Just another night in New York

OK, so I get out of work at about 10:00 Thursday night and I feel the gravitational pull of home. But one of my best friends at work, Tommy, is at Antarctica (the bar, not the desert) pounding out a few to celebrate his last day at the agency. Plus, I was the keeper of the going away Hallmark card, and as such, was the designated mailman. So I make a right instead of a left upon exiting Saatchi, and head toward the bar. I should have known better.

I make the three block hike to Antarctica and immediately see 15-20 friends knocking back shots. Uh oh. I’m served a Grey Goose and tonic with lime within about 5 seconds and deliver the card. Tommy feigns emotion, reads the card and signatures and starts laughing his ass off. By the time he’s done, I’m on GG#2. So much for being a good boy.

Cut to half-an-hour later: all the girls leave to go to a Chelsea bar. Tommy and I top off a weak Sambuka shot with a stinging Wild Turkey. Sufficiently buzzed, we decide to cab it north to surprise the girls.

Cut to an hour and 5 cell phone calls later: We’re circling the block of 18th and 5th for the third time looking for the girls. The keep telling us we’re in the right neighborhood. We’ve stopped in a dive bar twice to keep the buzz going while regaining our bearings.
Finally, we find them. The clouds parted, the angels sang, hugs were traded.

Phase II of partying started (it’s 1:30 now). I’ve given up on catching the last train home. For compensation, I get to see secret tattoos of our girlfriends. Some gaudy, some discrete, some flat out meant for target practice. We do a round of shots and the girls are slurring. We get them cabs and send them to safety.

3:00 AM now: Tommy and I are stumbling and hailing a cab. We flag one and make our way to his place in Brooklyn. I get the couch and it’s morning before I get a chance to dream. I’m at work half-an-hour later. I presented three video concepts and a managed care strategy within the span of two hours. Called it a half-day Friday for the team and was home by 3:30. Asleep soon after. I guess it was a night to remember, but I’m sure some looming evening will surpass it.

Either way, I think I’ve gotten about as much out of NYC as one can expect.

Blow this off at your will. Otherwise, understand me. Take life three months at a time

Four times a year
certain reverence
reveals the cumulative
sum of adoration and
desperation and elation
and consternation.
I sink into that lake now,
once again not knowing
if I will resurface.
I just blank out and,
if I’m lucky, reawake
on my own with a day
or two to regroup.
If not, I wake up in
a hospital fighting
my way out with
rabid teeth and swinging limbs.
I see the silverfish
before my eyes tonight
and I feel the grip
toward reality slipping
with an umbilical slice.
I usually resign myself
to a degree of emergence
banked upon waking up
knowing less than I knew
the three months before.
I’m only seeing it now.
That bodes bad.
That’s why my life
comes in three month chunks.

Reckless recommendations

Tommy, the dude who joined my team at work a mere six months ago and is already departing to bigger and better things a bit uptown, mentioned that he noticed a new book on my desk every week. He wondered if that had anything to do with my fucked up brain.

All I could say was, “Yup.”

He asked for a list of what I’d read over the past six months. I gave him a year. I conveniently had my blog entry from 5/16/08 ready to print. I hope he goes for the Palahniuk stuff first. The post-Palahniuk stuff is when it starts to get weird. And if you’ve ever read Palahniuk, that’s saying something.

Morning

I’m getting way to good at the NYC subway system. Brooklynites are starting to ask me how to get to the Upper West Side. Funny thing is, I take cabs. And town cars. Or, if it’s reasonable, I walk depending on where in post 4 AM Brooklyn I am.) I think (I suspect) it might have something to do with negotiating the after hour alleys and knowing that secret knock. You emerge an hour-and-a-half later and the same people who were following you are still waiting there. I never envisioned myself being in these shoes a few years ago. Ugh.

Accelerate

Sometimes you can't wait for the world to catch up with you. And not let it stop you from accelerating further and faster.

Another nail in the coffin of work

Spent part of the week in Chicago -- actually Des Plains, IL. Uggh. Boring. Maybe San Diego will be better. Not just because it's San Diego...it's a little closer to Cabo than Des Plains. McDonalds museum vs. tequila shots on the beach with bikini babes. Do the homework. Do the math. Where am I more likely to bump into someone who likes me?

