Vertical Insanity

Early Season Thoughts

2006-04-07T11:40:00.000-04:00

The first 3 games of the Mets' season have been quite eventful. Last night's little debacle with Washington had plenty of beanballs and a slight altercation between Pedro and Jose Guillen. I understand Guillen's anger as well as those of the rest of his teammates--getting hit 6 times is a bit annoying and painful. But Washington must realize that first of all, Brian Bannister was making his first ML start in 40 degree temperatures. I saw Bannister pitch in a spring training game in late March against Houston and he was all over the place. Curves in the dirt, two hit batters, etc. It was a rare cold day in Florida, and that may have had something to do with it. A rookie in his first ever start is not going to hit anyone. As for Pedro, it must be taken into account that he is not 100%. He pitched 6 innings this spring and is not in top form.

So my thoughts on the Mets? They're just where I thought they'd be. They still have no 2nd baseman. Hernandez can field, but they need a bat in that position. And I don't see Kaz Matsui as being a great improvement when he returns. I feel there's something wrong with Billy Wagner. This is a pitcher who routinely has arm problems, and I can sense that something isn't right. Wagner can bring it up to 100 mph when he's at his peak. He hasn't thrown a pitch past 93 yet. And after giving up Ryan Zimmerman's bomb the other night (1st big league homerun!), Wagner threw 95% curves the rest of the night. Wagner missed 2 weeks of spring training and he may not be where he needs to be as yet. Hopefully that's all it is, otherwise it's going to be even rockier than I expected.

And here's the line I really liked: Kris Benson pitched 7 solid innings in his first outing for the O's. Jorge Julio got rocked in his 1 inning of relief, taking the loss. What the hell was Omar Minaya thinking in that trade? As a result of that blunder the Mets were forced to use a pitcher making his MLB debut in just the 2nd game of the season. Not too many pennant caliber teams have to resort to that. At least we still have Steve "I can't believe I'm still playing" Trachsel taking the hill tonight.

Xavier Nady's off to a hot start, but that's to be expected. Last season he was leading the league in every category the first 2 weeks of the season, but finished at his usual .260BA with 12 home runs. He should start tailing off by next week, but
at least we can enjoy it while it lasts.

And what about Carlos Beltran last night? I've never seen a player looking so unhappy after hitting a home run. I know he's the shy, reserved type of player, but then why the hell did he choose to come to NY? This ain't K.C. He needs to take the boos with a grain of salt. As long as he looks like he's having fun out there the fans will cheer him on. But if he continually looks stoical and reserved, it's going to be a long, bitter war. Beltran is still young and can have a big impact, but this thing may get ugly if he doesn't lighten up.

I enjoyed watching the Braves series in L.A. Their pitching looks atrocious. I have to wonder how much an impact the loss of Leo Mazzone will have on their staff over the course of a full season. I also enjoyed watching the Phillies get swept by St. Louis. I have the feeling the NL East is going to be the Wild, Wild East this year--a 5 year fight for the top most of the season, with no team running away early or even posting a decent record.

As for my fantasy team, my offense is doing quite well but my pitching is a disaster. It'll take some time to get my ERA down, barring any more blow outs this weekend. I'm going to do some extra analysis this weekend to make sure I have a good week next time.

Books and Baseball

2006-04-04T11:35:00.000-04:00

I'm reading Capote's "In Cold Blood." It was one of those books I was assigned to read in high school but never did finish. However, I did become obsessed with the story over the years. Looked up the actual events in old newspapers and then on-line when the Internet came around. I'd love to take a ride out to Holcomb one day to visit the site. They were getting about 200 curioseekers a year to view all the paraphenalia, but I'm sure that's increased since the movie "Capote."

I finished reading "The Talented Mr. Ripley" over the weekend. It was interesting noting the differences from the film and the movie. P. Seymour Hoffman's character, Freddie, is barely in the book. But he's the most memorable figure in the film--what a great actor. I liked the movie up until the end. It would have been better had they edited out the last scene of Tom and his new gay lover on the Greek cruise. That scene isn't even in the book and it just causes the film to drag on too long and leave many open ended questions. In fact, his new lover is barely mentioned in the book.

I've been watching "The Office" lately, but mostly for lack of anything better to watch. It has its moments but doesn't even hold a candle to the British version. I can watch those over and over.

Also been watching "The Amazing Race." That's the only reality show I have any respect for. It's fun watching people show up in Moscow in the middle of winter during the night trying to talk to a cab driver. I'd love to be on a show like that.

As for Fantasy Baseball, I'm having my usual day after Opening Day complaints. Why did I drop David Ortiz at the last minute on Sunday? I knew he'd explode in Texas. And now he's facing Vicente Padilla tonight--should be another big day for Ortiz, and another day of my stomach turning in knots watching. There were just too many first basemen out there and not enough OF's. In another league I dropped Chris Shelton of Detroit at the last minute because I thought he'd be batting 8th. Instead he bats 6th and belts 2 HRs. Dropped Ramon Hernandez because he was batting 9th, and he goes 3 for 3 with 2 RBIs. But I have to remind myself that it's only 1 game out of 162. It should be a long and rocky roller coaster ride this season.

I ordered "Fantasyland" by Sam Walker from the library. I read parts of it in the bookstore on Sunday and was just rolling in laughter. It's about a sportswriter who participates in the most exclusive fantasy league in the country. He tries to use his connections with ballplayers and GM's to influence the performance of his fantasy players. He almost convinces Toronto's GM to trade one of his fantasy players to Pittsburgh in order to get more playing time. Brings charts to Alan Trammell of Detroit showing how to better utilize one of his pitchers; talks to Alfonso Soriano about stealing more bases. Near the end of the season he flies to Los Angeles to picket in front of the hotel where the Angels are staying in order to remove Jose Guillen's team suspension, and has an altercation with Troy Percival while doing so. It looks like a real fun read.

