The Midwest Part II

Kalamazoo, MI is fucking boring. I sleep, I eat, I thinking about sleeping and eating. I watch internet porn on my parents dial-up connection (those video clips take forever to download), and I talk to people about my life in New York. Conversations often go like this:

Midwesterner wearing brown and black: So How NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!!
Me: Its great, I have some really great friends there now.
MWBB: WOW I just cant imagine moving all that way. Weren't you scared?
Me: Yeah but thats why I did it.
MWBB(they cock their head a little): I dont get it.
Me: I left because the idea of leaving was scarry. I did it because I've never left before.
MWBB: OOOOOOOKKKAAAY(looking at me like I'm crazy)
Me: I just had to try something new, ya know?
MWBB(clearly needing to change the subject): So how's school? NYU, right?
Me: Schools great. I'm not going to NYU I'm going to smaller school, Brooklyn College.
MWBB:Oh yeah, sure, sure.
Me:Yeah its really great, Michael Cunningham teaches there, Allen Ginsberg taught there also.
MWBB: Who?
Me: They're writers.
MWBB: oh ok. So do you live in Brooklyn?
Me: Yeh.
MWBB: Wow that must be scary? Like in the ghetto I mean.
Me: I guess it would be if you lived in a ghetto.
MWBB: Dont you live in Brooklyn?
ME: Yeh.
MWBB: Nevermind


I have to drive 20 miles for Starbucks.

The Midwest

In New York I am a boy from the midwest. You all know that, its on the subtitle for the blog. But in the midwest I am a man from the city.

In the midwest my life is exciting to people, my job is exciting, and my relationships are exciting. In New York I'm po-dunk(Spelling?), I work in retail, and I'm single.

Its tough getting used to this drastic juxtaposition(*disclaimer: Juxtaposed is my favorite word.) Its weird thinking that here(currently in MI) I'm somebody and my life is on track. and There I'm just a kid with a shit apartment who makes $8 and hour.

I make more money than anyone I graduated with but because I live in New York I have less to show for it. But I have no regrets. I'm glad that I left Michigan, because I'm not a someone in NYC yet, but I'm well on my way to being something, what ever that is.

I'm not saying that I'm better than peope here. I would never think that I'm better than people here. I'm not, I'm really not. But my life is so different. In New York my friends are museum directors and foremost professors and the guys whose writing the fucking oscars and here is still kids in college getting drunk all the time and learning about how to live in the world.

I wanted the culture shock. I got the culture shock. I've accepted and changed because of it. I'm different now. I was different the day I stepped foot in New York knowing that I wasnt leaving until Thanksgiving.

When I come home I spend the whole time re-adjusting to life in the midwest. And missing the sirens, and the buildings. The fast paced moving. There is no time in Manhattan to be still, everyday is a new day, you cant slow down because there's always someone behind you.

But it would be wrong to say that I didnt like comeing back. I like seeing people I knew so long ago(it seems). The look of suprise when I walk through the door. But I feel like people expect me to tell them something profound, or something exciting; to give a Nora Ephron-esque explanation of what New York is to me. I dont know if I can do that. When I do, I name drop, or talk about album signings, or running into Kevin Spacey, and Sarah Jessica Parker on the street, I feel like a superficial ass.

Its going to take a few days to get into the swing of things. I dont know if it will be an easy 2 weeks. At the moment it feels like 20 years. But it has to get better, right?

A thing that turned into my salute to sundays.

I am a collector of many things: Coffee mugs, classic novels, sneakers. I am also a collector of good days. Or maybe good moments. It seems that I am having another one.

I am a lover of Sundays. Easy breezes, and great coffee, the Times Book Review all combine to create a mood.

I sleep until 10. I'm a morning person, so sleeping past 9 makes me feel as though I've ruined my whole day. I drink an unbelievable amount of coffee, and sit on the floor reading Arts & Leisure.

I turn my phone off. Open my windows and watch the sun move across my floor as I curl up, cuddled with a book. Its a sort of bliss I dont know 6 days a week.

I wait, sitting calmly. Listening to NPR on my teeny tiny radio. I feel plugged in, universal.

I know I am a citizen. On Sundays the world, natural as it may be, is one with me.

My mom is kicking herself

My mother is extremely over dramatic. My mother is Mommy dearest in the sense that she intimidates everyone with her drama.

So my brother moved out, and then came back two days later. That in itself is funny, but the thing that really cracks me up is that in those two days my mom went on a rampage. Not only did she tear down all the christmas decorations! she returned ALL of the presents!!!! Luckily all I asked for was a better apartment.

My mom now has to go and buy everything she had already bought, most of it she cant find anymore. And the bittersweet revenge my brother gets is that he has to help her order the rest of the present from Amazon and BN.com.

Matt

I talked to my mom today, she was very upset. "Did any of your friends ask you to stay in New York for Christmas?" she asked.
"No, of course not. Why?" I asked.
"because there's not much to come back to here." she said, sounding hollow.
"I dont understand."
"Matt moved out today." he voice cracked, just a little bit.
"Explain."
And she did.

Matt is my brother. I am the youngest of five: three girls, two boys. My youngest sister is still 14 years my senior. Matt is my brother, my sister are more like aunts. Shitty, wicked aunts at that. My sister's came over to my house for a visit. A very rare visit. And they did what they usually do, they belittled my brother because they can.

Matt isnt the smartest, or the most handsome, or the most charming. Matt will never be truly successful, maybe not evey truly happy. He knows this, and he hates it. My sister will take this and exploit it, like gangreen in a open sore. "You're worthless" "you're not going to be anything." "you're too fat, no one will hire you." And for the record, my sister's, not skinny.

They started to fight, my brother out numbered, my parents not really helping him out. He'd had enough. He was done. He packed the stuff he knew he'd need, and then he was gone. No phone, no pager. No way to contact him.

I dont know exactly what he's thinking right now. But if he's thinking the same thing I thought when I put my parents into a cab to JFK the day they left me here to live by myself, if its along those lines. He's feeling for the first time, really scared, and really alive.

(not title worthy)

*Disclaimer: I hate that I need to title every entry. Don't the people at blogger know that its really hard to come up with a title that is both satirical and witty?(or is something satirical automatically witty?)

On to the real topic of discussion.

Things these days seem good. I'm sitting in Universal News eating an apple bran yogurt muffin that tastes like God himself not only baked it, but baked it just for me. I have new books in my green Barnes & Noble bag, along with the New Yorker and the Washington Square literary quarterly. And I'm about to list things for ya'll.

My Favorite book: The Hours By Michael Cunningham
Favorite play: Proof by David Auburn
Favorite movie: Magnolia directed by P.T. Anderson
Favorite poem: four preludes on playthings of the wind by Carl Sandburg
Favorite food: Sushi
Favorite place from my past: Academey st. kalamazoo, MI.
Favorite place from the present: Union Sq. Manhattan.
Favorite restaurant: Miyagi on west 13th and 8th avenue.
Favorite song: "this is the sea" by the waterboys.
Favorite line from a movie: "The price you pay for bringing up my Chinese or American heritage as a negative is: I collect your fucking head. Just like this fucker here. Now if any of you sons of bitches HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO SAY, NOWS THE FUCKING TIME!!! I didnt think so." --Oren Ishii in Kill Bill V. 1.

Harsh realities

So I've realized a harsh reality: Gay cinema sucks. I mean really bad. Its always about someone with AIDS, or someone wh0 gets gay bashed, or someone who becomes a circuit boy in Miami or L.A. and is fond of the nickname "K hole". Where have all the cowboys gone?

I think I should write a gay movie. Not to sound full of myself but I certainly wouldnt want people to think that we all have AIDS, Bruises, and Tara Reid's phone number.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I have been to almost every bookstore in Manhattan looking for this fucking book. I'm going nuts. It's "The Page Turner" by David Leavitt. I first heard of it when I was watching previews on a dvd from a terrible gay movie called "200 American". (In its defense it was a no budget film.) There was a film adaptation called "Food of Love" and the movie looks really good. Compelling and well done. Plus the acting seems amazing. So I heard it was adapted from Leavitt's book and took off on a journey across Manhattan. To no avail (insert french qoute from Angel's in America).

So I've basically been on a literary witch hunt(not as fun as the real thing) and I'm almost completely burned out. Almost, I still have enough energy to order it off the internet along with the movie. Merry Christmas to me!

I'm back

Thankgiving I was home. I was surrounded by friends from high school I was smiling and they were asking all these questions. I get a text from a friend in New York "so how is it?" I text her back later and say "I dont fit in here. Everyone is the same and I'm so different." This was the thesis statement of me trip.

I still love my friends from home, and I miss them terribly. But being in New York has toughened me up. Made me less afraid to step on toes, made me less afraid to be me. My parents were great. They having seen me in New York mode, kicking cabs and telling tourist to "please get the fuck out of my way?" they know that I'm different then my brother and sisters because I need to be. Life in Michigan is simple. You grow up, get married, have kids, and then die. I cant do that. I cant follow that time line, life is too short and precious to spend pushing a shopping cart around Wal-mart for 20 years.

My mom told me on the way to the airport that my life was too big for two penninsulas. Its true I want to much out of life and I know it. But I'm not going to sacrifice my deepest and most important dreams because of someone else. Unless I'm so in love that that person that at times I cant sit still.

The trip reminded me why I felt I needed to leave, but also why I call Michigan home. I still love the space, the elbow room. But thats not what I'm looking for now. I dont know if thats ever going to be what I'm looking for but now its good to know its there to go back to.

I got to see my car! Now I have alot of friends and I love them all. But my car...he'll be with me forever. Jefferey Talbot III I named him myself. My green saturn coup. I didnt get to drive him this time, but I will in the summer when I got a

Thanksgiving Part 1

So I flew in yesterday. Everything was great, a little turbulance on the east coast but after we got over the Adriondacks it was smooth sailing. Except for one thing, I wasnt on my schedualed flight. My flight was cancelled and I was rerouted...to St. Paul. There I had a 3 hour layover before I flew from St. Paul to Grand Rapids, MI.

The whole trip sucked. I cried in the airport, on the phone with my mom. Who by the way was absolutly histerical. Luckily I got to the airport super early, and they could reroute me on an earlier flight. I read alot. A hell of a lot.

On the first flight to St. Paul I sat between a french man who decided to sleep on my, drooling on my chest. The second flight I talked to a guy about New York Versus Miami. I was defenitly winning until he said the "S" word: Snow.

