Yesterday -

Saw a kid stealing mouthwash from the corner store - my new credit score is 804 - returning desire to paint the 4th, white wall of my otherwise green room

Who I am

I am a condescending hypocrite with a big brain*, bigger heart, and a slew of abrasive defense mechanisms that, when balled up together, are bigger than 12 of those brains and 9 of those hearts put together. (Laid end to end they circle the earth 47 times, but I never thought that kind of visualization was very useful.)

I was born to have hairy legs, weird thumbs, and freckles - but also to have nice eyes, tall...ness, and, well, freckles.

I often blame my circumstances on...my circumstances, but I'm not afraid to take responsibility for my life.

I sometimes trick people into thinking I can really juggle by juggling for a few seconds, then acting like I don't feel like juggling anymore, when really if I tried to jug- one more -gle, I'd drop everything but I usually explain to those people that I've just tried to trick them into thinking I can juggle.

I write in a blog I know my family and a very few friends read, often revealing my innermost thoughts, but I don't write every day, week, month, or season. So what?**


((*I say to this to mean both that people often think I'm smart (I think they're wrong) and that I have a big head. Serious. Human hats don't fit on it. No lie. Send me a hat, I'll send you a picture of it not fitting on my head.))


Now, you have me at a disadvantage!
Who are you?
**and how was your summer?

There's this guy Paul,

and I am nearby when he tells this story, showing off a framed print of this comic book page, the intellectual property of Frank Miller:

"So I give it to the Kinko's girl to scan, and she says 'I can't do that sir, it's copyrighted material.' So I go, 'I'm Frank Miller." [Here, storytelling Paul freezes every facial muscle in what is no doubt a flawless recreation of his excellent poker-face deadpan.]

"Then she started to argue with me, so I cut her off - I'm Frank Miller."

It becomes obvious to me that his story is that he cleverly manipulated a Kinko's employee...but wait a minute. Would a Kinko's employee care? Would they go that far and not bother to check his ID? Above all else, why would a successful and published comic book artist need to go to freakin' Kinko's to get a medium-quality print of their own work??

So I call bullshit!

"Bullshit Paul! You did not tell the Kinko's girl you were Frank Miller."

"Yeah I did, buddy."

"You are such a liar."

Paul is already walking away, but turns to deliver this gem before shutting himself in his office:

"I don't lie Joe. It's not worth it."



(For those who are slow like me, I would point out that Paul is not Frank Miller)

Perfect timing

After tending bar, I return to the day job office to drop off my monkey suit and pick up my bike - it's about 9pm when I pull on my helmet and look out the window at distant flashes of what a coworker is calling "heat lightning." As my buddy and I pull into the street on our bikes, a wind starts to pick up.

After three blocks the wind has increased exponentially, and the intersection ahead of me is empty except for a giant dust storm that looks so angry I briefly consider stopping and looking for shelter for the night. But instead I close my right eye, turn my head, and push through it, feeling a sandblast of NY grime.

As we continue through Manhattan to the bridge, the persistent whirling dirt that dusts my eyes with grit mingles with a light, cold drizzle.

Finally, past all the belligerent truck drivers and sharp-turning cabs, we reach the bridge and its sheltered lanes of relative calm. There's hardly anyone else there, so I get to look over my shoulder at the near-constant white flashes above Manhattan.

Halfway across the bridge, the flashes have caught up; I can see them to the side and reflecting off tall buildings ahead.

Not one block into Queens, lightning flashes nearby and the intermittent thwack of fat raindrops on my helmet begins. A dozen long city blocks to go - I'm not going to beat this storm home but I couldn't be more thrilled! The rain increases in surges, retreating a little, then returning even thicker. Finally it drops all pretense - the thunder follows the lightning more and more closely until I can hear the individual branches of a bolt as it crackles above me. My tires are spitting water in a crazy arc and my eyes, squinted since the dust of Manhattan, narrow to allow just the glow of traffic signals and taillights. Going as fast as I can through drenching curtains of water while making sure I have enough time to react on the newly-wet road with just coaster brakes, I fishtail (mildly) only once.

I arrive at my doorstep dripping, beaming, taking a last look at the sky and the rain as someone high up in the apartment building across the way closes their window.

That was really, really fun.


*The red line represents the temperature this evening, dropping from 90 at the beginning of the ride to 70 toward the end. The wind speed went from below 8mph to 20mph in the same time period.

Title Andronicus

I started riding a bike to work (and back). I think there should be a new word for riding, since when you ride roller coasters and buses and trains, you get to just sit there. This particular 4-mile journey breaks down into three distinct sections, the way I see it.

I start in Queens, which is a pretty good warm-up: not too many cars or pedestrians, wide roads, casual pace, etc. Next is the bridge, which is the purely physical part of the journey: there is a clearly marked, uninterrupted, relatively straight, uphill path that just requires the unthinking use of muscle. Finally, Manhattan - a gauntlet of terror and lessons in calculated risk. This is the brain-intensive portion, where reflexes, decision making, prediction, and again, sheer terror all come into play. I think I sweat more from nerves here than I do going across the bridge.

My first ride into work was my second time on a bike in over a decade, so pretty much every ride since then has seemed like a cake-walk, however close the calls I get myself into may be. I once misjudged a light and rode right out in front of oncoming traffic, haha.

Anyway, lest anyone get the wrong impression that I now lead a healthy lifestyle, my breakfast the other day was a dented can of Budweiser and some peanut butter cookies (thanks Bonnie!).

Also, I predict that as humidity increases, my likelihood of riding will decrease.

I on the E...except it's a C

My assumption was that, since I saw a C train leaving as I entered the station, the train that immediately followed it was an E.

Since I'm not familiar with the stops on either train, and it was too crowded to push through with my giant luggage-poorly-disguised-as-a-backpack and look at the map, I didn't discover I was on the wrong train until I heard "last stop."
One hour later, I was back at the station I'd started at, wondering whether I should've given myself more than two and a half hours to get to my flight. (Nah, but I should have checked which train I was boarding.)

In all, it took me four hours and $10 to go from work to the airport and back home again, with a piece of paper that guarantees me standby status (which guarantees me nothing) on the next available flight - 24 hours later.

Actually, I don't consider it much of a loss; I finished the book I was reading and got my daily exercise. Best of all, there's not a single reason for me to get out of bed until at least 2 tomorrow!

Quick Note

Before I leave for a weekend trip to Sacramento (for a friend's zoo wedding and to see some family), I thought I should mention two things:

1) To all who have asked for my new address. I'm not ignoring you, I just keep forgetting to send an email when I'm home and can copy it off an envelope. Paciencia y fe!

2) By the time I get back, my credit card debt should be completely paid off. It's funny, I taped a fortune cookie "fortune" to the back of my phone that says "Vacation can wait. Stick to the project till the end." It was supposed to remind and encourage me to persevere while I sacrificed nearly every cent to get this thing off my back. But it turns out I never look at/read the back of my phone, so it was pretty pointless. Which in turn makes the last few sentences pointless, I guess. Except that it turned out in the end that I did stick with the project and am now going on vacation.

2a) Debt paid...now what??