Timbuktu

Morning. It's still night here... but I'm 4 hours away from most anyone who would read this. And by that, I'm referring strictly to time zone. No way anyone is traveling 4 hours and ending up in Denali, Alaska. Not if you're anyone I know anyway.

So what have I seen? Duluth, MN. Great place. Really.

I think I passed Glacier National Park in Montana. There may or may not be a glacier.

I saw Calgary, Alberta. Not a nice place. Very middle of nowhere-trying-to-be-somewhere.

Whitehorse, on the other hand is a gem. Drunk First Nationers and francophones all over the place. They've also got a Walmart whose parking lot doubles as an RV park. And a campground where I paid C$1 for a 4 minute shower.

I saw bison walking along side the road in the wee hours of the morning. I swear to you, they are so dark, had it been in the middle of the highway in the middle of the night, I'd have been stew meat. That far north, you only read about street lamps. Quite dangerous.

I saw Fairbanks. Nothing fair about it. They've a couple of great outfitters, a McDonald's that sells the McMckinley (a Big Mac with bigger beef patties), and the largest Walmart I've ever seen.

I saw Anchorage. Drunk eskimos abound. The people are rude. They practice shady business. Very disappointing.

I saw Wasilla. Wasilla is Alaskan heaven. The people are nice. They remind me of pleasant Canadians.

And of course I've seen Mt. McKinley. Big. Word on the street; it's bigger than Everest. It starts lower, has a higher rise (18 thousand feet, whereas Everest, though taller, rises a lowly 13 thousandish), and a larger base.

Oh yeah, I've peeped a cow moose and her calf eating the life out of some leaves not 100 feet away from where I sleep. Talk about big. I've seen a threaded flange break off my car's alternator. I've seen the Stampede trail made famous by Christopher McCandless and that whole Into the Wild hoopla. I've seen the midnight sun. I'm not exactly in Timbuktu, but I'm not in Kansas anymore either.

Summer 2009, will you marry me?

Ah man! It's been almost a month, but Canada is rocking my socks off. I'm shipping off to Alaska tomorrow morning and I am going to miss this balls to the wall place.

Last night I did Osheaga. Girl Talk hit with pounding synth beats and La Ronde (the local Six Flags amusement park) serenaded us with fireworks. The weather was absolutely perfect. I can't say anyone could ever plan a better party on paper.

My time here is clearly winding down and with my future up in the air here comes this pesky down, depressed me again. But seriously, lately I've done everything from trying to illegally escape Canada on foot, to riding home on a stolen Bixi at 4 in the morning, to developing a reputation for drinking everything out of extra large yogurt cups.

I just can't take blogging. Too much of a responsibility. I feel guilty. I can't update the blogosphere on my comings and goings. MY comings and goings. I can't, in reality, because why would anyone care, either way?

But I trudge. And my spell check seems screwed. And I've met the best people in the world. HERE. And I'm leaving in 24 hours.

"Je suis contente parse que nous somme ensemble."

Oh Canada!

I love Canada! Canadians? Not so much, but oh Canada; I'm pretty fond of thee.

The first of July was Canada Day. The Old Port of Montreal threw a massive dance party with fireworks and shenanigans. It blew my mind. It was so much more fun than the lousy Macy's 4th of July fireworks thing on the East River. At the end, the MC told the crowd exactly where and when we could find them again: July 1st, 2010. The energy was over flowing and everyone waved their Canada flags. I was happy.

So I walked over to St. Catherine's and saw the Jazz Festival in full swing. St. Catherine's was closed to automobile traffic and the whole area was one big Jazz promenade with free live performances too. And the music was nothing to scoff at. It was great! The weather was great. Montreal is a great town. But the people here are a little less than great. I was alone. Even though this was Canada's independence day (or something similar) and Montreal has actually become a jazz festival, I couldn't convince anyone to go anywhere with me.

In Brooklyn I'd have any number of kooks willing to run around to all corners of the city for the corniest of fare. Here, Montreal has AMAZING things happening, all within walking distance, and everyone seems to be avoiding me.

