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Posts published in “Life”

On eating and the single man.

There was a moment in my life when I regularly ate at home. I cooked (or cleaned) and there was dinner time and, on the weekends, often breakfast time and lunch time. I still shop like these things are a part of my life, but I recognized last night that they are not. It’s not that I cannot cook (I can) nor that I do not like to cook (I do), it’s more that my brain is constantly occupied with other things to the point where I will forget to eat for the whole day. Yeah, sure I get hunger pangs, but those are easily ignored as distractions to whatever the hell else I’m doing or staved off with an apple or crackers or something minor. I think the last time I actually cooked something at home was when Fiduk and I had our last mandate here, early in June. Granted, I was gone for most of June, but I sure as hell didn’t cook at my parents’ house which is odd since I usually do a lot of cooking there.

And it’s not like I’m eating out a lot, either. I mean, I eat out a couple times a week, but not every day. And I’m not working a lot of nights which would mean that my dinner was bought for me. Awesome job perk, I know. I’m just not eating. So weird.

And why not? It’s not for lack of food. Right now my pantry is amply stocked with pasta, rice, quinoa, crackers, granola, cereal, hot sauce, and a bunch of other crap that usually fills a pantry. My fridge has broccoli, pears, salami, cheese, tortillas, juice, and whatever. I’m not lacking. If it gets empty, I walk over to the grocery store half a block away and buy stuff for it. Done done done.

Yet, when faced with the idea of stopping to make dinner, I often give it a, “meh.” For example, it took serious, conscious thought just to make a stupid sandwich for dinner last night. Why?! It’s the easiest thing in the world. The only thing that made me actually do it was that I knew I had an 1/8th of a pound of pepper turkey in the fridge that needed to be used and that I’ve recently been thinking about my eating habits a lot. Drinking habits too, but that’s another post. A similar thought occurred to me this morning before I left for work: I have yogurt that is going to go bad. I’d better eat.

In the olden days when making dinner was a team effort, I knew I could get away with only doing half of the work. Either I cooked and didn’t clean, or she cooked and I cleaned. It was an equitable arrangement, and one in which I gladly participated. Screw having to cook AND clean though. I’m not into that at all. I guess that’s one barrier, but it’s pretty minor since it’s not an issue with easily prepared meals. And with cast iron. You’re not even supposed to clean that shit.

But what am I doing that’s so important that I neglect to eat? Nothing! Nothing at all! I’m not writing. I’m not posting a lot here. I’m not out taking photos. I’m just losing time into a black hole of doing stuff but not being sure about what I’m doing and then forgetting to eat. What is going on? Does anyone know? I sure as hell don’t.

Help? Does anyone want to be my nutritionist/personal chef? I can’t afford to pay you, but it’ll be real fun, I promise. I also kind of want this book: Two Dudes, One Pan.

My utterly stressful day.

I know you have all missed my banter so much while I’ve been in California, but you don’t have to long anymore now that I am back in Brooklyn. I intend to recommence posting at the same semi-regular clip I maintained in the past. That is, 15 music videos to 1 post with any content. Deal.

Anywayyyyyy, I had a super stressful day today and thought I’d share it with you. Here’s what I done.

  • I woke up, discovered a job I thought was supposed to start today got killed, and went back to sleep.
  • I woke up a second time, much later. I won’t tell you when, but Europeans would call it 14 o’clock.
  • I showered.
  • I shaved.
  • I realized I left my toothbrush and toothpaste in the shower in California, but then I found I had an extra tube of toothpaste and an extra toothbrush. Score!
  • I went to the bank and deposited a check.
  • I walked down Manhattan Avenue to Bedford to the N7th L train stop and boarded the train.
  • At Union Square I transferred to a downtown 6.
  • I got off at Spring Street, dropped off my rent check and the stupid parking ticket I got in Durango, and went into Smoke & Mirrors.
  • I met S&M’s pretty new receptionist, picked up Chip Chip, and left. Total time for that errand: 5 minutes.
  • I sauntered up Broadway since it was beautiful out and got back on the train at Union Square.
  • I got off at Beford again, walked down to get a burrito.
  • They didn’t have pork, so I got the steak. O! life’s hardships.
  • Burrito in hand, I found my spot in McCarren Park and laid in the grass for maybe an hour and a half enjoying the sun and the breeze.
  • Satiated with my burrito and entertained by the inane conversation the two teenaged girls playing badminton next to me had, I went home.
  • I played my old Gibson for a little bit.
  • I came online to download some scale tabs to practice my fingering. GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER, MISTER.
  • I reapplied for my leftover funemployment benefits. Booyah!
  • I wrote this.
  • I am going to turn on yesterday’s baseball game and play my guitar.

