An expression that Larisa recently conveyed to me applies here: Days are long but years are short. It's been a month since my last update but somehow it feels like only a week or so. I have some catching up to do, and seeing as to how I'm starting this at 1:25 a.m. and am sufficiently buzzed, we'll see how this coalesces.
Christmas was a relatively low-key affair. In the morning gifts were exchanged between my parents, my brother, his girlfriend Amber and myself. Two firsts occurred this Christmas: 1. No grandparents, of any capacity, were present; and 2. I had to give out certificate IOU's in promising that gifts are forthcoming once I have the money to buy them. It was an awkward and humbling experience despite the fact that my parents assured me it didn't matter if I got gifts for people this year or not. At least they understood, but it didn't make it feel any better. Ever since I've been independent (as far as Christmas shopping goes) I've been able to purchase the goods. Now, 23 and out of college, I found myself unable to part with what little money my bank statement told me that I still had. Since then I've fallen into a (minor) windfall and will be buying the gifts soon before my green runs out.
New Jersey doesn't know what fucking state it is anymore. Back in the summertime it rained literally every other day (Washington) and this winter it's been sub-freezing and/or snowy for over 75% of the days (Alaska). Don't get me wrong, I don't mind a blizzard about once a year, even though it doesn't happen that frequently in these parts, but this cold is bugging me out. I'm definitely a fairer climate kinda guy. My skin tone would indicate I love cold weather (what better place to blend in an environment that a white snowfall for me?) but my stature argues otherwise (6'4" and 147 lbs on a heavy day doesn't lend itself for arctic temperatures).
Despite a strange and existential way to end the 2009 calendar year, I was able to ring in a promising 2010 in Arlington, VA with my girlfriend and a healthy supply of mutual friends (well...her friends whom I've befriended as a consequence of dating her for four+ years). Beer, shots, wine, champagne and a fat, succulent cigar lent themselves for a jovial night. Naturally I stumbled about and reminisced on all that 2009 held, but I certainly made efforts to not go overboard and ring in 2010 face down and/or covered in vomit. After all, January 1st was when I had planned to drive to Clifton and visit my niggas. They partied hearty from the accounts I've heard; 30 to 40 deep and an unlimited alcohol flow will do that to a party. After a subdued New Year's Day (Taco Bell and The Departed) I was ready for Round 2. Sadly, only one other person was up to the task that night, as everyone else couldn't stomach the thought of force feeding themselves with more booze. And then there were two: myself, and Evan. Whiskey shots and beer supplied us with all of the rage we needed to get fucked up again. Compliments to Ellie for the fried chicken that she had made that eve, it certainly satisfied the drunk munchies well. I came close to vomiting at around 6 in the morning, but I thought better of it. I've paid my dues and struggled through 4 years of higher education to reach non-ralphing status. It happens to the best of us, just not me, not that night.
Ahh, January 2nd. For fear of legal repercussions or an off chance that a potential employer finds this, I will not delve into depths beyond what I am capable of swimming. The day, eventful, memorable, hilarious, morphing, shifting and layered in sounds and colors was one for the books. The Natural History Museum in D.C. was certainly an experience to behold. I'm happy with the company I had that day - E$, Hamburglar siblings, Ellie and Frempton. The metro ride back to Vienna undoubtedly made fellow passengers uncomfortable and perturbed; I would have been too if I saw what I saw but not through my eyes I'm talking about their eyes whose eyes are these? nobody told me eyes on the prize was the way to rise.
Memories from that night are foggy but I do remember that Frempton yelled at delinquents about responsibility, jobs, real life and accountability. I also remember me verbally raping/accosting/assaulting/shredding some hapless whore vagrant. I wish it had been recorded.