My family is great. They survived without me for a long time. My room is still the same, except I can see the floor.

They Say it's my Birthday!

So this morning, 12:01 am to be exact, my brother woke me from my slumber and yelled "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHIT HEAD!!!!!!" into my ear. I love my brother and I love that he remembered the day I started to ruin his life, but dont yell about it.

So it is my birthday, and I am 19 years old. If anyone here is detective(Mr. HK) I'm fairly certain that from my openess about person details such as the day I was born, my first name, and not only borough but neighborhood that I live in, you would be able to find me in some archive or other.

But on to the events of the day. I'll spare you the Proustian details and give you the highlights:

1.)I woke up.(A commonly overlooked yet vital part of everysingle day.)

2.) I woke up in time to make myself a pot of coffee and watch the Today show, props to meredith but I do miss Katie, she was perky.

3.)I went to class. In my english class my professor wants us to write a memoir or short semi-autobiographical story from our lives. We went around the room and everyone said what they wanted to write about then it got to me.

Frumpy: I know you have a ton of stories. Anything you havent written about before? Are you saving something special for me?

me(casually): I'll probably write about when I used to be into prescription drugs. I'm kind of tired of writing about my sexuality, ya know?

Class(in unison): You're gay!?!?!

Me:...Really you didnt know?

Spoiled little rich girl: But you dont dress well?

4.) I got my new phone today. Its very nice and shiny.

5.)I went to Bergdorff Goodman. The most intimidating experience of my life.

6.)I saw Al Sharpton on 5th Avenue. Probably going home after a long day of bitching about American and thinking about how to fix it.

7.) I bought myself a cd. The Waterboys are amazing and they deserve more mainstream notification. And Keane needs to stop stealing their sound.

8.) I got happy birthdays. So many happy birthdays. But at the same time, it wasnt that big of a deal. Just any other day.

9.) I'm about to go to dinner with Michael. Japanese food...mmmmmmmmm.

10.) I'm going to go home and pack because I'm leaving for Michigan tomorrow. Turkey day is just around the corner.

P.s. I'm eating turkey dinner at sister 1's house. Shit. shit. and double shit.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVERYONE

Bad in bed

I'm having trouble sleeping again. This time I fear I may actually be developing insomnia. This isnt good for many reasons, mostly because I really love to sleep. I used to be a professional. I would sleep in the car, in my bed, in someone else's bed, on the floor, in the shower.(This sounds like all the places I've had sex in the last year, just missing the airport bathroom). All I'm saying is that I was once good in bed.

All that has changed. First it was the stress of not having a job that kept me up for almost 50 hours straight. Now its because of the job that keeps me working about 40 hours a week. The problem isnt work itself that work shifts are really fucked up. There's the normal 9-6(hour lunch included) and then theres the 5-1:30. Now usually during the week I close. So I'm used to going to bed at around 2:30, but on the weekends they've started making me open. This basically fucks up my entire life completely.

I dont get more than 5 or 6 hours of sleep on Friday night as it is. Saturday is usually just as god awful. So I read, and work on papers until about 1 in the morning when I say fucking A and take 2 Tylenol PM and even then I cant sleep sometimes.

But now I'm going to go home and watch Angels in America for the 47th time. I will eat Oreo's because they make me smile, and I will sketch a painting by Dali because I have to. Then I will climb into bed and fall asleep. Luckily Angels in America is 6 hours long so I should be spot on when I finally hit the hay.

Ba-ba-birthday

So I'm turning the big 1 9 on Tuesday, and I'm freaking out. Why? How am I only 19!?!?! I dont make. I was talking to a friend on the phone the other day and he said " I really wish that in at least one respect you would fit you demographic profile." PEOPLE DONT EVEN TALK TO 19 YEAR OLDS THAT WAY!!!!!! I'm to upset at the idea of being only one more year older. Christ, I cant even take my own youth seriously...shit.

Yo!

I really dont know what to use for titles half the time I swear, I know that they're kind of shotty, I apologize.

So folks, what's new? Well My birthday is coming up in about a week. I cant wait, even though it seems alot less important this year, probably because I forgot about it until someone asked me when it was. I have to go home the following day, to Michigan. Thanksgiving dinner with the familia. Its going to be very interesting and I will keep you all very well informed. My brother and I are sort of planning all out war with my eldest sister. Sister #1. I also have 2 papers to write this week, because I wont have time to procrastinate and turn them in when they are actually due( 3 hours after I get off the returning plane). But today I have many glorious things to do with my time, like clean my apartment, do the laundry, buy food, and maybe a book.

I will let you know how the reading is going.

I'm still having trouble sleeping some nights. I think its because of my job. Working 9-6 on weekends, then working 5-1:30 on weeknights, its kinda messed everything up. I'm considering finding a new job, after I come back from Christmas Vacation, but I still dont know, my job does kick ass still. Any suggestions? I'm all ears.

Switching out

I've decided something very important: I'm transferring schools.

I need to get the hell out of my school, now. Its a good school, really it is, but I dont want to waste 2 years taking core classes when I can just get onto my majors(art history and english lit). I want to do something really interesting with my life, and I dont think that the school I'm at can give me the education I want. Plus its a really great reason for getting out of where I'm living now.

Being awoken by gun shots is an experience, so is people on my fire escape at night. But my favorite part, more than the roaches, more than the mice, more than the crazy super who thinks he's Moses, the look on peoples faces when I tell them where I live.

My favorite was my friend Lady L.(in true form I will digress.)

Lady L: So where do you live, near the school I hope.
Me: Yeah just south of prospect park, about 2 blocks south.
Lady L: East of west?
Me:&%^%
Lady L: HOLY SHIT YOU LIVE THERE? Is it scary? But then again it seems like one of those places that seems more unsafe than it really is.
Me: Its unsafe. I havent been robbed, and there's really nice people in the area, but there are better places to live.
Lady L: And worse.
Me: Very true.

Its just that look on the faces, ya know? But I dont want my blog to be the bitchings of a boy in the big city. I dont want it to turn into Queen in the big city. (Dont you know that when you clean youre suppose to pick up the plants and clean UNDER THEM!?!?!!?!?!) I'm no diva I still shop at the GAP.

big decisions

I've made a decision, I'm going to India.

You're all probably wondering what brought about this crazy idea, and I'm here to tell you. I need adventure. I knew from a very early age that I'm not one of those Americans to sit around in the same...country for the rest of my life. I need to get out, stretch my legs, keep moving. I blame having watched "Angels in America" 60,000 times for my fear of keeping still.

I want really kickass stories to freshen up my life. I want my parents to able to brag about me, for example:

Mrs. H(my mother secretly hates her): Oh hey there Jesse's mom how are you?

My mom: Oh Mrs. H I didnt see you there. I'm good. Yourself?

Mrs. H: I'm great. My son just graduated from Yale Law School.

My mom: That's wonder! You (treacherous bitch) must be so proud.

Mrs. H: I am, Soooo proud. So how's Jesse doing in big old New York?

My mom(sneering): actually, Jesse's in India taking some time off and volunteering for a relief organization. But dont we all?

Mrs. H: Thats right we do. My son met the President, at a school function the other night.

My mom: Jesse fucked his son last month, he's a total nelly bottom bitch in bed, but he puts up a great front, no?

Mrs. H: I...uh...well that IS news isnt it.

My mom( digging deeper): Yes it is, and aparently Jesse won an internship with Howard Dean, but he turned it down so he could focus on writing his next book.

Mrs. H: I didnt know he was published.

My mom: well his stuff isnt for the Daniel Steele audience. He uses the pen name Gore Vidal. Sorry Mrs. H I gotta run. We're throwing Jesse a huge welcome home party, but we wanted to make all the signs in Hindi, you know? Oh well toodles. Tell your son I said hello.

Mrs. H: Sure thing, bye bye. (To self) what the hell is Hindi?

* Disclaimer: This would never happen, my mom would never say nelly.


I just want my life to be interesting, ya know?

I'm back!

So over the past few days I've been trying to get back into the swing of this whole blogging deal. I took a vacation aparently just as more people started to read it. Sorry about that. I've had to put writing on the back burner for the time being. Maybe when I go home for turkey day I'll get some interesting new stories. I know you're all dying to hear about Thanksgiving dinner: the fighting, the yelling, the swearing, the crying, the throwing soup spoons at my sister's so called face.

To be honest what I'm really dreading is seeing James again. I dont know if I want to talk to him, dont know if I want to see him at all. I havent seen him since June, I havent seen anyone since June. I'm hoping New York hasnt turned me into a total asshole. My parents were suprised by the number and speed at which I can string together swear words at cab drivers who try to run us over.

I'm also worried about my apartment. I dont live in a safe neighborhood, and leaving it alone for a week is going to have me going nuts. I was thinking of letting a friend have the keys, to check up and stuff, but do I trust my friends that much? Am I a paranoid uptown hussy? Well I've certainly done nothing recently to recieve hussy status. But I am considering prostitution, if only I had time for it though. And crack makes your lips are crackly. Not so good.

I must go however, I have a paper to write, and hours of sleep to obstane from.

But if anyone out there is a "pro" feel free to enlighten me with story via email.

deepest apologies from me

I am so sorry!

My folks are here, they arent driving me nuts like before. But they are driving me nuts.

Things have gone haywire in the last few days, hence the lack of entries. But I promise that I will post more when I get time. I have piping hot dish for all of you.

I have a story to post as well. Unfortunatly I must take my leave at the moment.

I love you all.

Thanks for hanging in there.

The sickness

I'm really sick. Its not like super sick, which would be better. Its sick enough to feel like crap but healthy enough to go about my day. And thus I spend the whole day feeling like crap. I dont really have anything interesting to say. Nothing written lately that hasnt been for school, and I assume you dont want to hear about Marxism in a pluralist democracy. I dont even want to hear about that, and I wrote it.

I found a great bookstore on West 10th st yesterday. But seeing as my blog is such a pop culture staple, I'm afraid that if I tell you the name it will become packed and I wont be able to get mi libros.(I completely forgot the name)

blah

So this week seems to have taken a nose dive. (How's that for a first sentence?)

I didnt get the purple chair. It became an issue, a catalyst if you will for a larger problem. In the end it was decided that the chair should go to someone who could actually pay for it. So after considerable shuffling of furniture for the chair I now have a more spacious looking apartment. It always seems larger when other people are there.