But I love you still Canada. Wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life here. All I really need is you.

And I've come all the way from America to swoon over an American lesbian. Have I hit rock bottom? Almost. Almost.

Okay, so a few nights ago, I'm walking home from St. Jean Baptiste Day (a whole 'nother story) all half drunk at 3-something in the morning when I come across not one, but TWO skunks! The first one had it's rear... reared and ready to spray. The second, a couple blocks later, was frightened to bits when it saw me and looked very sketchy. Why are skunks soooooo scared? They've got barely any predators. And they can hardly see. What's there to frighten these crepuscular chickens?

So St. Jean Baptiste Day is like the national fete of Quebec. It's their sort of Independence Day. That day I hit a bar-b-que and a bridge burner party in Mile End. Fun and drink and crazy, crazy happiness were in abundance. I got invited to an "after party" where I drank warm Carlsberg beer too. All this to walk home and scare the living nightlights out of some skunks.

The story, apparently, is that Quebecois celebrate St. Jean Baptist then protest Canada Day by making everyone move. Like some cacaphonous symphony, everyone's lease in Quebec ends on July 1st, so everyone is so busy moving and not so busy feting. AND!!!! Everyone has to bring their own stoves and fridges and washers and dryers into their new abodes. CRAZY! I am crazy about this town... and this one terribly cool gal who likes other gals. Help me.

Good Karma

Yeah, so in case you're wondering if it's Christmas yet...

And I must say, in the Fuck It! post, I was pretty upset but still feeling good for some odd reason. So I left you all with some good karma. Then, I turn around and a bunch of half decent/good things started happening. And that's where I'm standing now. Moral of the post: just love.

Because of this, my coworkers (who, by the way, couldn't ever be more amazing) think I'm the sentimental one.

Today I'm feeling:

almost very good

A Girl named "Peggy" and sangwiches

Okay, it's clear I'll never catch up. Nor will I live a very productive and happy life. But I must say that I do absolutely LOVE the vast majority of my coworkers, and I hate myself for it. Ms. Davis has invited me out to drink and fraternize with the colleagues on a couple of occasions and I have not once regretted it. I'm sorry I've been neglecting my readers, but I'm working full time for the first time in my entire life and I absolutely am crazy about the folks I work with. All except for one lousy manager. And even another manager has asked me to overlook the one lousy manager (who, by the way, actually interviewed me). This is the same job I interviewed for and cursed during the interview. This is the same job I sat through and got a text message in. It's fucking amazing. A guy asked me the other day if I actually got paid to work there. I just finished my second week of full time employment, in my life, plus I'm maintaining a rapport with the Koreans I tutor, and I feel totally in place.

And then there's Ms. Davis, who I'm not related to because she's apparently Lithuanian. She invited me the first time, when we became the 2's booze crew... and was the only skirt the second time we went debauching and was totally chill with it. What girl would be down for the cause like that without any wet blanket tendencies? Not a dame exists... except Ms. blue-haired Davis. Of course half the entourage is homosexual... but meh!

Today I'm feeling:

An intense crush on a girl named "Peggy."

Fuck it!

Name that missing vowel. Oh, there's a consonant on the loose too.

Fuck it, I'll admit it. I love everybody! I LOVE you. Even though I'm "learning" every time I turn the corner. And by learning, I mean the hard way. And by the hard way, I mean by paying for it. It seriously is like tu-fucking-ition.

And I've got a sinus infection. The facial pain is immense. No Leila, it's not sympathy pains either. And I love you. Big hugs.

Today I'm feeling:

Amorous

Subtitled

You think you know a person...

So this woman I tutored, a Spanish national, stars in a feature fucking film! Belen Rueda, I recognized the name in the opening credits the moment it popped up. Holy shit, I taught her [some] English. Yes, it was her and she was awesome in the film. El Ofanato. The Orphanage. It's like I was the personal language coach to a Hollywood star. Go me.

