My Future?

As I was reading a horoscope for Aquarians I came across this quote:

Being self-centered is no crime—especially when you're as fascinating as you are—but it's kind of a well-researched topic by now.

Jesus, could anything hit closer to home. That is exactly how I am perceiving my personality right now.

While I won't be giving up my self-centered-ness anytime in the near future, I feel like the time has come to remove myself from the microscope that I perpetually place my personality. My behavior is my behavior and beating myself up for my flaws is not worth the time or effort.

Life Gets More Easier

Last night I went to pick up food at Freshco Burrito Taco...(a rather straight-forward name for a Chinese run Tex-Mex place)

When I went in the woman behind the counter immediately asked if I wanted my usual ( a spinach burrito and two guacamole tacos). I replied yes and I was instantly filled with joy. Add another establishment in my neighborhood where I do not have to verbalize my desires....they recognize me when I walk in the door.

In a perfect world I would never have to speak inside another business. I walk in...get handed my food, dry cleaning, etc...give my money and leave. Someday I tell you, someday...

Positive Energy Is The Real Glitter

After I had my knee surgery a little over two years ago, not only did I have to go to physical therapy, but I also had to get back into the gym. My knee injury kept me out of the gym for probably two or three months. Not only did I put on a few pounds, but I also got out of the habit of going to the gym.

After such a long absence, and not having 100% strength in my knee, it was tough to get motivated on a day-to-day basis. Improvements were very, very slow. However, I perservered and eventually redeveloped my near neurotic daily workout regimen. I wish I could chalk it up to my indomitable spirit, but at that point in my life...well, my spirit was pretty domitable.

I perpetually draw strength from the music in my life. During this recovery period my soundtrack was almost exclusively remixes by one performer...Miss Mariah Carey. This revelation may come as a shock to those who only know Mariah from her songs on the radio or the MTV or saw Glitter. To anyone who has heard her music mixed by legends like David Morales or Clivilles&Cole will not be surprised. The remixes are stellar and I swear I listened to nothing else during my post-surgery workouts.

While at the gym today "Anytime You Need A Friend" came on my iPod and it hit me that I needed to throw a little cosmic love Mariah's way. Without her talents, my recovery would not have been nearly as empowering as it was with her vocal companionship

Words To Do Something By

I am about half way through this book and it is quietly rocking my world. The author includes an excerpt of a letter written by Sol LeWitt to the artist Eva Hesse. Although it is quite long it has become my new mantra.

"Learn to say 'Fuck You' to the world once in a while. You have every right to. Just stop thinking, worrying, looking over your shoulder, wondering, doubting, fearing, hurting, hoping for some easy way out, struggling, gasping, confusing, itching, scratching, mumbling, bumbling, grumbling, humbling, stumbling, rumbling, rambling, gambling, tumbling, scumbling, scrambling, hitching, hatching, bitching, moaning, groaning, honing, boning, horse-shitting, hair-splitting, nit-picking, piss-trickling, nose-sticking, ass-gouging, eyeball-poking, finger-pointing, alleyway-sneaking, long waiting, small stepping, evil-eying, back-scratching, searching, perching, besmirching, grinding grinding grinding away at yourself. Stop it and just DO."

Opener

If I had some stage time tonight I would open with the following true story/joke:

"So I went to the Nickel Spa for Men today and had a massage and a facial...then I went to the West Side Club and had a massage and a facial"

Ba-dum-bum.

Unoriginal Thought

I was looking through the iPod instruction manual the other day. One of the graphics they have shows a songlist as it would appear on the iPod. One of the songs listed is "Girlfriend In Sonoma".

Needless to say I thought it was strange that they would put a "fake" song instead listing the original Smiths song "Girlfriend In A Coma"....I mean it is not like Morrissey has that much time on his hands that he would sue Steve Jobs over copyright infringement.

Just to satisfy my curiosity I decided to google "Girlfriend In Sonoma". I came across this link.

Damn, beaten to the punch, someone else was more observant than me.

1000% True

The deli on the corner of West 3rd and Thompson is offering a brand-new sandwich. I swear to baby Jesus I am not making this up.

The ingredients are:

Grill Chicken
Bacon
Mozzerella
Oregano
Low-fat Ranch Dressing


The obvious name for such a delicacy: Angel Dust

All I Want...

Stopped by Deitch today to see this show.

Jim Drain and Ara Peterson are a couple of the founding members of Forcefield, so basically I knew I was going to be slobbering over the artwork before I even entered the door.

Needless to say I was not disappointed. The show had movement, color and simplicity which when you boil it down is all I really want from a work of art.

While being extraordinary simple, the stuff on display was obviously put together by people who knew exactly how to pare down the vision in their minds-eye to the simplest forms and then execute it. One of the great things about the show was the high production values and quality of the art work. It so refreshing to see young artists rebuke the idea that amateurishness is a sign of talent.

Again With The Mercury

Anyone who has spent more than five minutes with me during the last 20 years knows that I cannot shut up about the planet Mercury going retrograde.

(For a brief refresher course on what the hell I am talking about and a handy Mercury calendar click here)

We are currently in one of these periods and I vowed to myself that I would not bring it up in conversations or in my own thought process as I believe that the power of suggestion can alter the perception of actual events. Or more accurately that my mention of it may be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

That being said, in the past few days I have been forced to acknowledge Mercury's influence. The number of miscommunications has been ridiculous. I don't think I am alone in saying that my level of mental clarity has been especially low. Want proof? Just look at the incoherence of this post

What I Am Working On

One of my focal points for 2006 is to mentally get over the idea that "the grass is greener on the other side of the fence".

Although I don't consider myself a particularly covetous or envious person, I often find myself thinking that other people have it "easy". The only basis I have for these thoughts is that the person in question seems to have an easier station in life...I might perceive them as having a better financial, emotional, intellectual circumstances and therefore, in my head, they are "better off" than I am.

Somewhere, some one is needlessly envying me right now.

The Littlest Things

One of the most profound realizations I have had over the past few years is the idea that while grand gestures are important in life, it is frequently the "little things" that we hold most dear to our hearts...

A couple of years ago I was travelling back to Lincoln to be with my mom while she was in the hospital. Considering the circumstance I was not exactly looking forward to the trip.

After I made my travel arrangements I e-mailled my family in Lincoln to let them know that I would be renting a car at the airport and would therefore not need to picked up after my flight. I knew everyone would be stressed out by the situation at hand and did not want to require any of my siblings to make an airport run. Also, you need a vehicle at your disposal in order to get from point A to point B....no subways available.

My flights to Lincoln were, as usual, quite draining. Couple that with the concept of travelling to Nebraska in the wintertime, and my mom's health issues and needless to say I was not in the best of moods when I de-planed.

As I left the gate and was approaching the baggage claim area I saw that my dad was waiting for me on the concourse. As I approached him I smiled, began to embrace him in a hug, and I stated the obvious "Dad, you didn't have to come and meet me I told you I rented a car". His light-hearted response was "Oh I had to come and meet the Captain at the airport!"

In a split second my mind and heart were blown away. As a kid my dad for some completely inexplicable reason, nicknamed me Captain. At the very least it had been 25 years since he had called me that. So long, in fact, that as an adult I began to second guess my childhood memories "Had he every called me that or did I just dream it up" I frequently wondered. Although I was curious, I never brought the topic up for fear of looking like an idiot if I had created the nickname in my head.

