When I Need A Pick Me Up, by my friend Ryan King

Monday, July 30, 2007

Awww. I Missed It ...

... but I've learned that I can jog at least 1.6 miles without stopping.
The Reservoir now has a working fountain.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

And Did I Mention...?

That the laundry room is in this building, and the building has an elevator? I'm using it for the first time today. Yes, I've not washed my clothes for three weeks. Yes, I have that many clothes. No, they aren't all expensive.

Another check in my heterosexual column is that I have no fashion sense. I do know when colors look good together, and this comes from being raised on comicbooks and developing into an artist as a result. Thus I also tend to wear bright colors. But the only jeans I own are shorts, and they are about 5 years old, and I bought them in a thrift store. I have 4 pair of shoes and 2 pair of sneakers.

I noticed this last night as I observed the twenty-somethings riding on their ways to and fro with their dates. I observed that jeans are still highly in fashion, on both black and white guys alike. I also noticed that mens' shoes have evolved into clodhoppers with big square fronts (blech). And I saw that neutral-colored shirts, with maybe a black t-shirt underneath, passes for hip. Hip-casual I suppose. Whatever. I'm paying attention because when I'm ready to go On The Market, I'll need to look like I've got some sense.

I saw all these hipsters last night because I went out. Actually. I went to St. Mark's Place with a karaoke bar in mind. It was a place I went to once in my former New Yorker's Identity and had another group of D&D gamers. They liked drinking and it was a long-time-no-see outing, so karaoke was on the menu. We had a booth, but the outside bar area also served as a general lounge for strangers to sing to the room, or for dates to either impress one another or doom any hopes of gettin' some in a public arena.

Last night, I headed to the karaoke lounge area. I wanted to be a fly on the wall and observe. And maybe even get a Bubble Tea and sing with the crowd.

This is the new improved me! I'm coming out of my cocoon!

But not last night. I got to the steps of the place and chickened out. I was THAT close. But this was my 2nd exploration of the place since I'm moved into town. I'll go back again, I'm sure. And maybe this time I'll go in. But last night, I did manage to find "St. Mark's Comics," which has been a staple of that neighborhood for as long as I've been reading comics. So I was much more happier getting my geek on than getting my lounge lizard on.

But next time, I'm sure I'm going in. I'm not guaranteeing that I'll sing, but I want to watch. And I'll wear much nicer clothes then. And comb my hair. And maybe even have a date.


Friday, July 27, 2007

Please Place Your Trays In The Upright Position ...

... we are coming in for a landing.

Again, my blog is where I process stuff, and I've been avoiding doing so for the past few weeks because I'm in therapy. But I'm sitting here at the comp with stuff running around in my head, since therapy takes place all week long as I work out what was brought up in the last session.

You can safely assume that lately therapist and I got deep into stuff since I haven't blogged about it. I still don't feel safe to do so now, as that I value the relationships I have with people who read this, and am still not so secure that want to risk that whole alienation thing. But I'm not going to start a third blog, either.

So let me say this much (and as I type more, I might reveal more)--my therapist agreed with a theory I have about sexuality, and I hadn't even told her about it. In fact, I had forgotten about the belief until she said it aloud.

I'm of the mind that sexuality isn't hardwired into the genes. What IS hardwired is the mechanism for your thoughts and sights to trigger your sexual desires. But nothing in genetic biology can be traced as specific directions to tell a man which gender he should go and screw. Eye color can be predicted, hair color, skin color, general height, health predispositions, etc. etc. Sexuality, no. This bears out by another degree--look at all the marriages that have broken up because after years and children, one of the partners have discovered they were gay. At my job, last Friday, one of my work peers revealed to me (and others) that he's divorcing his wife (they have three daughters) because she's gay. And now he's dating a woman with two children who is also getting a divorce because her husband is gay.

If sexuality wasn't fluid, how were these five children ever conceived? And all the other kids learning to readjust to the new identity of their parents?

I still feel good about me, but it's getting increasingly obvious that I'm in for a struggle if I want to live the life I desire to have.

That struggle is costing me some altitude, so please stow all your cellphones and other electronic devices, and fasten your safety belts at this time in case of turbulence.