Isn’t my life hard? Don’t you all wish you were coming to visit me on my summer vacation? It’s so great.

Abraham Lincoln: President. Emancipator. Beardo. Poet?

Yeah, that last one got me too, but apparently there’s a poem published in The Sangamo Journal in 1838 that is attributed to Lincoln. Wild, right? Even better is that it’s dark as hell which you know just sends me into a tizzy. Read it below.

The Suicide’s Soliloquy

Here, where the lonely hooting owl
Sends forth his midnight moans,
Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl,
Or buzzards pick my bones.

No fellow-man shall learn my fate,
Or where my ashes lie;
Unless by beasts drawn round their bait,
Or by the ravens’ cry.

Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through,
Though I in hell should rue it!

Hell! What is hell to one like me
Who pleasures never know;
By friends consigned to misery,
By hope deserted too?

To ease me of this power to think,
That through my bosom raves,
I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink,
And wallow in its waves.

Though devils yell, and burning chains
May waken long regret;
Their frightful screams, and piercing pains,
Will help me to forget.

Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night,
To take that fiery berth!
Think not with tales of hell to fright
Me, who am damn’d on earth!

Sweet steel! come forth from your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!

I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the bloody dart,
My last—my only friend!

Neat! So metal.

An architectural critique of sofa forts.

I found a link to an article with architectural critiques of children’s sofa cushion forts on BoingBoing and it’s so damned funny and great I feel compelled to share with all of you. Here are a couple I thought particularly good.

At first glance the composition appears unintentional and the construction shoddy. But further investigation reveals a clear delineation between indoor/outdoor space with a design focus on protection through the use of barrier. Planes are shifted off the orthogonal to accommodate function; as a side effect it relieves inhabitants from a harsh Euclidian geometry. Grade B

Good God gentlemen, you’re a mess! You need walls, you need a roof. Get to work man! Grade: F

I know that it’s strongly reminiscent of Maddox’s critiques of children’s art, but it’s definitely more highbrow. And, really, can you ever get enough of insulting children? I don’t think so.

Check out both parts for more chuckles here:

Couch Cushion Architecture; A Critical Analysis

Couch Cushion Architecture; A Critical Analysis 2

A list of “Your Momma” jokes as told by me.

Your momma’s so fat people often complain of her enormous girth on airplanes.

Your momma’s so fat she has trouble reaching her toes, which is actually common enough for people of moderate obesity and pregnant women.

Your momma’s so fat that her doctor is worried for her health.

Your momma’s so ugly that people do not find her attractive and, really, it’s only due to alcohol that you’re here at all.

Your momma’s so lazy that her work regularly goes unfinished.

Your momma’s so fat she suffers from congestive heart disease.

Your momma’s so mean that people do not like to be around her very much and few will call on her birthday.

Your momma’s so cruel that she’s been put on trial for neglect.

Your momma’s so peaceful that people often compare her to The Buddha.

Your momma’s so stupid that she has trouble doing the rudimentary math that her job at the grocery store requires.

Your momma’s so smelly that people politely try to recommend that she shower more often.

Your momma’s so stupid that she made a mistake on her taxes and was audited by the IRS.

Your momma’s so ugly that she has terrible self-esteem issues.

Your momma’s so fat that she can no longer get out of bed, instead relying on you to bring her food and bathe her.

Your momma’s so old that you had her placed in a home where she could be cared for properly.

Your momma’s so old that she remembers when her father returned from World War II.

Your momma’s so old that she regrets squandering her youth and is very bitter because of it.

Your momma’s so fat that when she walks down the street young children will point and then be hushed by their mothers so your momma doesn’t get offended.

How to pick a bicycle in a world of choice with limited resources.

Wow. Yesterday’s post about how I’m a fraidy-cat and need to stop being such a wuss has brought people out of the woodwork regarding the bicycle purchase. Good to know that a) people read my blatherings and b) people are in support of the bike purchase. Thanks, everyone! Though Michael did tell me he thinks it’s a good idea I DON’T drink whiskey since it will lead to a lot more shit talking.

I responded to him by asking if there’s actually more shit to talk?