Upon returning to Linden I discovered that my beloved hamster Mr. Peabody had passed away since the afternoon of New Year's Eve. I expected it was coming; he was 2 1/2 years old and his life expectancy was 2-3 years. He's currently in my basement's freezer in a shoebox, awaiting the weather to warm up and the ground to soften so he can get a proper burial. I fully intend on buying a malt liquor 40 for the occasion, pouring some of it out, then drinking the rest. RIP; August 2007 - January 2010. (on a side note, 2009 ended with a death and 2010 began with one -- things come in threes some I'm kinda nervous about what/who else will die)
And news that I never wanted to give but was going to inevitably occur: As of Monday, January 11th I am back at my parents' home in Woodbury. With money teetering on zero and bills to pay if I stayed in Linden, the choice was unavoidable. I wasn't going to have Larisa pay for both of us to live there; she needs to save her money, and while I'm still young and helpless enough I might as well take advantage of my parents. I've been job searching and have already applied to one in the area since I've been back, plus I'm going to be getting involved in an organization or two for pleasure (to fill my days, build my resume and for fun). I'll miss Larisa, but with weekly visits (1 1/2 hour drive one way) plus Skype we should be able to cope. I am, however, 1 1/2 hours closer to NoVa and DC, so potential friend visits (both going to them and them coming to me) is a more feasible possibility. The biggest downfall of moving home, so far anyway, is that my mom views me as an indentured servant. I can't really blame her - it'd be pathetic on my end to live at home and contribute in no way to the welfare of the home or the situation - but it will certainly take adjusting.
I'm going to close by noting that I concur with Frempton in that I need direction. Whereas vodka and a handgun are his choice of (oxymoronic) self-controlled destiny, my vices are whiskey and blenders. Let's see what the night brings!
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Thursday, December 17, 2009
mort
Death is a funny thing. No living thing escapes it (unless you're talking about some species of prehistoric bacteria that was quasi-recently discovered in an ice chunk in the arctic -- my memory is foggy and details are sketchy though -- but as I recall it was a one-celled organism that had the astonishing ability to, for lack of a better scientific term, "put it self to sleep" for literally millennia without needing to absorb nutrients or water. Fucking crazy right? It woke back up when scientists found it. Imagine that -- an invincible, prehistoric creature that never needs to eat, sleep and can tolerate both arctic and inner volcano-like temperatures.)
Some see death coming much more clearly than others. It can happen instantly -- a car crash, heart attack, smoke inhalation from a fire -- but more often than not it's a process. Like all processes, there is an inevitable finality.
I've never felt so...oddly unattached to a death before. With a little more than a week before Christmas and I'm sitting here, for the first time ever, with no living grandparents. Although my grandmom (dad's side) had been the last living connection to two generations ago for me, I was never especially close with her. Honestly, neither my mom, brother nor I were. She was bi-polar, took a hodgepodge of medications that probably shouldn't have been mixed, lost her temper for no reason or little provocation, always wanted the spotlight, and never fully understood where my brother and I were coming from (the generational difference is partly to blame, but it was moreso her conscious decision to not keep up with the times). Now she's dead (something we've known was definitely going to happen for about 3 weeks now, but were relatively sure for about 2 months). Dementia took over and then it went downhill from there. By the end she wasn't eating any food or drinking any water. When she stopped eating we knew she'd be gone soon enough, but it's when she couldn't even take water in anymore that we knew it'd be a couple of days at most. For the past 6+ weeks she's been barely able to string together a cohesive sentence and her mind was always elsewhere.
At around 2:30 pm on Friday, December 17th she finally went. Her breathing slowed, went kind of sparatic for a bit, then eventually just stopped altogether. My dad was with her when it happened (down in Delaware) but the rest of us found out via cell phone.
As I mentioned before, I'm not torn up over this and I'm 99% sure I won't even shed a tear at the funeral. Even though I'd known her since birth, this death seems distant, but not in a denial sort of way. Unfortunately, the only sense of remorse I might feel will stem more from feeling sad for my dad rather than myself. Maybe, too, a little for the fact that I no longer have any grandparents left. But not for genuine sympathethic reasoning.
The funeral is December 23rd. I wonder what Christmas is going to be like.
In lighter news, I'll be in DC/Nova for New Year's Eve, the 1st, 2nd and part of the 3rd. Then on the 4th Larisa and I have tickets to see a live taping of The Daily Show in New York. Good times all around.
Let me know what your plans are for then, I'm trying to see everyone and drink a bit.
Some see death coming much more clearly than others. It can happen instantly -- a car crash, heart attack, smoke inhalation from a fire -- but more often than not it's a process. Like all processes, there is an inevitable finality.