Thank you and continue to enjoy your flight.

Monday, July 23, 2007

And Now, Get Out Your Hankies ...

...I've had my go, now it's your turn.

To The Lovers and The Dreamers.

It's Time To Share!

I defy your jaw not to drop.

J.K. Rowling, You Betta WORK It, Girl.

Since its release, I have seen no fewer than seven people reading the latest Harry Potter. Not a one of them was a child. Mostly these were on the subway. The first one was a young black woman sitting right next to me. Another one was a young white woman in my neighborhood, standing on the corner. The others were men. One white guy was so deep into the book (again, sitting right next to me on the train) that he missed the three women across from us checking his face intently for hints of the book's content. I guess they wanted to see if he was going to cry, thus revealing that the rumors may have been true.

(By the way, in that trio of women, two of them were twins. I KNOW! That makes three sets I've seen since Thursday, although these girls didn't try to rock the identical thing. One had a real nice tan, and had a beauty mark on her clavicle and her upper lip. They were so intent on staring at the Harry Potter reader that they didn't notice me staring at them.

Hmmm. Maybe I need to get this book...)

The last guy I saw reading it was a slightly muscular black man, drinking a sports drink. Ol' J.K. done went and hit every demographic with her "Young Adult" novels.

You betta work.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Believe It Or Not, IIIIIII'm Walking On Air ....

...I never thought I could feel so free -- ee -- ee -- EE!

My Friend The Doctor came over to see me in my new crib and I took him on a tour of the neighborhood, then we took the Number 1 downtown to eat at my favorite Chinese food restaurant on Broadway in my soon-to-be second favorite neighborhood (because where I live now is fast becoming my favorite).

MFTD was stunned by where I've now landed. He loved the park and the people and the atmosphere. He said it was an undiscovered country.

Let me backtrack a little. I knew he would be here around noon, so I headed out to Central Park to attempt a repeat of the Reservoir jog. I just wanted to see if I could circle it again without stopping. It was CAKE. I did it in about 10 minutes. Which is about 3 revolutions of Dream's "This Is Me". Laugh now, but I can get my serious chug on to that song!!

She stole your heart -- jog jog
Only did it because she could - jog
Chewed you up and spat you out - jog
That girl never was no good -- jog jog
Baby I would never do that - jog
I'd love you endlessly -- jog jog
But your suh -spish- shuss mind thinks --jog
I'm gonna re-peat her sto-ry --JOG!!

WHOOOOOOOO!! Oh I highly recommend you try jogging to that syncopation.
Oh! Speaking of Dream!! Tell me why I cannot stop staring at these posters all over New York--
These are supposed to be high school girls, and the actresses probably are high-schooled age, AND THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE BASED ON DOLLS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. But I'm so fascinated by those winsome and mischievous eyes and grins that I'm considering watching this movie. EYIPES!!!!!! Have I entered the dirty-old-man phase of my life? So SOON?!

Anyway, I digress. On the first train I took today to go jogging, I ran into the person I knew lived here in Inwood, with whom I had occasion within the last year to go to his apartment and play D&D once. Since then, he revealed he was an actor on Broadway, and I had verified it online that he was. So I was suitably impressed then, but I had stopped that particular D&D and so never bumped into him again. Until this morning.

Avoidant-Alan reared up and said, "He doesn't remember you! Don't invade his space! He'll think you're a freak!" But I told ol' Avoid-Al that I'm a different person now. I meet people now and I take risks now, and I'm not afraid of people anymore.

So I entered the subway car he had entered and I went over to him and re-introduced myself. And it was nice! I wouldn't say we made pinky-swears to be best buddies, but I'll be able to talk to him again if I so choose. He was actually on his way to the Saturday performance on Broadway, and if I tell you the play, you'd be amazed. Lets just say it's been on Broadway for ten years, it has singing and dancing, and it's based on a Disney movie about a baby who grows up to be a king. And he plays one of the featured characters, as opposed to being in the chorus line. :)

So anyway, I did that before I met up with MFTD and toured him around the neighborhood, and repaid him for my vacation (in full, another debt settled).

