agent double oh trouble

Passing

Mon, 07 Jul 2008 19:43:51 GMT

Many years ago, I was twenty years old and preparing to cross into Iraq and attack the defensive positions of their ground troops. My blood type was written in big letters over my heart on my flack jacket, as well as on one side of my helmet. On the other side of my helmet was a roster number so that they could quickly order a replacement for my position (Infantryman, one each. Use and replace as needed.). We were told in short order: "Focus on your objectives, remember your training, expect casualties."

At the same moment, on the other side of the world, my friends and former classmates were all in college. Going to class, getting drunk, getting laid, seeing bands, dancing in clubs, having fun, sleeping late, skipping class, protesting whatever was cool to protest that month...

I knew their world well since that's what I had left behind roughly a year before. I also knew that they likely neither thought about, understood, nor cared about mine. Mine had become too alien and different. It was neither fun nor cool. And even if they did think about it, it was all too easy to compartmentalize and distance as "someone else's problem".

And they were completely correct. I understood their world, and I knew that it kept moving without me. They were worried about where to go for spring break, I was concerned about keeping all of my limbs. Priorities. They had their families and each other, I had myself and an infantry platoon I had just joined a couple weeks before flying off to the desert.

But part of life is also finding a degree of grace and dignity, no matter what is thrown at us.

...

Because of this little piece of my history, I've been thinking a lot about my friends down in New Orleans. My life in my city goes on in the happy little way that I've spent many years building. And their lives have almost completely turned upside down in just a little over a month.

It could have been unfortunately easy to shrug off their situation, to focus on my world around me, and to distance theirs as "someone else's problem". But they're my friends, so I chose not to.

It's not that hard to give a little bit of time and compassion, to be attentive and responsive, to give some thought and consideration. But I've seen far too many people who can't be troubled. That's life, but I also believe our actions define us.

...

Yesterday afternoon, my friend finally died. In May he was fine, in June he was ill, and within the last 24 hours he's now gone. Only a year and a half ago I was at the wedding where he married one of my loyal friends from the past fifteen years.

We may all have our flaws, but I'll always remember him as someone who sincerely meant well and truly loved his wife. And I do have one anecdotal story to offer:

Over the previous weekend, as his friends and family gathered for his final weekend at home, I kept getting concerned texts about how he was trying to act as if nothing was wrong, as if he'd somehow recover, as if he didn't grasp the seriousness of his situation. Yet I also knew that he was bummed about missing the final Batman movie.

I pointed out that if he knew that he would miss a movie release that was less than ten days away, he was fully aware. I also explained that he was also a dude. We're raised to fix things, and to pick ourselves up from bad falls and walk stuff off as if we aren't actually in pain. He knew what was happening, but he wanted to hold it together and make the best of it, instead of seeing everyone else hurt and upset. He was being strong for them, as well as himself.

Through to the end, he chose to care, and to keep his dignity. And that's really as much as any of us could hope for.

I suppose I should have a witty title, but it just isn't in me right now...

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 16:47:56 GMT

Today is a Wednesday. Aside from work, the primary topics for discussion involve holiday weekend plans. My options: 1) stay in the city, go to a string of parties, and finish rebuilding my motorcycle. Or 2) ride out with some friends to the Hamptons, and enjoy a weekend long party as a guest in an excessively large house with a pool, bar, and full set of luxury amenities.

Should I choose option number #2: I will have a brief taste of the good life. I will wear white linen to cover my tattoos from the sun. I will dine on ribs and lobster. I will drink Ketel One and Patron and Veuve and classic aged bourbon. I will sleep late, drink coffee, and recover in a jacuzzi. I will attempt to tan, and possibly burn again. I will wear blue tropical print swim trunks because I'm a jackass and I think it's somehow ironic to wear that with all of my tattoos.

Oh, and I will do some completely self indulgent navel gazing about death and dying because that's what seems to be haunting me lately. I'm not sure it matters which option I choose, I suspect my mind will be elsewhere.

Either way, I'll be exchanging messages of sympathy and loss.

...

Over the weekend in New Orleans, a friend left the hospital to spend his final weekend at home, before checking into a hospice, where he will eventually make his final check out as his organs progressively shut down.

