Is there any justice?
Evidently not.
Four years in-between posts is unforgivable.
The jack hammers are still going
The helicopters are still buzzing overhead
And I'm still miserable.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Thursday, April 19, 2007
In my way
Damn these people that are clogging up the streets of Manhattan. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, busily pushing the keypad of their PDA, oblivious to the world around them. Obviously they don't understand the concept of sideWALK. Well, watch out! I have removed the little fog horn of my bicycle and am looking for an excuse to use it.
And while we are discussing manners --ok, my anger, I am tired of moving to a different subway car to avoid the disgusting smells of your greasy food. When I see you holding that container so close to your face --shoveling it in, it is only a matter of time before I accidentally shove it up your nose.
And while I am discussing subway - jesus, are you men blind? A pregnant woman gets on at 14th Street and is forced to stand, because all the seats are filled with men and boys. The one seat occupied by a woman is quickly vacated (she must be seventy) so the pregnant woman can sit. Please guys, wake up.
And while we are discussing blindness, last week there was a semi-filled subway car with one obviously blind old black man. We approached Spring Street and a rather poor acting druggie boards and begins,"Ladies and Gentleman, may I have your attention? I am sorry to bother you but I ...."
Not one person in the car reached into their pocket...except for the old blind man with his old blind cane.
And another thing, to you...the crack head that has been roaming the streets of the Village for the last 15 years. All right, you are blond and white, and I'm sorry for that, because people never suspect you. I'm also sorry that crack doesn't kill. It's a squanch that I gave you money the first time after that rather convincing "lock-out story", but to see you hovered over my jacket, rifling through the pockets yesterday...removing the change, while I was trying on a sports coat nearly caused me to come loose. TWICE! You've made a monkey out me. You asshole, why do you think I was at a thrift store --I don't have job and I do have an interview.
So watch out! You know I'll see you again and when I do--I will take my lonely lighter (you stole my cigarettes) and heat up a quarter until it is red --then drop it in your hand.
And speaking of hand - All you tourists hanging out on Canal and Broadway, slipping into basements, escorted by those nasty Ho's to buy your Louis Vitton knock off Hand bags. I'm watching you! Its only a matter of time before I put on my fake badge and confiscate your goods. I will do it.
OK, I finished.
Oh wait, speaking of bags. To those immigrants choosing to carry their belongings in fancy shopping bags: Get someone who speaks English to tell you where the bag is from. Nothing Nastier than an fat old lady carrying a Victoria's Secret Bag. Its to much for my head.
And while we are discussing manners --ok, my anger, I am tired of moving to a different subway car to avoid the disgusting smells of your greasy food. When I see you holding that container so close to your face --shoveling it in, it is only a matter of time before I accidentally shove it up your nose.
And while I am discussing subway - jesus, are you men blind? A pregnant woman gets on at 14th Street and is forced to stand, because all the seats are filled with men and boys. The one seat occupied by a woman is quickly vacated (she must be seventy) so the pregnant woman can sit. Please guys, wake up.
And while we are discussing blindness, last week there was a semi-filled subway car with one obviously blind old black man. We approached Spring Street and a rather poor acting druggie boards and begins,"Ladies and Gentleman, may I have your attention? I am sorry to bother you but I ...."
Not one person in the car reached into their pocket...except for the old blind man with his old blind cane.
And another thing, to you...the crack head that has been roaming the streets of the Village for the last 15 years. All right, you are blond and white, and I'm sorry for that, because people never suspect you. I'm also sorry that crack doesn't kill. It's a squanch that I gave you money the first time after that rather convincing "lock-out story", but to see you hovered over my jacket, rifling through the pockets yesterday...removing the change, while I was trying on a sports coat nearly caused me to come loose. TWICE! You've made a monkey out me. You asshole, why do you think I was at a thrift store --I don't have job and I do have an interview.
So watch out! You know I'll see you again and when I do--I will take my lonely lighter (you stole my cigarettes) and heat up a quarter until it is red --then drop it in your hand.
And speaking of hand - All you tourists hanging out on Canal and Broadway, slipping into basements, escorted by those nasty Ho's to buy your Louis Vitton knock off Hand bags. I'm watching you! Its only a matter of time before I put on my fake badge and confiscate your goods. I will do it.
OK, I finished.
Oh wait, speaking of bags. To those immigrants choosing to carry their belongings in fancy shopping bags: Get someone who speaks English to tell you where the bag is from. Nothing Nastier than an fat old lady carrying a Victoria's Secret Bag. Its to much for my head.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
The beginning of ....