I took night off on Thursday. I went to a party at the Met for college students, thinking that it was a casual thing. So not only did I go alone with hopes of meeting interesting new people, I went casually. As I walked up the stairs that are so comfy in the spring I realized I was the only person in jeans. Ripped jeans no less, with a hole in a place we neednt mention. The kicker for the night however was this: I'm standing in front a painting by Cassat, its a woman sitting at table or something like that. A guy and his girlfriend come up behind me and he sounds very snooty, like he's III or a IV or something. He looks the painting over, gives a "hmph" and then says to his girlfriend "I love Lee Krasner."

After considerable pausing done by the other people around me I turned to look at him. He was wearing a blue blazer, and had a tie. The first thing to pop into my mind was "Breeders say the darndest things." I laughed to myself. And walked into the next room as he explained to his very dumb girlfriend about how Krasner's style was so obviously French.

In other news, I just got out of work. at 6:40. I was suppose to get out at 5:15, I made plans, but then they forgot to cash out my register. After this they got pissed when I asked them to cash me out because I was kind of in a hurry. Now, defeated, I'm going to go home and eat Ramen noodles instead of Beef Negamaki. ....I hate this.

Also, there are no more boys. No more boys for Jesse. It would seem that I had a brief, in not fake moment of good fortune. But the Brit turned out to be a toad, and the boy in philosphy is most likely a breeder. At least I have books though, right? A book will never let me down.

On A Sunday

We will wake to a fine Sunday morning; a bright sunlight happening into our windows, a cool midsummer breeze blowing the frail whit drapes. A new day will be at our fingertips. Life itself will be tangible.

I will open my eyes an be greeted with my favorite qoute. The words that helped reshape my life:"...More life. The great work begins." It is a constant reminder of the burdens life brings. My side of the bed will be littered with books, stacks five high. There will of course be the ever-present manuscript. Later in life it should hope to constantly be in the middle of this project or that project, or on some escape from the chaos of modernity.

"Coffee?" he will suggest, coming through the doorway. He won't expect an answer; he already knows the answer. The answer of, "but of course ." I will don a smile as I accept, grateful of his hospitality even though he helped buy this house. He will have brought the paper as well. It is a ritual; the habit of a relationship. We both fear the idea of rocking chairs and back porches. They are too reminiscent of our lives before the city; our childhoods spent hiding from bullies, and getting beat up on homecoming. They will remind us of the reason we escaped to metropolis, to modernity. However, the reason we escaped (not our sexuality itself, but its "fringe benefits") will be the basis of our love.

We will start with the real estate section, ogling all the houses we would really want to live in. We throw out auto and stock qoutes. When we finish our first cups of coffee, he goes to refill, and acquiesces to bring the pot back with him. He rests it on the scrapped sections of the news. We sit upon the bed passin sections back and forth. I linger on the book section and he furrows his brow, impatient. "What?" I ask, "I'm learning. Eat your english muffin."

Getting dressed seems tragic. Common knowledge states that morning pajamas are just about the mist comfortable form of attire on the green earth. But the sound of sirens brings us back from out dream of civil disobedience. The whole day in pajamas, could you imagine? We dress together. He isnt the kind of man who would suggest clothes for me, not even for my betterment. I'm a big boy, that's why he loves me.

Manhattan mornins remind me of Basquiat paintings. At once alarming, and at the same time there is something so fresh about them. Sun soaked bricks all covered with dog urine and chewing gum blackened by the soles of shoes. This is why I will love New York in the future, not because of its political correctness , or its constant avant-garde edge. No, I will love New York because in the summer it smells like urine and garbage before noon, when the sun burns off the haze. I will love New York for the same reason that those don't live here hate it.

We will walk along Bleecker, with no talk of the week ahead of us. Do we hold hands? Do we walk arm in arm? Do we need to make that kind of justification for our relationship? I should hope my fear of P.D.A. would have left me. We wil talk about our homes, the news, the trip we are going on before the school year starts again, and he is overcome with responsibilities at the university. He will tell me about his parents, I will tell him about mine. (They both say hello.)

I will force us to stop at the best coffee shop in the neighborhood. It will be a small hole-in-the-wall place, with no room to sit inside, and outside only a bench. The barista behind the counter will recognize me outside, my coffee waiting for me on the counter as I approach. I will get him coffee too, making up for the fact that he is the breadwinner half of the year. This will depend entirly upon how and when I am published. He will argue because it is the polite thing to do, but he is grateful.

The B-train (it will run on weekends in my fantasy) at West 4th street will take us up to Central Park. There will be conversation along the way. The friends who've called from far away, as well as business associated things, and the academic confrences that will darken our scheduals, our practical calendars. We will exit at 72nd street, remember the advertisment in the Times for a unit in the Dakota for $6 million. There will be an inappropriate joke about murder for those prices . The walk through Strawberry Fields will of course be a good one. And as always in Central Park there will be the far off odor of marijauna.

We will walk, paying homage to Bethesda. We will qoute Tony Kushner, stressing the qoute above our bed. Up the stairs and through the rows of benches we'll proceed. I will tell him a story he's never heard; one I've been saving. He will laugh at all the right place, grimace at the bad choice of words, and say the perfect thing when its all over. The man with the saxophone will have been, by this time, taken by life. But the city will immortalize him with a statue.

The sunbathers will be out by now, getting their own jump on the day. We will continue south, to 7th avenue. I will tell him about the friend I used to have in Midtown, also taken by time. He will tell me about his days in Hell' Kitchen, barely surviving on Ramen and soda. I will retell my days in Brooklyn, in what is now a trendy neighborhood.

We will return on the B-train. I will tell him about my newest idea for some story. He will start laughing, joking about how I get into the zone when I'm working. When we arrive home he will got to work preparing for this or that. I will tell him head up to the attic, my office. My dest will be covered in papers, stacks unreasonably high. My computer will look used, though it will be realtively new. The paint on the "S" nad the "Enter" buttons will have been rubbed away. I will set into motion writing something that will seem profound as I initially put it on the screen, but will ultimatly haunt me for the coming months.(Writing is rewriting.)

In and hour he will knock gently asking me where I want to go to lunch.

Out of the Woodwork

For those of you who read this, who suffer through my bad spelling, poor acronims, my terrinle grammar, and most of all my bitching, for you I have good news: BOYS!

Its about damn time I say. I mean its not the utter lack of booty in recent months that has me down, its the lack of cuddle.

*To crowd: "Hi(cough) my name is Jesse and I like to cuddle."
*crowd: "Hi Jesse.
*To Crowd: "Sometimes when I'm lying in bed I cuddle my pillow and pretend its...its....
*Group leader more interested than concerned: "its ok, I know its hard but you can tell us, we're all here for the same reason. We're just like you."
*To group:" Sometimes I pretend its Colin Farrell, or George Clooney, and when I really want to cuddle I pretend my pillow is...ummm....
*anonymous cuddler: "Let it out man!
*To Crowd: "I pretend its a mormon missionary that I converted when he came to the door. And he's still wearing a tie."
*Crowd: "cough"
*anonymous cuddler: "That is so fucking hot. Why didnt I think of that?"

So yeah, thats my life now.

But like any prime time NBC broadcast I will leave you with this suspense filled notion for now.

procrastination

Do you procrastinate? I procrastinate all the time. Hell! I'm doing it right now. I have a 6(count 'em) 6 page paper due on Wednesday in Political Science(a class I've already taken) and no time to write it. Instead I'm using my only available time to write this blog post and bitch about how I dont have any time. Woe As Me.

The Purple Chair

If things work out(knock on wood) tomorrow I will be the proud owner of a giant purple chair. This chair is so big that I sat in a few months ago I stood up in the St. Lawrence river. Ok, its not that big, but its fucking huge.

Now I know what you 2 are thinking. (By two I mean the 2 people who read my blog still, myself included.) "But Jess (we're on a nickname basis), I thought that your apartment was tiny, the smallest apartment in Brooklyn?" "I thought you hated the color purple?" "I thought that you didnt want anymore furniture?" ENOUGH QUESTIONS! IT'S PRETTY! And I want a good napping chair, and an excuse to get rid of the three extra chairs I have in my apartment. Plus I want to start a hand-me-down thing with this chair. When I move, and I have a friend or new someone who moves to the city I want to give it to them. It will be a symbol of "making it" or somethign cheesy like that.

In other news

I have a problem with wearing my heart on my sleeve. Not because I dont do it, because its more like I wear it pinned to the front of shirt like a pre-schooler with a teachers note about heah checks. So heres my problem: I had a really great time with Bob the other night.

I know that may not sound like a big deal to some people, but here's not for me, and I'll tell you why. I'm young and relationship oppressed, I could have a friend with benefits relationship in MI because I knew that I would eventually be leaving MI behind, no hard feelings. But I'm here now, and I want to branch out. Do I want to branch out with Bob? Am I being stupid, or naive? Overly dramatic? Its possible, I do that from time to time. But I really need to figure shit out.

If there really are people who still visit my corner of the internet, and wade through my mindless muddlings want to impart wisdom upon me, they are completely welcome to do so.

Infamous

The movie screening was great. The movie was very well made, but it wasnt Capote.

I met Bob at his place, we went to dinner at the Eatery(great ravioli) then we walked up to 66th and Broadway. When we got to the theater there were a few people milling about, wearing the writer's Guild apparel(Bob doesnt own any, thank god). They spotted us and rushed over, talking about this movie and that movie, and Myspace(terrible) and the demise of Tower Records. Bob didnt introduce me, and I wasnt sure why, but it wasnt anything to get upset about.

We got out tickets, and headed upstairs. In the theater we sat almost directly in the center. My feet stuck to the floor. A joke popped into my head: Why do gay men hate the sticky floors at movie theaters?......Why?.....Its false advertising!( Can I get a cymbol?)

I was turning over this notion in my mind when Bob leaned over to whispered "Sorry I didnt introduce you, I dont remember any of those people names. "

"Dont worry," I said, "neither do I."

He smiled at my little jab. Then the movie started.

Toby Jones, Daniel Craig, Hope Davis, Jeff Daniels, Sigorny(sp?) Weever, Sandra Bullock, they really cast the hell out of this movie. The acting was great, it was funny, and touching. Gwenyth Paltrow does a cameo in the beginning, where she sings in a night club, and the song, oh. I sound like such an art fag. But then again I technically am one.

P.s. Daniel Craig, defenitly the wonderful to look at. And he can act! Really well!