Somewhere in my rather convoluted past, I seem to have had some medical training. Because of this, I can recall the sequence of terminal events as things like the liver and kidneys fail. And it's definitely not on anyones list of "romantic ways to die".

As my friend was making the best of what's likely his final weekend, he went to the movies. He saw Iron Man and the new Indiana Jones film. He was bummed he would miss the new Batman movie.

Hanging out in a bar with my friend Julia, it occurred to us that duh, we live in NYC, of course we can pick up a bootleg copy and Fedex it down overnight. The Motion Picture Association can suck it, this man is dying.

Unfortunately, it's a busy work week for each of us while everyone tries to compress deadlines before escaping for a few days off.

Even more unfortunately, the updates from NOLA are that my friend is already going more toxic and losing coherency. Yeah, kinda saw that one coming, but hoping it wouldn't be so soon. I think I fucked up on the DVD plan already. I hope he had a chance to download it from online, but by now it's the least of anyone's worries. Since I couldn't be there, I thought I could offer one little thing, but it's already too little too late.

Time is often the greatest luxury, and sometimes we just don't get it.

...

Many people I know have already died through tragic and sudden events. And each time, once the initial impact passes, you have no choice but to pick up the pieces and move on.

But for me, somehow, it's seeing these slow-motion lingering deaths that tear at the soul. That slow and tragic grind.

Finality

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 20:34:08 GMT

As much as I love the thrill of the new, I know that life also requires a degree of stability. And so, to some extent, I live in my own little world that I've worked hard to create.

I have my career which affords me a degree of comfort. I have my sanctuary of a conveniently located apartment, that fills with sunlight during the day, and gives me a view of the moon and the city skyline at night. I have close circles of loyal and true friends, as well as extended circles of interesting and eclectic people whom I also consider dear.

When my work days finish, my life is a long blur of dinners and drinks with friends and launch parties and special events and bands and dancing in clubs and cocktails on rooftops and plans for weekend escapes. And sometimes, I have the quiet night at home, alone. Sometimes I have more "serious relationships", sometimes I match my date to my plans for the evening. And when I sleep, it's often blissful and filled with dreams.

It's not a bad life at all. But sometimes it's a blur and I have to sort out the chronology of past events based upon memories of where I was working or whom I was dating.

And because of that, it sometimes feels like it falls into it own ruts and routines. I try to savor and appreciate it all as much as possible, but once something feels routine, it's easy to take it for granted.

...

And then roughly a month ago, a friend called me late at night while I was out with friends in a basement bar. It didn't seem like a normal time for her to call, so I stepped outside to hear what she had to say.

The husband of an old friend of ours had gone into the hospital for pains in his side, thinking he had kidney stones. Instead, they found cancer in his liver and spleen. As more information was gathered, the news kept going down.

I would send texts asking for updates, but the responses were never good, and came with more of a mixed sense of resignation and shock.

And these text exchanges over the past few weeks have also become part of my routine. And it has been something that persists in my mind as I've been passing through everything else.

Just a couple days ago, it was announced that by the end of the week, he would be doing his final dialysis and final transfusions. Only one day ago, it was announced that this weekend he would go home for a final house party, before checking into a hospice.

If I'd had a little more forewarning, I'd be on a flight to New Orleans now. But that's the whole point: sometimes we just don't get the time that we want or need.

Just a month ago, he was mostly healthy and thought maybe he had kidney stones. Now, they are counting down his final remaining days.

Final. Remaining. Last. Game over. And this is how it ends for someone not even out of his thirties. And then there's the loss to his wife and family and friends.

...

Life can be unexpectedly short. And this is where we get reminded to savor even the little things we do have.

AKA "The Happiest Place on Earth"

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 15:40:57 GMT

Overheard in one of the places in my neighborhood that passes for my living room. Hmm... I wonder who said this. I wonder who overheard this (Happygirl?).

Overheard in New York (overheardnyc) wrote,
@ 2008-04-28 02:00:00

She's Not Even the Toughest Woman on Avenue A

http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/archives/014463.html

30ish girl, looking at twenty-year olds: Are they going on about how old they are? Oh, please.
45ish rocker chick: Yup, they are.
30ish girl: I think I'm older than they are!
45ish: Me too. From the looks of things, they're about the age of my first abortion.
30ish girl: [Chokes on beer.]
45ish: Wonder how old that would be now?
30ish girl: Please stop.