Opening Day

2006-04-03T10:37:00.000-04:00

I've been debating about whether to keep this blog going. The fact is that my true passion in life, my first love has awoken from a hibernation. And that is baseball. I am a very obsessive compulsive person, but no where is this more extreme than with baseball. I spend countless hours every day pouring over statistics. I am in involved in several fantasy baseball teams as well. So with all my analysis it is hard for me to find time to write here.

At the risk of sounding bold and perhaps a bit pretentious, I am an expert in this sport. I am usually dead on in predicting pennant winners and flops. I scoff at the expert preseason analyses, which usually only proves that most sportswriters really don't know what they're talking about. My team, the Mets, has been chosen by several to win the NL East. They have very little chance in doing so. Pedro Martinez has a bad toe, the type of injury that can only get worse during the season. After Pedro comes the geriatric ward. 40 year old Tom Glavine, just a sad shell of his Cy Young years, followed by Steve Trachsel. Trachsel was never more than a No. 4 starter at best. Coming off an injury-plagued year and adding a few years to his age puts him at a high risk. Then we've got the "great" Victor Zambrano. This a pitcher who's only still with the Mets because they don't want to look TOO bad for having dealt Scott Kazmir away. Not only has Zambrano been a total ulcerous cancer, but he's currently injured. And with all that top of the line starting pitching, management decided to trade quality pitcher Kris Benson to the Orioles for a washed up reliever in Jorge Julio. The suspected reason for this trade? The wild antics of his soon to be ex-stripper wife Anna. Who cares about a quality pitcher--we can't have his sexy wife entertaining us.

For offense the Mets have no right fielder and no 2nd baseman. Their new catcher, Paul Lo Duca, is as inadequate at throwing out baserunners as Mike Piazza, but without the power of Piazza. With Carlos Delgado at first we should see a few more throwing errors from the left side of the infield. Cliff Floyd in left had a career year last season, and by that I mean one in which he was never injured. The chances of his playing back to back injury free seasons are quite remote.

I predict the Braves to once again come out on top--they have the arms in Smoltz and Hudson, and the experience. I predict the Phillies to be their biggest competitor. What should be interesting, however, is their bullpens. Atlanta's closer is Chris Reitsma, far from a sure thing. The Phils are using Tom Gordon, who is past his prime in that position. Florida's winter firesale leaves the team depleted in most areas, but many of their rookie fill-ins will be surprisingly good. Florida may actually have a winning team again in a couple of years(at which point they'll probably be in San Antonio). Washington should also be better than many people think. They've got good starting pitching with Hernandez and Patterson, and a half-decent offense. But Soriano in the outfield will hurt them more than he'll hurt opponents at the plate.

One team that may finally be a bit entertaining is Tampa. They have a lineup chock full of young speedsters, but will suffer with a lack of pitching. Ex-Met Scott Kazmir still isn't mature enough to be a real factor, but he can be exciting to watch.

But all in all this is the day I love the most each year. When all teams, including Tampa and Pittsburgh, have a chance to win. I have my MLB Extra Innings sports package to follow all the games for fantasy baseball.

Fantasy Baseball is what every fan needs when their team isn't looking so hot. And if you can play it well you can make some decent money. I'm involved in large league throughout the country that is very competitive. I've won some small money in the past, but never the big one ($30K). My problem is a lack of patience and making too many trades far too early in the season. But each spring I renew my vow not to trade in April, and this year is no exception.

I'm in another league at work, which I have always come out on top. My experience playing in the more challenging league lets me easily coast past all my clueless co-workers and collect a few hundred bucks each season.

So, as of now, I'm already making plans on what to do with my 30K once I win the big prize. Let my obsession begin.

Candy Girl

2006-03-22T10:20:00.000-05:00

Diablo Cody was on Letterman the other night. She wrote a book, "Candy Girl," which is about her life as a stripper for a year. I never read her infamous blog "The Pussy Ranch," but did enjoy her book. David Letterman asked her what made her leave her job in advertising and try stripping. She responded, "I was sitting around bored at my desk and I thought, 'I'd rather be naked.'" I like people like that. These are the people that realize life is meant to be an adventure. There's so much more to life than just going to school, getting a job, rising up the corporate ladder while raising a family. While those things are all fine, you're missing so much if that's all you do. I hate sitting at my desk all day and I would rather be naked. But I have lived quite an adventurous life. I'm just in a holding pattern at the moment. I don't feel like I've missed out on anything.

What I really liked about Diablo's interview was when Dave asked why she chose to strip at the seediest places. She responded with something like, "it's too dull to go to 'Gentleman's Clubs'. If you're going to do it then do it hard." That's gutsy. I always enjoyed visiting seedy places just for the novelty of it(okay, maybe "enjoyed" was the wrong word choice). Before Sera and I left NYC for good we purchased the "Sex Guide to NY" and visited as many bizarre and seedy places as we could find. It wasn't because we were into that type of thing, but because those places were unusual. And we probably weren't going to find these places anywhere else. Some places we visited more than once because they were so bizarre that they were kind of fun, and some we left after 15 minutes because we felt uncomfortable. But we're glad we went. It's like that old cliche, "I'd rather look back on my life and say, 'I wish I had never done that instead of I wish I had done that.'"

