I'm boned

I think I might have broken my foot last weekend when I was in Philadelphia. Well, maybe more fractured than out and out broken as I have been able to walk on it all week. Not a serious fracture, but still, it hurts and isn't completely symetrical with the other foot (there is a bump on the left foot - the potentially fractured foot - that isn't on the right) and the bruise isn't healing as fast as I would like.

Thing is, I have no health insurance, I don't work enough hours at Starbucks to get it through them, and I can't afford it on my own. So I have to try and find a free clinic or something much cheaper than a regular doctor. My mom suggested just going to the emergency room.

My response (sarcastically): Yeah, because the emergency room doesn't charge a tremendous amount of money.

Her: Then what to people without medical insurance do when they go to the emergency room?

Me: They go into debt, which is why many people don't go to the doctor, they pay their rent and buy food instead.

Her: Oh.

So here I am about to try and find a free clinic or something that I can go to, because I don't want my foot to be screwed up for the rest of my life. And if I have to go to a regular doctor (not that I'm not saying free clinic doctors aren't real, because they are), I will. It's just that I probably won't be able to afford going to a doctor and getting all the x-rays and casts and everything, and then fly out to Winnipeg for the wedding I plan on going to.

So either way, I'm boned.

Shhh... I'm hunting Wabits

Brooklyn, for reasons beyond my understanding, remains a very romantacized borough in my head. Queens was never that mysterious, and Manahattan - though intimidating - never had that same romantic quality. Which is not to say there is no romance in Manahattan, there is plenty of romance about the isle; just not the same type of romance found to my south. Staten Island is plain and seems very suburban, while The Bronx holds no appeal to me what so ever. It's all about Brooklyn.

When I think of Brooklyn I can't help but picture every last Jewish New York story. In my mind they all occur in Brooklyn. And it's always the 1930's or 40's. This is partly due to Woody Allen and Martin Scorcese, but mostly due to listening to all my grandparents stories, and the stories of all the old men and women in my father's synogogue, hearing them regail about their youth in that particular boro. It reeks of the immigrant experience so much more so than the other boroughs, and as such, has a romanticized appeal. I can't really explain it.

Which is why I was so overwhehlmed yesterday walking on the Coney Island Boardwalk, then catching a Coney Island Cyclones game. Coney Island - the place where all our grandfathers took all our grandmothers (and potential grandmothers) out on dates; to ride the rides, see the sites, smell the ocean. The cyclone roller coster, or the wonder wheel ferris wheel, or the parachute jump whose name I don't know, and which has since closed down.

My foot still hurts, but I forced myself to walk around as much as I could, as if I was in some sort of magic wonderland rather than a mildly delapidated urban beach. The smell of the Original Nathan's hotdog stand (established 1916 - and if you've ever been to NY you know what Nathan's is) wafted through the salty air, causing me to desire to break my vegitarian habits and wolf down a hotdog with everything on it (well maybe not sourkraut).

I wish I could say that the Baseball game was exciting, but the Cyclones are a horrible, horrible team this year. They lost their first game to the the Staten Island Yankees 18-0, and last night lost again 5-2. So I guess they are at least going in the right direction. The park, however, was gorgeous, small, maybe 9000 seats, and not a single bad one in the house. We sat about seventeen rows up a little past first base but not quite yet right field. I really wish I was a better writer and could describe the experience in it's fullest and romanticized glory, but really I just had a good time.

Oh yeah, the reason for this posts title check this out.

I can't come up with good title

It's very sunny outside. It's sunny outside and I'm having a panic attack.

This morning was uneventful.

I ordered "the skeleton key" on HBO on demand. It wasn't very good.

It's sunny outside and I have to go to work in about a half hour.

I walked to the library. I need reading material for the ride down to Philadelphia this weekend. I walked because it's just that nice outside. It's really very nice.

