Saturday, December 29, 2012

I'll Fight For You and I'd Die For You; Can't Type For You, Won't Lie to You.

Dear Athena,

You are like a sister to me. And when I say sister, I don't mean, like, an actual sister, but I mean it like the way black people use it. Which is more meaningful I think. 

Despite lofty aspirations and the noblest of intentions it appears I won't write you daily emails like I promised I would.


And I'm sorry.  I'm working on it.  I did google the cost of Chinese Rosetta Stone if that makes a difference.

But you know what being perfect is like...(see below--figure 1 and 2). I just can't do it if it's not amazing... 


I've attached a photographic essay I found.  You should really be more careful with your image on the internet.  


I know its a poor replacement for communication buy if it helps I've thought of 10 or so midly ignorant racial comments while writing this.  I omitted them cause I'm growing and I love you and I think the Chinese government has been reading our emails.  


                             Example 1                                            Example 2

*compare and contrast for extra credit 

Brooklyn (1987-2012)  China (2012-??)
reviens a moi ma petite quenelle! 



The Sunburnt Calf; The Laughing Cow
An Ode in Pictures
by Anonymous















Miss you, ho.  

Monday, September 6, 2010

Spun?

I recently found out that Claude (aka Big-C aka C-dizzle aka Dad) used to do martial arts.  I was fascinated but not entirely surprised.  For all his cool swagger he was kind of a weirdo-nerd.  He rode the Sci-fi wave in the 70's and tie-dye tank-topped his way through the 80's.  Plus, he's always been one of those guys who carried a book in the back-pocket of his jeans and developed the art of reading while walking.  And watching my dad bend and stretch his body into rusty but graceful Asian movements, I started thinking.

When you're a kid you know you're going to grow out of things.  Dolls, for example, were always a ticking time bomb.  Most people know the feeling of realizing that some thing they love or some game they play or some hobby they have has transformed into a dirty little secret.  While you weren't looking it has become an example of you're developmental immaturity and is therefore fodder for public ridicule by your peers.  But what about 'mature' hobbies.  The old cliche of 'Time to put childish things aside' doesn't apply to everything.  Think about your parents.  Why did your mom ditch her her tarot cards or mood rings or her astrology books?  Why did your dad retire his guitar or squash racket?  And what about you, in your early twenties, how many sweaty yoga mats, rusty bicycles, moth-eaten paint brushes or busted SLR camera's lay in the basement of your past?

The Karate-Claude got me thinking about the things I love to do now.  I spin more than I really want to admit and I've gotten to the point that my body is so used to the exercise its not really hard anymore.  I'm considering changing up my exercise regime so as to avoid both mental and physical stagnation.  Maybe interests to the mind are the same as exercise to the body.  You reach a point at which you have to look for another outlet.  Or is it a matter of re-prioritizing?

I've also thought about Spin as an example of an era.  Volleyball and basketball and track (not to mention my participation in the dark room, on the literary magazine and in peer leadership) were emblematic of my do-all, be-all, win-all nature in high school.  I would argue participation in all of those things is demonstrative of the person I was.  Spin in it's dark competitive intensity is emblematic of the fierce Ivy-league mentality I was surrounded by.  Is my body telling me what my mind subconsciously knows?  Is it time to move on?

So I've brought up two reasons for why loved activities languish.  Stagnation and Re-prioritization.  Stagnation gives me a little more comfort as an explanation.  It implies that you've simply moved on, that you've grown and have gotten everything you can from that particular interest.  But an adjustment of priorities troubles me.  Was I, or work or life the reason my dad isn't a black belt?  Of course if the higher priority is something that is worth the abandonment of your first love than its not so sad.  But in my mind I can't help equating putting hobbies aside as a break-up.  There are some (like stagnation) that fade out like an old lover.  You both realize, without animosity, that the end has been long in coming.  Whereas other relationships explode; ripped to torched fragments by forces out of your control.  You are left for another woman or you, guiltily,  can't resist the greener pasture of another man.  Either way there's hollow ache of nostalgia.  And when you think of it are you reminiscing or regretting?

I guess it goes back to my concern about how quickly time passes, my ever-present fear of regrets.  And the internal struggle between my unwillingness to put my not-so 'childish things aside' to compromise or  conform and my fear of arrested development and stagnation.  Anyways, ironically I'm off to spin.  Maybe not Mr. Right but definitely Mr. Good-Enough-For-Right-Now.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Wherefore Art Thou...In The Holiday Inn...

This has nothing to do with Nelly.  RIP Nelly!...No as far as I know he's not dead.  But he has been admitted to the land of the dead in my consciousness with  DMX and JaRule which is the Gangsta's paradise of my middle school experience.  Enter Kanye...

So I've been lazy for a while.  And its not because I didn't have anything to do and it's not because I was terribly busy.  I'm not sure what the real balance is between living life and reflecting on it, but I honestly miss blogging when I don't do it.  Some days, some things just inspire you.  And today it was a chubby man jogging (laboriously) in a t-shirt that said "Tiny Tim's Donut Shop".