"Oh I had to come and meet the Captain at the airport!"

When those words were spoken I cannot describe the warmth I felt in my heart, in my soul. As an understatement I will say that my dad and I have not seen eye-to-eye on a lot of topics. But in that instant I was transported way back to a much simpler time in my life. An amazingly innocent time in my life. A period where neither my dad nor I was harshly judging the flaws of the other. A point in my existence with significantly less manufactured bullshit in my relationship with my father.

A time when all that mattered was that he was my dad and I was his "Captain".

The Way It Used To Be

As a Halloween gift my parents sent me about a dozen Nebraska grown apples and some caramel for dipping said apples. They also included a print version of this article. Which is a pretty good read and makes you realize that due to the ever so slow "dumbing down" of the red delicious apple, what was once great tasting is now mediocre.

The red delicious apples were the authentic kind, not the factory grown kind that you find in every supermarket and fruitstand. The taste was refreshingly eye-opening...exactly how an apple should taste. But for me the best part of these orchard grown apples was that they did not have that annoying white PLU sticker on them. You know the sticker that you have to gouge a fingernail into in order to get it off the skin of the apple.

It made feel bad for today's kids who don't know there was a time when fruit did not have words or numbers stamped on them.

More Things I Love...

Corner slices of Sicilian Pizza from Bleecker St. Pizza...getting a haircut...listening to Randi Rhodes...merely the thought of a fresh pair of Vans...when my friend Ana uses Arial in lieu of another font...new issues of Vice magazine... sleeping with an absurd number of pillows and blankets...the latest obscure but hilariously insightful thoughts from Mr. Mickey...

Out Of Control

I am currrently in the middle of no less than three books on the topic of Iraq.

Couple this my incessant attention to Americablog and other internet and cable news sources and you will realize that I have no life outside of "researching" this completely unnecessary mess that our president has made. A mess that every single day yields a phone call or field visit to a family informing them that their son, daughter, husband, wife or parent is dead.

Bad Engrish

The other day I sent an e-mail to my brother Dave who is currently stationed in Djibouti. In the e-mail I included this Satan's Laundromat link. I love seeing mangled english and apparently I am not the only one.

After I sent the e-mail, for some reason I began thinking that making light of non-English speakers inadvertantly twisting the language might be a tad culturally imperialistic (can you tell I took political science classes in college...years of debt just to be able to drop the term like culturally imperialistic into a sentence!)

I felt bad for about eleven minutes and then I realize that everyone in every culture would make fun of a non-native speaker destroying their beloved language. For instance, I know that every Spanish-speaking person I encounter will likely mock me when I describe everything as "mas fina"...pantalones mas fina, cerveza mas fina, el diablo mas fina. Trust me if I could master a second adjective I would gladly apply that to every spanish noun in lieu of "mas fina"...maybe someday.

I began trying to mentally investigate where I developped this appreciation for mangled english. Ironically, I saw as one of the major influences in this direction was my brother Dave...

My brother Dave is thirteen years older than me, so when he was a young adult I was still very much an impressionable kid.

If I remember correctly, Dave was in his mid-twenties when in addition to grad school and full-time job he signed up to be a door-to-door advertisement distributor. When he could not fit this part-time job into his schedule, or had a particulary large route to deliver, he would sub-contract his duties to his younger brothers.

As a way to make a little money, I was seduced into helping out.

The basic concept of the job was to go to every house in particular neighborhood and hang a plastic envelope that had an advertisement for a local business held within it. For city-dwellers, imagine the guy standing on the street corner handing out fliers...now imagine him coming to your front door to hang the advertisement you have no interest in on your doorknob...now imagine that it is a punky eleven year old who may potentially step on your well-manicured front lawn.

The job was a dream for anyone who had a future in sociology. You definitely got to see human behavior in relation to their "personal space" being invaded. When you went into the wealthy neighborhoods the residents would look at you suspiciously and wonder if you might defile one of their precious blades of grass or steal some of their property. When you went into the poor neighborhoods the residents would look at you suspiciously and wonder if you were going to steal some of their property. Best of both worlds.

One day Dave and I were delivering ads in the poor neighborhood called Belmont. When I was on my section of the route I came across house with a doorknob that, in barely legible hand-written pencil, said "Hang No Ads". I immediately started laughing hysterically. I got such great satisfaction because, other than being obviously retarded and funny, I knew that when I described it to my brother he would get a kick out of it as well.

When I reconnected with Dave I told him about the doorknob, and as expected, he thought it was a riot. I swear that for the rest of the day we repeated the phrase "Hang No Ads" back to each other about forty times. From that day forward, whenever we would come across a particularly shady residence I would just say "Hang No Ads" and we would begin laughing about it as if it were the first time we encountered it...

The Greatest Actor Of Our Generation

I have come to the conclusion that I am the greatest actor of our generation. How have I determined this you ask?

Well, the fact that I can keep a straight face while, on more than one occaision, my boss verbally mangles the phrases "...fall on deaf ears" and "...turn a blind eye" into "...fall on deaf eyes" proves my prowess.

Let's see Phillip Seymour Hoffman do that.

Off The Wagon

Got an e-mail today from my friend Geoff telling me to pick up the current issue of Metropolis. The architectural firm he works at did the interiors at the new Bloomberg building...and the interiors got a cover story.

Now having someone suggest I go into a magazine store is equivalent to urging a crackhead to go to the crackhouse and buy one crackrock...I mean it is just plain dangerous.

Lately I have been pretty good with my magazine addiction. I strongly question every purchase ("Am I just buying this for one article that I could read online?")...If I am forced to buy one of those ridiculously overpriced fashion/art/design/architecture magazines I always scour the homeless magazine sellers on Sixth Avenue to see if they have a copy "in stock".

So I decide I am going to go to a magazine store and buy ONLY the issue of Metropolis that was suggested. I went to three stores and no one had the November issue. It was raining and I was in a hurry to get home but I decided to try this tiny storefront magazine stand on West 3rd between Sixth and Macdougal. This stand has some sort of tie to the street kiosk magazine stand just down the block from me on Thompson St...I don't know if the same family owns both...or if the a group of Pakistani friends trade shifts working at either location...I have never pinpointed the connection.

Tonight, when I walk into the storefront I look up at the cashier and I recognize him from working at the other location years ago. The first words out of his mouth were "Long time, no see". Great...I was such a free-spending customer back in the day that years later he is able to recognize me.

Instead of being embarassed at over-the-top-ness of my magazine addiction, I should be delighted that he still recognizes a valued customer...after all, I probably pumped enough money into his business over the years to send his children to Harvard....

Word Of The Day

Nacreous

Came across this word in a display at the Center for Architecture around the corner from my apt. Not only did I not know it's meaning, I had never heard it before. Rest assured I will be dropping it in to any and all conversations going forward.

Random Brightness

I was out running errands today. When I was about a block from my apartment building I look up and see my friend Timmy. Nothing strange about that, except for the fact that it had at least been 3 years since I had seen him.

That is one of the downsides of living in this city. It seems like it is too easy for relationships to drift apart. People are busy trying to make enough money to afford living here that human connections suffer...couple of missed dates...a few phonecalls go unreturned ...and then all of the sudden it has been years since you have talked to a friend.

While this is definitely the situation regarding me and Timmy, I am choosing to look at the bright side of the situation...the fact that within 4 seconds of making eye-contact with each other we were hugging and kissing and "carrying on" as if the 3 year absence had never happened...