And Phisoderm. Generally, the best facial soap I've ever used in my entire life. I go without it for a couple months, and I break out like mad. Pimple here, pimple there to start. Then it's a full on face full of pock marks and bumps. It's only alleviated by one thing. Phisoderm bar soap. I even tried the liquid stuff after I realized no brick and mortar retailers carry it 'round these here parts. Then I read the reviews. And I felt like I was no longer alone in this world. Just for that minuscule, fleeting moment.

And, the best thing in life: Tegan and Sara apparel, their latest EP and their trailer talk videos on MySpace.com. I'm such a lesbian in a past life.

Today I'm feeling:

like real Sean

lemme update ya

My people, what's up!?!?!?!?!

It's been a while. I've resumed playing basketball and boy, where has my conditioning gone? Hit the track the day after to try and recoup my long lost breath, and my knee is mush. Nothing. So I applied for this full time job that gives full benefits from day one, without a probationary period. My goal being to get my knee looked at. Not sure if that will work out, but I'll see.

Movies? I saw BadLand and balled tears. Man did I cry. I was Jerry, the main character. Depressed man that he was, I was almost everything he is. Go see it. Except if you're a woman. The women in the theater didn't like it at all.

Today I'm feeling:

Manic

AntiDepressant

This is the worst time of year for me. Admittedly, I'm at my lowest just as the calendar is about to read "December". Thankfully, my people have been aces. Maykin, who I've showered with constant sound advice for the past couple months gave me a ring today just to have me come over and do something. The other night, he bought me some fried rice and we played pool on his dime. I spoke to a good, great, grand friend in Kansas tonight too. It's funny, but just thinking about her puts the biggest, brightest smile on my face. It's weird, but she's a completely platonic friend who I associate with nothing more than smiling. And, of course there are the new folks. The weird short Russian friend of mine who is such a pleasure to be around, or the eccentric organic head with the ornate forehead jewelry and the penchant for ostentatious rings. And then there are my friends who are fairly new, though we're very familiar. Like Jenny, who I love to bits. Or Lindsey, who I only know through iChat but we'll inevitably share oxygen at some point in the future. Good times friends.

A friend recently admitted to me she really wants to quit cursing. I thought about it and responded in a way that shocked even me. Sometimes, I really outdo myself. I told her to keep cursing, citing it's emotional efficacy. These were earnestly wise words. It frustrates the soul when, in speaking to someone, a flat affect or a blank stare meets you in response to your input. However, a failsafe way to ensure a reaction, even though it'll more than likely always be a negative response, is to curse. We know when we curse people respond poorly. But why do we curse? Is it out of habit? Really? Why pick up the habit? I'll tell you why, because we, as people, the grand communicators we are, need feedback. We need to know, definitively, that what we've conveyed was in fact received by our intended audience. It feels good, if even in the subconscious. That's why we talk, after all. To be heard. And nothing elicits a response like one of those forbidden four letter words. From childhood we've been dared to use 'em. And from childhood, it was one of the best ways to NOT be ignored or drowned out. Curse and someone will say something to you. Or show emotion. It's almost guaranteed. Honestly, being ignored has far harsher consequences than merely being looked at as obnoxious because of our choice of language. It shocked me to the point the shock truly has yet to wear off that I was capable of this thought. Man, do I ever give sound advice. Moral of the story, any reaction qualifies your existence. It's better for the spirit to be acknowledged, than to be. I'm not saying the verbal abuse tirade should be a daily ritual, but I will implore everyone to see the value in being acknowledged and chose tactful situations for the use of the lowbrow language.

Today I'm feeling:

qualified

Natalie, from Kansas, and I talked about Kate Tucker and the Sons of Sweden with great glee. For that, today's recommended listening is linked. Please feel free to listen to the new album, in its entirety, for free! Over and over and over again. It's the soundtrack to today's post.

Defeat

Fall 2007 on Eastern Pkwy, B'klyn, NY

I can't shake this feeling of defeat. I'm going backwards in like everything I do. Money is being spent faster than it's being made, though I hear everyone shares that complaint, and my own self efficacy is constantly eroding with each glimpse in the mirror.