The problem with starting a book is that one never knows where to begin. It occurred to me after another panel of "specialists" in their respective fields - that, perhaps I should write a little. Most of the issues covered, I could have explained with fewer words, just a red face with little stutter here and there.
As I exited, walking past Bobst, it became clear. A starting point.
Thank god - I'm just holding way too much in. Perhaps in some way I might help another.
It started the day JFK, Jr. went missing in the Atlantic Ocean. I admit it, I lusted after him like every other gay man and straight woman. He was a dream...one that never materialized other then a nod and smile as I took his order.
The date was Friday, July 17th, 1999. As I boarded my plane to Nassau, there was mention that his flight was missing. As I rushed through the airport - to get downtown to pick up my connecting ticket- I had only one thought...I'm going to miss my flight to Havana. I did. The pains of out running Big Brother.
I arrived at an overpriced hotel late. The agency, if you could call it that, was typically what on would expect. Over-sized women, strange smells and looks of, "Sorry I can't help you" Lorraine has stepped out for lunch." I was one of many waiting for Lorraine. She returned way past the time of my departure. Disgruntled with my fellow patrons, we left defeated, agreeable to "first flight out" in the morning.
I went to bed, slept poorly and in my own misery, forgot about my friend, John, John.
Six in the morning I bolted for my a Aero Caribe flight, and landed in Havana at an early hour.
to my surprise, my buddy, Ove, from Norway was waiting for me with a nice cup of Cuban coffee. Little did I know that within a few hours my life was about to change.
-----
As I exited, walking past Bobst, it became clear. A starting point.
Thank god - I'm just holding way too much in. Perhaps in some way I might help another.
It started the day JFK, Jr. went missing in the Atlantic Ocean. I admit it, I lusted after him like every other gay man and straight woman. He was a dream...one that never materialized other then a nod and smile as I took his order.
The date was Friday, July 17th, 1999. As I boarded my plane to Nassau, there was mention that his flight was missing. As I rushed through the airport - to get downtown to pick up my connecting ticket- I had only one thought...I'm going to miss my flight to Havana. I did. The pains of out running Big Brother.
I arrived at an overpriced hotel late. The agency, if you could call it that, was typically what on would expect. Over-sized women, strange smells and looks of, "Sorry I can't help you" Lorraine has stepped out for lunch." I was one of many waiting for Lorraine. She returned way past the time of my departure. Disgruntled with my fellow patrons, we left defeated, agreeable to "first flight out" in the morning.
I went to bed, slept poorly and in my own misery, forgot about my friend, John, John.
Six in the morning I bolted for my a Aero Caribe flight, and landed in Havana at an early hour.
to my surprise, my buddy, Ove, from Norway was waiting for me with a nice cup of Cuban coffee. Little did I know that within a few hours my life was about to change.
-----
Sunday, January 08, 2006
F*ck the TSA / The Perfect Storm
The paperwork for the adoption was finished --I had a date to pick up P and W and decided it would be good to visit my parents in Oregon. As they move into their eighties...shorter and more frequent visits are easier.
Two days before my departure (October/2005):
Dr. M fell of his bike --somewhere near 14th street and chipped his 2 front teeth....he looked funny, but the whole incident was unnerving. But that is a different story. While consoling him the night before my departure, the temporary dressing on my completed root canal fell apart and the tooth cracked. It was still attached to the gum and the dentist told me to see someone in Oregon and have a new temporary put on. I held it into place with my tongue which gave me slightly slurred speech, but I don't talk to people on planes....
Exhausted from the late night hospital visit with Dr M, tormented by the dental challenges, relieved that the adoption had gone through, I headed to LGA for an early evening flight, a stop-over in Minneapolis, and a 11:30
arrival at PDX.
On the second leg of the trip, the plane was empty - they upgraded me to first -- my knees like that. I ate a sad dinner, had a couple glasses of wine, kept the half-empty wine glass and fell asleep.
I woke-up at landing... the glass of wine down the front of me...and a bit disoriented. I exited the plane, went to the men's room and headed out to my ride. As I passed through "security" I realized I'd left a bag in the overhead. I asked the 20 something gentleman at the x-ray machine, "Please may I retrieve my bag?"
His response, "I'm sorry sir, you can't re-enter the area."
I chuckled to myself: This government, out of fear, has put inexperienced children in charge of our lives.
"And what would you suggest I do to retrieve my bag, Sir?" He responded with, "I don't know, but you can't go through here." I spotted a TSA gentleman on his mobile phone, I headed in his direction. Amused by the silliness of it all, I explained the situation.