School Is In Session

Went to Cielo last night for a new party called Master Class. The promoters are billing the party as a chance for legendary DJs to be in a small environment and go to the roots of House music.

It doesn't get much more legendary than the inaugural DJ... Junior Vasquez. While "chatting up" a cute boy in line to get in I determined that it had been at least a couple of years since I heard Junior. After last night it certainly won't be that long before I hear him again.

He punished the Children last night..."Get Your Hands Off My Man","Plastic Dreams", "X", "So Get Up", "Your Child"...just some of the Sound Factory gems he brought out. The crowd was very much there to hear this music...an amazing vibe. It was the type of party that, when I was about to pick up my jacket at the Coat Check and call it a night, I heard the opening chords of DJ Pierre's "Atom Bomb" and I knew I had to get out of line and return to the dancefloor. Scorching...

The Fastest Slowest Day

Due to the ridiculously rainy weather, lack of sleep, and the inept staff at the Apple store I got very little accomplished today.

Can't even summon the energy for an interesting blog entry.

There is always tomorrow.

Things I Call "Bullshit" On...(Partial List)

Lactose Intolerance and 98% of all "food allergies"...Recycling...Anti-biotics..."Designer" T-shirts, "Designer" Jeans, basically anything with the word "Designer" attached to it...Transexualism

Defending Icons

A couple of weeks ago I saw this twenty-something guy wearing a black t-shirt with the cover of Joy Division's "Unknown Pleasures" printed on it. There were two strange things about it...first, the guy did not look like the "typical" Joy Division fan and secondly, the t-shirt just had the graphic on it without having any of the text.
After passing the guy I began to develop a conspiracy theory that someone was printing the shirt to sell to trendy people.

A few days later, a young woman came into work wearing the same shirt except it was even more "fashion-ized"...cut for a wider neckline and cinched at the shoulders.

To test my theory and to be a jerk I asked her if she was a Joy Division fan. She looked a bit perplexed while I pointed to the graphic on her shirt. Her befuddled response was "...oh, I am kind of dumb about things like that". As a living public service announcement I informed her that Joy Division was a band.

I wonder if 50 years from now you will be able to sell a t-shirt with a swastika to trendy youth who know none of the history, but just think it "looks cool".

Reason #844 Why I Love New York

I was watching this documentary the other day. About ten minutes in they show Derrida walking by the Silver Towers about two blocks from my apt.

It still blows me away that I live in this city.

New Favorite

So I have a new favorite character that goes to my gym. Replacing the wannabe-Brazilian who would not take off his sunglasses (even in the shower) and the aging art teacher who wears Yamamoto and vintage Sergio Tacchini, this new character is amazing. Whatever this man's workout...lifting weights or doing cardio he is constantly talking to himself.

First off, I can't relate how refreshing it is to see someone legitimately talking to themselves instead of vocalizing into a miniscule cell phone. This particular gentleman is literally talking to himself constantly. I would love to share his name with you but it is impossible for me to introduce myself to him as I cannot get a word in edgewise...I am completely serious.

Word Association

You know how there are certain words or phrases that when you hear them your mind immediatedly takes you to a mental reference that your mind has associated with that word or phrase, but has nothing to do with what that word or phrase means.

What follows is the mental association I make whenever I hear or read the name Alfred Hitchcock.

When I was around 10 or 11 years old, my friend Kevin Fisher was always talking about watching
"Alfred Hitchcock Presents" on late night cable television. Since the Buell household did not have cable, I had no actual experience viewing the show.

One Friday night Kevin invited me to spend the night at his house which would allow us to watch "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" together, instead of him having to describe the entire episode in detail the following morning. In hindsight it is very strange that Kevin would hype this show so much as it really was not in keeping with his very mainstream tastes. Part of me thinks that he knew I would like it and was being mildly cruel in reminding me that I didn't have access to it...whereas he had access to it, but didn't really get into it.

Regardless, all arrangements were in place for me to spend the night. If memory serves me correctly the program was to begin at midnight. So Kevin and I were sitting on his couch watching his TV in his basement, patiently waiting for the show to start. Around ten minutes to midnight we hear this huge explosion and all of the sudden all the electricity goes out.

Although we did not want to go upstairs and potentially wake up Kevin's parents...thereby spoiling our fun, we quickly came to the conclusion that even if they were asleep before, they were probably awakened by the same loud noise we heard 30 seconds previous.

When we got upstairs Kevin's dad was walking out of his bedroom carrying a flashlight...a completely reasonable action except for the fact that he was completely naked. Any normal prepubescent boy would be curious to look at the completely naked body of his friend's father....Let's just say I had a healthy level of curiousity, which was heightened by the fact that Mr. Fisher was, how shall I say...extremely well endowed. I would later learn that the apple does not fall far from the tree...but in that moment I was absolutely transfixed, and did not have the ability disguise my interest in the glow of the now much-appreciated flashlight.

Mr. Fisher suggested that an electrical transformer on the power lines had most likely exploded resulting in the loss of electricity. We heard another loud noise outdoors and decided to check it out. I just assumed that Mr. Fisher would step back into his bedroom and put on some clothes before heading out to the porch. Interestingly enough he did not. So I find myself standing with my friend and his naked father on their front porch.

Obviously this left an indelible mark on my consciousness as I am able to recall it a couple of decades later...as I do every time I hear the name Alfred Hitchcock

Beauty

Randomly I came across this book cover. It totally reminds me of every textbook from my elementary school years...beautiful simple geometry and two of my favorite colors paired together. Visual heaven.

Hero Of The Week

My Hero Of The Week is my co-worker Jessica. For months she has been asking my boss for a well deserved raise. He proposed that he would pay her slightly more if she went from hourly employee to salaried employee. Needless to say she used her common sense to see that this was a bullshit deal...a little more money for a lot more work. She turned down this ridiculous offer cold...Awesome!

Partial Karmic Payback

Today at the gym I decided to splurge and buy one of the overpriced sportsdrinks they have in the vending machine there. Since the vending machine dispenses all sorts of bottled beverages including some that come in glass bottles, there is padding at the bottom so the glass will not break when it falls down to the consumer. Unfortunately this safety feature caused the drink I had just paid a ridiculous amount for to get stuck in the machine. I spent about five minutes, an eternity when you are thirsty, shaking the machine in a futile attempt to dislodge the bottle.

After giving up I realized that the situation was part of an elaborate karmic payback plan that I was being forced into...

When I was around 11 or 12 years old my friend Todd developed this method of reaching his arm up into soda vending machines...tapping the cans and having them released into his hand without paying a dime. While I could never get the method done myself...I don't know if my hand was too big or what...but I was his accomplice in acting as a lookout for authority figures...and carting away and enjoying the refreshing taste of the pilferred goods. We would literally walk away with a sixpack of soda each. Apparently we weren't the only ones participating in this activity, as soon the vending machines were reconfigured with a piece of metal that prevented a human arm to penetrate the inner workings of the machine.

Come On...

How does something like this slip under my radar...Just started reading this book. It is so totally awesome. The writing is intelligent and kind of "Sedaris-Lite"...That is not meant as an insult. Sometimes when I really think about David Sedaris' writing it becomes intimidating because you don't think anyone can match his talent/wit. Ms Vowell is in the same vein humor-wise, but is more down-to-earth and accessible...You feel like you have met her a thousand times in the course of your life.

