leave your glasses on

i've been feeling philosphical lately, yet i've noticed that i'm not quite intelligent to come up with anything outstanding to philosophize about. instead, i rummaged through my old emails and found a theory by my dear friend, G. so i'm going to present it to you, verbatim, for your reading pleasure. i have not edited anything (and mind you, she's even more in love with the semi-colon than i am) but keep in mind that this was an informal email, wouldjya? thanks. oh, and being the self-l0ver that i am, i had to comment because i think i'm hilarious. my sidebar is italicized.

(12.10.04)

So recently I had to go to this party...a theme party where you had to come dressed either as a goth or a visigoth (aka viking). [i'd immediately be annoyed. they'd have had to define that latter term for me, thus creating a sense of inadequacy that no party could reverse] The party was thrown by a girl i worked with who is pretty fuckin' awesome; she's an anarchist and she protests and lives in a co-op house where they make all their food from scrap and sew stuff and well, i think they are all bisexual and don't believe in monogomy...there's the background...it's a cool place...not REALLY my thing since well, i'm lazy and cooking and sewing always sounds good...being vegan does NOT sound good.. by the way...and bisexuality seems to have its perks i guess...i mean if you walk in a room..EVERYONE is game...crazy right? I just happen to really like guys and the thought of another woman's vagina really kinda skeeves me out [yeah, i'll second that one]...although I do appreciate the beauty of a woman...[whatever you blazing metrosexual]
So these anarchists always throw parties...like Fuckcore [uhhh...? so, umm...do you hyphenate that word?] or weird anarchist stuff where guys are wearing skirts and all the girls have underarm hair and smell like body odor...I go to them; there's good music and "E" [name changed by me for the day she realizes how embarrassingly freaky she was as a young woman] is awesome. Plus they remind me of freshman year on Draper Street at those crazy cross-dressing parties...remember...[yeah, i clearly remember. there was that boy that we were convinced looked better as a woman. for serious.]
Ok, back to the story...so i go to this party...T and I write on our t-shirts "I'm with Goth" with an arrow and on the other one "I'm with Visigoth" The shirts are hot pink and every single person there is in black..oh well...it was kind of a cop out but whatever..everyone loves it we think...anyway...i start talking to a guy (who E has been fucking, which is okay with her boyfriend) He's all done up goth-like and it turns out he lived in Newburgh once...and he's all like "HOLY SHIT that is absolutely the craziest place i've ever been. I've been shot at there. People stab their friends there for fun. You can buy any and every drug there." and i'm all like "Hell Yeah! Newburgh Pride!" and he's all like "Watch out for this chick she's gotta be tough..." Of course I'm like "Yeah!" I mean this is a guy that lived in Amsterdam...THE Amsterdam, not Amsterdam, NY, for a while and was a heroin addict (of course). I love Newburgh sometimes...Anyway, I felt more comfy after that, thinking "hey I'm from newburgh I can handle anything.."
Now...a few days later I'm talking to J about the party and stuff and he's amazed that we go to them. [more amazed that you don't invite him? oh wait, no. that's Boink parties. my bad!] He went once and felt so out of place and he was saying how many of his friends would never go to such a thing...losers is what i say...but anyway, I'm drinking a glass of wine as we're talking J says, "Hey you hold a glass of wine like you're really classy. You're really classy. You also hold a cigarette like you were born that way..."

Now here comes the theory [long build-up, i know, but don't even pretend like that wasn't the best prelude you've ever read!]...I believe that if you grew up in Newburgh you can pull off anything..it is almost like having gone to acting school...You can hang with anyone because you've just about seen it all and have probably been in some fucked up situations...right? Now having said that...I up my theory a notch...Glasses..the ones on your face, not the ones that hold liquid....the glasses are like a wild card...you can play Punk, Smart, SExy, Classy, Hip, Nerd, Emo, Bookworm...all because of this one accessory that really without you'd be walking into walls....

So between glasses and newburgh...we kind of have super powers...wouldya think? Don't let anyone in on the secret; they'll all be getting glasses! [shit. maybe i should've edited that part.]

