cd, which was not quit yet out or just recently releced. What dose that do to your head... your opinion when you live in NYC? You see your city in movies, TV shows, the news. I mean I know Mayor Julieoni better than the mayor of grand blanc, I dont even know who the current mayor of Grand Blanc is. Does knowing your city is important change you relitive to knowing that your city is a dot on the map?
We got back to Richs' place. He lived there with his Grandma, who is a very nice lady. Rich's room is much like my sisters. Every spot on the floor occupied by something. To get around you have to look for the lowest mounds with a bowlegged hop, like stepping on stones to get across a stream. A utility shelf holds most of his gamming stuff, among wich is a modified XBOX, that is networked to his PC via samba. A spindel of DVD-Rs each holding anywhere from one to four bootlegs XBOX games. Keep in mind he has not every system but just about every system including the likes of a NEO-GEO. But by far the XBOX has the greatest access to hacked and bootleg stuff after modification among all the other current generation gamming consoles and it was the only one we played all night.
Ahhh, I'm pulled into a gamming rant. We drank a few cups of coffee and played the soon to be released “Enter the Matrix”. A Max Pain type of game done really well. For that breif moment I was happy that Atari put out such a good game, “way to go Atari!” but then I remembered that Atari's name as been bought and sold so many times through out the years that Atati, Atari games.. whatever, has little if anything to do with the company that we all so adore. Infact Infogrames had the rights to do a matrix title for years now (which is probebly why its so well done) and had just recently bought the Atari name. (*cor america effect)
So after playing games for a bit we venture off to see New York. Rich, who was born there originally and moved back about three or more years ago, tends to play more games then get to know his city of residence so we really didn't have set destination besides “go to central park and stuff”. Last night I talked Rich into smoking pot with me if we could find some. He had never smoked before and agreed. So on the way we stopped at a corner store to get a blut wrap just in case. Rich blew is month long streak of not smoking and bought a pack of Newports for something like $7.50 and I got two big ol' cigars.
We caught a bus going to the subway station. It was filled to the brim. Not just of fat, depressed and poor people as I am acustumed but of people from about every walk of life. After a few stops I had the chance to take a seat, and was sitting by a cute Asain girl who was wearing pink and blue Converse AllStars with opposing colored laces. After a while I look to her and say “That's cool, I like that” indicating her shoes with my fingure. She agrees and thanks me for the complement. But the conversation dies there. Pleasant sounding and not rude, but indeed with no disire to continue the conversation. And why not? There's so many people around that the slight moment that we had and the slightly longer moment we could have had are a dime a dozen. Is that why? Or perhaps some people are not as socially out going as others?
A couple stops later the girl gets off and a few after that we do and walk some yards to the subway station. This is the big time here. Every move or TV show that is placed in NYC has a subway scene it seeems. To me this is the most popular subway system in the world and i was about to ride it sitting inbetween a tattooed freak and a pregnet mother of ten on welfare, and hopfully get muged!
While Rich was figuring out the route I called my cousin on a payphone. I told her that I needn't stay at her place because I had Rich's to stay at. But we plained on eating somewhere or something like that later. After all was figured out we swam through a sea of people and peoples, one of which I noticed speaking French, and got to a subway train.
The ads that lined the over head we all at lest bi-lingual. A few having as many as five different languages. I sat in silance, absorbing all around me, while my friend stood across from me. The train would rush along the tracks and the site given from the windows would suddenly brake out of a sheltered station area to expose a vast tundra of man's touch only to crash back into an enclosed area where old faces wereexchanged for fresh faces. I no longer had the jones to make new aquantances, just to sit and watch the ruff tops float by. I kept refering the question “I wonder what it would be like to live there?” to different buildings that I found to be intresting.
I over herd a dispute between two groups of school boys. Two or three were black and the other was an American Irsh kid. From their words one can see their adolecent minds explore what they knew and how to aplie it. Never violent but the whole dispute was over violence. The Irish claimed he could box better than all of the others, and ofcource the others thought otherwise. They both expressed this by evidence that seemingly had little if any relivance to the subject at hand. But that's because it wasn't about fighting at all. It was a learning experince, an excersize for nagatioating with opposition. I could help but think of myself at that age and what kind of sence this would mean if I were them. Like actors playing out a part, their minds acting a part that they could swear is athenticly themselves inoder to figure out who themselfves really is, and who everyone else is. *Like actors rehersing a part to understand their motive.
We finally get to central park. Are sub-mission is to find weed inorder to get Rich high for the first time. This shouldn't be too hard, right? Just look for a guy posted on the street somewhere with a backpack. Could it be that much different from michigan?
We walked down a street that was one of the most memorible and buteafull I had ever seen. It lead to Central Park from the subway station. Apparently some private school had just let out because there were younge girls in uniforms. The kind of uniforms that I thought only exsisted in movies to represent temptful youth.