SO, now I have to decide what sort of bicycle I want to get. And I’m currently overwhelmed by the choices. Do I want to get a road bike? Charles said that they are for assholes and commuters, but I’m kind of an asshole, so maybe that’s the right choice? Do I want a touring bike? A hybrid bike? A cruiser? Do I actually want a mountain bike even though I’m pretty sure I don’t?

And what size? The table on About.com seems to indicate that I want something in the 23-24″ range since I’m 6’1″ with a 34″ inseam. But what range would be comfortable?

And then there’s the issue of money. Since I won’t be working the next few weeks at all, I don’t want to drop a whole lot of money on this thing, especially since it’s my first bike in a decade and a half. Really, it’s just for putting around town and getting some exercise, so it doesn’t need to be all crazy and shit. I don’t need the 4000 dollar carbon fiber bike that weighs like 3 pounds. I wouldn’t mind spending 150-200 dollars on the thing. It’s enough that I won’t be buying a completely thrashed piece of crap, but not so much that if it gets broken or stolen that I’ll be devastated.

I’ve been reading the Brooklyn Craig’s List classifieds, but all it’s doing is making me feel overwhelmed.

Any thoughts out there, interwebs land?

A handful of things I am a little afraid of but want to do this summer because I am afraid of them. UPDATE: one additional thing added.

Otherwise known as, “Stop being such a fucking pussy, Joe.” This is really all a part of this whole introspection kick I’ve been on recently, so it’s not surprising to me that I feel motivated to do something with these feelings. Funny thing, I had a drink with Adam last night, who I referenced in my previous introspection post, and he answered the questions I posed at the very end of the post about what to do with all this newfound awareness. His answer? A very simple, “Have patience,” meaning to take a step back and check myself when I find myself getting all worked up about some stupid thing or worrying about nothing or whatever. I thought that was pretty good. Thanks, Adam.

Back on track, there are a few things I’d like to do this summer. In no particular order, they are:

  • Get a tattoo. I don’t have any, even though I’ve been thinking about getting one since I was 11. I think the main reason I don’t have any is that I’m a little scared of permanence. I’m not able to easily make long lasting decisions, and a tattoo, though mundane, is one of those decisions. I’ve never been able to decide on anything long enough that I wanted to keep it in my skin for the rest of my life. But, you know what? I think I’m just being a big pussy la la about it and just need to do it. I mean, why the fuck not? My body is already covered with reminders of past mistakes, so why not just make a choice and go for it?

    My friend Charles has planned a dinosaur-themed party for his birthday in a few weeks. Part of the plan is to get dinosaur tattoos. He sent me a link to East River Tattoo which is right in our neighborhood. I particularly like shop owner Duke’s work. His pieces look like old wood prints, which is a fairly different style. I think it’s real cool.

  • Ride a bicycle around NY. Let’s be honest, I don’t exercise enough. I know it. You know it. Everyone god damned knows it. And, now that I live in Greenpoint, a biking hot spot to be certain, I feel like I really want to get out there and just bicycle. Problem is I haven’t really ridden in like 16 years. I’m not worried that I won’t be able to ride a bike. I am worried, however, about all the street traffic in the neighborhood. Again, this is totally just me being a complete pussy. I have zero problem driving a car all over town, and that has a whole lot more potential for fucking things up. Buying a bike is no significant financial burden. I even have a spot to put it away in the backyard of my building.

    So what’s stopping me? The answer? Nothing. I’m just being a complete idiot about it. In the immortal words of Freddie Mercury….. (warning: naked girls on bikes in the video.)

  • Drink whiskey. I am a beer and wine man. I don’t often drink liquor mostly because I feel like I’ve fucked myself up on it so many times that my body just says, “No thanks.” Fuck you, body. Don’t get me wrong. I love beer and I love wine, but I need to stop feeling intimidated by good ol’ whiskey and just broaden my palette. I don’t want to do shots of the stuff, but I do want to develop an appreciation of it in the same way that I can appreciate a great beer or an amazing bottle of red. Stop being a pussy, Joe, and just drink the whiskey.

    I mean, what would The Clancy Brothers say? Probably this:

I bet there are some other things I’m worried about doing that I just need to get over and do, but these have been at the forefront of my consciousness recently. Do any of you feel this way about things? What have you been afraid of doing that you haven’t yet done but that you think you should? I can’t be the only weirdo out there that thinks like this.