On an unrelated or semi-related note....my friends band Scamper came out with a new kick-ass Cd and the title ..."Leave your glasses on" I love it...check them out at scamper.net. [i left that in because they really are quite fun, funny, and overall kickass. plus, the name of the album is slightly relative. not to mention completely biting off G's theory.]

enough, redux

up, then
down.

there are times when i am so drunkenly full of bliss--feel it?--that nothing at all will penetrate my glowing fortress of happiness. and for a few hours, that's it; i'm just happy (well, maybe giddy is a better word). but then, i'll stop for a breath and it will hit me. i verbalized this to my friend at work today.

i have so much energy [he caught a glimpse of me skipping]!

why?

i have no idea. i'm sure in a few hours i'll be dead-tired, though.

...

[a minor drop in my energy level as a negative idea flutters in through a crack in my fortress's ancient foundation]

that's the thing with you; it's always extremes! she smiled, absentmindedly

[laughter; she did not condescend] yeah, like my moods!

and the rest of the afternoon plateaued. i helped a student cry through her breakup with "this boy" that she likely will always remember as "that boy." i ran into some former students, familiar faces; caught a funny joke from someone who is typically unfunny...

on the drive home, nothing memorable happened. i'm sure i sang a bit to whatever song was on the radio. frowned momentarily about the upcoming snow. thought about him and how great the day had been.

at the gym there was more of the same. i ran a decent run and watched a middle-aged man, dressed entirely in black, make a fool of himself as he made his way around the gym, stopping at certain machines for a few minutes. at each station, he managed to put himself in some sort of ridiculously angled contortion that accentuated the fact that he was wearing spandex shorts. i couldn't help but wince twice. (why is anyone ever intimidated to join "the gym?" have you seen the people that go there?!)

i got home, dinner was fine. i didn't eat too much.

then i read an email. (lisa--you owe me $1; things are "back to normal" and then some).

and now, i'm feeling that caving. it's the sensation you get when you are speeding down the tracks on some ridiculously paced rollercoaster. yet, i'm sitting down.

i'm tired of the ups and downs. i'm annoyed with the unwanted pity. i'm angry with my weakness (i'm making up for it with sprints and salty sweat). i'm furious (actually, i'm not. i wish i was). i'm itchy in my own skin and sick of my inevitable resting place. i always end up here. things weren't always so predictable; i'm sure of it.

things have always been cyclical, though. it's the rhythm of the world's pulse. it's everywhere: nature, music, life, love, pain, poetry. i don't mind the beat. it can be soothing, sometimes envigorating. but somewhere i got off-tempo and am stuck awkwardly clapping at the wrong time. the lone girl in the massive stadium that desperately wants to know how to keep up with the band and all its lovely fans. i'm still smiling though.

i'm trying, here.

thrusting in the ghetto

making sweet, sweet music.



as i start to rock it out, i seem to have awakened the spirits of 20 Easton Street. observe in this one:



do you see the floating miniature stoplight? that's clearly evidence of a ghost-child.

in other news, another hot chick finds some drums in a similarly sketchy-ass basement and is greeted at first by her own glorious meoldies:



only to be startled by a bitch-slap from the ghost-child (straight in the head!), sending her spectacles into a tenuous, teetering fumble:



...more on MIT bar graffiti, stoned Trivial Pursuit (are you sure that's the brown question?), American Idol Mad Libs, underzealous waitresses, and practicing Lent in Boston (and how it affects your Beer Pong parties) soon...

believe me, jeremy

there's something so terribly unattractive about sadness sometimes. is it merely weakness? because it seems ok for these people:

the elderly
children
mothers
dogs

and i wouldn't qualify all those as weak examples of life, would you? so what is it then? is it the neediness? there must be a few factors.