It was the weirdest thing...I had this song going through my head all day, You're Missing, by Bruce. But it was the cover version by Cowboy Junkies. The whole week was a fucking dream. I fell asleep on the train and missed my stop. Ended up wandering around Little Silver for a little while before my ride came to rescue me. My ride? A girl cop who recognized me from another time. Hot. Young. Packing heat. And she had a gun. She made sure I made it well into my place safely. But it was weird hearing the Shrewsbury cops trading off color jokes on their walkie talkies...I heard some not right things.

Tattoo + permanent = Phoenix

What did her tiny, seemingly random tattoos mean? As she was filing my nail (not a euphemism), THAT'S what I was thinking. THAT'S what held me back. It was my inherent shyness, deboldended by her comments toward my at then chubbiness, that silenced me.

I withdrew and still have yet to re-emerge. I wanted to kiss, bond, slither and breathe warm thoughts. She wanted to fix my finger. I had the shortview. She had the longview. I saw it in mirror opposite that night.

Wonder what it would be like with a tattoo. Have one in mind. Actually, have had it whispering to me for 15 years. Maybe not. If so, I'd be ID'd in porno. Hmmmm. CR once expressed getting one near her pussy. Might as well install a doorbell. How unstealth can one be? One tattoo photo, a flicker pic, busted. Forever. That's why I don't have a tattoo. I can think more than 6 weeks ahead.

For the record

Amazingly, there are still 5 or 6 friends with whom I maintain somewhat differing degrees of contact with since that stretch of 4 days. To me, that is astonishing. Nancy wouldn’t believe it, were she awake to see it. Three have asked that I record the days with paper and ink. One or two touch base to make sure my pulse surges within reason. One stays firmly at arm’s length.

Early months of 2004 to now revisited! (aka: Close Cover Before Striking)TM

Drove home from the hospital/jail on my own power, liberated by a gang of stupid douche bag so called psychologists or whatever.

They didn’t believe it was my shiny red car out the window view until I crawled into it. I can’t imagine how disheartening/liberating it must have made them feel. They watched me out of that 4th floor window facing north. I had my car key on me, so I was able to go directly from insane to pilot of a fast red car with the grace of an idiot shrink signature. Dad met me at my front door with the house key I gave him, we went in and turned off the TV that had been on for four days.

We fed Lefty.

We went to the diner. I ate part of an egg. Dad had a meal. Dad dropped me back off.

The next few months were all weird words and side three of the Wall. Can you show me where it hurts? No, not yet. This is not how I am.

Then I quit the Nelson Pharma "writing" job.

Then Lanmark rehired me.

Then I worked at Lanmark for a year.

Then she came.

Then we went back to my apt. A few afternoons in a summer where air conditioning was essential. Not many. Maybe 5 or 6. Just that many three hour Friday afternoon breaks of furious lunch.

Then, horror.

Then affection.

Then forever-everlasting nothing.

Whew. That was close.

Then Nancy died.
That was a fucking curveball.

Then I went to NYC. For more pharma "writing".

The blanks to fill in will eventually run a mile of printed words. Don't worry. Names will be changed.

The Ravenous Weekly Reader

OK, here's a list of books I've read, absorbed, cradled, craved-- at the expense of getting layed-- over the past--oh, say, since last summer. I've added a couple at the end that are on deck. I have a google site in its emergent (beta) stages that delves more deeply into my response to these books, but here's all that I can recall. Some are powerful, some are gimmicky, some are poetry, some are movies, some are mind-bending enough to make you laugh, cry, scream and die at once within one tenth of a second.

The list might start slow, the sequence might be a little off, but it builds...

In most cases, the format runs as follows: Title - Author (comment/reaction)

Done:

The I Chong – Tommy Chong (amusing, sad, stonerish)
The Psycho Ex Game – Merril Markoe, Andie Prieboy (OK, I get it, in a good way)

The Water In Between – Kevin Patterson (ADVENTURE! TAN!)