--Double Down, Ave A

Overheard by: Happygirl

Birthday parties in this crazy little town

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 17:36:30 GMT

Ok, it started out simple enough: I was supposed to have some friends meet me for drinks on my birthday. But, my birthday fell mid-week. So, I'm flexible, and decided to move it to the weekend. Fine. Then it seemed like a good excuse to get some friends together and actually do something. Yeah, ok, this is NYC, and a lot of us who live here actually do things. And we know people. And they know us. Right? Right.

Venue? No problem, and we can even get drink specials. Go-go dancers and performers? Easy, I know a few. DJs? Of course! Ooh, and maybe we can get a bunch of our old scooters and motorcycles together and go on some sort of random ride. Right? Yeah, ok. Sure. Oh wait, if we're doing an "event" now, why not add another venue? And more stuff? Yeah, we know more people and bar owners and stuff. Oh, and since we're mostly creative professionals or people who do stuff or know more people, how would we like sponsorship? Maybe, like who? Would we like Fred Perry? Um... yeah, I wear that. Yeah. Ok. Awesome. Jaegermeister? Huh, what? Dude. No, wait, "Jaeger girls" serving shots. Dude, seriously? Yeah. Dude.

But wait, two of my friends (Niabi and Joanne) are shooting some photos and video for a project of theirs. Should we all do something together while everyone is out and about? Um, hell yeah! Ok, that was easy.

So, now there's a party this weekend. Two actually. With DJs and go-go dancers and performers and sponsors and hot girls and photographers and a film crew. There's also a couple group rides for those of us with the old 2-wheeled motor vehicles.

And even though it's gone to some bigger and different direction, somewhere under all that mix it's my birthday party too.

Feel free to drop on by for any of it.

Yeah, it's not a bad life. And I love this city.

Cheers,
-CI

www.nycmodsandrockers.com
myspace blah blah blah

note to self:

Tue, 12 Feb 2008 20:26:36 GMT

Must remember. Must resist.

No matter how good of a "deal" that used Ducati S4R Monster is, do not buy it. No more bikes until after I've sold one motorcycle AND one Lambretta AND have finished rebuilding the tiki cruiser into something more oldschool. Remember those words from the 80s: "Just say no." No more bikes (for now).

Repeat.

#######

Umm... anyone looking for some stylish transportation?

I've got for sale one 1972 Honda CB350, in classic black and metallic green. It's a good bike, and I'm looking to find it a good home among friends.

I also may have a rather poshly restored mid-1960s original Italian Lambretta for consideration to the right buyer.

Whoa!

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 22:07:17 GMT

Huh, what? Anna Nicolle Smith found dead?

It was bound to happen, sooner or later...

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 18:24:50 GMT

For halloween, I often considered putting together the costume to be "Max, King of the Monsters", from the Maurice Sendak book Where the Wild Things Are. I had always loved the story, and related very deeply to that character in an odd childish sort of way.

(Although one of the major drawbacks to that outfit (aside from effort), was the risk of being mistaken for a furry.)

Anyway, it now looks like the short illustrated story is being expanded into a full movie. It will be interesting to see how it comes out. Screenplay by Dave Eggers and Spike Jonze.

I'm happy someone was able to prove this...

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 22:46:44 GMT

There are very few things that really skeeve me out, and the ones that do are somewhat odd. But apparently, according to Reuters, I'm not the only one who has a problem with that dreadful plague known as clowns.

From the article: "We found that clowns are universally disliked by children. Some found them quite frightening and unknowable."

Calling all mods, rockers, mockers, scooteristas, and um, yeah... the rest of you party people too

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 18:12:57 GMT

So... I'm having a little party with an open bar in the Lower East Side on Saturday night, and you're all invited to join us.

It's the final blow out for the Gotham Scooter Rallies, and it will have it's own little mod/rocker theme. Joanne Loveless, Dr. Jones, and DRG will be rocking the turntables with music ranging from 60s garage to post-punk (as long as it's dirty and nasty). There will be free booze 10pm until midnight, featuring PBR, Yuengling, and well drinks.