So after the film there was a Q & A with the writer/director. He talked about his craft, people asked bad questions, I think I may have learned something.

On the walk back to his apartment, Bob and I talked about Capote's writing, then Fitzgerald, then Hemingway(closet case). I made some comment about how being a writer gave me free license to be a raging alcoholic, Bob was amused at this.

So we walked back to his place, and I wasnt sure if I was going back up, or if he was going to bed...alone. Then his neighbor walked up and couldnt get his key to work in the door. Bob assisted him, and then we said goodnight. Bob reached out his hand, looking rather embarressed. I shook it, saying, "Buenos noches, amigo." The neighbor was already inside, "I'm sorry." Bob mouthed, as he walked through the door. "Until next time," I said. I turned on my heel and walked to 57th and 7th. I rode the trusty Q all the way to Brooklyn.

Earworms

I love a good earworm, dont you? Etta Jame's singing "aaaaaaaattttttt llllllllaaaaaaaaaaaast, My loooooooovvvvvveeeeee has come home" do they get any better?

But I have a bad one currently, a very bad one. Four Non-blondes. "I wake up in the morning and I step outside, blah blah blah cause I get real high, I said HEY! what's goin on?"
That dirty dread-locked bitch! who does she think she is, with that " I can sing really loud even though I'm white" voice or that "you probably think I'm a Park Slope Lesbian" demeanor? And to top it all off, she uses marvyn Gayes words!!!!! I hate her. I think we should throw her in front of the 4 train. OH WAIT the 4 doesnt run in Brooklyn on weekends or holidays. shit.

Going to a screening INFAMOUS tonight with Bob. Another Truman Capote movie, I'm slightly skeptical. Plus I havent seen Bob since what, August. Again, I'm skeptical.
Will tell you all about it.

improve poem

In the morning there is the rustle
I stretch awake, wither and quake,
as I yawn.
In a moment it will begin
extremes of a Monday morning
coffee, paper, traffic jams
and by 5 o'clock I'll wish
I was anywhere else.
But with snooze in full effect
I have 15 more minutes
to pretend its
Sunday again.

10/9/06

Mrs. Frisbie and the damn rats of Jesse's Kitchen

So, I have mice. Just when I thought it couldnt get any worse in, I hear it, the clicking noise under my sink. I thought I had gotten rid of it. I threw it outside. But alas, in this city there is never only one of something(except Trader Joe's).

I bought mouse traps and Dcon(Spelling is bad), I thought for sure it was dead. I hadnt heard from it in almost a week. Then, another one. So I bought mouse traps.
*disclaimer: There is nothing scarrier than a mouse trap! Nothing!

So I set them, with peanut butter, put them in a few select places that I thought would be certain for sucess. What did I find? Three mouse traps, set, ready, and clean or peanut butter.

What the fuck?

And what happened when Itried putting more peanut butter on it? Ask my finger, I think the swelling finally started going down.
I hate rodents.

And to make matters worse, my upstairs neighbor started having a porno-style love making session as I nursed my wounds. The cruel irony of having to hear breeders getting booty in my time of pain and anguish(and humiliation) was a swift kick in the teeth.

Fucking mice, fucking Flatbush, fucking straight people. I hate life. But on the good side, I may be going to a movie premier on Tuesday. Will tell you all about it.

...another day...

I'm just takin a few to make a shout out to my peeps, "HEY PEEPS". MMMMM tasty peeps.

I'm writing a paper, studying for an art history exam thats going to kick my ass, and I've gotten like 4 first sentences today.

I'm going nuts. But will take a few to make a shout out to ya'll tomarrow.

Damn Computers

Hooray!!! I'm getting my computer back!!!!
Thank god too because I really miss porn. Joking, joking.
*Disclaimer: I'm not joking.

My parents took it home with them when they visited. They had to mail it back to the company to get it fixed. (aparently I like porn a little too much, no?)
But it should be back to them by the end of the week, which means it will be to me by the end of next week.

Hooray!!

a Poem about being homeless

* Disclaimer: This is by no means a good poem, but I felt I needed to give you something.

Winters are the worst for waif
especially if its a he.
People arent as charitable
you have to fuck your way
into a warm bed.
That itself can be an ordeal.
But you develope a skill in discerning
the honest from the violent.
I heard from a German that
if you loose three teeth you should
probably consider a different
idea of freedom. Because
afterall isnt freedom a relative
idea? At least thats
what a crack head once told me.
But then addiction is relative.
So is a bed, so are
the dead.

Congratulations! Youre Broke!!!

I have $27. I'm trying to think about this as a creative challenge, "I'm a slave to my art" replays in my head. "this will be great for the book" is also a resounding message, but then again I'm not sure there ever will be a book.

I'm kind of amazed that I'm not more downtrodden about this. But I'm trying to remain optomistic or something.

In other news I've continued updating my gay lexicon. Andrew Holleran, David Leavitt, Edmund White. Now all I need is the musics. But that will happen soon enough.

a tiny rant

I have NYU kids. Is that a fair thing to say.
God this city must breathe easier when those damn rich kids are all out of here. If one more of them asks me how to get to Canal St. They may die, seriously. I may be jealouse because they're going to my dream school. But I think its becoming my dream Grad. School.

They need to learn how to walk a little faster. I'm a nice guy, really, just dont walk slow in front of me when I'm trying to catch my subway train home. In fact, just stay off my train, how's that?

* Disclaimer: if any NYU kids read my blog, which I doubt they do, I forgive you.

A man to his married lover

When we fight
(which we do with great severity)
you always drop you shoulder
and whats with the 'my two fo your one' deal?
do you think this makes it right?
is this how you hit your wife,
or am I really the love of your life?

My Apartment: Starring Someone Vaguely Resembling Myself

The room is small but he can afford it. The walls are a chalky white and they need another coat of paint. The roaches are nice and he has his own bathroom. Papers litter the floor. This is how he spends his days: reading, writing, sleeping. This is how he had spent his time anyway; before school started, before he had found a job, before his real life had begun.

Upon entering 4m there is the incredibly loud screeching of the door. This used to embarrass him, but the sound his grown on him. He thinks of it now almost as an animal's gleeful bark or meow; a welcome home.

There are two closets directly across from one another, creating a sort of walkway. The closet to the right has coats, shoes, and the tool kit his father had bought him. He has never used it, and probably never will. He is not handy in that way. The closet on the left holds extra towels, a second set of sheets, his dirty laundry, and all of his cleaning supplies. The door dosent clost completely but he has come to love this flaw as well. There is a shelf next to the closet on the left. It is where he puts his change every night; one jar for quarters, one jar for all other coins. They are old salsa jars. It seemed pointless to buy jars specifically for spare change.

Past the "entry way" there is the apartment. The bathroom is on the left. There is a chair in this corner with three weeks of old Sunday Times still folded, waiting to be read with care. The bathroom is simple. There's a sink with a mirrored medicine cabinet above it. The toilet has air fresheners and an extra roll of toilet paper on top. There is a shower. The curtain has orange fish on it. He thinks of it as a remaining part of his fading adolescence. There is a small window, with a ledge where he puts his soap and shampoo. The walla re white as well, the tub is white. The floor has ugly floral tiles that continue halfway up the walls. The tub is where he finds most of the roaches, but they are easily wahsed down the drain.

The apartment itself is small. There is a futon. Its black with a black matress. He loves it though its beginning to creek. Between the futon and the window is the nightstand. It has four shelves on it. These are fill with the books; his achievment of the summer: Forster, Thackarrey(sp?), Cunningham, Leavitt, Plath, Kerouac, so on and so forth. The top shelf has his fan, his reading light, and his small alarm clock. The windows are large and have black metal frames. His apartment is on the fire escape.

He has a T.V. but no television. He uses it strictly for listening to music(when he isnt listening to N.P.R.). The only music he really "listens" to is Miles Davis, because on a rainy day "Green in Blue" still makes him weep. Across the floor, past the scattered papers and unpaid bills, is the table. It is maple with four maple chairs. This is where he works, diligently. The table is his desk, his kitchen table, and his place for magazines. His laptop sits waiting for the typing to begin. His coffee mug sits in the same spot, on the left in the middle of a small plate. The printer is directly behind it, extra paper to the right of that. Other coffee cups have been adopted as pencil holders. The rest of if it is covered with old New Yorkers, and books he has doesnt have space to shelve.

The kitchen is only an area: A stove, covered in pots and pans; a sink, filled with dirty dishes he never gets time to clean; his coffee maker that gets him through the tedious hours. This is basically it. The cabinets have some food, mostly pop-tarts and tea. he doesnt like his kitchen. He's waiting for it to grow on him, but fears it may not. The cabinets are too highl; even on a chair he can't reach the top shelf.

The fridge he loves. It was the most significant thing to him when he moved out on his own. It was a the fridge that made him realize he was finally in charge of himself, because he realized he could decorate it however he wished. He did just that, with postcards. His favorite people and photos: Miles Davis, Billy Holiday, Che, Jack Kerouac, There a photo by Dorothy Lang, and another by Bruce Davidson. There's also a picture of his now second youngest niece holding a chicken. The magnets are more hodge-podge. But he liked them because they looked out of place.

Finally, the other closet is located next to the fridge. His clothing resides here. He has no new clothing only things he brought with him. Various shirts he realized are mostly black, brown, and blue. Shorts and pants go one the top shelves. Underwear, socks, and t-shirts go into the small drawers on the floor.

The laundry is almost always dirty. The floor is always covered in news papers. The sink is always filled with dirty dishes. He always wishes he had more time, because except for sleep he's never here. Working full-time, learning full-time, and sleeping when he can. This isnt the home expected when he dreamed of living in this city. There is now "Miracle on Ocean Avenue". But its a start. Almost all of his friends started here or worse. He's determined to make a life here, because he cant live anywhere else. This is his home, at least for now.

Submissive (a poem very little punctuation)

I want the wind to take me
Grab me round the middle
swing me to and fro (hither/thither)
treat me as a rag doll
Pound me with rain
or hail the size of Hell Cats
It would recieve ardent love for its troubles
for the push and the pull
Haphazard morning, noon, and night(always)
And I'll remain forever faithful
If it keeps me on my toes.


I know this isnt very good, but its still a work in progress.

Much love

The good things post

So...The stress has left the building. I apologize for the large number of posts that were basically just me bitching about how much time I dont have. I tend to go over-board on things like that. I fish for sympathy, I'll admit it(This is proof).