His response was, "Have you been drinking, Sir? You smell like you've been drinking, may I see your ID?"
I took off my backpack and started to unzip it. He asked me to stand back, he would get it out of my bag. I had no idea where in the backpack it was. He opened the main compartment to find a months supply of HIV medications...in unmarked bottles.
"What are these?"
I responded, "None of your business. Are you not looking for a wallet?"
Wrong answer.
He grabbed me by the shirt collar and belt-loop and threw me against the wall. The situation was out of hand, I quickly realized it was serious... "these are my medications, for HIV "..... with a force never experienced, I was thrown to the floor, arm twisted and foot on my head. The TSA agent was screaming, "DONT SPIT! DONT SPIT!" and calling for back-up.
---------I have to stop----------I'm getting ill--------------I'll continue this post later------------------
Two days before my departure (October/2005):
Dr. M fell of his bike --somewhere near 14th street and chipped his 2 front teeth....he looked funny, but the whole incident was unnerving. But that is a different story. While consoling him the night before my departure, the temporary dressing on my completed root canal fell apart and the tooth cracked. It was still attached to the gum and the dentist told me to see someone in Oregon and have a new temporary put on. I held it into place with my tongue which gave me slightly slurred speech, but I don't talk to people on planes....
Exhausted from the late night hospital visit with Dr M, tormented by the dental challenges, relieved that the adoption had gone through, I headed to LGA for an early evening flight, a stop-over in Minneapolis, and a 11:30
arrival at PDX.
On the second leg of the trip, the plane was empty - they upgraded me to first -- my knees like that. I ate a sad dinner, had a couple glasses of wine, kept the half-empty wine glass and fell asleep.
I woke-up at landing... the glass of wine down the front of me...and a bit disoriented. I exited the plane, went to the men's room and headed out to my ride. As I passed through "security" I realized I'd left a bag in the overhead. I asked the 20 something gentleman at the x-ray machine, "Please may I retrieve my bag?"
His response, "I'm sorry sir, you can't re-enter the area."
I chuckled to myself: This government, out of fear, has put inexperienced children in charge of our lives.
"And what would you suggest I do to retrieve my bag, Sir?" He responded with, "I don't know, but you can't go through here." I spotted a TSA gentleman on his mobile phone, I headed in his direction. Amused by the silliness of it all, I explained the situation.
His response was, "Have you been drinking, Sir? You smell like you've been drinking, may I see your ID?"
I took off my backpack and started to unzip it. He asked me to stand back, he would get it out of my bag. I had no idea where in the backpack it was. He opened the main compartment to find a months supply of HIV medications...in unmarked bottles.
"What are these?"
I responded, "None of your business. Are you not looking for a wallet?"
Wrong answer.
He grabbed me by the shirt collar and belt-loop and threw me against the wall. The situation was out of hand, I quickly realized it was serious... "these are my medications, for HIV "..... with a force never experienced, I was thrown to the floor, arm twisted and foot on my head. The TSA agent was screaming, "DONT SPIT! DONT SPIT!" and calling for back-up.
---------I have to stop----------I'm getting ill--------------I'll continue this post later------------------
Thursday, December 29, 2005
THE FIRST STEp
A beginning at the end.
What luck --to be looking for gainful employment and stumble across a site that allows me to begin a blog without furnishing a credit card number. I had no idea it could be so easy.
So X, here I sit at the end of 2005, appreciating the gift. The gift of being able to publish my thoughts, loves, pains and passions...a beginning. I will blog rather than spending endless nights writing to an unresponsive hard drive.
The rain is falling, the children are gone, the holiday guest has departed and the dog is laying across the bottom of my warm, cozy bed. It will not let go of me --it envelopes my entire soul, protecting me from the world.
One could say that this bed of mine is a cage --a dark place where I recoil from the harshness of the world. They would probably be right.
I am hoping that this new form of communication will produce a stronger, more effective human. One that will have an impact.
What luck --to be looking for gainful employment and stumble across a site that allows me to begin a blog without furnishing a credit card number. I had no idea it could be so easy.
So X, here I sit at the end of 2005, appreciating the gift. The gift of being able to publish my thoughts, loves, pains and passions...a beginning. I will blog rather than spending endless nights writing to an unresponsive hard drive.
The rain is falling, the children are gone, the holiday guest has departed and the dog is laying across the bottom of my warm, cozy bed. It will not let go of me --it envelopes my entire soul, protecting me from the world.
One could say that this bed of mine is a cage --a dark place where I recoil from the harshness of the world. They would probably be right.
I am hoping that this new form of communication will produce a stronger, more effective human. One that will have an impact.
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