Of my neighborhood, and my apartment room, and my life now he said, "You deserve this. You've really gone through a lot and you really deserve this."

If we hadn't been on the crowded Number 1 heading back uptown, I'd have broke down weeping on his neck. Because he's right. I have been through a lot. But like God took care of me well-nigh unto miraculously to save me in my eviction two years ago, He's also given me a living situation that amazes even my jaded, cynical, reality-therapist doctor best friend in the whole wide world.

And that's seriously alright then.

Thursday, July 19, 2007


My roommate came home later so it gave me an opportunity to walk across the 207th St. bridge to the Bronx and visit my friend with whom I D&D on alternate Staurdays. I had opportunities to do so before, but maybe a little of the old avoidant Alan was lodged in here and I haven't even mentioned on-blog about how close he lived, or who he even is. But not anymore! We watched "Children of Men" at his place (VERY nice apartment for slightly above $900/month. Yay, Bronx!) and was sufficiently bummed by the dystopia. The walk home was a glorious parade compared to the hell Clive Owen went through.

Seriously. The part of the Bronx across the 207th bridge is called University Heights. Going up the hill while the sun was up was not the same glory as descending the Heights under the night sky, heading back to Manhattan, with the black East River wending through fields of sparkling light. The hills of north Manhattan are breathtaking. I will be taking pictures one of these days and making that trip again.

Further observations from the point of the last blog from Midtown;

I saw a total of 3 bald women.

I saw two sets of twins. One set of identically dressed twins crossing 6th avenue at around 29th Street. They were biracial guys with their afros wild and spongy, blown-back IDENTICALLY the same. They looked like a gimmick. The second set was high-school aged, up at the Central Park Reservoir ( I jogged the whole Reservoir circumference! I will be doing so again!). What I found odd was that both sets of twins walked together as though it never occurred to them that they were two separate people. Both sets were in conversation, walking closely, having that Twin Thing that they have. They are so familiar with each other that their body language created an umbilicus attaching them at their hips.

People still smoke too much.

There are three new skyscraper "luxury condos" going up in Chelsea. As the article on Parking Spots attests to, those puppies are going for millions.

Pssh! Whatever. Even if I had it, I doubt I'd spend it. Not the way I'm learning to save money these days ...

I have a plan to prevent me getting locked out again, because I'm clever.


Last weekend and this week has been a blur of audio drama production, which got completed at 12:30 last night. So naturally I felt like a vacation. On this day in particular, I woke up with a clear schedule for the day and decided to save the little bit of gas in my tank and the toll $$ in my car ashtray and stay home.

Home. :-)

I put out press releases for the audio, took my shower in my empty apartment (roommate situation is a gift straight from God), put on my jogging togs, palmed my workphone, my monthly transit card (unlimited public trans for a month at one price--canNOT be beat), my saved 6 bucks plus 2 unspent dollars from the preceding week, and headed out for Central Park.

Stepped out of the door and realized a split-second too late


that I left my keys in the apartment.

New York City apartment doors have been designed by the makers of Alcatraz, if you didn't know. There is the knob lock which locks automatically. Then a plate lock in the knob plate, and a deadlock above eye level. Well, without my keys, I couldn't lock the plate or deadbolt locks, but the knob lock was more than enough.

I paced around a little bit, fighting panic. I have already been eyed suspiciously by the super, so I looked for him. Could not find. My roommate's telephone # is in my personal phone. In the apartment.


So what plans did I need to hatch? Well, first of all, my roommate comes home at about 6ish. A have a phone, albeit not mine with my familiars in it, but a phone nonetheless. I have 8 dollars. I have unlimited transportation in NYC and my car is safely parked on the correct side of the street. And I am without agenda.

So! Onto the streets then for a day full of Ferris Buller hijinxs!!

On the A-train, I got insight into why white males are so free with their bare feet. A white mom planted her chubby baby opposite me. The kid was barelegged from his Pampers down and had on no shoes or socks. He was playing with his toes, which was quite an inspiring sight, seeing that babies are able to pull their legs up in straight parallel to their bodies, and pull their toes into their mouths. Oh, this play was just a' twiddling and a' stretching them little toes, pointing them at me like stubbly wands of magic. And mommy was adoring every inch of him, toes and all.