Brief But Powerful

Last week I had a moment that pretty much sums up my life right now...

I was leaving my apartment, I clicked on my iPod and selected "Da Rockwilder" by Method Man and Redman. It is definitely one of my all-time favorite hip hop tracks and it never fails to put me into a delightful badasss mood. So, I am walking down my staircase and I have this total "attitude" going on in my head, best summed up by Ice Cube's classic line "...fuck wit me, I'll put a foot up 'ya ass"...

I get to the bottom of the stairs and I see this elderly woman named Marie who lives in my building. She has a couple of large bags in her hands along with her cane. I ask her if she needs any assistance and she says that it would be helpful if I just carried the bags up to her apartment door and then she would more easily walk up the stairs herself. I said "No problem" and quickly jetted back up the stairs to drop the bags off in front of her door.

When I came back downstairs she was completely appreciative and thanked me profusely. Again I said that it was no big deal and I was happy to help. It was not an act that would merit a Nobel Prize...but it just felt nice to help someone out...I just got a nice "warm fuzzy" as we used to say.

As I left my building I re-clicked on "Da Rockwilder" and was back in street thug mindset...except that I was smiling at the gorgeous beauty of being able to go from badass to nice guy in about a millisecond. I can't explain how much I prize this ability...

My Peace Of Heaven

I just woke up from one of the most gorgeous dreams.... Since I guess I have come to terms that you can never really truly describe a dream accurately...conveying the "feeling" you have while it is happening, I have decided that I will not drive myself crazy that the description below does not match what was in my head.

Basically, I was headed to a small town "Fourth of July" celebration. My Aunt Shirley was in charge of the celebration...which is not that different from real life. The small town was very desolate, but in a serene way. There was a large lesbian contingent that lived very peacefully with the "townies".

My Aunt Shirley "curated" the evening fireworks which were awesome because the exploding shells were not very "crisp"...the colors were very muted and sort of muddled around the edges...kind of like an aurora borealis. In addition, there were a lights on the ground that coordinated with the fireworks to create a very different look.

After the fireworks, there were these spontaneous parties that arose. You could just sort of walk around and come across these attitude-free parties.

As morning approached it got very quiet with just an occaisional Techno song playing. Everyone was talking about how Techno was going to make a come-back in America...and the songs playing were genuinely awesome. Diesel was sponsoring ads pushing Techno...but it was done very well.

Came across Silke and exchanged addresses...surrounded by a very good vibe.

The small town had built these "novelty buildings" specifically for the 4th of July celebration. One was a UFO...another was a dry-docked sailing ship. The UFO doubled as a 1970's cheesy-beautiful disco. It opened up and was completely silent which made sense since it was the end of the night, but everyone demanded that they start playing music...the music they started playing was this delicious deep deep deep house music...as I walked around further I came across Justin Timberlake sitting at a stool...he was bobbing his head and crying because the music was so beautiful...which it was.

Cain was pouring drinks behind the bar...it was so great because he was "working" the party but only because it was essential to the good vibe...not out of obligation or as if it were a job...

If I were to create a waking life soundtrack that would describe the feel of this dream it would definitely include KLF "Chill Out" and Beth Orton's "Daybreaker"

Massive Swelling

I am about a third of the way through this book. Even though the topic is pop culture and the book is five years old it is still amazingly relevant. Ms. Wilson's writing is bitter, venomous, and completely hilarious. The bitchiness is so great because all of her targets deserve to be spat upon...

Moments

Based on a recommendation from Brian I started reading this book the other day. I am really getting into it as Ms. Lamott has a great way of mingling the sacred and the profane in her essays. She writes a lot about the difficulty of being a writer. She also uses a lot of quotes and cultural references to flesh out the topic at hand, which also appeals to me.

In many of the essays she talks about her "up and down" relationship with her teenage son. Her descriptions of her son Sam have really triggered a flood of memories regarding my nephew Cody.

While reading this afternoon I was reminded of a really awesome memory involving Cody.

I could probably write an entire book of great memories with Cody and maybe in the future I will. For now, I should probably give a ridiculously brief history of how Cody came into my life...

My brother Paul began dating Cody's mom Julie 20 years ago this summer. Cody was a little less than a year old when they began dating and I vividly remember Cody being carted up to our family house on Knox Street. Paul and Julie married a couple of years later officially cementing Cody's induction into the Buell clan, but he was welcomed with open arms from day one.

My parents were happy to have their first grandchild to shower with gifts and attention. The fact that Cody was not biologically related to any Buell had zero effect on our affection for him.

I was sixteen when Cody came into my life and in the intervening years he has been my nephew, my "little brother", my student, my partner-in-crime...

I could go on for days relaying stories of the fun we have had...baseball games in his backyard, singing "Pump Up The Jam" in unison when he was 6, daytrips to Omaha to have Zio's Pizza when he was a teen...

One of the toughest parts of moving to New York City was leaving Cody and my nieces behind, especially since I had grown so much closer to them in my last few years in Lincoln.

For Christmas 2003 the Buell's hung out at this bed and breakfast in Lincoln. We had a great time chillin' in a beautiful old house and having nothing to do but enjoy each other's company (something that probably would not have had a few years previous).

On Christmas Eve, Cody and his sister Halsey, my dad and I were playing cards...we were having a great time...just hanging out. My dad got up from the card table momentarily, as he exited the room Cody piped up and said "Grandpa...can you get me a Coke?" It was literally nothing out of the ordinary, but in the split-second that Cody asked this question I was overcome by emotion. It was as if the Universe were giving me this intense view of the beauty of the world...

I had this instant moment of clarity on how there could have been all these obstacles to prevent this situation from happening...Paul could have never asked Julie out for a date, our family could have been less than welcoming to this outsider named Cody, etc. etc....But none of those obstacles did happen, instead the Universe had put in place a course of events that lead to the circumstance where this kid named Cody Williams was calling a man named George Buell "Grandpa".

Even thinking about this interaction brings great joy. As I grow older it seems to happen more and more often that the Universe opens up to reveal shards of gorgeousness in the most simple of situations. You just have to be in the right place at the right time and be open to the experience...

Stalked

Two times in two days in two different parts of the city...Savion Glover is obviously stalking me. Child, I didn't even see "Bring In 'Da Noise, Bring In Da Funk"...just leave me alone.

Portals

I began a rough draft of a post about my previous post about "passing" as straight the other night. That rough draft was deleted as it was even more obscure and tangential than my normally obscure and tangential thought process. But I do have some further thoughts on this encounter with this woman named Abby, which may or may not be any clearer.

By itself, passing as straight is not that extraordinary. The reason why this interaction resonated with me is that was a very strong example of a phenomenon that has reared it's head in my life. I really don't have the words to describe this phenomenon other that to say that over the past month or so I have had a few of these experiences where it feels like I am in a "portal" to another human's life, as experienced through my eyes and consciousness.

Yea, yea, I know shades of "Being John Malkovich". But the strange feeling I experience when this has happened has been quite profound.

In the interaction with Abby it "felt" like I was a typical "guy" flirting with her flirty comments. My comments to her were not fake or disingenuous, in fact they were quite natural. It felt like I was in the interaction, but the experience was not part of "my life story"...almost as if I had walked onto the set of a film and I was acting a part...