Diablo seemed very composed during her interview and I was impressed by it. And I have to applaud someone who finished college and was climbing up a career ladder but had enough sense to realize it wasn't for her. You should do whatever makes you happy. It's sad to see people stuck in a hum-drum life who think they can't get out.

Missing NYC

2006-03-15T16:04:00.000-05:00

I'm starting to miss things about New York. I've been in Orlando for almost 3 years now--where the hell has the time gone? I don't miss the overcrowded streets and subways or the rotten attitudes of New York. But I do miss the characters. And by this I mean the drug addicts, sex workers and other fuck-ups who try to blend into everyday life. I don't mean the street junkies and prostitutes. I spent several years working in some of the world's top law firms in NYC. I had a supervisor addicted to heroin who also sold himself for extra cash on occasion. I worked with several other druggies as well. Many co-workers didn't have a bank account--they kept what little money they had under their mattress. I knew several paranoid people who were convinced the government was watching them and that aliens had blended into our environment.

In Orlando I work with the dullest people in the US. No one here cares about LIFE. It's all about their homes and yards. One needs to be surrounded by people from all levels of life to be comfortable. You need those doing better than you as well as those doing worse. And New York was definitely that. I felt I belonged there. I didn't own any property and was a bit lost in life, but I wasn't a drug addict or forced to sell myself for money. I felt good about myself. Here in Orlando I feel totally lost and depressed. Sure I'd love to own a home, but never before have I felt so much pressure to buy one. Everyone here owns a home. No one here seems to have any problems. I have a better job than some(for now) and am ten times better at it than the other guy who works with me, but he owns a home. I have to remind myself that I chose the road less taken. Sera and I had money for a home a few years back, but instead opted to travel the world. It was my dream, and Sera wanted to fulfill it with me. No one here has ever left the US, much less Florida. I could have a home and stability, but I never would have traveled. Hopefully I can still own a home one day, but it's harder to travel in the Third World when you're older.

By the way--I had an odd dream the other night. A girl I must have slept with years ago showed up with a baby girl that apparently was mine. She named the baby Francine. I didn't like the name, preferred something like Alexis, and was upset that she named the child without even asking me. What the fuck kind of dream is that?

More books and films

2006-03-13T12:17:00.000-05:00

I finished Doug Coupland's "Hey, Nostradamus" the other day. The beginning was great, the middle a bit slow, and then the last half really caught fire and I couldn't put it down. As much as I like Coupland's work, there is a problem with his editors. I've never seen so many typos and grammatical mistakes as I have in ALL his books that I've read.

I finished Erich Segal's "The Class" last week. It was the type of novel where I was upset to reach the end. I wanted more, more, more. I wanted to write Segal and ask him to continue writing about the characters. The story follows 5 Harvard students from their freshman orientation through to their 25th class reunion. I really felt like I got to know these characters. Only a great author can do that successfully.

I've just started reading John LeCarr's "The Spy Who Came In From The Cold." It was on Time's Top 100 so I figured what the hell. Sometimes I try to pick up Dostoevsky for some intellectual reading, but then I go for something light and quick instead. It's the same with Dickens. I've never really liked him--too verbose--but I feel I'm SUPPOSED to read it. I've read bits of "Tale of Two Cities," "Hard Times" and "Great Expectations," but never finished any of them. And whenever I try to start them up again I instead take the easy way out and go for something light and airy.

Saw "Walk The Line" this weekend on DVD. I enjoyed it. I never realized that Johnny Cash was so unique that they couldn't label his music--not quite country, not quite rock, not quite blues. It makes sense when you see that everyone from The Grateful Dead to Coldplay have covered his stuff.

My relatives leave tomorrow. I haven't been this exhausted in years. Sera almost looked in tears at dinner last night. This has really taken its toll on both of us the past week.

Concerts, Movies, etc.

2006-03-09T10:47:00.000-05:00

I have relatives in town visiting this week. That would be a week of joy for many. It's pure stress for myself. I'm just trying to get through it all and then have my hum-drum life back again.

The Coldplay show on Sunday was good for us, not for all. People living near the Tampa Amphitheatre complained in the past about the noise levels, and so the theater removed speakers in the back. If you were sitting up front like we were, then everything was good. People in the back couldn't hear. The Tampa Amphitheater is the worst place to ever see a concert.

I find Coldplay's music to be motivational and inspirational. Very intelligent. Chris Martin came out with a bouquet of red roses for the fans a few minutes before the show began and apologized for cancelling the concert back in September. How many stars would do that?

I'm currently reading Douglas Coupland's "Hey, Nostradamus." It's intriguing. This is the third novel of his I've read. Sometimes it feels like he's recycling characters and stories, though. I wish he'd do something a bit different--sort of like Bret Easton Ellis's "American Psycho." It was such a departure from his previous works.

Don't try reading more than one book at a time. I found myself reading 3 or 4 books last week and I got nowhere with all of them.

Sera and I saw Woody Allen's "Match Point" over the weekend. Great film, but a bit too derivative of "Crimes and Misdemeanors." But definitely worth seeing. I'm quickly becoming a Scarlett Johannsen fan.

I was very happy to hear that "Crash" won Best Picture. That was the best film I've seen in years. Very powerful with lots of ironic twists.

Coldplay Pt.2

2006-03-05T13:57:00.000-05:00

We were supposed to see Coldplay way back in Sept. in Tampa, but the show was cancelled at the last minute due to Chris Martin's illness. The show is rescheduled for tonight, after a 6 month wait. We bought these tickets last May, and it's been a 10 month wait. I remember growing up when you bought tickets for shows no more than 2 months in advance. What has changed over the years to create such a wait? We bought U-2 tickets last March for a show in Nov. Bought Paul McCartney tickets in April for a Sept. show. So many things can happen in life during such a long wait. What if you're dating someone and you break up during that 6-10 month wait? It's very feasible.