If you're in the area of Parkside Lounge (at 317 East Houston between Avenues B and C), feel free to drop by.

...

ps- I just got word that a couple of our go-go dancers flaked out. If anyone is interested in getting paid to dance (and more free drinks), leave me a message.

dreams

Fri, 12 Oct 2007 18:56:49 GMT

Finally, there is that drop in air temperature and the beginning of those awkward few weeks where no one is quite sure how to dress: short sleeve or jacket? Sweaters or shorts? And with the changing of the leaves comes that time of year where the women start pulling out the wool skirts and high leather boots.

So many memories all come flooding back and mixing with my subconscious.

I dream of mountains and rivers and trees and big deep clouds rolling across the sky. I dream of the sounds of rustling branches and rushing water; the contrast of drying leaves and the slight dampness in the air. Lazy and leisurely afternoons, total freedom during nights full of big stars and a low moon.

I dream of fast drives down back country roads. The poetry of motion and the feeling of being in the driver's seat again. Down shifting and hard deceleration as the next bend approaches, the faint smell of heated brakes and a chirping of the tires, the rapid coasting through to clip the apex of the curve before pushing back down on the gas and accelerating out again in a widening arc, aiming to repeat the dance in the next corner ahead. Twisting and turning, ebbing and flowing, pushed back into the seats with the roof open and the windows cracked. Stealing a glance to see my passenger's smile as her hair blows around her face. The world rushing by outside while we travel in our own warm cocoon. (The music on the stereo: the song Anything by The Damned.)

I dream of old stone houses from when this country was still just a wild and new colony. History and hidden secrets. Laughs and late night ghost stories and mugs of hot mulled cider. Hills full of sprawling orchards, gnarled branches recently liberated from their burden of fruit. The smell of apples and wood and a distant fire. An intoxicating richness in the air.

I dream of holding smooth hands while walking through thick wild grass, bodies bumping into one another as we stumble along through the fading light. The feeling of body heat trapped beneath warm layers. The feeling of each other's breath upon our cheeks, the taste of a lover's kiss, the clean smell of hair, hands reaching up under clothes. The soft cool skin along the curve of the small of the back, a playfully unhitched bra strap while biting a lip, the textures of cotton and wool and the female form. Memories of how it felt to be in love.

drifting towards the end of summer

Wed, 05 Sep 2007 16:58:38 GMT

Sole Runners rally, originally uploaded by christopher-ian.

umm... yeah. thanks for the email messages reminding me that i haven't updated this journal in a couple months. (and that it's been even longer since i even bothered to write more than a token bulletin.)

my life is good. busy. my apologies to anyone i've been out of touch with since june. (i'm even way behind on personal email.)

i haven't exactly been a recluse, i suppose i've just been an odd combination of active and introspective this summer. perhaps with the coming of fall i'll start writing again.

how is everyone here?

Happiness is...

Thu, 05 Jul 2007 19:22:09 GMT

...somehow making it to #11 in the MySpace "top friends" of my favorite local punkrock dive bar:
www.myspace.com/doubledownsaloonnyc

I'm not exactly sure why, but it makes me feel all kinda warm and fuzzy inside.

Gotham Rally

Tue, 12 Jun 2007 15:37:37 GMT

pDSC_5206.jpg, originally uploaded by lmno.p.

me, saturday, brooklyn.

by all accounts, the rally was a success. pictures are finally starting to appear. but many people are still recovering from the festivities.

...and i got a new riding jacket. it fits nice in the shoulder and sleeves, but is a pretty baggy in the chest when i'm leaned forward and riding (see above). any tailor recommendations in NYC?

(sorry most of my posts lately have been asking questions. perhaps i'll try to actually start writing again this week while i'm off.)

Scootastic week

Wed, 16 May 2007 17:07:15 GMT

Yesterday, I picked up a couple more Lambrettas.

LiS150 (190 conversion). Two-tone ska-riffic and mod like mad.

Li125 (TV200 engine). Pure, clean, fast.

I also managed to update the website for the Gotham Rally.

Thanks for the responses on the illustrator search. I've been swamped, but I'll try to email them today.

This summer will rock.

another year begins

Tue, 03 Apr 2007 17:11:06 GMT

my birthday is this coming weekend. i'm still undecided on my plans, but i've finally taken care of a couple things that needed resolution.

i finally have a table and chairs set up in my apartment. (which means i can now eat somewhere other than my bed while at home.)