Just a few evenings previous to this, I was passing a nearly empty bar around the corner from my apartment. Looking through the front door I saw an older man who was sitting at a barstool with his back to me (so I wasn't even seeing his face). In the moment I saw this man, a thought zoomed into my head..."Oh! there's my dad...This is the bar where I was supposed to meet him for a drink"...and then I felt this strong compulsion to go in the bar and interact with my "Dad".

Other than having gray hair, the man bore no physical resemblance to my dad. Couple that with the fact that my dad has never had an alcoholic beverage in his life and that makes for a very strange scenario. With this experience I again felt like it was a "scene" from someone else's life that I had, somehow, inadvertently stepped into.

I guess the easy psychological analysis of this phenomenon would be that I subconsciously "want" these experiences to be true... that I have unresolved feelings about my sexuality, about my relationship with my father, about my relationship with cocktails. etc, etc...

Normally I love easy psychological analysis, but I swear that has nothing to do with the intensity that I experienced in association with these vignettes. I believe that in most social interactions we all present "personas" to the world. Most times these personas are true representations of differing facets of our personality...but in these experiences, not only was it not my "mask" that I was showing the world...it was a different body, mind and spirit as well.

...Boy, I am glad I cleared that up!

Gone In 60 Seconds...

After having had three awesome days off in a row, I returned to work today. My days off were so good that on my walk to work I was thinking that I was so relaxed and stress-free that I actually didn't mind returning to the job. Part of that was that I knew I would be seeing Ana and Heather. I always look forward to catching up with and kvetching with Ana, and Heather is such a diligent worker and a pleasure to converse with on the job.

So I get to work and things are going well for about 11 minutes until I find out that, unbeknownst to me, I would be training a new employee today...

One of my hugest pet peeves is being "unprepared" in social/ job-related situations. So here I am looking like a complete idiot when the new employee, whom I am thinking is a complete stranger, is telling me she was told to come in for her first day of training...Okay, no problem, I can think on my feet, so I get a paperwork file (I-9, W-4, etc.) for her to fill out.

While filling out her documents I realize that she is not legal to work in the States...which is annoying enough, but then I am confronted with the fact that my boss has explicitly told her that this is no problem...in fact, he suggests to her that she should just bring a fake social security number. Nothing but "pure class" in this operation...

Then, just when I think I can't get more stupefied..."New Employee" gets rattled when I inform her that, despite the shadiness that my boss has just revealed to her, we will be taking taxes out of her paycheck. After giving her the option to back out at stage one, she decides she will continue with the job. Which means that we will spend valuble time and money training her, then after she gets her first couple of paychecks, experience tells me she will quit. Which means that we will have completely wasted everyones time and effort.


All that to say that I was pissed off at not having a leisurely day with Ana and Heather...

Passing

On Friday night I went to this party at the Cooper Hewitt. Last year's event with Steve Travolta was amazing...and Steve turned it out again for this summer's edition. Despite having to actively avoid running into this guy Jeremy that was there I had an absolute blast.

Among other top-notch jams Steve brought out "Love and Happiness" and Inner City's "Big Fun"...I don't think the crowd was ready for 1989 deepness.

It was great hearing excellent house music in a garden-ish setting in the middle of the city. Trust it, most clubs do not have fireflies for lighting.

The party was going great, but I have this "thing" about leaving a party when I deem it right to leave a party...not a second before or a second after.
I was getting ready to leave and walking towards the exit when I stopped for a split-second to take in one last beat. In that split-second this woman came up to me and asked if I wanted to dance...

She was maybe 24 years old and cute...in J.Crew-ish sorority sister-ish kind of way.

Since I was about ready to leave I told her "thanks" but I was leaving so I couldn't take her up on her offer. She started making these flirty joking remarks about how I was "blowing her off". Not wanting to be rude and dismissive, I started conversing with her. She introduced herself as "Abby"and we started talking...about the party, the museum, the Upper East Side, etc.

About every 30 seconds she would make another funny reference about how I was dissing her by not accepting her invitation to dance. Slowly it started sinking in that this woman thinks I am straight or else she would not keep bringing this up in a decidedly flirty fashion.

I realized that other than my hot ass...there was no visual cue telling her I was gay. My wardrobe was very non-descript so I guess she just made an incorrect assumption.

I tried to think of a way to get out of the conversation without stating the obvious..."I'm gay", as she would probably take it as the lamest excuse I could come up to end the encounter. I could only imagine having to "prove" my homosexuality to her...

In the end I decided to politely end the conversation by saying that I simply had to go. I don't know why I thought it was more polite to let her think I was an uninterested straight than asserting what I assumed was plainly obvious to the whole world.

Return To Paradise

Went to the Larry Levan birthday party at Spirit last night. DJs David Depino and Joey Llanos were playing some serious shit. One segment was "Love Is The Message" into "Star Love" into "There But For The Grace Of God Go I" into "Shame"...that should tell you what kind of evening it was.

Other gems included "Walking On Thin Ice", "Situation", "White Horse" "Music Is The Answer", and "You Don't Know".

The song that killed me was "Voodoo Ray". This track has been on auto-repeat in my mental soundtrack for months, I never really thought of it as a Garage track, but in hindsight it makes perfect sense.

Withdrawl

So my styliste Betty has selfishly decided to spend the month of July in Italy. Therefore I am left in New York City without instant access to a haircut.

Before she left she gave me an extra short cut to "tide me over" until her return. It seemed like a good idea at the time but now I have that awkward "in between haircuts" look really disturbs me. My life is so self-centered that I have the brain capacity to literally count the days until she returns and I can get back to looking normal (gorgeous).

International Hillbilly

Noel made dinner for me last night...Falafel and black cherry soda...for some reason that is the most ridiculous combination of food that I can imagine. It was delicious though....

Buell Syndrome

I am currently suffering from a severe case of Buell Syndrome. This malady is characterized by the unceasing obsession with current political events...in the attempt to acquire so much information that you can destroy anyone in an arguement.

It goes without saying that the trigger for this outbreak is Rove-gate, Traitor-gate, or whatever you choose to call it. If I could get paid for reading AmericaBlog and following up on the countless links referred to in the articles, I would be as rich as a Rockefeller.

Until Rove is featured in a perp-walk, do not expect to hear from me...

Nocturnal Soundtrack

...Here is the playlist for my current urban beautification projects...

"Da Rockwilder"...Method Man and Redman

"Ace of Spades"...Motorhead

"Digital"...Joy Division

"It Wasn't Us"...Ludacris w/ I-20

"What We Do"...Freeway w/ Jay-Z and Beanie Siegal

"Death or Glory"...The Clash

"Ezy Rider"...Jimi Hendrix

"Money Ain't A Thang"...Jermaine Dupree w/ Jay-Z

"Full Moon"...Armand Van Helden

"Long Way Back From Hell"...Danzig

"The Bridge Is Over"...Boogie Down Productions

"We Gonna Make It"...Jadakiss w/ Styles P

"Dracula Mountain"...Lightning Bolt

"Heading Out To The Highway"...Judas Priest

"Silver Rocket"...Sonic Youth

The Night I Became My Father

A couple of weeks ago I had a discussion with Cain about my work-related anger issues. He suggested that I should only allow myself to "destroy" five customers per shift. That would force me to decide if a particular customer was "worth" using one of my self-described HatePoints on them.