(this, again, is not a profound piece of writing. it is merely an apology; thrice now, i think.)

i have spent much of my life figuring out myself and very little progress has been made. but i think that puts me right on track, no? i am selfish and that's not always a bad thing. but lately i'm sure it has turned on me. (did you catch that?)

somewhere in the tall grass--the fields i will forever hold in my mind as the place where i could frolic--there is a line. but must i chop everything down to find it? do i drop to my knees and pat the earth?

he told me the other day that he is lost...

i've been watching things end with him, for him, around him for quite some time and somehow i have found solace in this. rather than reaching out a hand, i jumped alongside, remembering--midair--that i cannot swim in dark waters.

is it possible to be kind when you're sad? how about strong? sane? it must be. i'l figure it out, jeremy. is it better now that you know you are an means to an end? it might turn out well.

on Valentine's Day

i wonder, today, if love is actually frail or if it is we that have become unable to accurately locate it. my thoughts are leaning toward the latter. i fear my own inexperience and naivety when drawing conclusions about grander things, but i don't care at the moment: life is hard, but love shouldn't be.

i had an appointment with the gynecologist on Valentine's Day. on my way there, i noticed a box van parked at the corner gas station. then i saw the spraypainted signs on whitewashed plywood: flowers. the man was selling some type of tacky love-filled contraption that was about 3 feet tall, contained some variation of a stuffed primate, and was topped off with celophane wrapping and a white, pink, or red bow. and as i zoomed around the turn, there must have been at least 10 men eagerly seeking to possess one of these things. i laughed out loud in my vehicle and thought, see? that's not hard. that's tacky sweetness at its best. and what the hell is wrong with that?

on saturday, i was in the local mall and stopped at one of the chain jewelers to see about buying another mate to an expensive earring i'd lost some time ago. of course the place was mobbed but the sales reps were all working overtime; there were about three to each counter. so as i stood there, the woman happily producing new earrings at my slightest suggestion, i eyed the young man standing next to me, doing the same with his salesperson. he pointed on the glass, likely leaving a very greasy fingerprint, can i see those there on top?

these here?

yeah

as she pulled them from the display case, she read off the selling points of the diamond stud earrings and concluded her presentation with the price of over $4,000. the boy smirked along with the salesperson and said, "oh." he explained that his price range was probably closer to $200. it was so sweet--so incredibly sweet and innocent and endearing--that i grabbed my solitary stud from my saleslady and left the store.

i don't have a broken heart and i'm not jaded by a former lover. i am quite simply aware that i want love--i await it, patiently--more than anything. i find comfort in the cycle, knowing today's sorrow will certainly, without doubt or question, bring that vibrant excitement to melt my stomach soon enough. and only then, when my feeling is reached and sustained and i have given up more than i'd ever thought that i would have, will i know i have found it.

no writing, just lyrics

In the dark of the night
Those small hours
Uncertain and anxious
I need to call you

Rooms full of strangers
Some call me friend
But I wish you were so close to me

In the dark of night
Those small hours
I drift away
When I'm with you

In the dark of night
By my side
In the dark of night
By my side, by my side, by my side
I wish you were
I wish you were

Here comes the clown
His face in a wall
No window
No air at all

In the dark of night
Those faces they haunt me
But I wish you were
So close to me

By my side
By my side
I wish you were
I wish you were
By my side

In the dark of night
Those faces they haunt me
I wish you were so close to me

Yes I wish you were
By my side

it was only a kiss

if you're testing my strength, i've won.

if this is a test of my love, again, i am victorious.

willpower? any other day, every day...i have been at the top.

"but it wouldn't stop there. why do you have to be so pretty, so smart?"

if i were to consider my longing, i would easily eliminate pride, loneliness, and physical intimacy. there is just something so incredibly urgent, so necessary, about that warmth--that connection--from that person.

"it would be perfect."

there's not even the "what if" variable. it is certain.

i beginning to think that this is better than the real thing.

Where does this lack of tenderness come from?

my shoe broke today while i was at work. it was about one minute before the dismissal bell rang, so it wasn't too big of a deal. but still. i thought that only happened in movies. i was wrong. it happens in real life too.

i was leaning on the heel when it snapped off. there were people in the room with me but no one noticed. the heel was still semi-attached so i just pretended my shoe had not just broken nearly sending me to the floor.

in the confines of my room, i pulled it off and exposed the five or six nails that hold a heel in place. it was more than i'd expect would be necessary. but what do i know? i'm not a shoesmith.

as i was saying goodbye, i showed everyone my broken heel, explaining my shock that such a thing actually happens in real life. then i made a joke about having exceeded the weight capacity. i didn't need to say that.