I'm wearing new jeans that I think might be girl jeans due to the way the bottom of the legs are all frayed. They are only frayed in the front around the cuffs, not the back. It bothers me that pants now come pre-frayed, but that's not why I'm having a panic attack. It's just a little thing.

But it's sunny outside and as the pants fit pretty well, I'm not going to really worry as to whether they are girl jeans or not (I'm pretty sure not as they are maked 30 x 30 and not in some girl size). Soon I'm going to have to change my pants because I have to go to work and jeans are not allowed at Starbucks.

On the way home from the library, under the bright, bright sun, I had to sit down on the curb just to keep from hyperventilating.

I'm not an emotional guy, unless you count awkward as an emotion, then I'd be incredibly emotional. Really though I'm more dead pan. Not that I don't have emotions, I just don't really show them, doubly so when I'm uncomfortable and awkward (i.e the majority of my life).

I haven't been sleeping well all week. Lots of weird dreams. Most of them involve me running away or hurting people I love then crying about it, but that sounds lame and I'm not going to get into it.

I threw my back out on Sunday helping to clean out the garage (that's not a dream, it happened, though I wish it was only a dream). Apparently six encyclopidia judaicas are heavy and you shouldn't try to lift them all at once, especially not with your back. I learned that the hard way.

On Monday none of the other interns showed up at work and I was swamped. And my back hurt. But that really has nothing to do with the panic attack.

I opened on Tuesday, it's a pain, but not really a big deal.

Wenesday was fine.

Today it's sunny outside. It's been cloudy or rainy all week long and now it's sunny out. It's kinda cheesy really, but that has only a little to do with the panic attack.

Today, not so long ago, J_ called and asked if she could meet me outside. I brushed my teeth, changed out of my pajama's, turned off The Skeleton Key (I missed the last five minutes) put on some deoderant and walked out onto the front stoop.

J_, in my book is always adorable, and today was no exception.

Anyway, I've known for a little while that there is some guy out there with whom J_ is infatuated. She's mentioned said guy in the past but never who he was. Today I found out.

Today, under the bright sun, on my front stoop I found out it was me.

Her lips quivered and she did her best (and over all succeeded) to choke back emotion, as I sat her down.

"The thing is," I said, "I like you too. A lot. A lot a lot." I said in almost a complete deadpan. "But...." And I paused because I had no idea what to say next. Should I ask her out, should I leave it be? I'm eight years older than her. She just graduated high school last week.

"It's OK, you can say it, I'm a trooper." She said (and here is were she almost didn't succeed in choking back her emotion, but she is as she says, a trooper). And that was when my heart broke. I never before in my entire life wanted to grab onto someone and never let go like I did at that moment.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say." I said. She smiled, very encouraging. "But..." I continued still deadpan (damn I'm a jackass), "it doesn't freak you out I'm that much older than you, or that anything we might have has an experation date when you go off to college in the end of the summer?" Because those were the big concerns floating around in my head, two of the biggest reasons (the first more than the second) that I hadn't said or done anything before (also I'm a coward).

Apparently these were only my issues.

So I asked her out. And she said yes. And then I kissed her. And then she had to go because she was having lunch with freinds, and I had to go to the bank and the library, and buy a gift for my freind, all before I start work (in 12 minutes - I'm going to be late). So I'm calling her on Monday to arrange said date.

First I think I was a bit too forward with the kiss, and that's the first issue. The second, I'm eight years older than her and I feel like a skeeze. If I wasn't me I'd be making fun of me behind my back. It just seems wrong. So on my way back from the library I had to sit down because I was having a panic attack. Literally, I was hyperventilating and freaking out.

I finally got home, and called my freind Charlie, who helped talk me down. Charlie is possibly the coolest ever. "Well the fact that you feel so weird about it all is proof you aren't a skeeze." She said.

"Yeah, but what about when I stop feeling weird about it?"

And she laughed and didn't have an answer, which was cool, because I didn't call to get an answer and she knew t hat. Charlie is just cool that way, and I felt better after I hung up.