Special Topics in Calamity Physics – Marisha Pessl (fascinating, fine-tuned, brilliant, astonishing)

The Kite Runner – Kahled Hosseini (heartbreaking insight, mainstream)

An Unquiet Mind – Kay Redfield Jamison (woah, get out of my head)

Tumble Home - Amy Hempel (courtly, bangable)

Reasons to Live – Amy Hempel (hot insight, wish she were single)

Where I’m Calling From - Raymond Carver (LA)

The Dying Animal – Philip Roth (my cock will be a rock for many years)

Fac-to-tum - Charles Bukowski (LA, drunk)

Tijuana Straits – Kem Nunn (LA, Mexico, surfing, yearning)
Tapping the Source – Kem Nunn (LA, surfing, Point Break)

Choke - Chuck Palahniuk (manipulation)
Survivor - Chuck Palahniuk (anticipation)

Into The Wild – Jon Krakauer (alone, with new friends)
Innocent When You Dream (The Tom Waits Reader) – Mac Montandon (Ed.) (rare intellect and creativity)
Drinking, Smoking and Screwing – Sara Nickles (Ed.) (justification, rock star)

White Noise - Don DeLillo (astonishing, prophetic)

On the Road – Jack Kerouac (fun, fast, furious, rock star)

On Chesil Beach – Ian McEwan (sad, slow, vainglorious, non-rock star in a good way)

Doghouse Roses – Steve Earle (Dude!, rock star)

Uncle Tungsten – Oliver Sacks (learned)

The Road - Cormac McCarthy (prophetic, profound, astonishing)

Between Here and the Yellow Sea – Nic Pizzolatto (fresh, a new voice)

No Country For Old Men – Cormac McCarthy (bloody, fast, delicious)

Requiem for a Dream – Hubert Selby (heartbreaking, heartbreaking, affirming)

The Gathering – Anne Enright (sad, funny, profound, fast, enlightening, Irish)
The Dead - James Joyce (sad, funny, profound, slow, disheartening, Irish)

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius – Dave Eggers (title says it all, Toph, astonishing)

Life After God – Douglas Coupland (contemplation, bite-sized, delicious)
You Shall Know Our Velocity – Dave Eggers (perhaps the most original string of words to date, contemplative)
Miss Wyoming - Douglas Coupland (engaging, mysterious, mature, happy, rock star, TAN)

In progress:
Ask the Dust – John Fante (so far...undecided, but get out of my head)

On Deck:
The Raw Shark Texts – Steven Hall

Rant - Chuck Palahniuk

How We Are Hungry – Dave Eggers

Close Cover Before Striking - Yo!

1 book every 1.5 weeks (52/34)
1 book every 10.7 days (365/34)

(As of 5/16/08)

Devouring words

After finishing You Shall Know Our Velocity, by Dave Eggers, I belly-flopped with abandon into Miss Wyoming, by Douglass Coupland. Yes, I have a thing for contemporary, transgressive fiction. I believe I’ve covered that in a previous post or two. At least I’m not neck deep in self-help, Chicken Soup pablum, analytical, fake fortune-telling business porn; or the sappy, crappy, weepy, creepy, sleepy Jane Austen-wannbe pulp. I know what I like and I like what I know. It's one o'clock and time for lunch,
When the sun beats down and I lie on the bench,
I can always hear them talk.

There's always been Ethel:
"Jacob, wake up! You've got to tidy your room now."
And then Mister Lewis:
"Isn't it time that he was out on his own?"
Over the garden wall, two little lovebirds - cuckoo to you!
Keep them moving blades sharp...

I know what I like, and I like what I know;
getting better in your wardrobe, stepping one beyond your show.

Sunday night, Mr Farmer called, said:
"Listen son, you're wasting your time; there's a future for you
in the fire escape trade. Come up to town!"
But I remebered a voice from the past;
"Gambling only plays when you're winning"
- I had to thank old Miss Mort for schooling a failure.
Keep them moving blades sharp...

I know what I like, and I like what I know;
getting better in your wardrobe, stepping one beyond your show.

