Pawning for sleep

So tired. Too much cancer to deal with. Too much oxy. Too much valium. Too much Tommy James and the Shondells (That's a lie. One can never get too much of Tom and the Shons). One too many 42" broken flat screen TVs due to over use. (12 hours a night for 7 years. And then some). One too many 10" old-fashioned TVs to take its place. Strangely, the cute little 10" bugger is kinda cool. I can't read the channel line-up from 10 feet away, but the ambient light and the sound are fine. I guess my communication professors in college were right. TV is an aural medium. Try watching Pawn Stars without sound. It's friggin' trippy.

Tesla's kitchen

Have you ever seen a microwave go through its death throes? It is absolutely spectacular. It's like a Tesla experiment next to your sink.

It happened to me this week. I got this microwave in 1988. It lasted 24 years. On Wednesday, I put a cup of soup in it for 3:00. It immediately (the microwave, not the soup) began arcing, popping, and smoking. It was so cool.) Alas, I had to unplug it and improvise blacksmith tools to remove the soup. I taped it up and saluted it for 24 years of wonderful service. The damn thing fed me longer than my mom.

Things to do while alone in NYC

Lynn has been working insane hours lately. Even more insane than the 70 hour-per-week usual. I haven't seen her since Wednesday. It's beginning to get lonely. And that NEVER happens to guys. I thought we were going to hang on Saturday, but she had to make an unexpected visit to see her cousin. Today, her computer broke, and she had to rush out of her apartment without calling or knocking on my door. Had I known things would have turned out as such, I would have gone to D.C. for my nephew's 8th birthday. I wanted to be here in case she she had a chemo relapse. So, it's just me, NYC, Pawn Stars, Sunday football, making songs on Garage Band (that's a whole 'nother entry), and seeing how long I can grow my hair.

Truth should trump time

OK, so it's been a really long time since I've posted. Actually, I've been IMming people related to my old Saatchi job. For some reason, they're calling me to partner up with me to get jobs. Guess there's safety in numbers. Especially if you're one of a zillion graphic designers looking to pair up with an employable copy director. In this economy, with this negative focus on the pharma industry, and this ridiculous expectation for making money by transmitting lies about drugs from drug manufacturers. I don't like lying. I wish I could get paid for writing the truth.

Plankton

Went to the dentist today to get my implants checked out. They were fine, but I had a fart brewing in me for about an hour before the next appointment.  I held it in. In spurts.  But when I got out it tornadowed like a mother fucker on 6^th ave. Then I got on the subway downtown. And, wouldn’t you know it, the damn thing started brewing again. I started bloating like a gulping belly whale.

I got out at 15^th St. and went to the dermatologist. My stomach started making noises like a garbage disposal eating a bicycle chain. Then I started to try to cough away the farts…as in aheeeehhhhhheeeeeeemmmmmmm-fffffffffff-ttttttt. Stank.

I got called in to my appointment and came out skin cancer-free. But I had a fart in me like a 13-month old baby.

So I pay my bill while squeezing my cheeks. Then I casually, tight-cheekeked, strolled out.  I hit 6^th Ave and the air FLIES. I walked two whole blocks with my ass farting. It was glorious. I felt like I gave birth to a baby gas giant planet.

This is what it seemed like walking from 15^th St to 16^th St: FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFhhhhhhhhhhhhhhbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbhhhhhhhttttttttttttttttttttttttrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhpppppppppppp. This is what it felt like: “Phrt.” Squeek?

Saw The Afghan Whigs alone and Lotion with Joe last week. I have stories to tell. Stay tuned. Joe is one cooooool duuuude. Gin? JD? Eggplant? Pepperoni? Chicken? A mile walk to the 1 train? A night on my couch? This man can adapt.

Controlled substance, dangerous unless used as directed

I’ve had bronchitis for the past dozen days and I’m getting sick and tired of coughing. I went to the doctor last week and got a Zithro pack and some codeine. Normally that does the trick. Not this time. Had to go back today because the coughing is to the point where if it doesn’t nearly suffocate me, it keeps me up at night. So I go back to the doctor. He gives me an amped up level of antibiotics and some grade AAA kush cough syrup. This shit had me tripping for the better part of this afternoon and evening. I’m still treading on it in a tiny tidal pool somewhere near the back of my conscience. This is the best buzz I’ve had in a decade. This is plush. And I haven’t coughed in hours. Zippety do dah, this shit rocks.

Blond on Blonde

Just got one of the best/weirdest/coolest emails ever. It was from a girl I was best friends with during my senior year in high school. She was a foreign exchange student from Holland. Tall, skinny blonde, etc…We were like brother and sister, except we made out with each other sometimes. It wasn’t gross, though. We were not related.

July's Hazy Laziness

It's July. It's hazy out there. This is the perfect time for motives. Or air conditioning. And video games. And Netflix streaming. And emailing old girlfriends. And getting returns. And doing laundry before the sun hits the stinging point. And spending time in the freezer section of the market looking for those looking for meals for one. And lip synching Hot Rocks instead of listening to Coldplay.

The boys are back in town

I did other things to be me. I took up surfing. I played in some amateur baseball leagues. I acted in plays. I played in bands. I partied.  Like those things, writing came naturally. I went for the money in pharma advertising. No wife, no life, no independence, no permanence, no obligating presence, no retribution, no construction. No complaining. Except for wanting to be outside more. 

Teenage Fanclub

Xxxx,

That email you sent was epic. I can’t address everything in one response, but here is my reply. My hope is that we can have a continuing conversation.

I’ve been working in the city for the past decade. My profession is, and had been since college, medical advertising.  I write snappy headlines and copy to sell pharmaceuticals.

In a grand miscalculated equation, it seemed as a way to define myself.

The writing came easy. It’s in the family genetics. But don’t even ask how I learned the science. The mystery is beyond all but a chemistry teacher at HHS. Mrs. Grocott once kindly gave me a B instead of a C on my report card because I drew a picture of a stick-figure cat instead of answering a question on a test.  Somehow, drawing that cat as a 16-year old tilted the deck in my favor. I’m still drawing stick figure cats.

Anyway, as to how I got to NYC… I was living in Red Bank, NJ and sacrificing 4 hours a day to ride trains to and from the city.  It gave me time to read a lot, but I could feel the leeching of time in in a micro and macro sense. So I quit my job, packed my surfboard, and travelled to Mexico, Costa Rica, Jamaica, and Antigua.

After my grand tour of the tropics, I came home and chilled at the beach for a year.  My girlfriend, Lynn, had a place in the city and would visit on weekends.  An apartment in her building opened up and I took it to be closer to her and where the business is.

But I’ve painted myself into a corner. At the age of 45, I’m disgusted with the professional path I committed to 20 years ago.  It’s not exactly the writing gig I, or my professors had in mind.

I decided to get in touch because of a dream. All my friends had died and I was the only one at the funeral. I was surrounded in a Mandelbrot set of spiraling caskets. I awoke sweating, feeling weak in the haze of the heat. I remembered you and how much laughter and drama and fun and teenage closeness we had in such a concentrated touch of time.

After that dream, and after I reached out to you, a great friend of mine killed himself. He jumped off a cliff at Rockefeller Lookout at Palisades Interstate Park. He was suffering greatly from MS. It broke me, Xxxx.

We are — here on out — going to be losing more friends than we gain. Let’s at least keep in touch with the one’s we truly have.

PK