Then I wrote this post.

And now, still freaking out (but no longer in a panic attack), I have to change and run to work, and I wonder (as J_ and I work together) how much of this do my fellow co-workers know?

And I freak out all over again.

Because Rawbean asked

From August 25th until the 27th I shall be in Winnipeg, Manitoba. I have a wedding to attend (and I really should RVSP) on the 27th and I'm awfully excited.

And for any other stalkers who need to be updated as to my plans, I shall be in Phillidelphia from June 16th until the 18th for a bachelor weekend for the groom of the aforementioned wedding up in Canada.

Philly is all set, there's about five of us all crashing at a freinds place.

Canada is a entirely different sotry. I need to find cheap airfare to and then cheap accomidations while in the frozen north. I'm still waiting for the day when instant teleportation is both technologically viable and cheap enough for the public to use. That and flying cars. Man, that would be sweet.

Things to do before the wedding: find a good dry cleaners for my suit, get my shoes shined, and maybe buy a nice new shirt and tie. Also find out where they are registered (dear god please somewhere that has an outlet in Northeast USA) and buy a wedding present. But I still have plenty of time (said the hare right before he took a nap in the middle of the race).

Note To Self:

On days scheduled to open Starbucks (5:30 AM), DON'T drive out with freinds to Long Beach that same evening, especially if you don't know how to navigate through Long Island.

Addendum: Go back to Long Beach when better rested.

Also, I hate the beach, but love the ocean. Someone should develop a snow shoe but for sand to keep ones feet (and shoes) from being drenched in sand.

So Very Tired.

Not quite duck soup

It's important to have a destination. Even if the journey is where the fun is found, without a destination one won't know when to stop, or how far to go before turning around.

I am an idiot.

Case in point:

Last Thursday I went for a walk with J_ after work. We had tried to originize a group outing to the local pond for a late afternoon picnic and to feed the ducks. All our freinds were otherwise occupied, and as we had already eaten we scrapped the picnic and just went to feed the ducks ourselves.

I'm not sure exactly what a group of ducks are called (flock? gaggle? something else?) but ducks - as I understand nature (and I am an accredited naturologist) - usually travel together. That is why, upon arriving at the pond I was confused to find a lone black duck on the water. All by itself, no other duck in sight. Had I considered this more carefully perhaps I would have thought this to be an omen, a sign of things to come.

But I didn't, and things did come. Discouredged that there weren't ducks (plural) to feed, and that the lone duck had no interest in our company or our bread (definately an omen), we kept on walking past the pond through the small park.

After coming upon the other half of the park, not yet renovated, the asphalt gave way to a very narrow dirt path walled by talk stalks of something, (reeds? straw? something along those lines anyway.

I don't live in Manhattan. Hell I barely even live in Queens, but I do in fact live in Queens and Queens is part of New York City, and one wouldn't suspect any bit of nature to go on too far. When one thinks of NYC one isn't thinking nature. Given that, I thought to myself how far can this dirt path really go? (Please see statement above) and with J_ a bit reluctant in tow, walked into the reeds.

It started off as a nice walk. We talked about mostly inconsequintial things and didn't quite realize the ground slowly shifting from dirt to mud beneath our feet.

After about forty minutes, our sneakers were covered in mud. The path split into two, on direction petering off into the underbrush, the other appeared to open up further down (what would Robert Frost do?).

It was at this point, when we thought our feet couldn't get any muddier that J_ said we should probably turn around and go back the way we came. I stood opposed to that, rationalizing that we were probably more than halfway down the path (and on that account I was correct) thus there would be less mud to walk through by trecking forward than by turning back. "We've come this far." I said, "We migth as well continue to the bitter end."

I took the lead, confident in my manliness guiding us through nature. I would conquor the terrain. Mud doesn't bother man. Man revels in mud, dirt and nature are his home. Water on the other hand...