Central Park is probebly my favorite part if New York. I wonder if I would have been more impressed by the great metropolitain NYC if I hadn't been exposed it it threw modern day media. When we were on the subway I couldn't help but to think that the only diffrence between that and seeing a NYC subway in a movie is actually being there. Central Park, on the other hand, was a truly unique experience. It is a clam oasis of serenity in a city so intese and fast that it has it's own minute. To get the full and true experience I bought a soft pretzle and hotdog from a park vendor. A man, he seemed to be right out of the pages of National Geopraphic article on sherpa, licked his fingures and fished out a hotdog out of the pool of hot water that they were being contained in. He gave me my food with a blaten disregaurd for care and mummbled what I understood to be the price.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Just go with it
It's just so easy to say later. What are we going to do after I strip you down? Later on. What can I do for you tomorrow morning? Later, bye. And now that it's later? Fuck- Every unprotected thrust last night is chewed on the fat of this morning's break fest steak. There is a confliction of what need be worried most about: the cleanliness of your dick- riding that hedonistic roman whore- or the cleanliness of your sole- going along with that heathen slut.
Whatever it is, one thing is for certain: those gold bands and bracelets she wears are the only thing about her staying pretty. Those tracked up arms will soon turn to blown out tree branches. Dried up and tanned like leather. Christ, her ass has already fallen. You could already be the winner of this auction, sir, you bid SO hard for it.
Time to pay the piper, motherfucker.
When the needle is on the E line, every pop and fall of the engine is a sudtle dusting of worry. You know what I mean? These are the things we did and these are the things we got our selves into. What was said last night, rolling off the tongue, what was done last night, a kitana slit in the air, we do these things all so naturally. A primal urge that, when acted on, leaves us exposed to the most harshness of mother nature's domain. We make those calls on the assumption that it will be dealt with later. We assume later we will be more capable people. Better people.
We assume that those over draft fees at the bank will be taken care of easily on payday, when we're rich. But I don't even need to ask because you already know you're gonna need every cent you can get on payday.
Case in point. Here I am now, when I was gonna take care of all that shit. I am shit faced. Around me is a dull wrap of cotton and in me is only the knowledge that i need to be concerned with where I'm going. I'm so shitty. My plate has been expired months and months now. It only takes some asshole rookie to pull me over or it only takes one more knock of bad gas, and I'm done. I'm late. Is this the last knock before stall out? This is what I'm dealing with now.
Sure. no matter how young you are you were at one time younger. At some point in your life the lines of rule were more grey and fuzzy than they are now. Like the time I let a room go to a supposed member of the Dayton Family. I mean, he said he was Bootleg. And in retrospect the real Bootleg might as well have stiffed me on a room so that he could get his fuck on. Also, he, who ever he really was, had also stolen my pen.
I did not fear repercussions from my boss due to his express emphasis on negligence. Instead it was a feeling of short coming. The grimy feeling of the actuality of life. No fear, it is a third shift. So I watch the sun come up on third shifts. Some people see the rising sun as a nuisance, something that they unwillingly wake up to.
Did I get pulled over? No. Did I run out of gas? no. But the guy at the clinic told me I was too drunk to take a blood sample from. That fag-prick told me he would call the cops if I left in my car. Cocksucker. So now I'm dealing with it. Now I'm taking care of it the way I didn't want to but should have known I would.
Baby, I won't be there for a while. No. No. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just gonna take a walk. Pick up some empties, get some gas. Yeah, i'm sure, everything is fine.
Whatever it is, one thing is for certain: those gold bands and bracelets she wears are the only thing about her staying pretty. Those tracked up arms will soon turn to blown out tree branches. Dried up and tanned like leather. Christ, her ass has already fallen. You could already be the winner of this auction, sir, you bid SO hard for it.
Time to pay the piper, motherfucker.
When the needle is on the E line, every pop and fall of the engine is a sudtle dusting of worry. You know what I mean? These are the things we did and these are the things we got our selves into. What was said last night, rolling off the tongue, what was done last night, a kitana slit in the air, we do these things all so naturally. A primal urge that, when acted on, leaves us exposed to the most harshness of mother nature's domain. We make those calls on the assumption that it will be dealt with later. We assume later we will be more capable people. Better people.
We assume that those over draft fees at the bank will be taken care of easily on payday, when we're rich. But I don't even need to ask because you already know you're gonna need every cent you can get on payday.
Case in point. Here I am now, when I was gonna take care of all that shit. I am shit faced. Around me is a dull wrap of cotton and in me is only the knowledge that i need to be concerned with where I'm going. I'm so shitty. My plate has been expired months and months now. It only takes some asshole rookie to pull me over or it only takes one more knock of bad gas, and I'm done. I'm late. Is this the last knock before stall out? This is what I'm dealing with now.
Sure. no matter how young you are you were at one time younger. At some point in your life the lines of rule were more grey and fuzzy than they are now. Like the time I let a room go to a supposed member of the Dayton Family. I mean, he said he was Bootleg. And in retrospect the real Bootleg might as well have stiffed me on a room so that he could get his fuck on. Also, he, who ever he really was, had also stolen my pen.
I did not fear repercussions from my boss due to his express emphasis on negligence. Instead it was a feeling of short coming. The grimy feeling of the actuality of life. No fear, it is a third shift. So I watch the sun come up on third shifts. Some people see the rising sun as a nuisance, something that they unwillingly wake up to.
Did I get pulled over? No. Did I run out of gas? no. But the guy at the clinic told me I was too drunk to take a blood sample from. That fag-prick told me he would call the cops if I left in my car. Cocksucker. So now I'm dealing with it. Now I'm taking care of it the way I didn't want to but should have known I would.
Baby, I won't be there for a while. No. No. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just gonna take a walk. Pick up some empties, get some gas. Yeah, i'm sure, everything is fine.
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