Them shits need to be shattered.

My Thanksgiving dinner plate overflowed with yum yum food, but it gave me the runs. And when I had left overs today, more belly running.

And to all this seasonal cheer, I say fuck it.

Today I'm feeling:

defeated

Career Update

Chris and G

Okay, so Sean can scratch office job off his list of potential career paths. I fell into a grove and it was okay, the Yale Club of New York City, with its moneyed members and sticklers for detail. But it felt bad to be idle with so many busy bodies pacing all around me. Certainly not a match for teaching. I guess that's what I call a career update. All the while, I make my mother so much more disappointed in me. We had a talk the other day. She said my father told her outright to get an abortion when she fessed up and said Boy Sean was on the way. The biggest disappointment to me, as far as I alone am concerned, is that she was warned or at least informed and still decided to have me. Women are indeed crazy. Thankfully, I've not come across a woman loose enough in mind to bear me a youngun. And if she did, like my mother she'd, in the future, rue the day.

"Water always seeps to its own level."
Anonymous

Today I'm feeling:

rued

Ten fold

The Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center in NYC

I interviewed the other day for a job I thought I'd actually like. But I blew it. I received a text message in the interview as well as spewed an expletive. Yuck. Actually, I think that was quite uncharacteristic of me. But I acknowledge that there's no way I deserve that gig. So onward and perhaps downward I say!

The thing is, it's quite depressing to be so flippin' worthless, and although I realized that I'm worthless a long time ago, it still boggles the mind that every so often I still try. And when I fail, which by nature is inevitable, I get wholly depressed. Like I wasn't depressed to begin with. So I took a very much lesser job to occupy my mind for a couple weeks. In the process I will up my miserable quotient maybe ten fold. And then I'll use the proceeds to help pay for some long over due body work on my automobile. And this all blows.

Today I'm feeling:

on the periphery

Entertainment Man

Okay, so this time around I have 4 movies on the docket.

I saw:

What would Jesus buy?, a low budget indie film produced (or rather financed/fronted) by Morgan Spurlock (of Supersize me fame). It wasn't exactly a thrill ride, but was a film with a different look into the world of consumerism. It gave us no real sense of why the Church Of Stop Shopping wanted us to not shop. The Church is a comedy ensemble that travels the country to perform and encourage consumers to do less consuming. It was funny at times, but mostly missed the mark. I'd recommend you all skip this one.

The Mist has got to have the world's worst acting. The screenplay was adapted from the Stephen King novel or story or what have you. The emotion is off center and the sentiment is never real. The effects and lighting needed some work and the only thing that redeems this film is its surprise and shocking ending. The characters never really endear themselves to you and it's hard to overlook bad acting. I'd recommend you all skip this one.

Love during the time of cholera was missing something. Someone in line for another movie I saw said that it would have been more authentic and better had it been in Spanish and I must say that I agree. With it all, I couldn't really tell where its heart lies. Is it a love story? A comedy? A drama? A chick flick? And it was so cheesy at times. Yucky! Still, it was entertaining, if less than wholesome. I'd recommend you catch this on late night cable in a couple years' time.

Beowulf was, well, Beowulf. It hearkened back to the bad 300 movie experience, except that Beowulf was great. It has a real epic story with soul, edge, sensuality, and direction. The dialog never grates and the art style really meshes well with this film. A true hero film with a man who projects himself as larger than life until things start to unravel and (potential spoiler) he has to admit, with a heavy heart, that he too is flawed. It's great in 3-D as it is in IMAX form as I'd imagine. It was a totally fun experience. Go see this thing.