Sploosh! Two steps forward and we were both ankle deep in water. Forget the mud, the mud was pleasant in comparison. The water was cold and grimy, and all together unpleasant.

The reeds receded behind us and a marsh like area, the size of a football feild loomed in front of us. And of course, there were the ducks. Away from the larger body of water we spotted Northern Blvd. and decided to make our way back towards civilization, the ducks be damned.

Sloshing through the ankle deep water, stepping on dry and dead reeds to keep our pants as dry as possible we waded towards our salvation.

J_ lost her balance at a few points, dropping to her knees, and of course I teased her mercilessly for lacking my natural grace in the water. Fed up with wading (wet up to her knees) J_ pointed straight forward, suggesting we just cut through it all, we were already as wet as can be. I, on the other hand, wanted to continue working the circumfrance of the marsh, it just seemed safer.

I was the man, and as the man I should have stood ground. But just like many other men before, I did something stupid because a girl asked.

So we took J_'s path, which really wasn't a path, until, halfway across, we were stopped by a stream leading down into the main pond behind us. The stream was about five feet across, and I thought to myself I could easily jump this. Then I turned to J_ and said, "I can easily jump this."

The few things I didn't consider at the time: I was already standing ankle deep in water and my shoes were wet and heavy. Though I could have jumped five feet across easy in high school, I am about ten years older and very out of shape. That the stream could concievably be deeper than the water in which I then stood. (Once again see the beginning)

So I jumped.

So I landed.

But not on the other side.

And the water was far deeper in the stream than on either side of it.

And I fell waist deep into the dirty, salty, cold, disgusting water.

J_ wisely took the path I suggested.

We splashed through the rest of the marsh and finally (with a mild scare of poison ivy) made it to Northern Blvd.

The walk back home, though the company was pleasant, was the opposite of comfortable.

Stupid, stupid ducks.

In honor of a tepid final episode

I was hoping for Josh, but I'm pretty happy with my results.

I'm:



The idealistic speechwriter is well-liked by just about everyone. He's known for his excellent writing, sense of humor, and tendency to be clutzy. Although being younger than the rest of the staff, he's often treated as so, much to his dismay.

So, which one are you?

David Copperfield is pretty cool

Quite possilbly the coolest story ever!

Open mouth insert food (blogger edition)

So I take back everything I wrote in my previous blog (save the bit about my passover post, it's still coming, very late, I just gotta make it sound right).

Today at work (internship) I was given a free pass to see Akeela and the Bee at the Tribeca Film Festival tonight (it officially opens in two days). I can't go (gonna get a few drinks with some pals instead), but I'm sure I can find someone to give the ticket too.

In addition, tommorrow night I am going to see a short film program for free to cover it for my boss (as in write an analysis of the shorts and report back the filmmakers and shorts worth following up on).

I've gotta admit, that's pretty cool.

Now if only I could find a job that would pay me for this kinda stuff I'd be set.

Being too good at the mundane

At my internship there are the cool jobs I have to do, and the much less cool jobs.

The cool jobs aren't really that cool, just by comparison they are cool. For instasnce, calling up agents to see which famous actor, actress, director, or writer is available for a certian project and when they are available. Or reading a book, comic book, screenplay, or what have you and writing up some coverage for the boss. And even compiling lists of older movies with similar themes and plots as ones currently in development.

Jobs that aren't so cool involve the making of the coffee, compiling master lists of actors, writers, and directors, photocopying screenplays, and especially photocopying novels.

The problem being, I'm pretty good at the not so cool stuff. I know how to use excell pretty well, I actually make coffee professionally (well if you consider starbucks professional), and for some reason, I am the fastest photocopier - especially when it comes to novels. You see, when copying screenplays, plays, teleplays, or manuscripts, those just get fed quickly into the machine. Novels, published novels to be precise, come bound so one can't just feed it into the machine, one must go page by page, flipping through the book, to make a copy. I seem to be able to do this faster than my fellow interns. Not that much faster, but enough that I wind up the one doing it to save time.