But now the parents are gone, the hours at work have declined, and I only have one test coming up, next week. So things are good. So here's an update on things in my life, divided up into sections.

The Writing:

I have about 6 first sentences floating around inside my little head, like:

The violin strings had been restrung by Edward at her request. The Preformance was to be at 8, things were going quite well, all things considered.

I dont know exactly what this story will be about, but who knows maybe that will end up being my "Mrs. Dalloway said....." sentence.


The Reading:

I caved. After the parents left I bought two books. Andrew Holleran, and Hollingherst(I think I butchered that one)(I apologize for the bad spelling). I also bought the New York Magazine issue about Jim McGreevey, I read the excerpt. I dont know how I feel about this whole thing. I want to know more, but I dont want to buy the whole fucking book.


The Music:

I bought Radiohead and Etta James yesterday. I've started really getting into Sleater-Kinney, and People In Planes, and I will forever love Broken Social Scene.


The Boys:

No boys, I theres a guy on campus thats interested. He and I have made our fair share of eye contact. Alas, I fear he may be in the closet completely, and I dont want to deal with that again.

The Men:

I have time to hang out with my amigos this week! Today is Michael, tomorrow is Christopher, the day after is Thom. I may even be seeing Bob this week too.

The City:

I love this city even more. After the visit from the parents is was completely reaffirmed that I do in fact LIVE in New York City. I cant believe it sometimes. I know I will travel but this is homebase from now on.

The overall feeling:

I'm good, I'm relaxed. I'm calm. I'm alive. And I read the Sunday Times this morning, with very strong coffee. Like I need anymore hair on my chest.


Story Tomorrow I promise.

The parents have left

So here I am, sitting at a computer in 12th and University. Its amazing that earlier today my parents and I were having tear filled goodbyes in Bryant Park, I put them into a cab on 41st and 6th and that was that, they left for their motel near Laguardia. Their flight leaves at 6 tomarrow morning so they got a room near the airport.

They stayed with me. They slept in my apartment thats so small I cant stand comfortably by myself in it. They made scenes in public, they embarressed me on the subway. But they bought me wine, good wine too. And they bought me shoes, because the ones I had have depleting soles. Thats not good for business.

I dont really know what to say about it all. The stress is now gone. I need time to reflect on the whole experience, I guess. I need to know why I'm SO highstrung around them, and so calm when they arent around. Even on the phone with them I'm edgy.

But NOW, here and now I'm good. I'm relaxed. I can walk around my tiny apartment in the buff if and when I please(but thats even more uncomfortable(thats a terrible joke)). I have books now, and magazines. and I have a stack of books waiting for me at home.

I also have free time next week so I may post a story or something on here, I will defenitly have time to do some of my own writing, too.

I must not disappear onto the Q-train however. We'll talk soon.

They are here

So they got here yesterday and I only had about 2 hours to hang out with them until I had to go to work.

I took them to lunch at Mayrose: comfortable food, and we had the a very cute waiter that was hitting on me. He looked like Heraldo, but in a good way. The best way to describe him would be if Tom Selleck and Heraldo Rivera had a younger brother who was a 'mo. But this is off topic.

So they hung out in my apartment and went through all my stuff. I showed them around Union Sq a little bit. We argued about my life. Things are normal and comfortable now.....(If you cant tell my sarcasm you havent been reading my blog long enough). I think that tonight I'm going to take them to Republic on Union Sq. west. I'm trying to get them to try sushi but I dont think they're up to it. Oh well, more for me, right?

The stress thing

So last week was the most stressful week I've had in a long time. There was the working full time, the school full time, the sleeping when I had time and the pile of other things I felt I needed to take care of.

The work and school thing was a sort of catalyst to the stress. Near the end of highschool I was working 30 hours and dealing with social dilemas with ease( I was alergic to homework). But I felt almost like I had a deadline. My parents are coming on Tuesday, and dont feel like I have anything to show them. I feel like I should be able to show them that I've done something by now, that they didnt waste all of the money and energy moving me out here. I dont think I have that yet.

Now before I start sounding too self-depricating, I know I have a kickass job, I'm in school, I can pay my rent, and I'm still the only 18 year old I know that buys the Sunday Times and sets aside 30 minutes to read the book review front to back. I've made it this far. I just think that they worry that I'm not making any new friends, and I worry that I lean to heavily on the ones that I have here, mostly Michael. But I've never had a friend that I can check out guys with as openly, and he gets all my vague pop-culture references.

It just seemed that everything was going wrong, and there was no way to fix any of it.

But I fell in love with New York again. I love that this happens. I felt comfortable, felt like I was beginning to get the swing of it, that I had intergrated. Then the city sort of threw a bunch of shit at me, and I had to take care of it all. Apparently I passed.
...............................................................................................................................


No new books.

This is a big deal. I have since I was 12 years old, bought at least one book every Sunday. I have no room for them, I have so many. If I get so stressed that I cant sleep again I promise I will give you all a really tedious and unnecessary list of them.

Scout's honor.

...............................................................................................................................

Prof. Schwartz

My Ethics prof. must be the most monotoned, uninteresting professor alive, and he's completely ambivolent about philosophy. But he's really hot.

He's bald, and clean shaven, and has a stereotypical Jewish nose. But it works in his favor. He wears Khakis everyday and by the end of class the pockets have rings of chalk marks on them. He doesnt get nervous, he doesnt stammer. I'm pretty sure he's alergic to clicking his tongue, too.

He wears terrible shirts, the sleeves look to big for his arms. But you can tell that he works out. When he writes on the chalkboard he bends in a way that makes his very cute butt stick out. The tall blond girl, that asks stupid questions and sits next to me always smiles when he does this. So does the guy two seats down from me. :)

He has a platinum ring on the middle finger of his left hand. I dont know, maybe there are smart straight men after all. Or maybe he's got an amazing husband. He almost certainly lives in Park Slope, and was almost certainly raised in Brooklyn, though he doesnt have a Brooklyn accent. He does sound like he can give a mean Jewish Mother Guilt Trip though.

I wouldnt mind if he tought me a lesson. ;P

My Life is Suddenly Too Much

I am so fucking busy!

I needn't say more but I will for good measure.

Okay so heres the deal, I'll just lay it out so that you can all send me sympathy emails....
*disclaimer*: really do want sympathy emails

So this is what my plate looks like these days:

45% is school. I have 12 credit hours and alot of papers to write
60% is work. I'm working full time and want to die because my feet hurt all night. Plus cutie-putootie(I did take that from Rosie) Justin Timberlake is coming centrally-located-pain-in-my-ass-megastore on Tuesday and people are already camped out. Guess who's floor he's going to be on? And his new stuff sucks.
15% is riding the subway. I do enjoy this because it gives me time to read.
10% is going through old stories.
5% is writing new stories
and the rest is sleeping.
This equals roughly 135%

Yeah that sounds about right.

And today is not only the shittiest day of the week, its also the shittiest day of the year. And while I sit at this computer and bitch, the rest of the country(especially NYC country) is in mourning.

I have class though, with a cute Jewish prof. But more on the later.

Enjoy your free time everyone else.

Sorry I'm falling behind

hey you 8 great wonderful readers! I'm sorry that the entries seem to be farther and farther apart. I just have no time to fix my computer apparently(sp?). I have great classes, great friends, and I'm determined to meet a boy if it kills me.

This unfortunatly must be brief or I will be late for work at centraly-located-unnecessarily touristy-megastore.

But someone must remind me to tell about my Labor day weekend. I went to the Metropolitan with Michael on Saturday, then spent the whole day with him again on Monday. It was great, but I must run. I apologize from the deepest depths of my digital heart(and my real one)


Have a good day, and you New Yorkers enjoy the rain.

A new beginning

It seems I have fallen into some resemblence to a life here. I have friends(4 kick ass guys(including Bob)) I have a great job, I have school, I have bills. I have a schedual and everything. Its was a good vacation, minus the whole emotional breakdown or 2, but when you fall down you grow to get back up, right?

I was starting to lose my patients with the city, starting to wonder if this really is the best place for me. Of course I knew it would be hard. No one ever said that uprooting your entire life for a place you hardly know was going to be easy. But I am growing. I love new york for alot of reasons, most of the aesthetics, but its a sort of molding process I'm going through. I know, without a doubt, that I am not the same person that I was on graduation day. I dont know if I liked that person, dont know if thats the me I wanted to be anyway. I'm glad for the change, glad for the "improvement". I'm building my legs on which I'm going to be standing.

The world seems good now, seems comfortable. and I've stopped fearing Flatbush. LOl.

Brooklyn College Follies

So today was my first day of school. It was pretty much what I had expected it to be, crowded classrooms, overworked professors who qouted Proust because they could, and people who didnt vote. But all things considered I like my profs.

My school schedual is pretty crazy this semester. I have 2 classes Monday and Tuesday, three on Wednesday, none on Thursday and 2 on Friday. Its complete chaos.

But today being Wednesday I had 3 classes:

1st was English. Prof was nice, defenitly gay, possibly Jewish, more than likely shops at a co-op and listens to AirAmerica Radio(this is a good thing).

2nd was Ethics. Prof was...dull. Young, Defenitly Jewish, probably gay. His voice was completely monotoned.

3rd was Political Science. Prof was very hyper. Defenitly Asian, defenitly gay. Tough hyper I found myself looking at the clock.

Tomarrow is a free day, which means...errands. Post office, bills, laundry, editing, and catching up with amigos here, some of whom I havent seen in a very long time.

After the errands I have to work. I really love my job at centrally-located-tourist-attracted-mega-store. I'm working in the book department now. I get to bring my own music, gotta love that. I hope they let me play all of it.

Oh and I'll hopefully have my own computer up and running by Sunday. I havent heard from Bob since Monday and I havent heard from James since the fight at Bob's. But considering my unwainging codependence on him that may be for the best.

I'm also glad it stopped fucking rainging here.

The Penelope Cruz thing

So my job kicks alot of ass, just so ya know. I get to talk about music all day, listen to music all day, make fun of employees and for once I'm working with people MY age. and by that I mean about 25, hehe. But anyway I'm off track already.

On my second day of work I was behind the register, ringin up the customers and these too very kind older Spanish men step up to the counter. "cool" I think, "Spanish couples or whatever."
Behind them stood a very beautiful woman, she was a little on the shorter side, great flashy smile, beautiful eyes. I smiled at her and said "I'll be with you in just a second."