I've never felt so...oddly unattached to a death before. With a little more than a week before Christmas and I'm sitting here, for the first time ever, with no living grandparents. Although my grandmom (dad's side) had been the last living connection to two generations ago for me, I was never especially close with her. Honestly, neither my mom, brother nor I were. She was bi-polar, took a hodgepodge of medications that probably shouldn't have been mixed, lost her temper for no reason or little provocation, always wanted the spotlight, and never fully understood where my brother and I were coming from (the generational difference is partly to blame, but it was moreso her conscious decision to not keep up with the times). Now she's dead (something we've known was definitely going to happen for about 3 weeks now, but were relatively sure for about 2 months). Dementia took over and then it went downhill from there. By the end she wasn't eating any food or drinking any water. When she stopped eating we knew she'd be gone soon enough, but it's when she couldn't even take water in anymore that we knew it'd be a couple of days at most. For the past 6+ weeks she's been barely able to string together a cohesive sentence and her mind was always elsewhere.
At around 2:30 pm on Friday, December 17th she finally went. Her breathing slowed, went kind of sparatic for a bit, then eventually just stopped altogether. My dad was with her when it happened (down in Delaware) but the rest of us found out via cell phone.
As I mentioned before, I'm not torn up over this and I'm 99% sure I won't even shed a tear at the funeral. Even though I'd known her since birth, this death seems distant, but not in a denial sort of way. Unfortunately, the only sense of remorse I might feel will stem more from feeling sad for my dad rather than myself. Maybe, too, a little for the fact that I no longer have any grandparents left. But not for genuine sympathethic reasoning.
The funeral is December 23rd. I wonder what Christmas is going to be like.
In lighter news, I'll be in DC/Nova for New Year's Eve, the 1st, 2nd and part of the 3rd. Then on the 4th Larisa and I have tickets to see a live taping of The Daily Show in New York. Good times all around.
Let me know what your plans are for then, I'm trying to see everyone and drink a bit.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Linden's Underbelly
My current sleep schedule is pretty fucked up as of late. I've been going to be between 4:00 and 5:00 am every night and waking up at lunchtime. Last night my night owl mentality actually came in handy. Being the day before Thanksgiving, also known as the single busiest travel day of the year, I was going to be driving Larisa to the Newark International Airport by 5:00 am so she had plenty of time to catch her 6:00 departure. She booked the pre-dawn flight for economical considerations.
Knowing that I wasn't going to bother trying to sleep last night before taking her to Newark, I just resigned myself to planning to stay awake through the night. A recent nostalgic binge for Mario 64, my ever-prevalent obsession with Wikipedia, and a handful of menial chores would be more than enough to keep me occupied.
At 2:30 in the morning I walk into the kitchen for a glass of cold water. It's refreshing coolness soothed my arid pie hole. As I leaned against the sink whilst sipping from the brim, I noticed the Pathmark receipt from a week ago magnetized to the refrigerator door. Shit, I thought, we were supposed to pick up our free turkey. As members of Pathmark she and I had spent enough money to qualify for a free turkey as long as its net weight was 20.0 lbs. or less. The voucher had printed at the bottom of last week's receipt. With Thanksgiving approaching and other affairs going on in my life (subjects for later posts) I had completely forgotten to redeem the coupon. I trudged over to the fridge, plucked the receipt and saw that the free turkey deal was only valid on or before Saturday, November 28th. Unfortunately, I was going to be in Woodbury through sometime Sunday (I was going to drive straight home from the Newark Airport) and Larisa wouldn't be back in town until nearly midnight on Saturday, so there was literally no other time to go claim my bird.
Lots of stores are open 24 hours a day in my section of Jersey, which is a 180-degree turn from life in Williamsburg. And as luck would have, the Pathmark is one of them. With nothing better to do and a couple hours left to kill, I threw on my Nikes and headed out on a quest: Turkey or Bust.
A 5-minute drive later and I was walking through the front doors of the grocery store. There were only three other customers in there at 2:45 am, and probably 8 or 9 employees (half of whom were poor English-speaking Mexican floor moppers). I must admit it was a nice feeling to be able to walk around Pathmark uninhibited - not self conscious about the fact that I was rocking a grey William & Mary sweatpants with a green hoodie, no pressure to grab what I needed and get out of the way for another nearby customer, the whole sense of quiet about the place, etc. I might start grocery shopping in the middle of the night all the time, who knows.
I walked straight to the back where the deli and meats department was to grab my turkey. After a five to six minute scour, I still couldn't find one. I walked back up to the front of the store and spoke with a Pathmark employee about my situation.
"We might be sold out," she contested.
"I understand that," I replied, "but it is Pathmark's responsibility to have the item in stock that they promised me via a free coupon. If they're out of stock then I am owed a raincheck for one free turkey, regardless of whether I pick it up tomorrow or a week from now past the original coupon's expiration date." I was not walking out without a fucking turkey.