The down side, not only do I hate the monotony of the photocopy machine, but when I'm out making copies, my fellow interns get to do the cool stuff (comparitivly anyway). Thus, I am penalized (of sorts) for being good at my job.

It's a really lame thing to complain about, especially as I like my fellow interns and wouldn't want them labouring away in the dark recess where the copy machine lies. But it's a pain and I'm in a complaining mood. So there.

My passover post (which I have been working on, put far more time and effort into a blog post than probably healthy) will drop sometime early next week, after the craziness that is passover has, er.. passed.

The wrong side of the poverty line

Not to make thousands of unemployed and homeless peoples problems seem insignifigant but there is something depressing when doing ones taxes and realizing how little money one (me) actually made last year.

I have no desire to be a pedophile

I'm not sick and twisted, it isn't that at all.

There are some strange thoughts that pass through one's head. For instance, I like cheese. It isn't so strange but it is true. I am lactose intolerant but I adore cheese. Not all cheese mind you, the gooier stinkier cheeses I tend to stay away from; and though I do like the ease of American cheese, I prefer my cheeses to be far less chemically processed and treated. Give me a really bold sharp Cheddar, or some fresh Mozzarella, or maybe some Havarti with dill, Munster, or a good smoked cheese and you'll see me happy. I can't ever eat too much of it lest I spend the rest of my day in the WC (as the British say, or at least that's what I've been led to believe); so just like everything else that's good in life I must take it in moderation.

Moderation I've been told is the best philosophy (Epicurus, what a sage you were). Unfortunately moderation is a difficult when discussing infatuation. In fact, moderation only makes things that much worse.

Once again, I am no pedophile. I do not lust after prepubescent girls. I don't in fact lust (a term I'm not so much a fan of to begin with as it makes the forgone conclusion that I am lusting after someone, and it really isn't lust, but I'll get to that in a moment) after some post-pubescent girls - the "girls" part being the operative word, not the "post-pubescent". I don't tend to imply I lust after boys only because I don't. I tend to go for females my own age, and if I think I'm too old to be called a "boy" then those my age shouldn't be called girls anymore. But as you are about to read, this is all irrelevant (quite unfortunately).

I have found myself more and more infatuated (not lusting or lustful, it really isn't a sex thing) with an 18 year old girl (see told you I'm not a pedophile, at least not technically - that is I'm not opposed to it, but the infatuation is not wholly based on aesthetics). It's getting quite bad really. Just her presence in the same room as me actually brightens my mood significantly. She is a friend, and though I am not a huggy person by nature, (I'm just not) holding her in my arms - in a hug as friends do (my New York friends are all huggy people - her included) - I realize I would follow her to the ends of the earth if she just happened to be going in that direction.

But I refuse to be that skeezy older guy who dates girls too young for him. Instead I'm going to keep on pretending I don't feel the way I do, because as I understand it, not having too much knowledge in the field of psychology, denial is a perfectly healthy way to deal with any situation.

nothing special: a recap

Why do I even bother?

Got to my brother's birthday dinner, Yay!

Started to get sick on Monday, Boo!

Really got sick on Tuesday, Boo!

Best friend Jason flew up from Atlanta to visit, Yay!

Fought cold as we walked around Greenwich village, meh.

Had Etheiopian food for dinner, Yay!

Skipped work on Wenesday to go to the MoMA with Jason, Yay!

Was really sick the entire time, Boo!

Saw Famke Janssen at the MoMA, Wow!

Went to Dinner at Mendy's with Jason and two siblings (Mendy's Jerry, Mendy's!), Meh.

Had drinks in Hell's Kitchen with Jason, sibling, sibling's girlfreind, and girlfriend's roommate, Yay!

Pretended I wasn't feeling ill, though I was horribly sick, Boo!