I'd like to warn you here:  This is not about that man.  But more the idea of that man.  The moments in life when you are so enraptured by something so hilariously minute that you feel the need to share that with others.  The ironic, the ridiculous, the annoying.  Those moments that everyone has when they wish there were someone there to make eye-contact with and acknowledge the nature of the situation.  Much like an awkward cow moment.

Which reminds me of what AW said about Awkward Cow and its superiority to Awkward Turtle (a fan favorite, I'm sure)  The argument (in a sentence)?  "This moment is So effin' awkward that not one but two people have to agree that it is awkward enough to point out and illustrate. " 

That was a sidenote.  This blog is really more of a re-introduction.  I'm back in the game.  I could try and recap on life since my last blog.  I won't.  To be honest I'll probably save some of those unfortunate and telling incidences 'til my more uninspired days.  Additionally,  even the loftiest of my aspirations could not make me commit to daily blogging.  I can't promise that.  But I will promise to the greatest listener in this WEB 2.0 era (the internet) and to the random assortment of friends, readers, and friends who are readers (let's be honest, you are the majority) that I will try.  Because I still have not given up on a book deal or at least on the idea of making money from google adsense.  

My thoughts of blogging as a form of narcism are far in the past.  I'm not narcissistic, but I do like to hear myself talk, or write, or blog (I guess that would be the accurate word in this situation).  I also think I'm 'really-really-ridiculously-good-looking' and kind of awesome in general...wait...where was I?  uh....shit.  uhh....do do do....'not narcissitic, like to hear myself blog'...oh yeah!   The point is...keep reading so I can make money. wait no...The point is, it's friday at 5 and I got out early so I'm on glass two of white wine (yes...white, AW) (NO, I'm not drinking alone, INTERNET...not that I think there's anything wrong with that).   THE POINT IS.  I'm going to be blogging more because if Julie and Julia is a movie with Amy Adams then there is something wrong in this world if my ridiculousness (and that is the most important, telling, and honest of the aforementioned  adjectives (or noun as I've turned it into) ) can't make Lifetime...or Oxygen...I'd totally take Oxygen.  

With that I leave you...with a new commitment, a lot of love, and some Sauvignon blanc that I've belched onto my keyboard. Oh geez, blogging may be good for the soul, but its bad for the attractive....awkward cow...

Monday, August 16, 2010

What Seems Like A Good Idea At 5AM May Not Actually Be A Good Idea

What happens when you mix missed concerts, Pour House rejections, and AN's birthday?

This was taken in Port Authority at 5:30 AM Saturday morning.  Here is us eating breakfast.

We'd been out all night but decided that the only thing that could make the night better was Atlantic City.

To make a long story less long and way more amusing.  We had open containers, in public.  Which I totally thought was not that big of a deal because its port authority and port authority is like a third world country whose dictator has just been shanked.  Plus, one would think that the NY equivalent of a mall cop would worry more about the pimps picking up runaways than the harmless 20 something, minding there own business, eating breakfast, who just so happen to be supremely drunk and have an open beer under their chair.  Anyway, I may have mistakenly left one underneath the bench we were sitting on when we got up to check what time the bus was coming.

We thought there was one at 630.  FYI, should you have the same harebrained idea planted in your head by a drunken, impulsive, ridiculously awesome friend (see man in white shirt), buses don't actually start running until 8:30.

Be warned.  Never a good idea.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Why You Have to Look Both Ways.

So I totally plan on actually blogging today instead of stealing other peoples intellectual property.  But this me AN and MF stumbled upon this video this weekend.

Monday, August 2, 2010

20/4,500,200

My left eyes is tearing.

And I'm wearing glasses outside for the first time in years.  I've worn contacts since 5th grade and for some reason I've always chosen the nerdiest glasses I could find.  As if to say to myself, "you can fool everyone else with your fancy-schmansy contact lenses, but I know the real you, the 9-year-old-nerdy-nearsighed-you-who-wore-neon-yellow-plastic-frames.  Remember?  The ones that were taped in the middle.  Bwahahaha...."  The current pair are thick tortoise shell frame with a small square lens in the hipster nerd chic style.  Thank god for the square lens because these pair are one rounded corner from making me look like Steve Urkel. (exhibit A (not my actual glasses))

The surgery wasn't actually that bad.  EXCEPT my day is gone and I have to miss spinning AND pilates all because of this stupid laser eye surgery I just had.

It's wasn't even the cool modern marvel kind that gives your near-sighted genetics the finger and makes glasses unnecessary.  It was the serious kind that you need so that you don't see spots or go blind.

I just spent 3 hours at an opthamologists' because i have retinal tears.  And now my day is gone and the back of my eyeball itches.  After hours of waiting I almost didn't do it because my Harvard educated rather attractive (in an old man way) eye Dr. gave me the option of not doing it today after the 3rd time I asked if it would hurt.

We came to an optomotrist middle-ground of 'just the tip' and I only did the left one.  I'm beginning to think   this is a health history pattern for me.  Kind of like the time I decided I would only get two wisdom teeth out.  Why would I want to do that twice?

Anyway, next tuesday I'll be getting the other one done.  And I'm kind of ballin' for someone livin' on the edge of health insurance and somehow have talked Dr.s' into discounts recently.  But we'll see how it goes cause honestly I can't go back to $12 neon frames no matter how hipster I become.