When the sun beats down and I lie on the bench,
I can always hear them talk.
Me, I'm just a lawnmower - you can tell me by the way I walk. Glad I got that out of my system. Thank you, God, I mean, Peter Gabriel.

Time to Bolt

Boltin’ Time

A new ritual seems to have evolved at work. It’s called Boltin Time. When a certain few of us hit a certain stress threshold, we cue up How Am I Supposed to Live Without You, the scintillatingly luscious love anthem by the master baritone balladeer, Michael Bolton.

How can I possibly describe the hope and longing and regret not just embedded into the power of the song, but into the subliminal coding it imparts onto the overworked, fucked up, vulnerable brain.

Heather belts it like Freddie Mercury imitating a drag queen.

Austin belts it as if begging for change.

Tommy belts it like a football player at karaoke (real stretch there, Tom),

and me, I channel my inner Bono. Sunglasses and all. Did I mention we power the said song through speakers that weigh more than an air conditioner, and at volume 11?

Our co-workers must love us.

The 13th floor called. They asked that we turn it down.

We totally rock out.

You have never seen such collectively passionate lip-synching, gyrating and overall overdone emoting. We have yet to see how this ritual matures. So far, so gooooooood.

Guaranteed Eternal Sanctuary Man

Slipped into the Town Car at 6 am last Friday for transport to a 7:30 flight to O’Hare.

I was scheduled to be in Chicago for an 11 am meeting.

To be honest, I was hoping the flight would be delayed, thus forcing me to miss the meeting due to circumstances beyond control. No such luck.

Next thing I knew was in the lobby of the client’s building. On time. Early, actually, sifting through my notes and getting my nerve up to present the keystone of a launch campaign. I guess that’s why they pay me real live money.

The clock struck 11 and I was summoned to a conference room filled to the gills with clients and fellow employees, all licking their lips waiting for me to fuck up.

I didn’t fuck up.

The meeting was over in two hours and I slipped into a taxi with my fellow creatives and account chicks. We were on our way back to O’Hare for a 4 pm flight to LaGuardia. There were 5 of us.

We got to the airport and the flight is already delayed 2 hours. Fuck. We go through security and hit the bar. Sufficiently buzzed and satiated, we go to the gate. Flight delayed. No other info. Around that time we saw lightning flashes and thunder over the runways.

That’s always a good sign.

Let’s just say we got to know O’Hare’s concourse B very well. For the next ten hours we drank milkshakes, read each other’s magazines, were told our taco horiscope (don’t ask), changed gates, saw our flight cancelled. Ran, as a group, to the only Jet Blue gate in the airport, bought our own tickets, watched some California hippies set up a hammock, and slept.

After about 7 hours together, we also went to the Chilli’s, where the theme song from Dawson’s Creek was playing. No combination of words and music could have sucked more. I mentioned to Alyssa, my AE friend, that this was the perfect song for our situation. Have you ever seen a hot chick laugh wildly with a mouth full of nachos and guac?

We boarded our Jet Blue flight at 12:30 am. I got home at 6 am, EST. I had to be at work later that day, at 10 am. I overslept and was late. The rest of the week got worse. I don’t think I want to be a writer anymore.

Streetlight People.

Choice, association and communion. Not to mention tires and jackets. See the clues? Get it?
Much more effective than my last Jersey post.
Last.

Jeez, this was about a year ago, already. Time flies when you're.

Blue view zoo

I’ve only recently discovered that a lot of people cannot process what I write here. Secret blog. The clues are cues that bring the news.

Same as it ever was

Holding my breath

Hit by a doctor again today. Bad news. I have to be a good boy.
No drink, No drugs forever. My world is splitting. Maybe in a cool way. Maybe I will not die in my sleep, after all.
At the very least I have an open future. Is that worth anything?

Music Box

“You stand there with your fixed expression, casting doubt on all I have to say!” – Gabriel

Is this my tiny audience? The friends that are truly breathtakingly so grand? Or do I branch out? Hmmmmm.

Do I stay underground or go mainstream? Did you know me when?