earlier in the day i had to go to payroll to pick up some forms. the lady at the front desk wasn't very pleasant. she wasn't exactly rude, but her demeanor was not inviting as i expected it should be. so i made smartass remarks to her. i made exactly two smartass remarks. she didn't flinch but her coworkers smiled to break the tension. i'm not sure why i was so agressive. she didn't owe me anything. not everything needs to be a battle.

i have a student with an alcoholic father. he came to our open house about a month after school started. he was obviously intoxicated and made several comments about how cute his daughter's teacher was in front of both her and myself. i've tried to nurture her with kindness ever since that night. today i had a lapse. she approached me suddenly. i was looking something up on CNN.com and it was the first time i'd seen her since the previous school week.

are you in a better mood yet, miss?

she'd never been rude before. i was instantly annoyed, angry, feeling superior. i had no idea what she was referring to. apparently i'd misjudged our relationship. apparently she didn't appreciate what i'd done for her. i didn't think of her father. i didn't think of the fights, the problems, the losses, the necessity to be much older than she should. i gave her a dirty look and ignored the comment. then later, she made a foolish assertion and i informed her as such. i didn't need to do that either. i'm sure things are altered now. that's completely my fault. i won't apologize either.

you don't belong here

this is his.

i don't get it really. i'm positive i am happier without him.

but i still remember the bad things. that should make me less sad. but even that's gone now. you're buzzing, creeping, popping up like a hornet on the blacktop in Feburary. you don't belong here, with me, anymore

i guess i remember the good, but not as much as the weird, the lacking, the absence of great things. i remember the ultimate things.

how can i purge you? you're no longer wanted. you're no longer welcome.

do i need to forgive you?
because that...
...is something i cannot do.

don't take a picture

i live about 10 minutes away from an airport. i guess it calls itself "international" but really it's just an overpriced convenient way to fly to Orlando or Vegas instead of from the city.

i was driving past it on 17K yesterday. i don't normally see it from that angle because i'm never on that stretch of road. but that day i was and it was nice to see the runway and the stocky control tower. the sun was out, the traffic was flowing and it was a fresh view of my hometown.

between my sideways glances at the airport, something on the opposite side of the road caught my attention. it was a minivan that had pulled off onto the shoulder. its hazard lights were on and i couldn't see anyone in the car immediately. no big deal...

...then i saw a man come around and stand in front of the van poised to dart across the street the moment that traffic allowed. and he was holding a video camera.

he'd been captured by this neat little compound that's nestled into our laissez-faire town just as i had. any other day i'd laugh him off, probably mocking him as some nerdy tourist or overzealous flying geek. but that day, these days, i grimmaced for him, only hoping that no one else was paying attention to the lone man looking at the airplanes.

Mr. & Mrs. D

saturday i went to the gym and ran two miles. i also did the full circuit of weights, spraying each machine down with the provided "disinfectant" each time. i had to. i smelled bad and didn't want to leave evidence of that.

but before the machines and before my smell, even, i happened to spot two former teachers of mine: Mr. and Mrs. D. i noticed him first. he looked virtually the same. she had aged a bit: put on a few pounds--still in the hips--and her salt and pepper hair was now fully grey. oddly enough, i became sandwiched between the two on the tradmill line. it was at least 40 mintues before i had the guts to say anything.

you see, i was a horrific student. i have lots of guilt wrapped up in my middle and high school years. in middle school, when i had this lovely couple, there was a group of us that just lived for the excitement of their reaction. in Mrs. D's class especially, we'd plan our attacks. on our way down the hall to English, we'd stop at lockers to grab our dogeared copies of The Pearl and set our time.

ok, 11: 20 it's bumper desks. pass it on.

or

tell everyone to start coughing at exactly 10:55.

or that time we had a sub and we pretended that the class prodigy (seriously--this kid's a doctor now) was illiterate. we were reading aloud round-robin and when it came to him, he stuttered beautifully, finally putting his head in his hands and sniffling in shame as we all laughed and pointed.

high school involved cutting class almost as often as attending it. one teacher in particular was really hurt my group's lack of attendance. a few years after graduation, we all found out that her daughter had been brutally murdered in her home. they still haven't found the killer. every few months or so i'll see my teacher in the newspaper and i just want to apologize for everything. for being rude, for being thoughtless, for somehow maybe letting her daughter die...