I couldn't help but smile.

So this kid will no doubt grow up in flip-flops, paddling his toes at people with a sense of acceptance and well-being, grossing people like me when he's twenty-five.

Makes me wish I had been raised by a white mom.

I was inspired, in fact, to the level that I changed my plans and decided to come down here to 23rd between Park and Madison, to the Time Warner Cable store to use the free internet and blog about What Has Gone On Before.

If I never blog again, I never made it back.

Dressed in jogging togs, I'm ever the slightest bit self-conscious, but I'm going to go with the idea that I look hot. My t-shirt is blazing yellow and all the production I've been doing over the last week, plus being into my second week without spending money (which, no I'm not borrowing any--tomorrow's payday and again, I've learned to have savings, so I cooked a bunch of food for the week and that's what has been sustaining me), I've lost four pounds, so yeah, I'm strutting my stuff.

A few observations while strutting;

two different woman, bald as eggs, as un-self-conscious as newborns, one black one white, making their ways across town.

people smoke too much.

I live here. I belong here.

I've learned how not to spend my money and obey every silly craving I have for $2.00 crap food 12x's a day.

I'm happy.

How about you?

Blog atcha later. I hope!

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Just Met The Roomie's Girlfriend...

... and seconds later, discovered I had a people dangling in my left nostril. Big ups for the roomie, then! No way that my studmuffinness will cause a rift between us now! lol!!

As if!!

But actually, yeh! Because I'm strutting around here in flip-flops, my pajama bottoms, and a dark blue athletic T. I'm far more relaxed and exposed than I'd ever thought I'd be, say, fifteen years ago. And I was in the kitchen making Pepper Steak (Ramen Noodles, slices of green bell pepper, and sliced, braised chuck steak. YuM!), when the roomie came in with his girl. They had been in earlier, but our doors were closed as it has been for the entire week because I'm trying to finish up my project for release this Thursday, so I didn't see her. But when they caught me in the kitchen, the roomie stopped in and introduced her. She was nice! A cute little thing! She shook my hand!

I like this roommate! He's very polite and tidy! And he stays in his room, and I stay in mine, and he's not intrusive, nor appears in any way offended that I like to seal myself away too. Maybe that's actually how roommate ettiquette works?

Anyway, I love how different I am these days. I'm not scared of people, or pathologically private, or whatever the hell was my problem. And confident! I actually thought I was good looking enough to make my roommate's girl stray! HAHAHAAA!! Because what you don't know is that I was in Central Park yesterday morning and I walked/jogged the circuit from 96th and Central Park West, all the way down to 59th, and back around the east side of the Park until I reached The Reservoir on the south end, went up the east side of it, and came out of the park at 96th where I started.

How ya like me now? I'm turning Manhattan into my own personal treadmill.

Friday, July 13, 2007

WHO Is Making All This MONEY?!?

Check out this mind-blowingly ridiculous article about how much some parking spaces go for in NYC.

But let me highlight what spun my clock dials here;

"Sometimes the parking spot costs more than the finished space in the same building. The building at 246 West 17th Street with the $225,000 parking spots has two-bedroom, 2-1/2 bath 1,717-square-foot units listed for $2.2 million. That works out to $1,281 a square foot, while parking spot costs about $1,500 a square foot.

"That building isn't the only one which is seeing prices rise before tenants even move in. The paper reports that another 52-unit condo under development in the city's Chelsea neighborhood had its first two spots go for $165,000, the third for $175,000 and the last two for $195,000.

One of the buyers of a condo in that building told the paper she regrets passing up the chance to buy one of those spots.

" 'At first, I was getting overwhelmed and didn't want to spend the money,' Cynthia Habberstad told the paper. 'I'm kicking myself now, believe me.' "

Hey Cynthia, let me get some of that action because God knows you do need a good swift one. How do you have the nerve to release your name?

But what really puts spots before my eyes, Calvin and Hobbes style, is how these people are making this money. I've said it over and over, and will continue to do so until I understand. 2.2 million for an apartment. Uh-huh. So that's a down-payment of what? 440K. Alright. So tacking on a 225K parking spot is still not a lot of money?!?