She pointed to the other men to tell me she was with them. I nodded a response and continued on my way. After a few seconds it hit me, my head snapped upwards and no I wasnt going crazy it was, Penelope Cruz. I would have died but then I remembered "Head in the Clouds", no, no. I kid. I love Penelope Cruz. She smiled at me again, after she realized that only now I knew who she was.

As she was leaving, a coworker leaned over to me and said "Ya know, she went on record and said she saw the Tomatie baby?"
"Cause she was paid to. If not Tom would have had the sad dead alien spirits make use Zoloft."

And that was the story of Ms. Cruz.

Computer still broken, classes start on wednesday, and I still havent heard from Christopher in Italy. But things are good, I couldnt imagine living anywhere else now.

Computer Problems persist

So I figured out whats wrong with my lap top...everything. This is incredibly stressful considering that I need a bunch of stuff from MI to fix it all, and that my parents dont know what Windows XP is. I think I'm going to the pier, or possibly central park to fix it all, possibly write some. Possibly jump in the Hudson.

In other news. There's been no word from Mr. R-train as of yet. This saddens me greatly because, well in short, I'm lonely. I listened to Ryan Adams songs for like 45 minutes to day, completely catotonic on my floor. Not good for business.

I'm at the same cafe on University. I'm again paying too much money, but I love the 6 of you just that much. And because I love you all so much I though I might share a poem with you for this Wednesday that outta get better or I may need some book therapy.

This one I wrote about a year ago, it was post James punching.
Theres no title:

Flat on the floor
strung out on calm music.
Back to the ground, face to face with the ceiling
minds not going anywherel.
Getting up is inevitable, but
staying like this forever just feels right.

So thats that. Kind of sums up the feeling I had this morning.

Tomarrow is my first day at centraly-located-mega-store. I think I'm going to head up town now, buy a zip drive and head to the Central Park mall.

Peace commrades.

Email problems.....

So yesterday my computer crashed for the first time ever. I almost cried, not that I'm a sissy or anything.

When I rebooted and got everything running again, it was a complete mess. I cant open media player, I cant access blogger, and worst of all my email is at the throes of an angry virus. I need help, bad.

I personally blame MSN messenger Beta, its a P.O.S. and hotmail Live Beta was a complete Monet. It looks pretty, it even feels pretty, but on the inside its nothin but ugly.

I'm currently at an internet cafe on University Place paying 18 cents a fucking minute to check my Email.

But because I love all six of you I will update you on life.

Friday I gave Michael his present and I got a good feeling that he liked it. His kept saying things like "Oh Wooooow" and "how the hell did you find this?!?"

He teaches early Christian history at a college here in the city and speaks a whole cacophony of languages, Smarty I know.

I was in a bookstore between Chelsea and Union Sq. and found 3 books that would be perfect for him. The first was Jack London's "The Wanderer" in french, the Second was a play by Camus(also in French) and the third was an essay on Dante in english but from 1879. So in short, he shit a brick(pardon my French).

Saturday I went out with Bob. And it was really, odd.

I got to his apartment, things that usually transpire with Bob transpired and when we got done, James called me.(Now dont think I'm the kind of guy that answers the phone post....This was as we were walking out the door and I apologized profusely to Bob about it). I asked him about the phone call. This was the conversation:

James: What the fuck is up with your voicemail?
Me: You're the one that called me.
James: Jesse I would never have called and said that.
Me: Hind sight is 20/20
James: what?
me: never mind.
James: I think you dreamed it up.
me: Are yo-
James: I think youre lonely.
Me(with Bob's hand in my pocket): Believe me, I'm not lonely.
Bob: HAHAHAHAHAAHA
James: Whose that?
Me(Bob reaching for my phone): A special friend, I got to go.
"click"

Then Bob took me to Sushi, at a place on University Place ironically. I'm looking at it right now. We then went to a movie at the Quad Cinema. We were walking back to his car and I'm about to step off the curb to get in when he says "I think I'm going to head home."
"Okay, " I say " Lets go"
"No I mean I'm really beat, I think I'M going to go home."
"Oh....Okay. Do you want me to ride back with you or do you want me to catch the train at Union Sq.?"
"Doesnt matter."
"I'll just catch the train here"
"Okay."

He doesnt even hug me goodbye. I watch his car drive down 13th street, a kind of disappointment stirring in me. I call Ms. B tell what happened as I walk to Union Sq. The train ride is lonely, as all train rides seem to be. The whole way I'm thinking about Mr. R-train. Kicking myself for not "fully" introducing myself to him. Wondering if he's a reader.

And Sunday....My fucking computer crashed.

Tomarrow I have orientation at "big ass mega store". I'll let you know how it goes.

Today is a very good day

So because I'm still kind of lathargic even though its almost 1:30 I'm going to just make a list of some things and you can decide for yourselves if things are looking up for me.

1.) I'm now employed.
2.) My parents are coming to visit me on Sept. 19th.
3.) I found an autographed copy of one of my favorite books("I am not Myself These Days") at Barnes & Noble.
4.) I bought a shit load of great music recently: Doves "Some Cities"; Sleater-Kinney "One Beat"; David Bowie "Greatest Hits"; Snow Patrol "Eyes Open"; Scissor Sisters (self Titled); and the best one Miles Davis "Kind Of Blue"!!!!! Does it get better than Miles Davis?
5.) My friend Loved his presents(more on that later)
6.) I have clean laundry :P
7.) I'm almost certain that the man from the subway is out there thinking about me, because I'm certainly thinking about him.
8.) I have 3 overdue movies at Blockbuster.
9.) I'm hanging out with Bob later today.
10.) Its Saturday in NYC
11.) And I have to tell the story of how I realized I'm becoming a New Yorker.

the 30 seconds I fell in love today

So today was a very good day for this boy in this city. Firstly and most importantly and with nothing to do with this title at all: I got a job!!!! I'm working at a very well known "mega" store in a very well known "Square". If you dont know by that then you need to turn back and start "Hop on Pop" at page 1. Just kidding I love my readers....all 4 of you.

But more on that later.

So I was waiting for the trusty Q train today at Union Sq. station. I had just bough a couple of CD's and a new book that I had read before.(If that makes any sense.) I entered at the 16th street entrance and walked down the platform, then I saw him, and let me tell you right now, he was pretty.

We made eye contact and I though he was just checking me out, because I was defenitly checking him out. But he smiled and I fell completely head over heals for him. I walked past him slightly, David Bowie's "Hero's" starting on my CD player. He would look my was periodically, checking to see if I was there. I pretended to play it cool, act like I was mildly interested in him, like I had been through this before.

He was, I'm guessing 21, probably had a summer internship, at some law firm near Gramercy Park. He had an attractive purple shirt and everything else was black, except of course for his ipod head phones. Dark eyes, dark hair, very good looking. He was shy, and I knew it. I was shy too however and he knew it also. I wished beyond any wish that he would walked up to me.

The Q train was coming from a distance, I looked at him, he gave me a look of longing, which I returned. Then I smiled to myself and he looked slightly confused. We were across the platform from each other. He was waiting for the R, I knew this because as I approached him the W was just leaving.

The Q train doors opened, he smiled kindly as if to say "It was good wanting to know you". The train doors closed, he turned to watch the train go, and saw me standing there against the collum looking at him, still shy. The something came over me, as the N train approached. I knew I had to take this one or I wouldnt be getting home anytime soon, so I took out my NY AM and wrote my number on it. He watched me intently, as I set it down next to the collum and entered the train.

He glided over, picked it as the doors dinged closed. He read it quickly, flashing me a toothy smile that made my heart melt. He showed my a peace sign which I returned with quickly, and as the train pulled away I saw him digging in his messenger bag and retrieving his cell phone.

I'll be honest, my heart skipped a beat.

A poem for Wednesday

This is a poem that is first in a series that have the same opening line. They're observations on various things: kinds of people, musicc, the state of the world, friends of mine. They may seem depressing to some, but nevertheless I hope you like it, if I get good feed back I'll post a few others.

I’m not getting anywhere here No. 1

Part 1

I’m not getting anywhere here
No one can hear me.
I’m screaming at gun point
Looking for meaning.
The woman, she’s crying
And Johna is dying.
No one looks fleetingly,
At the phoenix

Don’t take this for granted
Temporary at best.
As you slash and burn,
Reignition.

Though I’m stationary now.
I’m silently screaming,
On a pedestal.
To a throng of political ghosts
And public apparitions.
While her back is to the door,
Fiddling with the knob.
In my slight methodical hell
I await the resignation
In the shallows.

Part 2

Foxy fever dreams
Guide me to my post
While my woman cascades
Down the stairs.
Collectively disfigured
Standing free formed and disillusioned

Anger leads me to intolerance
The human way
At best
Soap opera wont end,
Pregnancy scare second term.
And my head will only hit the wall
Six times before I pass out.
Calmed by my coma.
But fever dreams persist.


Part 3

And I’m killed by her courage
She mounted the stairs
Met me on the landing
Questioned my confidence
She’s left standing
In the shallows

Slash and burn
I’ve become
something proud
no ones won.

So the thing about this James guy

So I felt it necessary to clear up some James stuff, seeing as my other post might be a little confusing.

James was the first person I ever came out to. And the first person to say "I know what you mean". He was a typical bad boy: drinking, smoking, a short attempt at cocain. During this I was or felt like I was his guide post.

When I went through my hard times: deep depression, anger, my parents relentless illnesses. He was my guide post as well.

So of course I fell completely in love with him. I loved close contact with him. Knowing his eyes were on me when I wasnt looking, not sexually, just on me. We would be in a group of people and he would throw me this smile, this brief sort of "you know me best" smile. Like we had a secret.

We used to go to a coffee shop 20 miles away every Thursday. We would drink coffee, smoke Camels(I quit), wear our hearts on our sleeves. And he always seemed to hint that he felt something along the lines of what I felt for him.

Then.

We were in his basement, smoking, talking about our lives. I may have said something along the lines of: "I cant wait until highschool is over so we can finally be together". He looked at me, completely serious "Jesse, I have to tell you something...and I feel like complete shit doing this to you". I just sat there, I knew what he was going to say, but I half expected this conversation to transpire.

"I'm not....I dont feel the same way about you as you feel about me. We're very different in alot of ways."

Silence.