...but now i was thinking of 8th grade--her scowling face, her evil eye, her hands planted firmly on her hips so that each arm formed a stoic V that was supposed to emphasize her authority. so once Mrs. D dismounted her treadmill and wiped it down, and i saw her motion to the Mr. that she'd be waiting downstairs, did i think about talking. he didn't recognize me initially so i rattled off some names amidst labored breathing and watched as he began to recall with strained laughter. it was a pleasant conversation and i'd eyed his treadmill display to know that he only had about 3 minutes remaining of his workout. there wouldn't be an awkward conclusion that left us both standing side-by-side as we finished our runs or walks. so he made the pleasant goodbyes and as he grabbed his towel, i blurted--almost too late--oh, and please tell your wife I'm sorry for being such a horrible student. i really was so bad. i'm sorry.

he chuckled, glanced to the floor, and said he would.

a few minutes after he disappeared, she resurfaced in front of my treadmill with a sudden brilliance. she explained how lovely it was to see me, and her smile was a warm recollection of how i'd really felt about her as a teacher. i apologized again, trying to be sincere. she insisted that she had no recollection of me being as wretched as i professed. i was glad, but i almost didn't believe her. a very brief conversation followed. it summarized her and her husband's recent goings on. like their recent retirement after 33 years at the same school, their new job of trying to stay alive by working out at the gym (i didn't know if I should smile or wince--i smiled), and how they normally are out playing tennis with Mr. Stern on Saturdays so it was just so lovely that things worked out for us to meet up again this afternoon.

oh, Mr. Stern! I remember him for his Brooklyn accent!

she gave me a smirk and told me she'd let him know that.

when she left, I noticed that she had a slight limp. Her hairstyle was almost identical to the style she wore over ten years ago. But her smile was certainly brighter.

I turned the speed back up to 5.0 on my treadmill and begain to jog.

i'm the man who loves you?

ll I can see is black & white & white & pink
And play it to blue
Then lay between the words I think
That picture that I was meaning to send her
You, I couldn’t tell if I bring my art
The way I started
Writing this letter to you
If I could, you know I would
Just hold your hand & you’d understand
I’m the man who loves you
All I can be is a busy sea of
Spinning wheels & hands that feel
For stone to throw
And feet that run
That come back home and
Makes no difference, ever ya know
Makes no difference ever known to me
If I could, you know I would
Just hold your hand & you’d understand
I’m the man who loves you
All I can see is black & white & white & pink
And play it to blue
Then lay between the words I think
That picture that I was meaning to send her
You, I couldn’t tell if I bring my art
The way I started
Writing this letter to you
If I could, you know I would
If I could, you know I would
If I could, you know I would
I’m the man who loves you
I’m the man who loves you
I’m the man who loves you
I’m the man who loves you

i have nothing to say tonight. i have a few comments on love and lonliness and desperation.

greg the boyfriend is a douchebag, but he writes some interesting things once in a while. he recently spoke about how he is befuddled as to why we moved away from marrying early. now, most of us are jaded and broken and sour by the time we settle down. we do it just to get things over with. we do it because it's better than nothing.

then my co-worker was talking about how she took her son to her church's "sex talk." apparently there's a term for girls who have sex once and realize the error of their ways. then they decide to be abstinate until marriage. i asked her if that still counts. she laughed at me.

i went out to drink with lots of former law enforcement officials this evening. they got me more drunk than i should've been for driving purposes. most of them tried to hit on me while the wives tried to set me up with their sons.

i cleaned out my desk today.
i found two things that i'd been unwittingly holding onto. the first was a picture of me with my ex's dog. the photo was taken during my first visit back to his house after i'd been dumped from another state. i looked completely beautiful and happy. i ripped it up into several pieces before throwing it away.
i also found a card that the married man made me. i didn't rip that one up. i just placed it in the trash bin.

i don't love him. i love what he reminds me of.

reincarnation would be a trip

what is there left to say about this man?