Do you know what I decided to do over the last couple of days? I decided to keep driving my commute to my Teaneck office, instead of the parking at the job solution, because the trip takes me less than 20 minutes. Because I can park on the street, either on Broadway right in front of my building, or up (or down) the streets on either side of my block. I get in the car, drive down Broadway about 7 blocks to the West Side Highway entrance at Dyckman, then down to the G Wash, across, into Jersey on Rt 4., and zip! into Teaneck. And Both in the AM and PM, I'm heading opposite of the traffic flow. I even reported early to work this morning and yesterday morning because of a client need.

That must make me, by circumstance, the most savvy businessman/real estate tycoon this shade of Donald Trump. Because I saved 225K.

Hmmm ... I wonder where I should invest those savings ... ?

[Edited to correct my math. This is why I'M not one of these money-makers. LOL]

Blog Solidarity

I did my blog rounds and checked out the ennui that is creeping up on two of my blogmates.

Scott, you do you. I'd read a shopping list written by you. But every unwritten blog page is a block of time you've given to your wife, sons, livelihood, or passion. I can't be mad at that.

S* shared about her mother who has become debilitated by multiple sclerosis, and I was so moved. Littlewing commented with the exact words that I was inclined to use (so I didn't leave a comment at all. I was late in the reading of it anyway and everyone there had already said great things) and because like littlewing, my heart breaks for that situation. It resonates with the experience I had with my Mom--watching her deteriorate and being helpless during.

And there's also so nothing adequate to say. I can offer solidarity and compassion, and an open comment line extended (which, in fact, I do). But the mourning must go on until it does its' work. This I know. And the pain is unique in every case. And there are 6 billion cases, because there are 6 billion people, and we all experience loss as a matter of existence on this planet.

It sucks.

And so I wish you love, and comfort, and friends -- for you and your Mom, S*.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Things That Make You Go ...

Lili Taylor is the first celebrity I've openly flirted with. I've blogged about it.

Now she's going to star in a Lifetime series as a therapist who needs "a little therapy."


Speaking of needing a little, my therapist pointed out that my debt to George doesn't obligate me to a lifetime of friendship with him. She held up the mirror (figuratively) to remind me that I've contributed to the household in ways that he valued. And that ultimately, he's a destructive person who's lifestyle is not conducive to the way I want to live, so if I don't want to be friends with him, I need to make the boundaries firm and stop sending mixed messages.

To which I say, "You betta WORK, Ms. or Mrs. Therapist!" Again, worth every penny.

(I'm sure I'd have said the same thing if I were in her seat, LOL.)

Monday, July 9, 2007

You Just Can't Make This Stuff Up

So yesterday I skipped out of church early. I had a real nice time of worship and I didn't want the Pastor to bring me down. (How blasphemous is THAT? I know it was a wrong mindset, but I am readjusting my faith from "Punitive God" to "God, Full of Grace." The Pastor that I figured was about to preach is not on-board my faith-shift. So I skipped out.

God forgive me. (Which, being Full of Grace, He will. And in learning that He will, I also forgive myself. Because I'm happy that I went at all yesterday.)

And out I come, skip-to-my-loo, when who do I look up into the surprised face of?


On the corner of Broadway and 50th. He was just coming from not-seeing the play Tarzan (because he had waited for his son, George Jr., and Junior didn't show. Big shock. So sad how George has no idea).

And get this ... George had a dried blood stain, a palms' width (with fingers spread) on the inside of his jeans' thigh. He explains that the day before, he had picked a pink bump that he though was a pimple, and it started bleeding and wouldn't stop.

Yeah. The day before. So he was wearing the same pants he had on the day before, with a huge 24-hr old bloodstain. He was staying at the hotel suite that he let me stay in over Christmas.

And he wanted me to fall in and hang out with him for the rest of the evening. And I'm not ready. I felt a great swell of compassion for him and how lost he seemed. What he looked like was one of the 888,000 homeless people in Manhattan. I felt a shameful buzz of embarrassment standing there speaking to him. All those feelings whirring around inside. Which means I'm not ready to be his friend yet.

