Coldest NYC day in 5 years?

By what metrics? Fahrenheit-wise, sure, it is ball-shriveling cold.

Walking down Sixth Ave. today, I couldn’t fucking breathe.

You know what? Fuck that and the wind that blows with it.

I get glances thrown my way in the midst of July that leave me yearning for mittens and a scarf way more than today.

I’m trying to decide which is worse. To shiver or to sweat.

I think I’d rather shiver.

Why? Shivering is easier to suppress and seems more associated with the sympathetic nervous system. Sweating can always be seen as a defect of the parasympathetic nervous system. E.g., to shiver is almost always perceived as a reaction to an external environment while to sweat is perceived as either a reaction to Cambodia-like weather or some kind of internal fault.

I think I belong in California.

BTW, see the pic above? This river 'landing" happened right outside my office. Just thought I'd throw that in. It was fucked up.

Thankfully, no casualties. That water is COLD.

OK, maybe I shouldn't have licked that stamp

I think that this album, Mercury Rev's "The Secret Migration", might be a cool one to listen to while tripping. Reminds me too much of that weird summer of '05, though. That was the season I had my shit together, 'cept for the relationship with that girl. Oops.

Cafe Girl

I’m quite sad this week, and will be for the next few. The sting of emotion that has led up to and that ever plays a part in this fucking public theater is lodged in my mind like a quiver of Chinese darts leaden with poisonous discordant pianos. I miss her. My brain is screaming. The anniversary of her departure is Tuesday. Cancer sucks.

Ahh, the memories are priceless...

Here’s a little snippet from the early 2004 catalogue. Just found it on my dresser while readying my bedroom for the big hotel mattress/sleigh bed delivery. I remember that the pencil I used to write this was noticeably dull…Enjoy!



Dear K_____,

I mooched a pencil and some paper from one of the people who work here. They gave me sleeping pills, but they don’t really work on me. That’s why I’m up writing you an old-fashioned letter.

I wish I could be anywhere in the world right now but here. This is the last place I need to be. Being home with Lefty right now is what will help me deal with things the most.

Many of the people who work here are pretty nasty. These people actually think I would hurt myself. It’s not like I’ve lost any will to live. Not even close. But explaining things to them is a lost cause. They hear what they want to hear. All I wanna do is go home. Keeping me at this place only makes me more anxious. They don’t realize that here.

Tanzanian Chestnut Tarantula in a plastic food tub
baby blonde-leg tarantula in a potato salad deli cup.

“The hairs of the Mexican blonde tarantula are adopted to irritate only the nasal passages of the grasshopper mouse—a job they do so well that can kill the rodent.”—Discover Magazine, Feb., 2004

A nurse said to me tonight, “Honey, I don’t know what you did, but I bet you looked good doing it. Eye candy, we’re gonna keep you here.”

Mind as a cheese
Velveta as a word
Scrabble tile as a wallflower
Still, I’m the first to ask for a dance

Every minute you keep me here is another minute you delay my recovery.

Regards,

-me

Jets-Wow!

Over the course of my 2-week holiday, I forgot about the debacle that is the New York Jets. My beloved, bemoaned, besotted-with-ever-vaporizing-glory football team that is an annual accident waiting to happen.

The Jets have an ability to suck to the occasion like few teams in the history of professional sports.

After bathing in their autumnal glory (would THIS be the year they finally make it to a modern Super Bowl?), I was quickly reminded of their ineptitude upon returning to work.

I got smacked around for a while by the Giant and Patriot fans. You see, the Jets collapsed and are yet again on the hunt for a new QB and head coach.

I have the perfect candidate for both jobs.

Vince, the spokes-spaz for ShamWow. Vince will motivate the team (as a star QB should), sell an offense (as an NFL-caliber coach should), and pull nickels out of his ear while blabbering sweet sound bites (for the New York press.)

That’s my strategy and I’m sticking to it.

I’ll just be sitting here waiting for the owners of the Jets to call and ask for my opinion.

Overwhelming

Derailed at an early age. Derailed again at a later age.

So the answer is to go to a doctor. Why? When a train is derailed, does it go to a doctor? No, it gets put back on track. People make sure the track is OK, not the train.

I could barely drive home today. I knew the happiest time of my life was over. And I’m done. I have nothing but motions to look forward to. I promise I will learn from my mistakes. For your sake. I’m scared about the future. I’m incomplete. I’m left like this, like this self-destructive vessel of ever-melting molten wax, ready to drop and melt into the floor where everyone has stomped before, ignored, and nothing’s making sense anymore.

Awkward was not even close to the word.

It was worse than a first date but with the tension of a tenth consecutive pro-longated, 4-hour orgasm. Like being on the porno set with the cameras rolling. Gotta make it happen. Gotta use all the tricks up my sleeve. Gotta swirl her into perfect position. Gotta point her toward the love she’s streaming for.

Happy New Year to me

Just scored my first new bed in 20 years. The sales guy wanted to know if I would be willing to donate the old one to the Smithsonian.

The answer was, "No."

Neither for posterity nor for stem cell research.

This is where it all happens

I'll leave "it" undefined for now.

Toasty looking inside, eh?

Hope so, because the wind chill was -4 last night.

5,6,7,8,9

Ain’t nothing but another fucking new year. Just like last year and the year before. Only with a new number.