Today I'm feeling:

Like Roeper

Rosey

Marital Bliss

So I scoped a little of the Charlie Rose show the other night, while drunk of course. Of course. Charlie was interviewing Jay-Z and I must say, Rose is the most impressive interviewer I have ever seen. It was a clinic on how to interview. The poise and preparation was impeccable. Rose asked all the right questions and elicited the most candid responses. Furthermore, he made Jay-Z talk about his lyrical content. NO ONE does that. All these hip hop oriented blow hards (read: Angie Martinez, Funk Master Flex and their ilk) simply are awe inspired and merely pamper such an artist. They never get any introspect. They are merely satisfied that the music has a good sound. Never probe about the meanings of anything specifically. Rose was a class act. He had Jay quote lines and talk about their meanings and the reasoning behind writing the songs. Sincerely the best performance by a journalist I have ever witnessed in my life. Sincerely. Catch that shit on YouTube or something.

"So I sipped some Michelobe slow and had to write this poem/
when I saw Hov getting right with Charlie Rose/
two of America's most talented pros, it was even better soaked/
Sauced, whatever, that shit was boss/
a black man that lacked slang outside of the courts/
a little promo for the feature American Gangster/
made me think back to how I preyed on people like an American pastor/
but I usurp any patterns and only when inspired do I pen a rap verse/
never been one for money and maybe that hurts/
happiness I aspire from the cradle to the black hearse/
but to achieve that mess, I guess sadness I'd have to find first/
I've been typing for a little over 6 minutes, but I'm done now, my mind swerved"
Luxembourg Sean 2007

Today I'm feeling:

sanctimonious

Les Savy Fav has a nice song out... Party like the year before 2000.

American Pastor

Maybe it's not me and it's the camera? I haven't been posting because all my photos turn out like shit lately if I even bring my camera along. I can't believe this. All my photos are so fucking blurry!

Looks like I was too drunk to ride the train this morning. I heard some Starbucks employees chatting loudly, so I waltz over and asked them to speak up so I could actually hear everything. Then, on their way off the train, I offered them some Asian porn. Don't ask.

So the mother bear is in the promise land. So I bought an unlimited ride Metrocard and decided to ride the train once a day at least. I ended up seeing three movie screenings, with a 4th on the docket tomorrow.

Here are my short ass synopses:

P2: Don't see this garbage. Thrill ride my ass. The evildoer is just a lonely, sick jerk and the acting leaves much to be desired. It's almost too predictable at times.

Signal: See this shit only if you got a kick out of the latest Tarantino flick or 28 Days Later. It's that eerie. Three vignettes by three different directors progressing the same "story". I enjoyed it and you might too, honestly. Especially the part in the second vignette where the character, Jim Parsons, talks about his plans to just pee in a girl's butt for New Year's. The third and final vignette spoils the movie and is just plain bad. It's devoid of any clear vision and just runs with the gory theme without any personality. They saved the worst for last. Still, it'll be worth a dvd rental whenever the hell it's available in that format.

Juno: Not as great as it's being billed. But, if you go see the screening, you get a free t-shirt and that just can't be beat (except that by going to the Signal screening, you get a energy drink and a free shot at the "after party"). Outside of the freebie the movie has a superb story. The writing is suspect as the dialog is conspicuously contrived, but that's the appeal of the film. Apparently, Juno is a smart lipped precocious 16 year old who reminds me, vividly, of Darlene Connor of the Roseanne sitcom of the '80's. Her slick mouth, unlike Darlene's, endears her to everyone around her. I'm obsessed with her Converse in the movie too. I wish I could find them in stores or online somewhere. Anyway, the actress who plays Juno, Ellen Page, is just plain boss. She truly is gifted and gorgeous. Prototypical girl next door, tomboy, gorgeous. And funny. Especially whilst toting a jug of Sunny Delight. The movie itself is cute and sweet.

Today I'm feeling:

critical

Pick it up

"This girl called me up and said "you should come over, no one's home!" So I get there, and no one was home."
The Solipsist

Dear Luxembourg,

I have a problem. My life is backwards. I can't seem to get this ship to float in the right direction. It keeps going into the wind. I bought a gun the other day, but all it shoots is water. I bought a camera too, and all its photos are taken as negatives. All! And it's digital.