i myself am logically exhausted by him. so i turn instead to "the American people." i understand relgion is much stronger than i'd previously given it credit for. but the thing i'm most stunned by is how dangerous it can be. certainly the election of the man to office (twice) isn't completely religion's fault. however, i do think it is a large factor. too large.

but what honestly puzzles me is why this is all coming to head now. our forefathers were religious men, were they not? well, i just swallowed that statement before i even finished thinking it. they were dicks, too.

is it possible that we are better off now than we were then?

we're not much different. there's the acquisition, the manifest motherfucking destiny (are you kidding me with that?), the world meddling (too kind a word), the exploitation of other humans...

i only wish i had been born hundreds and hundreds of years from now. it would be fascinating to read about this great fall. isn't that all there really is left to say? of course there are the protests, the acitivists, the debates. but the rate of affect is defeatingly slow.

that's all i really have to say about this.
it's saturating.
it's opressive.
it's saddening.
it's leaving us all hopeless, useless.

bad daughter

most of my writing has to do with conversations i have with people. here is another one of them.

i was talking with a friend about how you can work to save, or even sustain, a strong relationship. the conversation worked its way around compromise, strength, love (the unconditional kind). much of this was common terrain, nothing too new or exciting; only personal examples to liven things up. we talked about little nuances of a person's behavior that can become so undeniably infuriating even when your logic tells you it's nothing.

my thoughts turned to the ever-uphill relationship that is my mother.

my friend was still talking about her man, i think. i'm not completely sure. i was now remembering the previous evening.

my mother was on the chair. it's an oversized chair--the kind condusive to lounging or at least just comfortable to the obese. now, this chair has one of those matching ottomans. so this is her setting. her position was slouched and her feet were resting on the cutesy ottoman. i can't recall where her arms or hands were, but i do remember noticing that her slouching had tugged on her sweatpants in a manner that accentuated her round belly.

as she slouched, rested, and protruded, my mother was eating. again, i cannot recall exactly what she was eating, but i do remember that she was making this smacking noise with her mouth. it's an incredibly loud smacking noise that i'm fairly confident she does only because she can. i think it has something to do with her turbulent and agressive father.

of course, i know all of these things because i was also sitting in the living room, watching TV. or, i was trying to watch TV. after a few smacks, i was primarily watching my mother. i was sitting there looking at her with utter disgust. the laziness, the complete gluttony, was filling me with this intense anger.

but what could i do? ask her to stop looking so pathetic? she's a grown woman. i had no right to say a single word. (plus i know from teenage inexperience that suggesting she eat in a quieter manner will only fill me with immediate regret as her blank stare becomes utter contempt for me, her only daughter.)

i drift out of my flashback to hopscotch back into the conversation that my friend had so kindly kept going for me. i'm sure i interrupted her because she was now talking about how she handles those moments of anger--those incidents with the little earthquakes we create with unecessary tension.

her word was sympathy. mine was pity.

i'm glad i was her

so, yeah, Napoleon Dynamite.

if you haven't seen it, you probably should. it's entertaining. but i'm not going to talk about the movie, really.

i was watching it for the second time and i noticed that Deb sports a hot-pink fanny pack for much of the film. she also wears her hair to the side, or pulls it half up into a ponytail that sits awkwardly high on her cranium. she uses those cheap, fuzzy elastics to hold the sweet do in place. her hair is not shiny. it is dull. it is damaged. she probably cannot afford good shampoo.

she also wears stirrup pants with cheap shoes that don't even require laces. i'm not sure where you'd even buy those anymore, but i'm sure they're out there.

so i'm watching her, taking her in, watching her move, think, react, breathe, build courage.

i was that girl. i was that girl in style, sense, and personality. well, maybe add 15 or so pounds.

should you feel bad? no. i'm glad i was her. i like to think it makes me a nicer person, having suffered and all that other cliched bullshit that is annoying to read or hear someone recount. but often, i think it makes me meaner. either is slightly irritating. i would hope i'd just evolved, not having taken that era of my life along for the ride in some twisted form of adult angst.

it's fun to think of yourself as someone completely different. it's almost like talking about your long-lost friend. or, for me, the sister you never had but are certain you'd love completely.

have you thought about changing just to create another daydream?

meh. me neither.