She conceded. "Let me call the manager up to the front. One minute please."
Employee of the Month buzzes Manager on the speaker system.
"It'll be a minute of two; he's in the back office doing paperwork. You'll see him though, he's wearing a hat," she finished.
A hat? I was hoping that some man was going to pop out from behind an aisle wearing a sombrero or fez, something ridiculous. That surely would have made up for any inconveniences I was experiencing. No such luck; the guy walked out wearing a baseball cap. After a brief explanation of my situation, I found out that I had been looking in the wrong place for the turkeys. They were with the frozen foods, all piled into a refrigerated red bin in the middle of the aisle. Well, that explained it.
I did a cursory search of the available turkeys (in other words, I checked each of their net weights) and snagged the one just shy of 20 pounds. Hell yes. I returned to the check-out, gave her my receipt, got my bird and split. At this point it was about 3:00 am and their was another hour and 40 minutes until I had to take Larisa to the airport. Plus, I was going to drive home from there, so I knew I had several more hours (minimum) of required alertness. On the way home I stopped in a 24-hour Dunkin' Donuts. I figured that I'd be the only one there. Wrong. This particular DD was right across the street from a Sports Bar, and so the late teens/young 20s crowd (I don't think the bar ID'd) were wasted and hanging out not only inside the store but also in the parking lot. Whatever, I mused, I came here for coffee and I'm not gonna let these goth looking 'tards get in my way.
Some girl was laying on her back in the center of the parking lot with about six to eight people surrounding her. One guy was inspecting her ankle, which led me to believe that she tripped and hurt herself (like I cared). Once inside Dunkin' Donuts, I was forced to listed to shitty late 90s hip hop (think Ja Rule meets Xzibit) as I waited for the employee to come from around the back to take my order. One of the people inside had brought a stereo with them. Who does that anymore? I felt like I had warped back 15 years. After what seemed like an insufferable duration of waiting, the Indian man finally appeared.
"Large, hot coffee please," I ordered.
"Is that it?"
"Yeah that'll be it."
"How do you like it?"
"Black and bitter, like my women." Okay, so maybe I didn't say that second part, but I wanted to. The one thing I've learned from experience at DD is that never ask for cream or sugar if you can get some yourself. A "little bit" of sugar to them is 3-4 overflowing tablespoons, regardless of what size coffee you ordered. I learned that the hard way.
Coffee in hand, receipt in pocket, I walked back out. The group of misanthropes had dawdled from the center of the parking lot to the side of the parking lot and out of the way. What a brilliant idea! As I walked by them I overheard a snippet of their conversation. They were trying to figure out "whose car that is." Turns out, they were talking about mine. I know this because I heard the group's rocket scientist hypothesize, "Oh it must be his!" when I was about to put my key in the door. It's not like these troglodytes didn't see me pull in, get out of my car and walk by them five minutes prior to that or anything.
I finally depart Dunkin' Donuts with a coffee in hand and a turkey riding shotgun. Thirty seconds later I walk into my front door, pondering the night's merriment. I have seen the underbelly of Linden, and I survived.
Knowing that I wasn't going to bother trying to sleep last night before taking her to Newark, I just resigned myself to planning to stay awake through the night. A recent nostalgic binge for Mario 64, my ever-prevalent obsession with Wikipedia, and a handful of menial chores would be more than enough to keep me occupied.
At 2:30 in the morning I walk into the kitchen for a glass of cold water. It's refreshing coolness soothed my arid pie hole. As I leaned against the sink whilst sipping from the brim, I noticed the Pathmark receipt from a week ago magnetized to the refrigerator door. Shit, I thought, we were supposed to pick up our free turkey. As members of Pathmark she and I had spent enough money to qualify for a free turkey as long as its net weight was 20.0 lbs. or less. The voucher had printed at the bottom of last week's receipt. With Thanksgiving approaching and other affairs going on in my life (subjects for later posts) I had completely forgotten to redeem the coupon. I trudged over to the fridge, plucked the receipt and saw that the free turkey deal was only valid on or before Saturday, November 28th. Unfortunately, I was going to be in Woodbury through sometime Sunday (I was going to drive straight home from the Newark Airport) and Larisa wouldn't be back in town until nearly midnight on Saturday, so there was literally no other time to go claim my bird.