...and i finally finished my sleeves from wrist to shoulder. (the only work left is touch-up.)

hunger and freedom

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 18:42:32 GMT

A few days ago, I wondered out of the cold and into Mondo Kim's on Saint Marks, in search of a DVD (a movie from Thailand named Citizen Dog, in case any of you know where to find it).

On one level of my consciousness, my body operated to put one foot in front of the other and carry me through the store. On another level, I've been living a life with which I'm very happy and comfortable. My relationships, my career, my apartment up the street, and the coat I wore: all working together to wrap me in a warm blanket of contentment.

But then there was the song playing in the first floor music section. As soon as it registered and cross-referenced with my memories, it reached through my layers and straight into my gut.

The voice singing was Johnny Rotten / John Lydon. The album was the "generic" one by Public Image Ltd. The one titled alternately "cassette", "album", or "compact disc" depending upon which version you bought. The song in particular was "FFF". Farewell, my fairweather friend.

I once went through a phase of listing to that album and track over-and-over again. I haven't listened to it so much since then. And still, one of the emotions/feelings it conjures is a deep, gnawing hunger.

///

When I was 15, my parents divorced and my father sued my mother for my custody. By the time I was 16, he had remarried. At that time, the new wife was 26, he was 38.

A month short of my 17th birthday, they had found a new house and were preparing to move. And a decision was made. She had wanted to start a "new family", and I was a reminder of his past, failed marriage. I had no place in their new life, and therefore I had to go.

Over the coming weeks, they packed and moved their possessions to the new house. As soon as they were out, they cut the water. A few days later, they cut the electricity. I was told I had two weeks to leave before they'd have me evicted.

A few months prior, my mother had remarried. During these events, she was spending a month long honeymoon on an island located between Canada and Minnesota. There was no phone on the island, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Her new husband had a nice big house, but hadn't wanted to have any children around, he especially wasn't expecting a teenager.

The more amusing part of the story is that I wasn't even that much of a trouble maker at the time. I was in student government, I was in the gifted program, I competed in the academic teams in categories like mathematics and history, and I had just received an admissions packet for early entrance to Johns Hopkins as part of their gifted talent search. I probably would have classified as a total geek had I not also been a skater.

And so, on my 17th birthday, it was just me in a dark and empty house with my possessions just sitting there in boxes. Most of my friends were all away on spring break. I had enough sense to steal some food from the cupboards while they were packing, but there was no power to cook. I had less than twenty dollars to my name.

But I also had my independence. And my pride. And I wasn't going to go beg either parent to let me live with them if they didn't want me.

That vacation week, while everyone was away, I would sometimes grab my board and go skate. Other times, I'd put a tape in my walkman, turn up the volume, and pace through the three bedroom house with this three foot long, by 1 1/2 inch diameter wooden rod, and smash to pieces anything my parents left behind.

That tape, and that song, was one of the ones I played heavily. And when I remember things from that part of my life, and the following year, the sensation that comes back initially is an almost endless hunger, since most of the time I was just scraping by on my own. But it also came with a combination freedom and self-determination, and the feeling of leaving my fairweather friends and parents behind.

///

Note: It was Karen who showed up and helped me move out and find places to stay. And it's one of the reasons we've been loyal friends since then.

answers, and a little heartache

Mon, 05 Feb 2007 19:34:32 GMT

It's been quite awhile since I've posted here. Life has been really good, great actually, but I just haven't had much that I wanted to share with people who weren't a part of it.

But, this is one of those rare moments where I feel like I need for some form of catharsis; to cast my words into the ether and somehow sort out these feelings and let them out of my body, to make some sort of random digital confession.

///

A few years ago, someone I sort of knew sort of disappeared.

The last time I saw her, we crossed paths on Houston and Bowery. Downtown, where we were, the sun was bright but there were gusts of wind and there was the crisp snap of electricity in the air. To the north, the sky was black and heavy with a massive thunderstorm consuming midtown. We were distracted by the view up the avenues, but were also wanting to avoid being soaked if the storm drifted south.

We stopped, we spoke, we made plans to meet again, we kissed on the cheek and said goodbye.