"I'm not gay. I said it because I didnt want you to feel so alone, I know that highschool is tuff on kids and I didnt want you to end up like all those kids that commit suicide."

"You lied to me, to help me...stay alive?" I asked.

"I feel like shit. You know I feel like shit about this. You're really important to me, you are, but I just cant be that," he pleaded.

I stood up,"I'm gunna go. I need to do some think-."

"No dont go, sit talk to me. What do you feel? Tell me." He begged me to stay but I just couldnt do it.

"Betrayed." I said shortly, "and a little foolish." I walked to the stairs, took them two at a time. He caught me at the top, right in front of the door. He kissed me, shaking, weak, embaressed. Thats how I knew he was lying to himself not me.

I stared at him slightly bewildered, slighty angry, even more in love with him. I pushed the door open, I left the house in a few quick, long steps and dug in my sweat shirt pocket for my car keys. I found them, fumbling with the lock; completely coming apart inside. I heard him burst out of the door. He ran up to me, leaned me against the car, I could barely stand, I felt me heart physically drop from my body. But I hadnt started crying yet.

"Please dont go," he said "I want be this for you, but I'm scared. You put all this pressure on me."
"Let go of me James."
"No."

I pushed him off me, my door was unlocked. All I knew was that I couldnt cry in front of him.

When I pushed him off me, he got angry, pushed me back against the side of my car, my keys falling to the ground.

I looked at him shocked, my shoulders hurt, our eyes connected.

"I'm trying to reason with you damnit!" He yelled.

I swung, closing my eyes. I hoped to connect with anything, anything that would get MY point accross. I hit something hard, boney flesh, it felt maliable under my knuckles. I didnt hear him hit the ground, but he did.

I looked down at him, still angry and consumed with regret, and love, angry love.

I had hit him near the ear, just under it, where the jaw-line starts to form. I had also grazed his nose, which was now bleeding. He looked at me shocked.

"Oh shit," I said.

"I dont know what to do now," he said "Have you ever hit anyone before."

"No"

He made a "hmph" noise as I helped him to his feet. He looked at his house, the color from the t.v. shining the back wall of his living room. His parents were watching C.S.I. completely unaware.

"What are you going to tell your parents," I asked, blood still trickling out of his nose.

"Nothing," he said looking into my eyes "they probably wont even know I went outside.

"James I-,"

"You go home, we'll talk about this some other time, if we ever talk about it at all." He said, our eyes still connected he was sending me rays, he was completely vulnerable and it made me love him even more.

"I'm sorry." I said.

"So am I," he said. "Physical bruises, emtional ones." he said putting his hand on my chest. I felt my heart jump back into my body.

I brushed him off, he picked up my keys. He waited until I backed out of the driveway to turn around. While he waited I saw him pull out another Camel, light it, take a long drag. I smiled to myself.

The comments thing

So I love getting comments on my blog. It makes me REALLY happy knowing that people are actually reading it and I'm on here just telling nobody my life story but I'd like to know who you all are as well. So if you, please leave at least your name when you comment. I would greatly appreciate it.

Thank you,
Jesse

Cliff Hangers

I got a phone call from James the other night. It was about 3 A.M. and I was fast asleep. The phone rings, I answer, he's drunk, this is what transpired:

Me: Hey dude, do you know what time it is.
James: Jesse? Jesse? I need to tell you something.
Me: What?
James: Okay well first I'm a little drunk-
Me: So I hear.
James: I'm a little drunk and I need to tell you something I wanted to tell you before you left but I couldnt because Nick came with us to the coffee shop.
Me: Are you alone?
James: Yeah I stepped outside to have a cigarette.
Me:....
James: I needed to tell you this now because I'm drunk and you have to promise me you wont bring it up again....Promise?
Me: I promise.
James: You promise?
Me: James just tell me.
James: OK well I wanted to tell you that....that...
Me: Yeah.
James: Its not that I didnt love you, its just that..that...
Me: WHAT!?!??
James: Oh hold on....blaaaaaaaarrrrrgggghhhhhh.
Me: WHAT? DUDE ARE YOU THERE?!!
James: Oh man, I just got threw up all over myself, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later.
Me: James I swear to GOD if you hang up this phone!
James: Bye
"Click"
Me: Fuck.

....Santa?

Just for the record I give kickass presents. I've been told that my gift giving abilities are incredible, that I always hit the nail on the head. ....yeah I'm that good. Not to brag though.

Michael is one of my few friends in the city, hes a teacher, and damn smart. So I happened upon something that I know will make him shit his pants. I'm not kidding, I'm thinking that when I give it to him I'm going to bring a pair of huggies just as a joke.

I cant disclose what it is because I gave him the link to my blog-a-log and I dont know if and when he reads it. But I will certaintly let you know about the unveiling.

A conversation with Bob

I'm on Central Park West and I decide to randomly call Bob seeing as I haven't talked to him since last week. This is the conversation that occured:

Bob: Ring.....Ring.....Hello?
Me: Howdy
Bob: Howdy
Me: How are you? Havent talk to you in a while.
Bob: Fine not too much going on.
Me: Thats cool. I was just calling to see how you were.
Bob: Thats cool....Can I call you back?...I...Uh...I'm kinda in the middle of something.
Me: Oh. Yeah. Thats fine, call me back.
Bob: Ok I'll call you back later "click"
Me: Bye



I feel like a 14 year old.

Nothing New

So....today I did the laundry and killed some insects. I met some more crazy people in my building and washed my bath tub.

Oh! And I got some fucking shut eye! Its about time. I finally fell asleep at 3 A.M. I remember waking up at 7 and thinking "Jesus this is terrible" and then the next thing I know I'm waking up and 10:30 and thinking "now thats more like it".

Tomarrow I'm running, more laundry, returning applications in Manhattan and then looking for a job in central Brooklyn, in the Park Slope, North Flatbush area.

Good luck to me, sweet dreams amigos.

23 hours and counting

So first off let me tell you that sunrises are amazing in this city. I mean everyone has seen the photos of the Manhattan skyline when the sun is coming up.But actually seeing it, whitnessing it for yourself, its really amazing. The sun is still heavy and orange and world seems almost docial even in New York City.

So in other words I didnt sleep.

I went out at around 5:45 a.m. and took the trusty Q into the city. I got off at 42nd street because even though I hate Times Square during the day when its packed full of tourists, its really amazing in the morning. Its almost completely empty save a few cops, and a couple of suits rushing to work around Midtown. "I bought a coffee and the paper/had a phone conversation"(thats for all you Brighteyes fans) But seriously I bought a coffee, a paper, even though I'm on the NY Times emailing alert list and get it in my inbox everymorning at precisly 7 o'clock(what kind of teenager am I?). I really did have a phone conversation too, with my mother of course. I told her all about my sudden lack of sleep and new found lack of books to read(credit card) she told me to hang in there, it will pass.

Will it? This is the 4th day I've had trouble sleeping, and the tiredness is just now hitting me. Hopefully I can lye down and not ruin my whole day. Plus that would really fuck up my sleeping patterns. But I'm going to try to get some shut eye and wake up again at around noon. If I cant I dont know, maybe the Brooklyn Bridge thing isnt that bad an idea.

Insomnia

So as I write this my clock ticks closer and closer to 5 a.m. I'm jealous of all the people in the world who get to sleep right now. I've never had a problem sleeping before. I mean yeah a restless night here or there maybe but never like this, never ALL FUCKING NIGHT!!!!! I think that at 5:30 I'm gunna hop the Q into Manhattan, get myself some coffee and watch the sun come up on the east side. Then who knows, maybe I'll jump off the Brooklyn Bridge so I can get some shut eye!!! I think G*d really hates me now.

Sigh

Currently doing.....

So this is my update on me, mostly because I'm obsessed with lists.

CURRENT THINGS:
Current Name: Jesse
Currently living: Brooklyn, NY
Currently employer:.....I'm between "projects" right now.
Last thing I bought: Pop-tarts, fruit cups, apple juice.
Currently reading: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert; Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond; The Lost Language of Cranes by David Leavitt
Currently Drinking: Coffee, black.
FAVORITE THINGS:
Favorite activity: Writing
Favorite Books(I couldnt pick one): The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien; The History of Love by Nicole Krauss; On The Road by Jack Kerouac; The Hours by Michael Cunningham.
Favorite Song: Life on Mars by David Bowie
Favorite Album: The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan
Favorite Band:....Coldplay
Favorite painting: Jackson Pollack's #1
Favorite Movie: Magnolia
Favorite Photographer: Bruce Davidson, Tine Modotti, Robert Mapplethorpe :P

Another Gay Day

So Sunday was just one gay event after another.

I showed up to Bob's apartment at noon for brunch. This by the way completely throws me. In the midwest breakfast is from 5:30 to 9 am. Brunch is from 9:30 to around 11:30-noonish. and everything after that is lunch and dinner. But in NYC Sunday brunch is from 12-4 pm. It must be a left over habit from the speak easy days.

So anywho, I showed up at his apartment and then we left for Elmo, the restaurant in Chelsea. I liked it, it was certainly one those "no tourists allowed" restaurants. This is good because even though technically I was one until I got an address, tourists drive me nuts.

After brunch, we went to see Another Gay Movie at the Quad Cinema. My god was it funny. It was great, damn hilarious. I think that if you're gay, or gay friendly, you should see this movie because I'm fairly certain that it will become manditory viewing in a couple of years. Almost like "Lost Language of Cranes" is mandatory reading. But I warn you, be prepared for some gross out moments, like Richard Hatche's penis.....ew.

Bob then took me on a tour of the LGBT center. It was a big step for me, speaking from a confidence stand point. When we walked out of the movie theater he said something along the lines of : "In New York you dont have to worry about getting beat up when you go see a gay movie". My mind flashed back to me walking quickly across the Celebration Cinema parking lot at 11:30 pm after seeing Brokeback Mountain. Defenitly a big step made then.

We went for down to Century 21, the one down by the WTC. Fucking tourists! But its a great store and now I know where to shop when I have a damn job.

After that we went up to the Alphabet City. We walked along Ave. A and stumbled upon an improptu punk concert going on, though we couldnt see who it was. And all the little punk kids were too busy kicking each other and smoking their ultra-lights to tell us. So Bob took me to a burrito place on Ave. A that was absolutly incredible. I dont rememeber the name but I believe it was on the corner of A and the corner of Tompkins sq. park.

So we ventured back uptown, joking and talking my burrito in hand.