In any case, we're excited to finally see this band after such a long time. They played in Orlando last night, but we decided to just go to our rescheduled Tampa show. The Orlando arena is indoors and quite cavernous. The Tampa arena is a summer outdoor amphitheater. It's much smaller and personal, though it may be a bit chilly tonight(temps in the low 60s in the evening).

Oh--and we bought tickets to see The Go-Go's at Hard Rock at the end of the month. People laugh when I tell them how much I like the Go-Go's. I loved them in high school but never got to see them. Then when I found out years later how screwed up they really were--all the drugs and sex--it gave me even more respect for them. I mean how can you REALLY respect a bubble-gum all girl band until you dig under the surface? So after a 24 year wait I'll finally get to see them. Now if only The Bangles would play here.

Today

2006-02-24T20:18:00.000-05:00

“Are you going to the Neo-Nazi rally downtown tomorrow?” Tom asks as we cruise around East Colonial looking for a place to eat. Two thoughts enter my mind at this moment. One, this is the first time in my life I’ve ever been asked this question and, two, just how matter-of-fact Tom asked, as in, “are you going to the beach tomorrow?”

“Do you know if they’ll have any good floats or food stalls?” I respond just as matter-of-factly. “Because I do enjoy those types of things.”

“Why are they coming to Orlando, anyway?” he asks. "It's such a nothing town."

“Maybe they want to take in Disney World and thought they’d kill two birds with one stone.”

”Where do you think they stay?” he asks.

That’s a good question. As odd as it sounds, I’m a bit curious about it myself.

“I mean do they stay at the Hilton or Holiday Inn,” Tom muses, “or do they slum it at one of those flea-traps? How do they plan these things?”

We pull into the Beefy King lot, a local non-veggie favorite of ours.

“I’m throwing a sort of bachelor party for my buddy, Albert, tomorrow," he says, "and we were planning on going out downtown. I got all these shirts made up with Albert’s face behind bars on the front like he’s in prison, and something on the back saying that it’s his last night of freedom. It’s supposed to be kind of funny. And, well, my concern is that Albert’s black and I don’t want to have this party downtown if all these Neo-Nazi’s are gonna be down there. I mean, do you think they’re going to go bar hopping after the rally or something? What do Neo-Nazi’s do when they visit a new city?

I haven’t made any Neo-Nazi acquaintances in my lifetime and I don’t have the answers to any of these questions. But they are good questions. I realize the seriousness of this whole issue of the Neo-Nazi’s, but I can’t help but laugh at how ironical it would be to run into a group of skinhead Nazi’s while you’re wearing a silly shirt with a picture of a black guy on it.

Back at the office I find myself browsing the Orlando Library’s on-line catalog for the Erich Segal book, “The Class.” There really is no reason for me to be doing this as I’ve already got 7 books out from the library in addition to the two dozen I’ve purchased over the past couple of months and have yet to read and am currently in the middle of reading Douglas Coupland’s, “Hey, Nostradamus.” But I did a Google search earlier in the day on Java classes and a link popped up for "The Class." A former girlfriend read this book while we were dating in college and she really liked it. I remember sitting on the floor of her dormroom one afternoon reading the latest “Calvin and Hobbes” book while she read “The Class.” Looking back I think that moment said something about what direction we were each headed intellectually.

So I remembered this incident and searched the book on Amazon and they had one of those “click to look inside the book!” links and so I clicked and began reading the first couple of pages and before I knew it I was on page 23 and I was thinking, “what the hell, is this whole damn book on line?” and that’s when I stopped. So I went to the Orange County Library website to see if I could order the book for home delivery because the library here does that type of thing, and they had it and I ordered it.

But as the afternoon wore on I got to thinking about the book more and more and how much I was really enjoying reading it and I didn’t want to wait a couple of weeks for it to be delivered and decided to stop by the library on the way home from work. And of course this made no sense because of all the other books I have out and the one I’m currently reading. I wouldn’t even have a chance to read this new book for at least another week by which point it would probably already be delivered to my home. But at 5 o’clock I left the office and drove over to the library and found the book. And while I was there I got to thinking about this other book I once ordered, Patricia Highsmith’s “The Talented Mr. Ripley,” which took 11 weeks and I never actually did get it, just some card in the mail that said something like, “Sorry we couldn’t find this book for you.” I went over to the shelves marked "H" just to see if I could find it and it took all of 20 seconds before I saw it blatantly staring up at me. I wondered how “they” couldn’t find it in 11 weeks. Of course I had to take that book as well just on principle and so now I was checking out two books I couldn’t possibly read in the near future.