Opened Starbucks (5:30 AM) nearly dead to the world, Boo!

Went bowling with Jason and a Sibling, Yay!

My highest score: 83, Boo!

Still tried to hide my horrible sickness, drank too much espresso to cover my deadness, Boo!

Ate at a Bolivian Restaraunt with Jason and his freinds, Meh.

Shot pool with Sibling and Jason, Yay!

Wanted to curl up and die the entire time (sickness yuck!), Boo!

Drove Jason to the airport, Boo.

Slept for the rest of Friday and Saturday, Yay!

Went out to get drinks with Starbucks Friends, Yay!

Came home early because was still getting over the cold, Boo!

Bonded with E and J from work on the ride home, Yay!

Woke up feeling better but still a little stuffed up, Meh.

Wrote my first post in a week, Yay!

And now you know, and knowing is half the battle.

dumb

I'm up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday because I'm the idiot who read the schedule wrong and thought I was working from five-thiry to ten forty-five in the AM when it is in fact in the PM. Tonight my brother (the second of three) is having a birthday dinner (21st birthday in fact) in the city tonight and I already said I could attend.

The only reason I'm still up is so I can call the person working the eight AM shift and switch hours. I hope he can switch (not calling him to the slightly more reasonable hour of seven fifteen) otherwise I have to bail on my brother, which is completely uncool.

Because Rawbean did it first

When I have no ideas of my own I steal from where ever I can find. But as I learned in school if you call the rip off a homage, then everything's copacetic. Thus in order for people to learn more about me (though I can't imagine why anyone would want to), this is my homage to Rawbean's rant. Judge away.

DVD's I own:
Jurassic Park
The Cat's Meow
No Man's Land
Oscar
Gun Shy
Grosse Pointe Blank
Cowboy Bebop (the series and the movie)
Dark City
LA Story
His Girl Friday
Pirates of the Carribean

It's a very sad collection but one day, when I have more money it will grow. Nothing to really brag about, and a little to be embaressed of, those are my owned DVDs (there might be one or two more that I have forgot about - I'm at work right now and I'll double check when I get home tonight).

Because I feel a little silly with such a short list, here is another short one of DVD's I plan to own.

Run Lola Run
Amelie
All of Wes Anderson's Films
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
As many Marx Brother films as I can find
Man on Fire
Harold and Kumar go to White Castle
Fight Club
The Indiana Jones Trilogy

All ideas sound stupid when written out

As if hit by an epiphany, or if nothing else, the big fat stupid-stick, the workings of a new story are bubbling in the back of my mind. It's not a particularly good story, and it is by no means a complete story. In fact, I would classify it more along the lines of an idea for a story. I don't think I particularly enjoy this idea; but like the spinach I still have stuck between my teeth from my salad last night, I can't disloge it. Hence, for your reading pleasure and in the hopes that once it's written down I can forget it, I give you the idea.

In the future, when mankind is no longer tethered to Earth, in the furthest reaches of the known galaxies - the last outposts of the human empire reside. In these outposts both Justice and Injustice are found through the barrel of a gun. A place that's short on law and long on vice. Just like the cliched old westerns, all arguements are settled through a duel. This brings us to the as of yet (because I haven't come up with one) named MAIN CHARACTER, the quickest gunman in all the outposts. He's only 32 but that's old as most gunmen die young. For years he's been challenged by younger gunslingers hoping to claim his title as their own and for years he always won. During breakfast right before his most recent duel, after taking his thrid bite of bacon, he begins to have a nervous breakdown, which only grows even greater after barely surving the duel. Throughout the as of yet undecided plot he grows more and more insane believing his now erratic inner monologue to be a seperate voice than his (it isn't) that helps him predict the future (which it doesn't).

I don't have any more than that, but now that it's out, hopefully I can put it to rest.

