P.D.A.

June 29, 2009

*I re-posted this entry cause I have no talent, and struggle to have original thought*

Public Display of AirGuitar!

That’s right children, I’m that guy.  You know, your on the train, maybe on line at the store.  there’s always “that dude”.  He’s whaling on the pocket of his Levis with his right hand,  the left hand is spazing while the fingers are twitching.  He has the ipod on, and he could care less who witnesses his orgasmic air solo face.

This is me.

The other morning I found myself in some post drug induced haze at 7:30am on the corner of 38th and 7th fucking shredding a Dave Mustaine solo on Symphony of Destruction!  A truly rad way to start the day!

Life is really too short to hold back that type feeling.

And I know, you don’t like metal.  Maybe it’s  some sick Jigga hook spinning between you ears, and can’t help bobbin your head.  Or perhaps the gods have smiled on you.  Prince has just become audible at the grocery store and you just cant stop your self from freaking the cilantro.  Cause we all know there’s something sexy about cilantro.

The point is: Just rock when you wanna.  Don’t let the dirty looks, sneers, jeers, or even the tomatoes tossed at your head keep you from expressing yourself!


I don’t need these!

June 23, 2009

The night I turned 18 Chris and I ate an 8th of mushrooms each (you know, the wacky kind).  Everyone we were with disappeared, and in good fashion we bugged the fuck out.

Why did I do this?  Is it gonna be like this forever?  Why is my ribcage so squishy?

I could hear every word, spoken by every person on that shitty board walk in Ocean City Md.  The ground was running away from me.  My Camel Special Lights were attached to the pack with crazy glue.  And, I was wearing shoes..

Wait.  That last part is perfectly normal.  Everyone wears shoes.  This is commonplace…

[Chris]  That’s the problem, man!  You don’t need ’em!

[Me] But my mom just bought me these..

I looked down at my eight day old Puma Romas.  They were fucking shiny man.  Bright blue, and fresh.  And, to top it off, they matched my favorite shirt.  A blue York Prep polyester baseball Tshirt.  A $2 thrift store buy that I still have today.

[Me]  They’re nice shoes.

Chris has taken his shoes off.

[Chris]  YOU DON’T NEED THEM!  AHHHH!!!

This is the time when he made a sprint for the ocean, and flung his foot protectors into the Atlantic.

He was running and laughing like a mad man.  What could I do?  I tossed my Pumas into the water.  And, I gotta say- it helped.  It was liberating.

Fucking dumb, cause we spent the rest of the night tripping barefoot in dirty ass O.C.M.D.  But, it helped me grip the trip a little better.  Liberating…

Now, this was gonna be the part of the post where I tied this story into my life today.  You know, some cheesy metaphor about throwing my problems away.  But, reliving that trip really made me want to do mushrooms again.

So, if you’ll excuse me I have to make a phone call.


Question.

June 14, 2009

You’re starving.

You order a pizza and fries.

The pizza place is only two blocks from your house.

One block into the two block trip you stumble, and one of your flippy floppys falls in the gutter.

Do you finish the journy, and pick up the pizza and fries with out the aid of a full floppy set?  Or, do you back-track a block, get another pair, and start the trip over?


A slice.

June 2, 2009

Preface: Every once in an often the slow drag of the blues gripes me.  Even while on a beach in paradise, the undertow of melancholy is inescapable.

Today I had a slice of pizza for lunch.  I do this about 222 times a year, but toady was different.

This slice of pizza was so god damn delicious it made me want to light myself on fire.

The first bite was all sauce.

The tomatoes must have been vine ripened in the Garden of Eden.  This sauce was the perfect blend of everything.  Garlic, oregano, basil.  And.  It was sweet.   Not sweet like candy.  But, sweet like the first ray of sunshine on a perfect May morning: light, and almost unnoticed.

Then the mozzarella.   It wasn’t cheese at all.  This milky congealer must have been the silk that Athena herself slumbered upon.  A salty heaven.

When all that was gone I was left with the crust.  The dough that made this crust could only have been made by my father’s father.  I never knew the man, but family has told me that he and I we were cut frome the same stone.  He and his brothers were Bakers.  I grew up with the smell of freshly baked bread in my nostrils, and up until about 5 years ago that same bakery was around the corner from the house I live in now.

 


Team America.

June 1, 2009

I was out of the country for the past five days in the Dominican Republic.   It was, quite laterally, paradise.

I drank, gambled, and yelled at strangers.  These are three of my favorite things  to do in the sun.

Strangely enough whilst yelling at a Russian couple I realised something profound:  Being patriotic is very much like being a sports fan.

Explanation.

There was more than one time when other vacationers, from other countries, would “hate” on me/Americans.

Now, I do realize the massive ego it takes for me to feel as though hating on me means that you hate all Americans.  But, I am in fact American, and that massive ego is why some people from abroad dislike us.  So here we go.

There was a Russian couple in particular that pissed me off the most.  They seemed to be giving me dirty looks all week (I was drunk the whole time, so it’s quite possible it was all in my head).

Finally, on my last full day, my mom, my step-dad, and I were at the pool laughing very loudly and obnoxiously at god only knows what.  That was when this Russian couple (who were out to get me from go) walked by and in a mocking tone said:

[Russian couple] Ohh haha, I am American! Hahaha, jibber jabber.  Americans.

[me] FUCK OFF Russia.

[Russian guy] (who, by the way was three times my size, and could kill me with a pinkie) We are from the Ukraine.  American.

[me] Same thing bro.

Now, the fact that he just kept walking, and did not destroy me in front of his amazingly hot girl friend is amazing.

The funny thing is that he knew exactly who I was and where I was from: a dick from America.  But I noticed them, at first, only because the girls fake tits had been shooting across the resort all week.  Otherwise, my ignorant ass lives in a world that revolves around me, and me only.

This, to me, was just like when I lived in Baltimore and Orioles fans would hate and mock Yankee fans any chance they got to do so.  But, on the same token, Yankee fans were always indifferent at best to thoes same O’s fans.

You see, Yankee’s fans are not even aware of the fact that O’s fans exist, let alone hate on them.  And, if a Yankee fan does become aware of this fact they will undoubtedly say: Who cares?  The O’s are insignificant.  And we have better pizza!

I don’t know what this means.  And, I don’t think people from other countries are “insignificant”.

But.  There is something to be said for the fact that everyone notices us in other countries (and this has happened to me before while traveling abroad), but we just go about our way being harmlessly obnoxious.  Maybe it’s ignorance.  Maybe it’s tolerance.  Maybe it’s just obnoxious.

I apologise if this made no sense.  But, in true American fashion, I just farted it out of my mouth with no regard.