My job is the pits. In the evenings, on my commute home, the only thing running through my mind is the fact that I have to do this waspish act again in the morning. My morning coffee is lightened with fits of depression.

The only highlight of my life, so far, was this one book I'm reading and in fact, I'm writing you because I just finished it.

Please help me.

Sincerely,

Loathsome in Lubbock




Dear Loathsome,

I'll be honest, dawg. Push-ups. Do them in the morning when you get up; do them in the evening before you settle into bed. You'll find that, before long, your upper body is strapping. But it doesn't have to end there, you can start working on your legs too.

If that doesn't help, inject passion into your life with some other interest. Take a course in capoeira. Take an art class. You're a man right? Find where the local women hang out! That's not to say that you should start shopping for women's shoes all of the sudden, but it wouldn't hurt to stop in a shoe store one day. Maybe survey a few of the shopping women and find out why they're buying shoes today. Or just ask the salesperson. If it's to go clubbing, well buddy, you've got to go clubbing. If they're for church, find God. If they're for work, find out what kind of work, and change careers.

If you're a woman, by happenstance of course, try getting a gym membership. Not into muscle heads? Try the supermarket. It's true, single men have to shop for themselves. Where better to meet some new men than in the express line, just be sure to leave the coupons at home and only pick up 12 items or less.

I hope some of this helps. If it doesn't, there's always meth.

Best,

Luxembourg

Today I'm feeling:

the panache

Image Deleted

I'm feeling kind of panicky! Why? Nobody's home. Actually my "brother" is home, which means that nobody is home. He's repulsive in a way that transcends "siblings" not getting along. I really do not like him. Really. It irks me to be here while he's here. I hate it when he's here and my mother is in the house, but I really can't stand it here when it's just me and him. For many reasons! And it may seems trivial, but for starters, the television is on so loud right now, it is as if I LIVE at the movies. Which is totally unfair. I'm going to scowl. But I'm going to suck it up. My life is going to turn to shit for the next two weeks, but I'm going to soldier up. I'm just saying.

Last time it was just me and him, he almost burned down the house. I'm just saying.

I'm finishing up my Jew research tomorrow, which is ironic because my mother will be beginning her trip to Israel tomorrow. Zaheer asked me if I was worried. Dumb question I reasoned. I'm really not. Because what if something happens? And I'm like what? You know what I'm saying? I'm just saying.

"I always pick all the wrong things to say"
Nicole Atkins on Kill the headlights

Today I'm feeling:

like I'm not trying hard enough here

Pure fuckery

Living in the Fire Lane

Sorry about the dearth of postings y'all. Truth be told, my excuse this time is my lack of photos. It's hard for me to grab the camera and go now-a-days. I got too many devices as it is and I loathe carrying extra shit. And, in the process, I miss capturing the hot shit.

So I needed a job man. I needed one for real. Something to occupy my mind more than stuff my malnourished, concave pockets. The funny thing is that my mind is the opposite of my bank statement. My mind is obese with ponderings and chock full of food. It's like the Thanksgiving dinner of my being. It seems like not a moment passes where I'm not enveloped in 3 or 4 simultaneous, engrossing yet demonic thoughts.

So back to the gig I went to grab. It was an ESL tutoring thing at BMCC, Manhattan's community college. I showed up early, prepared and the whole nine yards. And I landed it. But the pay is miserable, the hours are fleeting and the fact that they needed me to shell out $75 on fingerprints turned me the fuck off. I declined the job. Seriously, to pay for the fingerprints would take more than a week's wages. Furthermore, they want my biometrics. I'm not with that shit. I wouldn't be teaching, nor working with minors. This is a fucking college! What the fuck is up with that wack shit, dawg?

Took Maykin out to the club. Figured the prospect of new skins might get his mind off his failed (for the time being) relationship. That guy is so uncool at times. His buddy calls him at 2am and wanted him to go way uptown to watch him perform at 4am. 4am? Obviously, he doesn't play that well to get stuck in a 4am time slot. So this guy gets way aggravated with me because he wanted me to drive him back to my place for him to pick up his ride and go over yonder. But I was drunk, and at a club full-o-bitches. Had to brush his punk ass off and gravitate to someone celebrating a birthday or something. Fuck it. What would y'all do?