On a side note I'm off to some book store at Columbus circle. Sarah Vowell will be either 1) signing or 2) reading from her book, or maybe both, or perhaps 3) something else all together. I'm not entirly sure, but I was told she'd be there so that's where I shall be as well.

it's the little things

I went to the New York Comic con yesterday and I will probably write about that when I have more time (I'm at work in Manhattan at the moment).

This is just a brief admonishment to those of you out there who aren't reading Questionable Content. It's quite possibly the best web comic (save Cat and Girl - though that's a different sort of web comic) out there. The newest storyline, well specifically Friday's and Today's strips just made me very happy. It's a tiny thing, but the good warm fuzzies are hard to come by so I cherish them when they do.

To really get the full impact of the story you should go back through the archive and read from the beginning. Sure it's about three hundred something odd strips but it's totally worth it (EDIT, Tuesday 12:22pm - so I checked and it's actually 544 strips, which doesn't negate anything I've already written and I'm totally standing by this post). It's an hour of your day (depending on how fast you read and how fast your internet connection is) and I know most of you spend your days in front of your computer. Why not spend it reading something fun instead of all that porn I know you're all hooked on.

(no I'm not saying porn isn't fun, just that sometimes mental stimulation is just as fun as physical. Yes I've been single for about two years now, why do you ask?)

Momentary bliss

The bad news: The Stars concert I was planning on going too (on Rawbean's recommendation) is sold out, thus I shall not be attending.

The worse news: I am scheduled to be the opener at Starbucks tomorrow and Sunday, which means I get to wake up at the devil hour known as Five AM. The last time I was up at Five AM was due to the fact I hadn't gone to sleep yet the night before.

Changing the subject dramatically, I ride the LIRR four times a week. Twice to Manhattan and twice back. While I generally sleep during the morning ride, because even eight o'clock is too early for me, I am awake during the ride home - not because I'm not tired; rather I don't want to miss my stop, sleeping my way towards Long Island (and yes, this has happened, but I prefer not talking about it).

The ride is generally bumpy, loud, and bright. It's bumpy as most public rail systems are in some way bumpy (what the reason is I have no idea, I am not the engineer I make myself out to be). It's loud because the air conditioning units that circulate air in the cars are loud, letting you know how hard they are working to afford you "clean" air to breath. Not only is the free flowing air loud, but the motor that circulates said air grumbles something akin to a troll. And of course there are the florescent lights that keep the cars safe and full of horrid florescent light. Though the majority of all my rides home the train is filled with this, what I've deemed, "Florescent noise" (not the cleverest of names, but it suits the atmosphere nicely) every so often there are gaps; perhaps in the electric currents, perhaps in the circuitry, perhaps somewhere else entirely. All I know is during these gaps, when the lights suddenly go off, and the numbing drone of the recycled air dissipates, the train sails along near silently, the beats of our hearts pumping in rhythm with the soft palpitations of the wheels on the tracks, and we can see out into through darkness the isle of Manhattan growing distant and (what I think is, though am not sure) the Queensborough Bridge lit up off across the water.

For those few moments, before the electricity kicks back in, with Manhattan shrinking behind me, and Queens slowly expanding before my eyes, in the dark, the city actually looks peaceful and calm.

Then the lights come back and the air pumps loudly through the car, and I am reminded that New York city is by far and large a bright and noisy place.

But for those few seconds as the train treks on in quiet, I almost think that all is right with the world.

Almost.

Things that shouldn't be funny but are anyway

My list of ten in no particular order:

1. The planet Uranus

2. Syphilis of the eye

3. An elderly man being shot in the face by the Vice-President

4. William Shatner's music (save his most recent album I guess)

5. Falling out of bed

6. Unrequited love

7. Erectile Dysfunction

8. Crackwhores

9. Performance artists

10. Any injury involving a bowling ball, a waffle iron, and untied shoelaces.

Valentines day not just for Werewolves anymore

Just remember, if someone offers you a VD gift, make sure they mean Valentines Day, otherwise you're in a world of trouble.