It was late summer / early fall 2002.

We regularly crossed paths on the street of Williamsburg and the Lower East Side, and had somehow progressed to the point of "let's hang out sometime".

She had called me earlier in the summer, after spotting me in the crowd at the Mermaid Parade in Coney Island. She told me she had just returned to the states and was working at a new studio, and asked if I'd like to drop by sometime. I was a little surprised she had my cellphone number, since I had booked my appointments through the front desk of the studio where she had previously worked.

She had been my tattoo artist. She inked the big black blocks up my spine. And the large angular spiral around my right calf. And the thick black band around my left fore arm.

The times we chatted that summer, it had been less about tattoos, and more about what each of us had been doing in our lives. It had been a year since I'd sat beneath her needle.

So, there was this slight awkwardness: was there still some sort of client/artist relationship, or was there some other interest? (Ridgely had been witness to one of our meetings.)

And the moments we met always seemed to be before something like the coming of a storm.

That fall, I had started traveling to-and-from Richmond to work in a friend's scooter shop. She called me a couple times, but I was busy bouncing back and forth. And I had started dating someone new while there.

The last time she called, it was 11:30 at night, midway between Christmas and New Years Eve 2002. She asked if I wanted to meet for a drink. I told her I was out of town, but would be in touch once I settled back into NYC.

That spring, by the time I did try to track her down for some new tattoo work, she had left the city. Her cellphone was disconnected.

I asked around the studios, but no one knew where she'd gone.

Over the past few years, as I started getting more work done, I'd sometimes try to find out where she went. People knew of her name and her work, but no one knew what became of her. There were rumours she had moved to Brighton in the UK, but that was it. If this was anyone with a more ordinary job, this wouldn't have been a big deal. But, as a tattoo artist who had been making a name for herself, it was odd for someone like her to just completely vanish.

And I had always thought that if I could locate her, I'd at least have her finish marking up one of my limbs.

Last week, I finally got an answer.

Someone stopped me to ask about some of my work. Her name came up. I asked if he knew anything. I was told that she she had become a really bad junky. I tried to gather more information, but most questions were met with "yeah, she's bad news."

I don't know if it's true, but it would explain the disappearance.

And I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being more than a little heartbroken at the thought.

Nothin' but a bunch o' Ho-Ho-Ho's.

Fri, 22 Dec 2006 18:10:33 GMT

PICT1992.JPG, originally uploaded by SaraRose423.

Last saturday. Santacon 2006.

"Hello, my name is Naughty."

blue skies and falling buildings

Mon, 11 Sep 2006 17:08:25 GMT

it's a beautiful day in the city today. the type of day when you have the overwhelming urge to play hooky and spend the entire afternoon strolling around and enjoying the air.

five years ago it was the same type of day. it was a tuesday. and i would have gladly skipped work given any reasonable excuse.

when the first plane hit, i watched the fire with mild interest from the window of my bedroom. it wasn't the type of thing you saw too often. it was unusual, but still possibly an accident. leisurely, i contemplated getting dressed before heading into work in soho.

as i watched the second plane hit, i realized there weren't really any options other than an attack. and if anyone could coordinate planes flying into buildings, the next most likely targets were the bridges and subways out of the city. even if it hadn't been true, it was a good reason to take the day off.

an ex-girlfriend had decided to drop by the night before. even though we'd broken up months earlier, we still saw each other a couple times a week. she spent the morning glued to my TV watching the news. every now and again she'd come look out the window to see it with her own eyes. i tried calling my office, but the phone lines were all jammed. she emailed her company to tell them she wouldn't be working that day.

i went to the bodega across the street to pick up coffee and some pastries. i ran into another friend. he and i wandered up to my rooftop to watch the fires.

i thought about grabbing my digital camera, but decided i didn't want to feel like a tourist in my own city. we stood on the rooftop drinking our coffee as first one tower fell, and then the other. unless you lived here, it's hard to grasp how actually big those buildings really were.

i remember watching the smoke and seeing the latent image in my mind of where the towers used to be. to my eyes, it was like there were two dark holes in the skyline.

i tried calling friends and coworkers who worked downtown, but the phone lines were still totally jammed. my friend and i wondered aloud if there would be an exodus from the city, and decided that we'd stay and dig in if necessary, since we had nowhere else to go.