I employed the method immediately with the addendum that any HatePoints that I didn't use in a shift could be carried over...in effect creating an account from which I could draw upon in the future. My reasoning for this addendum was that if I had an incentive to save HatePoints I would not be as quick to dole them out needlessly.

From the get-go this plan had it's desired effect. I had to scrutinize customer interactions in order to determine the value of spending a HatePoint. I believe on day one I spent only 4 HatePoints and since then my average daily usage has been around 2 or 3. In the process I have built up a healthy HatePoint bank account and have used that growing account as a source of personal pride...I am challenging myself to rein in the anger and frustration of this job.

Today, however, I thought I was going to go on a spending spree that would empty out my HatePoint account. A group of two or three families came en masse. There were three adults and around seven or eight children...all of them were out of control. The children, ranging in age from probably 6 to 14 were loud, rude, and demanding. The parents did nothing to curb the children's behavior and, in fact, seemed to be encouraging it.

Obviously, having been in the customer service game for many years, I have come across quite a few obnoxious families. The truly disturbing part of this group was the appearance and behavior of the young girls in this group.

Being an aquarian, I am a pretty laid-back, open-minded person. "Live and let live" is part of my philosophy. Having said that, I must add that I have rarely been more shocked than I was at these young girls...I am trying to think of a diplomatic way of describing these pre-pubesent females...

Since I can't think of a politically correct way I will just say the first description that came to mind...these young girls were dressed as "sluts". I am aware that girls are interested in make-up...hell, I was interested in make-up at age 8 or 9. I am also aware that there is the concept of "stage make-up"...anyone who has seen "Sportskids Moms and Dads" on Bravo knows that kids wear excessive make-up on stage whether it is for cheerleading, ballet, or acting. Trust me, these girls had not just come from a performance.

The make-up was over-the-top and let's just say that their wardrobe was that of an adult female. An adult female who works the pole at Flashdancers. The youngest girl, who was probably about six years old, had a mini-mini skirt and an American flag halter top (Happy Fourth of July!)

Needless to say, they instantly became "the talk" of me and my co-workers...when one employee noted the girl's were singing "Like A Virgin", I rolled my eyes and said "Yeah, right..". I mean that would just be "too perfect" for the scenario. Five minutes later I walked passed the group and I swear to God, the girls were singing "Like A Virgin"...without a single eyebrow being raised by the parents who were standing right beside them.

Over the past half decade or so I have become accustomed to joking about becoming an "old man". I would say "...Kids these days!" with emphasis on the irony of it. After this encounter the irony has dropped.

I guess the most disturbing aspect of this is not the children's dress and manner, but the parent's who stood idly by and allowed their children to look and behave this way. I mean, seriously, do you really not care if your daughter turns out like Britney or Christina...

One Thing Leads To Another...

I love how the human mind works...or at least how my human mind works.

After coming in from the rain, I was walking up the stairs to my apartment when I thought about the song "I Love A Rainy Night" by Eddie Rabbit. I have put a lot of intoxicants in my body over the years in the hope that this song would be erased from my consciousness...but alas, it is still there.

No big surprise in coming out of the rain and thinking about that particularly titled song...but after I was reminded of Mr. Rabbit's existence I instantaneously flashbacked to a seemingly insignificant memory from my youth.

When I was probably 12 years old I was riding in the backseat of a Ford Mustang with my friend Kyle. His wicked step-mother Val was driving and "I Love A Rainy Night" was on the radio. On this evening she was driving us home from a Lincoln Northeast football game. She was perpetually trying to catch Kyle doing something wrong in the hopes that his father would punish him.

This time she was claiming that Kyle and I were on drugs that we apparently picked up at the football game. Unfortunately nothing could be further from the truth...and fact that my brain still acknowledges Mr. Rabbit is a sad testament to my sobriety.

She dropped us at their home, then Kyle walked the four blocks to my house. On the way there he devised a scheme to be executed following the football game next week that was to have us passing a baggie full off baby powder to one another, be caught accidentally on purpose by Val, then have a laugh at her expense at having caught us with "coke"...

Thankfully wiser heads prevailed (mine) and the plan was aborted. God knows what punishment would have been meted out if we had demonstrated what an idiot bitch Val was...enrollment at a military school was a distinct possibility...I would have had to take drastic measures if anything on that scale happened. I can trace about 72% of my current sexual fetishes to my relationship with Kyle...needless to say that kind of source would not have been given up without an apocalyptic fight.

...All that from a stupid '70's country-pop song.

Here It Is...

...A list of the nation's top retards.

Names Of Actual People That I Perpetually Think Of

1. Teofilo Stevenson

2. World B. Free

3. Wonder Monds

4. Renaldo "Skeets" Nehemiah

5. Baskerville Holmes

6. Tree Rollins

7. Rolf Benirschke

8. Rafael Septien

Enjoy The Silence

On Saturday night I took the 6 train to the Upper East Side to go to Jazz's party. When I got off the train at 77th street, there was a group of 20-30 teenagers who were exiting the station ahead of me. My quick assessment was that they had to be tourists, judging by the way they were walking spread out on the subway platform...oblivious to the fact that others (i.e. Me) would want to pass them in order to get out of the station.

I noticed that about 5 or 6 of the kids were wearing identical yellow t-shirts. In my glance of the t-shirt I saw some text reading "Together In Christ" or something along those lines. I hardly believe Jesus would approve of preventing people from a swift egress from a subway station...but I will admit it has been a while since I've read the bible.

Making my way THROUGH this entourage I read the fine print on one of the yellow t-shirts. It noted that the group was from Westminster Presbyterian - Lincoln Nebraska. What were the odds?

My immediate thought was that I should channel my Mom and point out the fact that I was from Lincoln to someone in the group. I tried to think of an appropriate/funny way to bring up the subject to the group who, a moment previous, had been subject to my patented eyeball roll/sigh combination.

Rapidly going over scripts in my head, I tried to think of a way make these impressionable teens aware that it was possible to get out of Lincoln and move to the Big City...Hell I was living breathing walking proof.

My window of opportunity was passing. Every comment running through my head seemed forced, seemed designed to pat myself on the back for being an EX-Lincolnite.

En masse we climbed the stairs to the street. Outside I turned on to Lexington Ave. and walked away saying absolutely nothing. I don't know why I said nothing, but that's what I did, for some reason it made sense.

As I walked away I felt a wierd sense of accomplishment/fulfillment, not that it is an unheard of feat to move away from your hometown to New York, but that I had "passed" as a New Yorker. There was no tell-tale sign on my person that pointed out that I was from the midwest. My years in Lincoln were fact known only to me. It was my secret to tell and I could choose to release that information or not. I savored the fact that I chose not to...I was the person I was choosing to be. The Matthew Buell that I had created.

Together Again For The First Time

Spent Friday and Saturday night with my friend Joyce Loc and her boyfriend Jazz who were in town from Chicago by way of Japan (long story).

Joyce is one of those people who puts up with/understands my erratic behavior...especially in the area of communication. Sometimes months pass between our conversations, but there is an underlying sense that we are "on the same page" as far as life goes.

I am lucky to have her in my life.

Out Of Leftfield And Hilarious

Lately I have been in the unfortunate habit of not having a real meal most of the day...just snacking throughout the day. By early evening I am famished and must devour a ton of food.