Lots of stores are open 24 hours a day in my section of Jersey, which is a 180-degree turn from life in Williamsburg. And as luck would have, the Pathmark is one of them. With nothing better to do and a couple hours left to kill, I threw on my Nikes and headed out on a quest: Turkey or Bust.
A 5-minute drive later and I was walking through the front doors of the grocery store. There were only three other customers in there at 2:45 am, and probably 8 or 9 employees (half of whom were poor English-speaking Mexican floor moppers). I must admit it was a nice feeling to be able to walk around Pathmark uninhibited - not self conscious about the fact that I was rocking a grey William & Mary sweatpants with a green hoodie, no pressure to grab what I needed and get out of the way for another nearby customer, the whole sense of quiet about the place, etc. I might start grocery shopping in the middle of the night all the time, who knows.
I walked straight to the back where the deli and meats department was to grab my turkey. After a five to six minute scour, I still couldn't find one. I walked back up to the front of the store and spoke with a Pathmark employee about my situation.
"We might be sold out," she contested.
"I understand that," I replied, "but it is Pathmark's responsibility to have the item in stock that they promised me via a free coupon. If they're out of stock then I am owed a raincheck for one free turkey, regardless of whether I pick it up tomorrow or a week from now past the original coupon's expiration date." I was not walking out without a fucking turkey.
She conceded. "Let me call the manager up to the front. One minute please."
Employee of the Month buzzes Manager on the speaker system.
"It'll be a minute of two; he's in the back office doing paperwork. You'll see him though, he's wearing a hat," she finished.
A hat? I was hoping that some man was going to pop out from behind an aisle wearing a sombrero or fez, something ridiculous. That surely would have made up for any inconveniences I was experiencing. No such luck; the guy walked out wearing a baseball cap. After a brief explanation of my situation, I found out that I had been looking in the wrong place for the turkeys. They were with the frozen foods, all piled into a refrigerated red bin in the middle of the aisle. Well, that explained it.
I did a cursory search of the available turkeys (in other words, I checked each of their net weights) and snagged the one just shy of 20 pounds. Hell yes. I returned to the check-out, gave her my receipt, got my bird and split. At this point it was about 3:00 am and their was another hour and 40 minutes until I had to take Larisa to the airport. Plus, I was going to drive home from there, so I knew I had several more hours (minimum) of required alertness. On the way home I stopped in a 24-hour Dunkin' Donuts. I figured that I'd be the only one there. Wrong. This particular DD was right across the street from a Sports Bar, and so the late teens/young 20s crowd (I don't think the bar ID'd) were wasted and hanging out not only inside the store but also in the parking lot. Whatever, I mused, I came here for coffee and I'm not gonna let these goth looking 'tards get in my way.
Some girl was laying on her back in the center of the parking lot with about six to eight people surrounding her. One guy was inspecting her ankle, which led me to believe that she tripped and hurt herself (like I cared). Once inside Dunkin' Donuts, I was forced to listed to shitty late 90s hip hop (think Ja Rule meets Xzibit) as I waited for the employee to come from around the back to take my order. One of the people inside had brought a stereo with them. Who does that anymore? I felt like I had warped back 15 years. After what seemed like an insufferable duration of waiting, the Indian man finally appeared.
"Large, hot coffee please," I ordered.
"Is that it?"
"Yeah that'll be it."
"How do you like it?"
"Black and bitter, like my women." Okay, so maybe I didn't say that second part, but I wanted to. The one thing I've learned from experience at DD is that never ask for cream or sugar if you can get some yourself. A "little bit" of sugar to them is 3-4 overflowing tablespoons, regardless of what size coffee you ordered. I learned that the hard way.
Coffee in hand, receipt in pocket, I walked back out. The group of misanthropes had dawdled from the center of the parking lot to the side of the parking lot and out of the way. What a brilliant idea! As I walked by them I overheard a snippet of their conversation. They were trying to figure out "whose car that is." Turns out, they were talking about mine. I know this because I heard the group's rocket scientist hypothesize, "Oh it must be his!" when I was about to put my key in the door. It's not like these troglodytes didn't see me pull in, get out of my car and walk by them five minutes prior to that or anything.
I finally depart Dunkin' Donuts with a coffee in hand and a turkey riding shotgun. Thirty seconds later I walk into my front door, pondering the night's merriment. I have seen the underbelly of Linden, and I survived.
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