i still had my EMT certification, and my friend and i discussed walking downtown to see if we could help. i remembered that those buildings were supposed to be able to hold fifty-thousand workers. there was no telling how many people had died or been injured. i went back to my apartment to check on my ex, but she didn't want me to leave her by herself.

i then walked my friend downstairs to the street, on his way toward downtown on foot. we shook hands and i told him to catch up with me later.

i picked up some more items from the bodega. by now, people covered in white ash were starting to pass through my neighborhood. a hipster, fresh out of bed, asked what was up with all the "suits" and dust. i told him planes had been hijacked and flown into buildings, and that the world trade centers had collapsed. he said "no way" and acted like i was kidding. i told him to walk a couple blocks to where there was a better view.

as i passed my mailbox, i realized that i still hadn't gotten my final discharge papers from the military, and was reminded that my last unit of assignment was a special forces battalion. i checked my military ID card and saw that the expiration date was september 8. i had no idea what type of letter i'd be getting in the mail, but either option filled me with a different form of dread.

there are moments in our life when we have to choose how we are going to react to the world around us.

it was a beautiful day outside. the world seemed like it could be well on the way to collapse. we had no idea if more were attacks coming. all means of escape from the city were undoubtedly already jammed. i sent a quick email to friends, family and coworkers to make sure that everyone else was ok, and to find out who was missing. my ex-girlfriend and i decided to have sex before heading off to find an open bar.

as we left the apartment, i remember telling her: "there's never a good time to panic. we may as well try to enjoy things as much as we can since we never know when it will all come to an end."

walking through our neighborhood, we watched big billowing clouds of smoke rise from downtown. jet fighters circled overhead through a rich blue sky.

it was a beautiful day on our block, while less than a mile away the world was falling apart.

home

Fri, 01 Sep 2006 17:10:19 GMT

sparklydevil and i in the front row for the kick-off of the New York Burlesque Festival.

i love my friends. i love this city.

i'm not even a sports fan, but someone needs to say it...

Mon, 10 Jul 2006 17:41:16 GMT

dear FIFA worldcup blah blah blah, perhaps the reason your sport isn't more popular in north america isn't so much because our team sucks. but, perhaps, it has to do with watching teams like italy. we know europeans are more "sensitive" and all, but your use of those little yellow and red penalty cards is out of control. please teach your men how to take a hit and keep moving.

dear italy, i'm sorry but grown men (paid athletes at that) shouldn't throw themselves on the ground and act momentarily injured every time someone brushes up against or bumps into them. you may have won, but your team are a bunch of little drama queens. i'm sure they're in a hurry to get home so their mommy's can cook them dinner, do their laundry, and tuck them into bed at night. you should feel a degree of shame at your victory, not pride.

dear france, i know i've made fun of you in the past, but it warmed my heart to see your star player, Zidane, finally get sick of it and knock a motherfucker to the ground with his forehead. that was truly the best play in a tight game and it was a fine moment to watch. keep up the good work. better luck next time.

tonight: july 6

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 19:19:23 GMT

if anyone is going to be down and around my neighborhood, come join me here:

Mon, 12 Jun 2006 17:15:32 GMT

Bourgeois Pig (night)

being genetically teutonic and philosophically mandarin would give Comrade Ridgely and myself the edge against both the imperialists and proletariat, but we can't be bothered as we're the cats on the Animal Farm. just keep the bottles of red coming.

Otto's Shrunken Head (night)

tiki bars derive their value by trading in a currency of kitsch. this includes playing surf rock, spy music, godzilla movies, and classic death rock. tiki bars should not be playing ironic hipster 80s music. please get it straight.

Trash at Rififi (night)

they did a good job of keeping the new jersey and NYU crowd standing outside in a line that didn't move, while admitting the usual suspects of downtown regulars who were on real or imagined lists. but who the hell called the cops to have them busted for crowding inside?

park slope (morning)

it's very cool to go help a friend fix her scooter, and realize that not only did i not need any tools, i also barely got my hands dirty. and it's truly nice to hear the purr of a happy Lambretta.

various points in williamsburg (afternoon)

many classic motorcycles for sale, yet none spoke to my heart.

i overheard one of the tattooed rocakbilly chicks behind the counter in a shop say to the other as i walked in the door: "nice package". i was the only one in there. i browsed, chatted a little, and left, possibly still blushing.

while skimming some noam chomsky and other contemporary political books at a table out on the street, some crunchy-activist-chick made conversation with me. but would she have been as nice had she known that i had once been a soldier in iraq? somehow, i doubt it.

i suspect everyone must have had spring fever this weekend.