Today I decided my gorging would be a couple of delicious veggie hot dogs at Crif Dogs. The place is usually pretty loud, crowded and rockin'. Today, however, the restaurant was near empty and as I entered one song on the sound system was ending and there was a split-second pause before the next song began. Immediately after the new song began and I approached the counter, the woman behind the counter glanced up at me and without missing a beat exclaimed "Hey, it's YOUR song!"

The song that had just began was "Legs" by ZZ Top. I was almost in tears from laughing at the gorgeous absurdity of her completely off the cuff remark. It takes massive cojones to make a joke at the expense of a complete stranger and the subtle style with which she made her comment blew me away...trust me you don't get this sort of interaction at Wal-mart.

Beautifulness

Went shopping for a gift for Uma at Kid O today....I am pretty sure this is the first time I have ever been in a kid's store with a sound system playing "Cemetary Gates" by the Smiths.

Beautiful.

Another Social Theory

My latest crackpot theory asserts:

Some adults act out because they were beaten during childhood. Other adults act out because they were not beaten ENOUGH during childhood.

"You Can't Handle The Truth..."

This is absolutely amazing. I love the quote from government lawyer Lane saying that publishing the photos would violate the prisoner's Geneva Convention privileges.

So let me get this straight...It is fine to actually torture the prisoner, but showing evidence of the torture violates the rights that our Attorney General and President contend that they do not have...

Some Great Reward

When I was a sophmore in high school my friend Zach invited me to go to a weekend church retreat in Grand Island, Nebraska. Honestly, I have no idea why I agreed.

At the tender age of 15 I was already "over" christianity. My parents subtly pressured me to attend every Sunday with them...and I politely obliged, but I am sure that they could read the writing on the wall. Not too long before, my bedroom walls were covered with images of Adam Ant. Surely they realized at that point that their messiah had a long way to go in order to compete with a pop star who mixed indian and pirate imagery in his stage persona.

Based on the fact that this function was church-related, my parents agreed to allow me to travel half-way across the state with a newly-licensed driver.

Unlike the liberal Disciples of Christ church that I was raised in, Zach's family attended an Assemblies of God church. Let's just say that on the spectrum of christian beliefs, the Assemblies of God inched a little closer to the "snake-handling" edge of christianity than my experiences.

While the Assemblies of God were preaching a fundamentalist philosphy, including a good deal of explicit homophobia, it was not enough to prevent Zach from being one of the biggest queens I have ever met. In order to maintain his position as "the good son", he had to live exclusively in the closet. Apparently he was "cool enough" when away from his church that I could forgive him for being associated with his retarded church.

I don't quite know what I was expecting from a church retreat when he invited me, but understandibly I needed to escape the hustle and bustle of Lincoln, and if I had to stay in a Holiday Inn surrounded by other christians so be it.

Travelling to Grand Island was boring, but thanks to Zach's car cassette player, we were surrounded by the lilting melodies of Depeche Mode and Yaz. Time moved quickly.

After arriving at our room at the Holiday Inn, we went to one of the large conference rooms for the Welcoming Rally. I am sure that the expression on my face was one of complete smugness. Enduring bad Praise Rock was a small price to pay for some time away from home.

Later on that evening there was a second service. To someone accustomed to going to church once per week, twice in a single night seemed just a touch excessive.

Little did I know what I was in for. If the opening ceremony was intended to "welcome" everyone, the second was intended to "welcome" only those-that-accepted-Jesus-Christ-as-their-personal-Lord-and-savior-therefore-renouncing-all-sinful-ways. Needless to say I did not fit into the second category. I guess I shouldn't have been suprised that they were going to push the concept of becoming "born again" but I was.

In a split second the tone went from "Hooray for Everything!" to "If You Are Not 'Saved' You ARE Satan". I tried to maintain the role of social anthropologist, quiet and detached, but after literally 4 hours of hearing people confessing about their Devil-filled lives I knew that this fun-filled evening would not end until every single soul in the crowd of 150 had been saved.

At around two in the morning I was surrounded by a group of fellow teenagers demanding that I accept God into my heart. I relented. Rather than being rebellious I took the easy way out. With my friend Zach suspiciously nowhere in sight, I revealed about 36% of my sins and said I wanted God's forgiveness. Instantly I was welcomed into the community of believers and a burden was lifted from my shoulders.

It was not the burden of my sinful ways as much as the burden of being the only free-thinking hold-out preventing the evening from concluding. After all, everyone needed to head back to their rooms in order to get a good night sleep in anticipation for another full day of praising God's name.

On the way back to our room I had to politely kill Zach's buzz regarding my "saving". While I didn't explicitly state that I was faking my conversion, I did suggest that if our relationship was to continue we had to get the hell away from this scene.

Zach relented and agreed that we would return to Lincoln in the morning. On the way home there was no mention of the events of the previous evening. "Some Great Reward" was in the tape deck and we would be back in Lincoln soon.

In hindsight I believe Zach thought his parents would be less suspicious of me sleeping over at his house if I was a christian...thus explaining his invite to the retreat. And come to think of it he was probably right. They would have rather had a son that was a hypocrite than one that was honest.

Betrayal

I have been so looking forward to Fantastic Man hitting the newstands. You just know that a rag mag from the children at Butt Magazine is going to be fierce....and it is, but $19.99 for a cover price...Are you kidding me? At that price I may have to go all teenager on it and re-begin shoplifting.

Getting Closer To God

There is a scene in Pilot Season where entertainment lawyer Ken Fold asserts that being a lawyer is the profession closest to God. He claims that law is more worthwhile than medicine because lawyers can "help people AND destroy people"

I think this quote is so apt to anyone who has ever worked in customer service. Speaking for myself, I can honestly say that I enjoy interacting and helping friendly polite people....I will bust my ass in order to make sure they are satisfied. But I must add that I have given up on any semblance of "caring" about the interests of self-centered rude customers. I actively try to destroy them with "eye-rolls", sarcasm and inefficiency.

Having spent over a decade in customer service I can say that politeness level of the American public is plummeting rapidly. I would love to know exactly where these people have interactions where being a condescending prick elicits a speedy and warm response from a customer service rep...

Black or white, gay or straight, rich or poor...you really cannot accurately predict someone's behavior. I always try to give everyone the "benefit of the doubt" at the beginning of an interaction. I assume that they are going to behave as a mature citizen, and if so I will accord them the respect that they deserve. However if they come at me with disrespect, trust it, the gloves WILL come off.

Things I Love...

...lemon merengue pie...brand new underwear...Jorge Posada...when JR calls me "Matty"...letters from my Aunt Shirley...Anne Slater's eyeglasses...

The Look For Summer 2005

I've decided that "The Look" for this summer is "1950's Greaser vs. Suburban Soccer Dad"...Photos to follow, once all the kinks are worked out.

Dreaming of Pele

So I woke up at 5 in the morning having had a terrifying dream. I was wandering in a plush suburban neighborhood circa 1964. The day was rainy and all the vegetation was lushly green.

In the dream I learn that there is a Mexican family in the neighborhood that is being harassed by someone nearby. The harrassment consists of mocking the soccer playing ability of the Mexican family's young son. They are calling him "Pele" which leads the boy to believe that the harrassment is actually a compliment.

All of the sudden I begin running very fast in the neighborhood...I am not running away from anything or anyone...just running very fast and efficiently. I then come around a corner and I see the Mexican family's house which has been painted with amateurish graffitti. In the dream I get an incredibly sick feeling in my stomach and find myself running through a thorn bush. I am able to pull most of the thorns out effortlessly, but there is one thorn under my fingernail that will not come out. I pull on it hard and the pain is so intense that I wake myself up.