I’m finally making my way home when Sera calls and says I have no food in the refrigerator and she’s already eaten so if I’m planning on eating dinner tonight I’d better stop by the store and pick up something. I swing over to Winn Dixie, a supermarket chain here in Florida that I really hate. Being from the North I associate the word “Dixie” with “redneck” and “incest” and always find myself moaning in there because of how slow and unorganized everything is in that place, and of course I attribute that to their being incestuous rednecks. I pick up a packet of frozen chicken wings because they’re quick and easy to cook and I like them. With just the one item I’m thinking I can get out of this store real fast and back on the road home. I head over to the express line for five items or less but the Mexican couple ahead of me want to do a Western Union money order. This always takes a long time as there’s a lot of paperwork to fill out and on top of that the Mexican guy doesn’t speak English well and the guy behind the counter is having trouble understanding him. I move over to the next line which only has a couple of people on it but the old woman at the register is pushing 90 and is having trouble working the scanner and is asking for help on the intercom. I move over once again to the next line but as I do the guy turns the light out over the conveyor belt and says, “Sorry, I’m closed.” I turn to go back to the line with the old lady but now more people have jumped ahead of where I should have been standing. By this point I’m extremely frustrated I’m castigating myself for having done such a stupid thing like go to the Winn Dixie in the first place. So I go over to the baby aisle and carefully slip the frozen chicken wing pack in between some diapers and baby food because I don’t feel like going all the way to the back of the store where the frozen food section is and also because I’m thinking, “hey, they deserve to lose some money and be inconvenienced by the shoddy way they run this place.” And as I’m walking out I’m also rationalizing in my head that if enough aggravated customers do this maybe the store will finally get the idea and do something about it.

I drive over to a local Chinese restaurant for some take-out and it’s mobbed in there as well. I feel I don’t have a choice so I stand in line and eventually get to order my meal. There’s nowhere to sit and wait as the place is packed so I stand along the wall and begin reading “The Class.” There are lots of screaming babies running around and kids making all sorts of noise and Spanish families yapping in a language I mostly don’t understand. I’m sure they’re not paying attention to me but I think how strange it must look to see some guy standing by himself against the wall amidst all this chaos reading an Erich Segal novel.

Eventually a seat opens up and I take it and sit down and continue reading the book. The Chinese woman behind the counter is screaming out people’s food orders and I keep a close ear in case she calls mine. I really start getting into this book which disturbs me because I’m also really into “Hey, Nostradamus” and I want to finish that one as well. And now the woman is screaming out long strings of numbers and there’s a lot of confusion about whose order belongs to whom. I pull out my receipt to look for any group of numbers that might remotely sound like the one’s she’s screaming about but it only has my total and the store number. So now I’m wondering if she’s throwing my food away or giving it to someone else. I get to chapter 4 when I finally recognize my food order bellowing through the restaurant. I grab it and head back in my car and as I start the ignition and turn on the Coldplay tape that I’ve been listening to a question suddenly pops into my mind. “Where do the Neo-Nazi’s stay when they come to town?”

Rock Star Energy

2006-02-23T10:01:00.000-05:00

The cafeteria at work has a large barrel filled with ice and various Energy drinks by the check out register. I always laugh when I see this. I thought Energy Drinks were meant for hard workouts or outdoor physical activity--something to replenish those electrolytes. I can't see myself getting a boost of adrenaline so I can go back to my cubicle and stare at my computer screen for another few hours. Maybe I can really play games with my body and snack on some Power Bars as well--another supplement offered for sale.

But there is one Energy drink in particular that really gets me. It's called Rock Star. This brand would seem more appropriately targeted at delusional long-haired high school kids than corporate yuppies. "I'm gonna drink up some Rock Star. Yeah, baby!" And even funnier is the new Diet Rock Star Energy they introduced this week. That's for when you'd rather act like Simon & Garfunkel than Nirvana.

Blogging

2006-02-21T20:28:00.000-05:00

So what is this blogging thing anyway? Is it just some vainglorious attempt for the average anonymo to get people to pay attention? Is it a diary of most private thoughts for the whole world to see? Maybe it's a combination of all of these.

I never could keep a journal. I've tried but it never worked out. Fortunately I have a mostly perfect memory and can recall more than I'd care to remember.

Funny how I even found out about this whole blogging thing. My boss wanted to go to Rachel's for lunch. I mostly go for their lip-smacking buffets rather than the plastic lip-smackers that work there, and so tried to Google their food menu. Not surprisingly I couldn't find it. But I did stumble on the blog of a former employee of the place. I began reading it when I got home and found myself addicted. I checked out a few other blogs to see if they were equal in intelligensia and sordidness. Unfortunately I found out that most are either gibberish or not in English. So I've limited myself to the number of blogs I visit to a handful. And one of them has seemingly disappeared from cyberspace.

But in the end it's nice to chat from time to time with interesting people from the globe over who share similar thoughts. I think that's what it's all about.

A New Direction

2006-02-20T11:43:00.000-05:00

My book has taken a new direction. It reads better, it's more interesting and it's more fun to write. I have to thank Henry over at Ash Tree for his helpful advice.

Funny how advice like that works. A few years back I was getting tons of reject slips for travel stories and articles. Despite having read a few good writing books I just couldn't get it. Then I took a writing course(the one I had in college was crap) on-line. I was a bit skeptical about this but figured it should be better than nothing. I was told to cut down on the adverbs and adjectives. My next submitted piece to a magazine was published. Despite having read in books to cut down on adjectives and having agreed with it, I was still over using them without realizing it. The same was true with my book. I knew there was something missing but couldn't quite put my finger on it. Henry took a look and pointed out the obvious--something I quite obviously knew about but couldn't see. Now my story is progressing and it's more enjoyable to write. I feel so much better about it.

My website is coming along nicely too. I can't wait to get the new beta version up soon. The current version looks so antiquated it's almost embarrassing. It should be up in a couple of weeks. I've been so productive lately. My job gets in the way, though. If I didn't have to spend 40 hours a week here(plus more for commuting and the tiredness factor when I get home) I could get so much more done.

Lost

2006-02-14T13:26:00.001-05:00

Sera and I have been getting into the TV series "Lost" lately. We rented the entire first season from Blockbuster and watched them all in the past 2 weeks. The show reminds me of the game "Myst." And since the 2nd season isn't available to rent we've been downloading them from ipod on-line. But people are telling me the 2nd season isn't good--it's too bizarre. We've only watched the first 5 episodes and so far we're really into it.