FLASH FORWARD PAST THE AMAZING SEX!!!!!!!!
*disclaimer: touching moments to follow, all cynics continue at your own risk.

We're lying in his bed, my eyes feel heavy, tired. He's looking at me, his hand on my chest. Bob works nights so he usually divides his sleep before and after work. Its 8 p.m. and usually when I should be leaving, letting him get his rest. I look at the clock, sigh, start to get up to leave. He puts his leg over mine so I cant get up, "You dont have to go."

"You've gotta go to work."

"Stay, you know you dont want to go all the way to Brooklyn anyway."

So I stayed.

We laid down and fell asleep. His alarm went off and he kissed me on the forehead told me he'd be back before I knew it. But I got up with him, talked to him until he left. Then I called Ms. B back and we talked until 2 a.m. all the while I complained about the lack of carbs in Bob's apartment.

After I hung up Ms. B I got last weeks New Yorker and started to read the story in bed. Bob came in a little after 8. I heard him come in and pretended to sleep. He picked up the magazine saying " I guess the New Yorker isnt entertaining enough for Jesse." Then he quietly took off his clothes and crawled into bed next to me and waited until I actually did wake up.
.....We stayed in bed until noon :o

We went to Vinyl in Hell's Kitchen and we said our goodbyes around 4-ish.

I think I'm defenitly falling for this Bob fellow, I dont know if this is a good thing or not. We talked about it for a while. But that conversation is far to personal for the world wide web.

Sunday mornings

There's something really special about Sunday mornings.

I've always wanted to be one of those people who woke up early on a Sunday, turn my head and find myself lying next to the person I've fallen completely in love with. We would spend the whole day together: Read the Sunday Times, fight over the Book review; go to brunch, fight over the jam. Then retreat to our or his, or my small but cozy apartment to relax, dreading the coming week. The piles of paper that we know are going to be on our desks in the morning. Comfortable back rubs, book shopping, coffee drinking, needless errands.

I'm convinced that this moment will one day happen to me, it has to. Some people dream of weddings, huge vast circus weddings; children, pitter-patters and what not. Me, I dream of perfect Sundays. Whole unstoppable moments lived in a single, or series of, Sundays.

But today hasn't sucked so far.

I woke up at 6:15, more or less because I couldnt fall back asleep again. I decided that today was the day, I was going to go running. I got out of bed, killed a roach mercilessly(bastard) and then put on my running shoes and took my keys and stretched relentlessly. Church Ave isnt even a hop skip and jump from Prospect Park, more like a hop and skip, or a skip and a jump perhaps. So I used that as my warm up. Church and Ocean, up to the Lincoln Rd. entrance to the park. From there I entered the park and ran up the path to Flatbush Ave. I felt good, I felt productive(especially after my failed bike hunting yesterday).

This was my first time in Prospect park, at 6:30 on a Sunday morning, and it was a incredibly beautiful. I turned at Flatbush Ave. and ran down Ocean Ave back to Church Ave. I noticed that I started to speed up alot when I crossed Parkside Ave. I smile to myself, reminscent of my 6 years of cross country. I wanted to call Mr. Carey(my old coach) and say "guess what Mr. Carey, I dont need you screaming behind me to get back into shape" But he still would have called me fat.

As I crossed Caton my stride opened up, my legs lengthened, my breathing started to settle. It was like meditating, my mind was clear, me head was empty, it was complete magic.

I got back into my apartment and my alarm started to go off, It was only 7:15. I had alot to do. I made coffee, took a shower, listened to BBC radio and then went to the laundry mat with all the laundry I could afford to do(mostly shirts and underwear if you must know) and I went took out my garbage.

Its only 10:30 and I feel like I've had a whole day already. I love days like this, I know I'll crash eventually, but hopefully this is the start of a very productive pattern. I should go now though. I'm meeting Bob for brunch. Then he's taking me to see "Not Another Gay Movie" I'm worried thats its basically going to suck. But I'm finally getting my New York brunch. I'm going to buy a Sunday Times when I get into Manhattan.

But I've defenitly come to appreciate Brooklyn more, my borough is growing on me.

So....how about the weather?

It's so fucking hot outside. It feels like its hotter than yesterday but there's no way that could be possible.....could it? Its said to storm tonight but I dont know about that. I hope so, so this fucking heat will go away.

I think I may go into the city in a bit to get some sushi. I dont know where to go so I'll probably take the train all the way to 14th street to get sushi at whole foods, but I feel like I need to be doing something more. I'm going to move around my furniture and set up my printer too.

Maaayyyyybbbbeeee tomarrow if its cooler I'll wake up early and go running in Prospect Park. I need to run, I'm not losing any weight sitting at home all day.

The great thing about UPS

So I just recieved another box of goodies in the mail. A care package from my very funny friend Ms. P. She sent the following items:

A really cool coffee cup
A container of Spices
and the kicker
6 bags of Ramen noodles.

I have a question though. Why is it that the UPS guy always comes right when I'm getting out of the shower, so that I have to pull on a dirty pair of shorts and go to the door dripping wet. The USPS lady does the same thing. I think its a conspiracy.

What you shouldnt be asking yourselves is :Why is he taking a shower at 12:45 in the afternoon?
Thats a stupid thing to ask. :P

Possibly a poem for Thursday

When the moon sets and the sun is waiting to rise,
Look at the sky.
It will tell you story of lovers in love, cheaters in death,
Walkers in their heads,
Like that of V. Wolf.
Before the rain comes and after the winds built,
Look at the sky.
You will learn of picnics ruined and parties dismantled.
The yellow, both dark and light at once, will lead you to see them
Leaves floating in the breeze.
As it falls, great oceans of rain,
Look at the sky.
The one spontaneous child will show you how he spent his summer.
Swimming in a lake surrounded but liquid bullets that penetrated the surface,
Looking blotched underwater.

On the plate for today

1.)Making coffee, eating breakfast, listening to NPR, agreeing that Tony Blair is an idiot.

2.) 23 minute conversation with once muse, now long distance partner in crime, Ms. B.

3.) Listen to college radio music, drinking more coffee, filling out applications to return today.
(considering a shave)
4.) Give in to pressure of the world and decide to put on pants.(not at this moment though.

5.) Put on Coldplay really loud to drown out the sound of the angry Hip Hop music upstairs.

More to come in this exciting saga. Stay tuned for Jesse, the morning after!!!!!!

Heat waves blow

So New York is currently in the throws of vicious heat wave. This blows, I havent left my apartment yet today. I told my parents I would most likely be on the job hunt for the rest of the week, non-stop. But...Its just so fucking hot outside I mean who wants to walk around Manhattan sweaty and gross and asking "Excuse me, can pick up an application?" 40 times?

Exactly!

Good news though! I going home for Labor day weekend! I'm so excited to see all my friends, and play with my puppies, and drive Jefferey Talbot III(my green Saturn) and sleep in my old bed.

Home is where to heart is I guess. Even though I know without a doubt that this is where I belong, its not home yet. That takes time. And its only been 2 weeks on my own. God that seems so unrealistic, only 2 weeks.

"Time, what a tricky fucker."(From the film "Closer")

The Mom who keeps on giving

So before I trot off to the subway to meet Bob for a day of beach R & R I have to tell you 3 faithful readers about what I got in that mail today. CARE PACKAGES!!!!!!!!! My midwestern mother, in her attempt to keep me alive and healthy in this lifetime has sent me not one, but TWO boxes of T.L.C.

Box 1 had the most important thing: Coffee. So many types of coffee. The coffee my brother shipped me for my 16th birthday that's so good I only use it for special events. There was package of Blue Mountain coffee from Jamaica(my mom went there with my sister and thats about all she brought back) and the tried and true Millstone, even though I'm more of a Folgers person I can deal.

Box 2 was much larger and contained more goodies. Such as the following:

2 coffee mugs
6 movies from home(The Hours, Lost in Translation, Vanilla Sky, Frida, Finding Nemo, and Little Manhattan)
A crisp new copy of Guns Germs and Steal by Jared Diamond(I'm the worst teenager ever)
Roach traps
spoons(...?)
a laundry hamper
cough drops
sinus meds( I get sinus headaches somethin fierce)
envelopes
and other various goodies that I cant tell you because they're hilarious to my mother and I and you wouldnt get them because you dont know her(hows that for a statement?)

Unfortunartly there was no money in the boxes, nor were there helper monkeys, or a petition to see Suri Cruise(seriously though, where the fuck is she?), but my mom tries her hardest and you gotta love her for it.

I'm off to the beach to get another sunburn, but I'm not getting naked. Been there, done that.

Bob: the other parent

So I know that I have a sort of biased attraction to older men. I'm aware of this, and dont sweat it too much. I get along with people older than me much better than with peope my own age. I go to great lengths to aviod conversations like the following:

Tween #1: Oh. My. God. stacie did you know that Brad and Debbie are dating again?

Tween #2[with ipod still plugged into head]: No. Way. I cant believe that!!! Its only been like 3 milla-seconds since he broke up with kimberly!!!!

Tween #1: He even told her he likes her more than just friends, and she let him borrow her copy of "the Notebook".

Tween #2[still with ipod]: That sound really serious. Poor kimberly.

Tween #1[unsympathetic]: Look, kimberly kinda deserved it though, I mean she's such a slut for what she did to Jim.

Tween #2: I guess you have a point, but Jim has such a rockin body.



If I ever talk like that please shoot me.

But on with the story.

So the 4 people who read this know that I lost my debit card yesterday. I got a phone call from Bob, I informed him of my lack of dinero. And he starts telling me about some teenage girl from Jersey who got raped and murdered behind a dumpster in Chelsea. It's sad I understand that, and I'm aware of how dangerous this city is, I already told him about my bad night.

Now I refuse to freudenize my attraction to older men, mostly because the idea of secretly wanting to fuck my dad is both distrubing and makes think a better idea would be shitting out of my mouth and then eating it.

And secondly, I didnt move 1,000 miles away from my parents to aquire a second one. I mean if I wanted to be lectured about the dangers of New York City all I would have to do is call home. Where the right after "Hi honey" and "How are you" I'll be asked "So you werent mugged today were you?" I'm no idiot, I just dropped my debit card, not my fucking lung.

And then the thing that really preplexed me was as soon as he finished scolding me, he invited me to the beach again. I still cant tell if I'm brown or red. I told him I'd think about it. Though I dont think he heard the slight "are you fucking kidding me?" condisention in my voice.