I rarely have nightmares and I will admit that this was not the most terrifying on record, but for some reason when I woke up I was "haunted"...It felt like my ego had "burst" and all self-esteem had been sucked out of me.

Before Frankie (B.F.) and After Frankie (A.F.)

Today I am celebrating the 10th anniversary of a night that changed my life. On May 19th 1995, on the suggestion of my brother Stan, Cain and I went to Sound Factory Bar to dance to Frankie Knuckles. We were vacationing in NYC at the time and I had never heard the Godfather of House before.

I did not know what I was in for when I walked through the doors of 12 west 21st. The music was so refreshingly clean and positive I instantly had perma-grin. The beats were relentlessly awesome. Then at 3:45am (yes I know, technically the 20th of May) Frankie dropped what I later learned was "Satisfied (Take It Higher)" by H20 feat. Billie.

I am the first to admit that I overuse the phrase "mind-blowing"...but at that moment my mind was blown. In that moment I glimpsed my future. I needed to move to NYC. I needed to have access to a dancefloor with Frankie behind the decks.

The power and gorgeous positivity of the music opened up possibilities in my mind and my heart.

My move to NYC did not happen for two years. But I must say that I was propelled to make the difficult concrete decision to move here by the idea that I would be able to return to Frankie's dancefloor on a regular basis. That was my motivator.

In May of 1997 I took an exploratory vacation to the city before my eventual, permanent move in October. Frankie was playing a club on 28th between 7th and 8th (can't remember the name of the short-lived place) and I got a chance to meet the legend. He could not have been more sweet and genuine to a complete stranger such as myself who was prattling on like a madman about how my life had been changed by my exposure to his talent.

Ten years later, I still think about that moment every time I hit the dancefloor when Frankie is spinning. Every time Frankie spins it is magic. It is a gift of positive energy from the universe...Thank you Frankie and all the people who turn it out on the dancefloor....You ARE the party.

A Gentle Reminder...

...To Bill Frist, the republican leadership and the 12% of the americans who want the "nucular option" to go forward:

Payback Is A Bitch!

Contact High

A couple of months ago I noticed on the DefMix website that Frankie Knuckles was going to play the End Up in San Francisco. Half seriously I suggested to my sister Ann that she would soon be visited by the Godfather of House and she should try to make it to the party.

After all she has had to hear me praise Mr. Knuckles for years and since she has a pied-a-terre in San Francisco, there was no reason she shouldn't expose herself to the master.

Needless to say, I had my doubts that she would make it happen...not to say that she is not a woman of her word, just that I wouldn't have expected her to go out of her way in order to feed into my obsession with Frankie...

I won't soon forget her phone call on Saturday afternoon telling me about the awesomeness of the party. It is not everyday that a 52 year old woman will be at the club until 5am dancing to the Legend himself, (in fact my sister guesstimates that it has been 2 decades since she has been in a club)...but it is a testament to the positive vibes that are created when Frankie is behind the wheels. EVERYONE is welcome on the dancefloor

Some Of The Things I Believe...

...I believe humility and modesty are sexy...I believe our nation is "on the wrong course"...I believe in the power of obsessions...I believe in destiny...I believe there is a bit of humor in every situation...I believe art education should be as important as math in our schools...I believe in reincarnation...I believe people are inherently good...I believe daydreaming is a valuable activity...I believe in Rupaul's quote "we are born naked...the rest is drag"...I believe a civilized nation does not have capital punishment...I believe in "live and let live"...I believe regret can be toxic...I believe the most important thing you can teach a child is to be curious...I believe in minimalism in everything except emotions...I believe that anyone who thinks they have "good taste" is wrong...I believe there was calculated voter fraud in Ohio...I believe in rooting for the underdog...I believe you can get spiritual enlightenment on a dancefloor...I believe there is an element of truth in every stereotype...I believe good design can alleviate stress...I believe in gut feelings...I believe you can judge a person's character by what they DON'T say as much as by what they DO say...I believe in exfoliating the skin and the soul...I believe

High School Jesus

TRIO just had an old David Letterman rerun from Oct '86. One of the guest was John Waters promoting his book Crackpot. I was instantly reminded of how I devoured that book when it came out. I remember sitting in social studies class and reading Crackpot in lieu of the required text.

I remember my friend Brian and I trading quotes back and forth from the book and laughing hysterically. It is no understatement to say that that is one of the books that truly changed my life. John Water's attitude and skewed perspective were manna from heaven to a teenager who was afraid of suffocating from the boredom and bullshit that was/is high school in a small midwestern city.

Andy Warhol Was Wrong

I have had the last two days off from work...I was going to write that they were undelightfully unproductive, but a quick mental review revealed my time off as being very worthwhile yet having little materially to show for it. Got to a couple of galleries, talked to my friend Joyce in Chicago, had some cocktails with Jessica (plus some very necessary kvetching time with her), caught up on some e-mail, picked up some books at the library...damn, now that I think about it my time was very productive, even if it wasn't in the direction I intended.


Just had dinner with Cain around the corner at Baluchi's. We had a very worthwhile conversation coupled with some suprisingly good saag paneer. The initial question du jour was "What barriers are there in your life?" That lead to topics such as "destiny vs. freewill" and "fantasy vs. reality" plus other important issues such as contemporary furniture design and the wardrobes of teenagers who play D&D...(still trying to scour that last one from my brain)

I was reminded again of a couple of ideas that I sometimes "forget". First it is really valuable for me to verbalize ideas. So often I get caught up with thoughts marinating in my head. The simple act of talking about a concept gives a necessary perspective shift that allows me to decide the merit of my thoughts and opinions. I get to evaluate if things make sense outside of my brain.

Also I was reminded that when you have a "deep" conversation with someone, there is no bottom on the well of "deepness". No matter how well you know a person you can always be suprised by their personhood...how it evolves, morphs, adapts. Andy Warhol's quote about HIS persona comes to mind...he said that "if you scratch the surface, there is just more surface." Obviously this is not applicable to most people. If you dig into the depths of who they are...there is just more depth

A Translator?

The boy who works at the front desk at my gym is always flirting with me. Today's interaction was surprising. After asking me if I spoke any foreign languages he then stated that "You look like you could be a translator at the UN." How someone could look like a translator is far beyond me...but I am not going to turn down a compliment...and trust me "Meet me in the steamroom" is understood in any language.

KRS-ONE Lyric Of The Day

"...I just laugh, 'cause no one can defeat me."

My New Favorite Band Name...

...Corn On Macabre

Reconnecting

Yesterday I hung out with my friend Nicci and her husband Chris. I knew Nicci back in Nebraska and she was making her first appearance in NYC.

I had met Chris momentarily a couple of years ago...not even long enough to make an impression. Although I don't know his exact title, he works in some capacity with the Air Force. It is so awesome when you spend time with someone who, on the surface, you have very little in common with but you still have a great interaction . Chris, I discovered, has a quality that is increasingly rare these days...he is "decent". I know that sounds like an underwhelming compliment, but as anyone who works in customer service will tell you there are tons of petty, rude, oblivious people out there.

As for Nicci, it was wonderful spending a couple of hours with her. Our conversation had a great balance between delightful nostalgia and delightful current topics in our lives. Her sense of humor just blows me away...she can literally make me cackle.