Just let me get all my stuff out his house first and secure my cat to the no-kill facility. Just give me some space. Then maybe. Maybe.

Why hesiation?

Well this morning, after I left NYC, went to my old gym for an hour of buffosity, and returned to George's house to consider what to take next back to my NYC digs, and I find my cat's food bowl tipped over and all the food, (both for the upstairs cats' and my cat's) eaten.

I left on Saturday. Two days ago. And neither George, nor George Jr., fed the cats. Junior was there this morning, and he doesn't have a car. So he was there yesterday. And George was there on Saturday. And Friday.

I'm so out. The shelter will treat my cat better than the both of them do their own cats.

And it'll take a minute before I'm ready to step back to him and try to be his friend.

And I'm not going to worry about it anymore.

Saturday, July 7, 2007

Sittin' Up In My Room

MY room.

Paid for with MY hard-earned money.

THAT'S what I'm talking about!!

I neglected to mention that this room came with cable, a television, a huge computer desk, internet, both wireless and plug in, a set of dressers, a deep wardrobe (ala The Lion, The Witch, and The...), and air conditioner that works, and MY TWO WINDOWS LOOK OUT OVER BROADWAY!!!!!! But again, I'm across from Isham Park, so I'm looking into nothing but green leaves.

The sound of traffic below is about to put me to sleep at this laptop, let me tell you. It's the city's lullaby to me.

Roommate #1 has left the country and Roommate #2 left me a nice note and explained where I may put my things in the bathroom and kitchen, and that he won't be back until tomorrow.

The hallways in my (MY!!) building are long and high, reaching back into the depths of the block. They are bright blue, lined with apartment doors. The thick coats of paint speak with an ancient voice, but the one I hear the loudest is the one that speaks like my First Apartment on Riverside Drive. I swear. I've never felt like this before, in all the apartment houses I've visited. But while moving in, every time I came up to this floor I felt like my child-self looking down my First Hallway, 35 years ago. Therefore, it must be bigger than the First Hallway was, because I'm bigger now.

In every way.

I went downtown after I brought all my clothes into the apartment and I haven't unpacked them yet. I just needed to get on the train with the knowledge that when I was done with my site-seeing, I was not getting in my car and driving to Jersey. I apologize if you were riding the A train between Dyckman and 42nd St, or you were on 40th St where Midtown Comics is, or on the M6 Bus heading north up 6th Ave., or in the Barnes & Nobles at Lincoln Center, and you were made uncomfortable by a rakishly handsome, broad-shouldered fireplug of a black man with a salt-and-pepper goatee who was grinning like a loon.

Because that was me, and I meant no harm. :D

Stay tuned as I get back into the swing of my city and tell you how a woman with a perpetual scowl chased an elderly couple away from her on the M6 by habitually digging her index finger up her nostril and slowly rotating it to affect one of the most disgusting excavations I may ever have witnessed in all my 42 years. Or how a couple at the 168th A/C train station kissed on each other as though they had just discovered they were about to be the parents of a child neither one of them was old enough to raise, and how their joyless faces evoked more compassion from me than envy. Or, stay tuned as I let you know if I again see the dreadlocked, earthy woman of color who looked to be in her thirties, reading voraciously after she got on in Inwood and rode the train with me until I disembarked at 42nd St. Will Alan approach her next time? Will he get his face slapped? Or will he find true love in a pair of eyes that furtively peek over the rim of a paperback?

Time will tell! And so will I!

(Edited for spelling errors. 'Shows to go ya' how excited and tired I was last night! :p)

Man, My Keys Are Heavy!

Because I got four new ones!!

And they all work. Front downstairs lobby door, and two for the apartment door. And one for the mailbox.

Now I have to get a digital camera. Because I LOVE my new neighborhood, and you just have to see it! I knew that place existed, but I didn't KNOW it was so beautiful from the inside out.

There are two train stops right in the area, one above and one below ground. The one above ground runs the length of Broadway (The Number 1, for those not in the know) and it will take me to my favorite Barnes & Nobles. The below ground (The A Train) is the one I'll be using to commute to the bus station, and will also serve as my express to Downtown locations.