I've been working on an idea for my 2nd novel for some time now. It's fiction. The show "Lost" has helped me on my idea and I think I've got the story down. But I need to finish my first book. I always have the problem of trying to jump on to the next project before finishing my current one. And I end up with a bunch of incomplete projects. So I need to stay focused.

I really enjoy reading books by Jon Evans. I feel like our lives parallel one another to a degree, only he's much more advanced. He's a computer programmer/world traveller-backpacker/writer. He's published 2 novels and is far more advanced in programming than I am. He's also backpacked to more countries than I have. He wrote on his website that his third novel is finished and he's working on a 4th. And he's done all this in the past 4 years. This makes me feel like a total slacker. I'm still working on my first book. I'm hoping this is the motivation to get me really going on this. I've got to get this done. I feel really determined now. The problem, of course, is that I'm at work right now. I get this excited, motivational feeling a lot at work. Then by the time I get home I'm too tired to work on it. But I've got to stop making excuses and get going. I'm happy that I picked it up again this weekend.

I WILL GET THIS BOOK DONE SOON.

And on a more humorous note: I spoke to Gina last week. She found my blog and read my stories about her. We didn't have much time to talk so I didn't get her opinions on them. I'm glad she wasn't upset about my using her real name (though I changed her stage name). I couldn't change it because I really love the name "Gina." Gina is the cover girl for the 2006 Rachel's calendar. But the Rachel's website still has the 2005 calendar posted. I'd love to get a link to the new one to get her picture on here.

Capote

2006-02-13T13:43:00.000-05:00

Saw "Capote" on Saturday. It's a film I've been wanting to see for a few months, but living on the fringes of the real world here in Orlando it was an impossibility. Films like this don't make it to fantasyland. But now that it's received several Oscar nods Orlando has deemed it worthy enough to show.

I can see why Philip Seymour Hoffman was nominated for Best Actor. I've always been a fan of his. His protean skills range from effiminate Scotty in "Boogie Nights" to my favorite role of his, the pompous pseudo-intellect Freddie in "The Talented Mr. Ripley." He was thoroughly convincing as the flamboyant egocentric Capote.

The film was a bit slow at points and I wished they went into the Clutter murders a bit more. I'm sure the directors didn't want to recreate "In Cold Blood" as the story deals more with Truman than the killers, but it would have made a more startling climax to the film. I get obsessed with heinous crimes such as this one, and I've researched the Clutters and the killers for several years. I'd love to ride out to Kansas some time to visit the scene.

I've started writing again. A friend came over Friday night to read over parts of my book, and she was impressed. I still feel that friends and family are biased, but who else is there for opinions? She convinced me that the story reads smoothly and quickly, and that it's easy to relate to. Maybe it will be decent, but it's certainly no Capote. But the important thing is that I'm back on it. Once again I'm hoping to work on it every day.

Books to Movies

2006-02-06T10:18:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about the poor transition usually made from books to movies. Everyone knows that "the book is much better" than the film in most instances. I have friends who insist on reading the book first and then coming away disappointed with the film. I find it more satisfying to see the film first, then read the book. That way I can't complain how they changed this and that and I can at least enjoy the film.

But in rare instances I've found the movie to equal or surpass the book. I thought I'd mention a few of those:

"Out of Africa." I've only read the first half of the book, and so far it doesn't even resemble the film--other than the fact there's a woman running a tea plantation in Africa. The book is a collection of stories of Isak Dinesen's life on the farm. They're entertaining and extremely well written, but I've yet to come across a linear plot. The movie is wholly engrossing and emotional and beautifully filmed. Maybe something resembling the film will emerge in the second half of the novel, but I've yet to find it. So far I've enjoyed the film more so than the book, though it's unfair to compare the two.

"The English Patient." Okay, so I didn't actually read this one. Sera read it and struggled. She didn't enjoy it. We both enjoyed the film. But I've met others who didn't enjoy the novel as well.

"Out of Sight." Okay, another one Sera read and did not like. And though I pretty much despise JLo, I really enjoyed this film. In fact, it usually gets four stars from reviewers(Siskel and Ebert said it was the best film of the year that no one watched.) It's a great flick--non-linear, great score and very entertaining. George Clooney, Ving Rhames and Steve Zahn are excellent. Sera felt the book was flat and didn't enjoy the characters as much as she did in the film.

"Summer of '42." I love the book and the movie just as much. This is one of my all time favorite films. Memorable and funny coming of age story set to an emotional score. I read the book several years later and found it well written, hilarious and just as emotional. It even goes a bit further by explaining what happened to all the characters later in life.

"The 25th Hour." No surprise that the book and film are similar since the author, David Benioff, also wrote the film script. He pretty much kept it the same and it works.

There are certain films I love that are based on books I've never read, namely "The Graduate" and "Midnight Cowboy." "The Graduate" has been my favorite film for so long that I doubt I'll ever read the novel. I feel I'll only be disappointed. I need that Simon and Garfunkel soundtrack and the exceptional cinematography. That's why I doubt I'll ever see the stage version. As for "Midnight Cowboy," I've always wanted to read the book but it's out of print and I've never been able to find it.

Sometimes I see a truly awful film and am surprised to learn it was based on a novel. In those instances I'll read the novel thinking, "it must be good if they put forth the effort to make a movie out of this." I'm usually rewarded in these instances. Such was the case with "The Beach," the Leonardo DiCaprio film. I found the movie to be silly, pretentious and devoid of any form of intelligence. The book by Alex Garland is one of the best I've ever read.