Union Pool (afternoon)

hipster barbecue. not as bad as one would expect. in a place full of hipsters, only about five fell into that really-trying-too-hard-with-the-white-sunglasses-and-product-made-bedhead category. one band sounded Fugazi-ish. another sounded like Lush but with a boy singer.

growing trend: around one in ten people in the crowd was carrying a digital SLR, almost always a Nikon D100/D200 or Canon EOS 20D/30D. apparently dangling $2000 in camera and lenses is the accessory du jour. hello expendable income crowd.

a rooftop long island city (evening)

good views, good company, and the barbecues keep reaching new heights.

a party somewhere in Harlem (night)

there was something very comforting about a party full of cool black girls discussing things like charles bukowski and egon schiele. it was nice to be away from the w'burg hipsters and reminded me of growing up in DC.

Lit (night/morning)

when we finally walked out the door, it was 5:30 and the sun was up.

a bench in soho (afternoon)

while drinking my coffee, i was able to watch a japanese cowgirl in an all-white outfit carefully slurp her japanese microwave noodles without splashing on herself.

a friend compared my life to Ferris Bueller's Day Off. i suppose that someday i'll eventually have to grow up. but someday can wait.

a few thoughts on going to burlesque shows

Tue, 06 Jun 2006 17:11:23 GMT

i have several friends who are exceptional burlesque performers, and i love going to support them. there is also a growing population of fresh talent as well as many seasoned entertainers, so there's almost always something new to see.

each of these performers has signature acts and styles, but regularly introduce new routines. performing week-after-week, and working day jobs, this is truly impressive. i've often seen shows by people like allison (littlebrooklyn) that have left me thoroughly stunned with their originality and audacity (like a routine based upon a scene from Silence of the Lambs, which was truly inspired brilliance).

recently, when i heard that there was going to be a benefit at the Lucky Cat, i was excited and wanted to go since that is also one of my favorite cafe/bars in Williamsburg. since the cause was one that i believed in, and knowing that the Lucky Cat probably doesn't have the best seating for performances of that nature, i thought i'd go ahead and get several VIP tickets and gather together a group of friends.

but as amazing as most of the performers are, it's the hosts who sometimes can truly make or break a show.

Scotty the Blue Bunny is hysterically funny every time, and would be worth the price of admission alone. Murray Hill has his schtick, and he works it pretty well too. but why must every other boy MC try to do the thing where they put on a retro suit and fedora and try to do the exact same card and string tricks that every other burlesque/vaudeville-wannabe boy does. raise your hands if you've seen at least 3-5 different guys do the same "i've got 6 cards and i throw 3 away and i have 6 left" trick?

if you're Albert Cadabra you could probably do those tricks and make a joke of it. he is that funny. almost any of the other boys? come on, work a new angle or go to a new magic store already. ask for something they haven't already sold everyone else. but, at worst, most of the look-alike boy performer/MCs are forgettable.

Rose Wood has been flogging some of the same jokes into the ground, but then will sometimes surprise you with a new routine.

and then there's Carmen Mofungo. i have seen her one act for at least four years now. four years of the same jokes in the same order with the same musical numbers. ok, i know she has one other song that she does each year during the holidays. but that's still one other song to her one act. and at this point, i have friends that i don't take out that often, and they have already seen her one act, at least twice.

even if she does change things, when an act is over 90% recycled material, she may as well stay home and send a video. then at least we wouldn't feel so bad about getting up to spend our money at the bar while we wait for the next performer, one who isn't phoning it in.

with her on the bill, there's no way i can justify buying a string of $25 dollar tickets. in the past, i've actually changed plans when i've seen that she was hosting.

some things just stop being funny well before the 20th time you've seen or heard it and she can make the whole night start to feel like a re-run. and that's not entertainment, that's just painful.