Ich bin New Yorker! Wiederholt.

Friday, July 6, 2007

Universe Playing Fair

Two years ago I was facing eviction and homelessness, and my friends were pouring money into me like fingers in dykes. Then like Sam in "Transformers", a big hand swooped out from nowhere and grabbed me before I fell to my death.

Grim Jester watched the rescue and had to acknowledge the Presence of Something Bigger Than Us. Because he had already known that I staked a claim on Christianity, and my rescue was completely outside of myself. When Grim Jester admits there's a God, then you really take stock in the possibility, let me tell you.

With that in mind, and the growth of character that I've experienced since My Hero and My Friends and You Guys, I've been fine in the pursuit of the new place to live.

Tonight I go get my keys to the new place. It wasn't a scam. After I get the keys, Roommate #1 is leaving to hit the road in his musical pursuits and will be back in a month. Roommate #2 has a strict routine of getting up at 5 AM. He's an actor and real estate agent. He keeps himself in shape, as well as likes comicbooks.

I move in tomorrow. And when I wake up on Monday morning, no one will be left home. Because "The Universe" is playing more than fair with me. "It's" being benevolent.

PS--My eye stopped twitching since the AM of the 4th.

PPS--I'm still seriously procastinating in finding my cat a new home. Grim Jester is contemplating taking her, but there is the Humane Society near me where one of my Friends got her cat from. It's a no-kill facility. I just need to call them to see if they have room for my cat. If no one adopts her, she'll just live with them.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Get Here

Because I got inspired just a moment ago.

YouTube is the time-killer! It will suck out your soul! And I love it!

Sunday, July 1, 2007

My Right Eye, Lower Eyelid, Keeps Twitching ...

... for about three days now. I suppose there's some stress seeping out through there, because I've been too happy to let it bother me otherwise.

Then Worst-Case Scenario Man stopped by for a chat.

My actual moving date was delayed for a week because the roommate who has the apartment in his name wanted to let "my" room's present occupant take another week to leave. It all seemed on the up-and-up. I was at the apartment again on Friday and explored more of the neighborhood. Across the street is Isham Park which affords lush green hills, a view of the Palisades, and open air --if that's your bag. But if I don't climb the steps to get to the top of the first hill, then I keep myself surrounded by the beautiful NYC architecture (this is practical in the months when all the green turns brown and barren). So on Friday I left my security check and this coming Friday (payday) I give my July-minus-a-week rent. This way, I don't even have to borrow the money from MTFD.

Cool, right?

But Worst-Case Scenario Man came by and told me that it's all a scam. They took my check and will never let me move in. They line up prospective renters all week, approve every one of them, then take their security deposits and leave Inwood never to be traced again.

That's an elaborate scam, I'll admit. Worthy of David Mamet. I hope it doesn't apply to me, though. I don't make a good movie hero. Wait, yes I do. Samuel L Jackson-style. Kicking doors down and cussin' m-f'ers out until they GIVE ME BACK MAH MONEY!!

But the lessor's room looked far too cluttered to have been a sham. And I have his name and his profession, and saw proof of his occupation in his room, and can track him down on the internet (done) because he is a semi-famous musician.

So take THAT, Worst-Case Scenario Man. I have defeated you again!

Meanwhile, I'm growing more and more melancholy about giving up my cat. I've had her for at least 7 years now. I got her in Springfield, MO when she was just a kitten, straining through the bars of the shelter with paw outstretched and protesting mouth wide open in high meow. How can I toss her back to the bars? Is her life nothing more than an amusement for me to use and discard? Is she a person, or just a pet?

And will she recover in a new environment, or will she wither and die, heartsick by our separation?

Best case scenario--she's just an animal, and animals survive. She likes people--she'll thrive with others.

But I'll miss her. That's the thing.

No, I gotta move on. I got to replace cats with Woman. If I'm lonely without my cat, then GOOD. Maybe that'll give me the strength to step up to the plate and get this life of mine filled.

But SHHH! Don't tell my Woman-To-Be that she's just a replacement for a feline. :)