There are also cases where the book and movie are good though they don't even resemble one another. I found this to be the case with "Midnight Express" and "Girl, Interrupted."

"Midnight Express" is the true story of American Billy Hayes' five years in a Turkish prison for drug smuggling. It's a good Oliver Stone film starring the late, great Brad Davis. But the movie is mostly fiction. Even Hayes has said that he couldn't see a resemblance to his story in the film, but still enjoyed it. The book is far more exciting and is a real page turner. Hayes' escape from prison is dramatic and will keep you on the edge of your seat. The moral of the movie seems to be, "don't go to Turkey." The moral of the book is "don't be stupid and smuggle drugs." Turkey is a beautiful and friendly country. Just don't commit a crime. I don't know why the film is so different, considering it's a true story, but it's still enjoyable.

"Girl, Interrupted" is a collection of stories from Susanna Kaysen's two years in a mental hospital in the 1960's. That is about the only resemblance there is to the film. I enjoyed the movie, but am not sure if I would have had I read the book first. In fact, while reading the book I couldn't understand how they even made a movie out of it. Perhaps that's why the movie is mostly fiction. In both these cases I enjoyed the book and the film. And in both cases both the book and the film are almost completely different stories.

Music Snobs

2006-01-31T13:11:00.000-05:00

A bit of a mystery unfolded at The Black Crowes show Sunday night. Their long time keyboardist, Eddie, was conspiciously absent. Eddie's always been a fan favorite. He's much older than the rest of the band, tall and gangly with long, straight black hair. Looks like a member of the Addams Family. Eddie always gives a humble wave and smile when he takes the stage to his adoring fans. He's a real crowd pleaser. Sera loves standing by his part of the stage. Just so odd looking but fun to interact with.

Well, Eddie was not present Sunday. Rumors circulated that he got into an altercation with the Robinson Brothers on Friday night, possibly due to his using heroin, and they sent him on a plane home. There was no word from the band during the show about Eddie's absence. Nor was there a replacement. They attempted to fill in all keyboards with more guitar. It was fine for most of the night, but some songs don't really work without the keys.

But the show was definitely memorable. The band seemed to push harder in efforts to cover for their missing bandmate. They played two sets(first time I've seen them do that), for 3 hours. One of the highlights for me was guitarist Rich Robinson closing the first set by singing an old Pink Floyd tune, "Fearless." The girl next to me insisted it was Dylan, but I know my Floyd.

One thing that bugs me a bit though are the "hardcore" Black Crowes fans. These are the ones who fly all over the world to see their shows (like Deadheads, but much smaller numbers). They whine when the Crowes play their most popular songs. They come to hear the more obscure songs--ones not on any album and infrequently played. Sera calls them "snob" fans. And they are. We've seen the Black Crowes 7 times and love hearing their more popular tunes. That's what made them popular in the first place. It's fine to want to hear some obscure stuff, but give me a break--should the whole show be like that? Their message board on Monday had comments like, "the band was really into it. The crowd was really into it. But I couldn't get into that set list." Gimme a fucking break. The show was lively, energetic and fun.

I had the same problem with Deadheads. I saw them 23 times, not even close to the following of true Deadheads. But the hardcore fans would say that "Uncle John's Band" and "Sugar Magnolia" were cheesy although they were among the best of the Dead's songs. And then other fans would tell me, "you should have been here last night--they played Sugar Mag!"

We saw Paul McCartney back in Sept. I visited the message board on his website the next day and saw that several "true" fans bitterly complained that Paul once again played "Hey, Jude," "Live and Let Die," and some of his other classics. "Why does he always play that stuff?" they ranted. "He's got so many great songs." They listed a ton of obscure McCartney solo songs that I've never heard of. This is what they wanted to hear. Screw the average fan--just play songs for "me." "I'm you're number one fan--play those rarities because I know they exist. I've already heard your hits." Music snobs like that are selfish and annoying. Most people going to a Paul McCartney concert have not seen him 20 times. Paul is playing for the general mass, not the scattered groupies. He has to play with the idea that most people in the audience have never seen him before. He does not want to disappoint 19,900 fans in order to especially please 10. I would have been pretty pissed had he not played "Hey, Jude."

Sera and I saw the Moody Blues many years back in Atlantic City. We had to share a table with the most pretentious people I've ever dealt with. They argued for 30 minutes over who was a better songwriter--Ray Davies of The Kinks or Justin Hayward of the Moody Blues. The one woman was going to London the following week. "I think I'll use BritRail" she repeatedly told her friends. She mainly repeated it for my benefit. To show off that she was going to London. I was also going to London the following week but felt no cause to mention this. Nor did I mention that it was ridiculous to compare Ray Davies with Justin Hayward. The Kinks wrote sarcastic, intellectual and political music--where the lyrics take precedence over the music. The Moody Blues wrote haunting ballads involving orchestral symphonies--where the music sets the tone and emotion more so than the lyrics. I didn't say a word to these idiots. But towards the end of the show the man next to me began complaining. "I've seen the Moodies 22 times and they always end with 'Ride My See Saw'. Can't they play something different?" Well, my simian minded friend, the Moody Blues are not anticipating that everyone in the audience has seen them 22 times. I had also seen The Moody Blues before--they put on the same show every time. It's a great show, but it's the same show.