Welcome to me, you little iVoyeurs!

Today I'm feeling:

Like the king size bed that always gets slept on!

You were all I need!

"Yes Boris!" Many years ago, I worked at Macy's here in Brooklyn as one of the guys who marked down prices. I would meander around the store, scan shit, and mark their prices down. It was monotonous and the pay was miserable, but it came with some outrageous perks. The team I worked for was afforded some long breaks, there was tons of overtime (which I didn't appreciate, but it was so far from home that when I just didn't want to be bothered with the long ride I stayed on the clock until I couldn't take it anymore). Fear not, I rarely worked overtime. I once went to the movies while on the clock. The funny thing is, my wage after taxes for those 2 hours barely covered the price of my movie ticket. Had I bought any snack, which I didn't, I would've been in the red for that number.

But the best perk of all, as a young man disillusioned by thoughts that I might one day make something of myself, was the opportunity to socialize. With all sorts of people. Mostly my Black people. I've come a little ways since then and, admittedly, see things in a whiter hue, if you will, now (I want to say "no prejudice" but I really would hate myself for lying). Still, this was important to the development of my thinking and personality. Anyway, one of the more personality infused characters that I had the opportunity of socializing with was a Jamaican named Boris. There's a heavy accent on the first syllable of his name. I still remember saying "yes Boris" with a huge grin every time I saw the man. He was always pissed about some thing. One over night shift we worked together, we walked up to a McDonald's drive-thru a few blocks away and Boris ordered a fish sandwich (he didn't touch the other types of dead animal). I don't know, the McDonald employees were having a tough night and didn't give poor Boris his fish sandwich promptly enough. I still chuckle to myself everything I recall what Boris did next. He didn't complain too loudly, just hocked and spat square into the face of the manager on duty. Go Boris.

Anyway, all that to say I kind of like the sound of the name Boris. There's also Boris Diaw of the Phoenix Suns and Boris Karloff, the horror flick actor of a few decades ago. Not a bad name. It's currently the most likely name I'd consider if I had to name a boy child. Maybe it's all for the best that I won't be naming any children, not in this lifetime.

On second thought, I don't really care for the name all that much.

"I'm in the middle of your picture"
Radiohead on All I need

Can't get this fucking song out my head.

Today I'm feeling:

like this brain of mine is all I need

Anti-Doting

"Never!" Okay, there, I said it!

I was riding the J train. Spotted a hottie. She was on a T-Mobile Sidekick, so I knew she was young. I got off at the Junction to hop on the L. So too did she. I got a seat on the platform. She decided to stand. I was like, come hither, chick. And she was like, come hither, fellow. I won. She sat next to me. She was cute. Really cute. Had a hoop ring in her lip. Wore Earthy tones. Had some camouflage shoes and a handbag to match. But young. And talked so lovely. Borderline talked my fucking head off. So nice. So very, very nice. I loved that she just openly talked to me about everything. Like how she goes to high school. Well, not everything... we only rode the train together for maybe 10 minutes. She complimented my style. I complimented her style. It worked well, the two of us. But, alas, I'm 10 years older than she is. But, I'm a 27 year old 18 year old so maybe we're the same age? But we aren't. And so I didn't get her number or her AIM. If I did, she'd probably IM me on that horrid device anyways. So I carried on for the rest of my day with a smile. I went to the Center for Jewish History as planned, then tutored a sick Su, then came home for a spell and on to the Nicole Atkins live show. She mingled in the fucking crowd the whole time. She was like one of us. And she had no security detail and no one hovered over her. It was sick. The way things should be. And now I'm all puckered with the liquid courage and about to hit the sack. Can you motherfuckers say "good day"?

Today I'm feeling:

grateful Brooklyn isn't really on fire