I was like yo

I was like on the F train and like this bunch of guys in like down-below-the-butt jeans, know what I'm sayin' gets on and like look around at all us passengers with a look like they was up to no good and I was like yo. Sup with that? I mean like whatever, you know what I'm sayin'? And I'm thinking forgetaboutit, yo, like, whatever.

Thursday

So there's this guy with the biggest damned ten dollar watch I've ever seen and I'm ready to say to him, "Hey, dude, why not get a small watch that doesn't scream out, 'cheap, cheap, cheap' like some ghetto bird?" But I say nothing because preserving one's life is more important than making one's point. I watch my fellow transit riders, my commuter buddies, and observe the guy taking up two seats, sleeping like a baby, albeit an odiferous baby, with shoes that could make a potent tea, and a hat that had seen better Yankee days. But across from me is this older man, perhaps even older than me, who sits and sleeps, perchance to dream, perchance to pretend he's asleep to avoid the money beggars. The pretenders who say they would accept food, but really want money, because they can get food at their SRO--single room occupancy facilities that provides not only shelter, but three squares, heat, hot water, and another reason to be angry about "the system." Oh well, it's just our tax dollars hard at work.

Valentine's Day

Happy Valentine's Day. You may ask yourself, just who the hell was Saint Valentine? Why do we give chocolate to our loved ones? Why do we think today is the ultimate time to score, as it were? Well let's talk about scoring since I have no clue as to the other stuff.
As I write this, the United States of America has scored five Olympic medals in the 2010 Winter Games in Vancouver. We are number one, so far, in the medal category, which means we are better than the rest of the world when it comes to sliding on blades across slippery ice, or wearing boards on our feet and allowing gravity to inexorably pull us down hills, fly through the air, ass-over-teakettle, land on these wooden boards and continue sliding down hills, or lie on our back on a luge, and go as fast as possible, limited only by our form, gravity, and our unanticipated screwups like trying to see where the hell we're going at 90 freaking miles an hour, which causes the air to slow us down. That said, "WE'RE NUMBER ONE!!! WE'RE NUMBER ONE!!!" But is it really about American pride that makes us cheer, or is it really about our human need for competition as a way of measuring our intrinsic worth? When we pull for the home team, it isn't "US" who won--it's a group of people who practices endlessly day-after-day, year-after-year, to be faster at, stronger in events that we have invented as a way of measuring this intrinsic stuff.
I believe we are all Number One. We are all worthy simply as humans. We don't need to slide, fly, or glide faster to prove anything.
But I enjoy the games.

snow job

I love snowy days and hiding under the covers knowing the alarm clock is not going to awaken me. Instead, the kid upstairs, the kid with a shrill scream like a banchee, like the god Pan, like a horror movie queen, awakened me. "I wanna go out!" I heard her screetch. "I wanna I wanna!" Thasneem slept through it because Thasneem comes from India, a country where drivers blow their horns to indicate their intentions, and they always have some intention for something. So I'm awake and it's a freaking winter wonderland out there in Brooklyn, Faggedabowdit. My mind reaches back to my childhood, when I'd play all morning in the snow, my feet would get wet and all itchy, and I'd come in from the cold and Daddy would rub Noxema on them and make the itch go away. I miss those days and I miss Daddy even more. Life is so short and then there you go.

Mom

January 29th would have been Mom's 91st birthday, but it was a year to the day since she died. I miss her. I miss her simple philosophy of life--a don't make any waves approach to people. My mom was benign, and I mean that in a good way. She was like her father, I think. My grandfather was a quiet man who didn't make trouble for anyone. Mom learned how to get along with people from him. I find myself waxing nostalgic a lot more lately because I'm getting older. When your mother would be 91 means you're pretty old yourself. I don't believe we go anywhere once we die, but I still feel badly that she's under the cold cold earth. Does that make any sense?

back packing it

I now have a camera backpack. I haven't named him yet but I was thinking maybe Charlie would be nice. Charlie, as in Charlie Horse, a condition that I probably will avoid now that I have a backpack to carry my gear. I named my camera Steve and my car, Doug. Why not name a backpack, right? Thasneem got me this as my birthday present. We also went to the Jackson Diner for Indian lunch and to tell you the truth, I don't think I want to go back there for a long time. I'm bloated and had a terrible workout in the gym. I think my age has a lot to do with the bloat and my change in digestive efficiency. I have my Indian food at home--who has it better than me?

It's My birthday--so

It's my birthday--and it's also the birthday of several million other people I don't know. We make so much of our birthday, don't we? I know I can't keep it to myself when January 27th arrives--everyone eventually knows it's my birthday. So what's the big deal? We are born, we grow, and we have birthdays to celebrate the fact that we're alive. Maybe that's a good thing, when you think about it. I know I'm glad to be alive. I have the best wife a man could have, the best daughter, son-in-law and friends. So perhaps celebrating my birthday is justified. I just know that I'm not special any more than you are. I'm just here and have been here for 63 years as of today. Wow, that's a long long time.

Cretin Barrel

You've heard of Doctors Without Borders, now comes a new organization: Doctors Without Ethics. It's amazing how some people think that, because of their title, they have the wisdom and abilities to create miracles, not unlike the sky daddy I have yet to meet. I will mention no names, (you know who you are, but, unfortunately, you don't read my blog, nor do you read current medical journals, techniques, and new drug treatments), but you prescribe medications based on hunches and then don't follow up to see if your patient is still changing O2 into CO2. I think doctors, and many other so-called professionals, should have to undergo pop quizes every so often (like once a year or more), just to see if they know what they're doing. Of course, real estate professionals should be excused from this.