A Little Story With The Black Crowes

2006-01-27T10:23:00.000-05:00

Sera and I are going to see The Black Crowes at Hard Rock Live on Sunday. It will be our 7th time seeing the Crowes. I've been a big fan of the Robinson brothers from the first time I heard "Jealous Again" on the radio back in the spring of 1990. One of those rare times when I immediately liked a tune. The sound had the excitement and energy missing from most rock songs since the 1970's, an era of great music that I missed due to my infantile age. One critic at the time wrote that the Black Crowes sounded like what the Rolling Stones should have sounded like in the 1990s had they still had any inspiration or creativity.

In June 1990 I went on my first backpacking trip to Europe, one that would ultimately change my life forever. I arrived in London on June 6, the anniversary of D-Day. That was no coincidence as I timed my landing to have some significance.

I was very lonely in London and spent 8 days wandering its rain soaked streets wondering if I did the right thing by coming overseas. I didn't meet many interesting people and I was spending a small fortune in the city. I chose London as my first stop because they spoke English. I was afraid to head to the mainland due to the language barrier and spent more time in London that I should have.

One afternoon I picked up a local Time Out magazine. This was new to me as it had yet to make its way over to the States. Thumbing through its list of events I saw The Black Crowes were playing that night at the historic Marquee Club. This is where The Beatles, The Who and The Rolling Stones played before they made it big. I only knew two Crowes songs, "Jealous Again" and the Otis Redding cover, "Hard to Handle." But I wanted to do something fun and different. Something to liven up my London doldrums. I headed to the Marquee that afternoon for a ticket and saw a sign indicating tickets would not be on sale until 3 hours before showtime. I had a few hours to kill. I walked over to a local park and watched the ducks. My loneliness was only exacerbated by watching school children playing soccer. I was a ghost on that bench. No one took any notice. I felt like a ghost in life. I seriously questioned what I was doing in Europe. I never cared about traveling but felt the need to do something different. Many friends from college did some type of exploratory adventure after graduating--hiking the Appalachian Trail, traveling across the US, etc. I had no money after college and simply moved back home and found a job.

But during that year of working I met several people who told great tales of their backpacking exploits around the world. They opened my eyes to the possibilities of another world. I was convinced. I soon had a passport, a Eurail Pass and a Let's Go Europe book and was ready to go.

But now I was lonely and unhappy in London.

Eventually I made my way back to the Marquee and found a huge line wrapped around the block. I gloomily trod to the back of the line by myself. I was surrounded by English and Germans, all talking, laughing and sharing smokes. Once again I went unnoticed. Word was that we would never get in to the club--it would be sold out shortly. Forty-five minutes went by and we hadn't moved more than a few feet. I was getting skeptical. Then typical English weather arrived and further dampened my spirits. I had no umbrella and was getting drenched. Frustrated, depressed and soaked I left the line.

I finally left London a few days later and took a ferry to France and a bus to Amsterdam. I had a horrible experience on the day I arrived in Amsterdam and fled the next morning for a quieter, safer Brussels. But I couldn't figure out how to use the pay phone at the Brussels train station and felt utterly lost and hopeless. I was on the verge of tears and desperate to return home. And then, like what happens to so many vagrant travelers in dire straits, fate took over. I met another American who was traveling alone, having just arrived. He was visiting a college professor from Michigan. He helped me find a hostel in Brussels and invited me to dinner. That evening I enjoyed an exquisite meal in a 4 star restaurant in Brussels, free of charge. From loneliness and despair to pure joy in 24 hours. The rest of my European trip was almost beyond words. I stayed several months, moved to Paris with a French girl and almost got married and became a French citizen. Amazing how quickly things change.

The Black Crowes toured the U.S. in 1992 but once again I found myself in Europe, and I missed the whole tour(a bit of irony is that I met Crowes singer Chris Robinson's future wife, Kate Hudson--about 15 at the time, and his future in-laws, Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, while in Greece.) They didn't play in New York again for 3 years. By this time I was living with Sera and moaning how I had never seen them. But they finally returned in 1995 for their "Amorica" tour. Five shows at The Beacon Theater that March--the best venue anywhere for a rock concert. I got on line early for tickets and got two great floor seats for one show. The band allows recording of their concerts, and I brought in a cheap Walkman. They put on one of the best concerts I have ever been to. We were on our feet the entire night. Great rock music at its purest and finest--and with the band simply dressed in t-shirts and blue jeans I imagined this was what a great '70s show was like. The way concerts were meant to be. And for me, it was a show 5 years in the making. I still have my poor quality recording of that night tucked away in a box somewhere. A few years later I watched VH-1's Behind The Music on The Black Crowes and was surprised to hear they seriously considered breaking up just days before their 5 night run at the Beacon in 1995!

All their shows are lively, fun and extremely loud. The band has never reached the fame of bigger acts and usually plays smaller venues with general admission seating(though they just headlined Madison Square Garden on New Year's Eve). Sera and I always arrive early to get in the front row, and we always have an incredible experience with a great jamming band.

But whenever I think of The Black Crowes I am reminded of a lonelier version of myself many years ago. I don't know if I would have enjoyed the show that night in London--only knew two songs, no one to talk to--but I always regret that I didn't see a show by a much younger version of The Black Crowes back then. A version as young and innocent as myself back then. Guitarist Rich Robinson was only 18 at the time and had just graduated high school. This turned out to be their first ever U.K. show. The Black Crowes website has set lists and little tidbits for most of their shows, but the London Marquee page simply says, "no information available." I do have a lot of information available on events surrounding the day of that show, but I doubt that's what they're looking for.

Another Week...

2006-01-24T12:41:00.000-05:00

Finished reading Douglas Coupland's "Generation X" the other night. It left me unfulfilled. But maybe that's how you're supposed to feel after reading it. The characters are unfulfilled--three twenty-somethings who forego the ennui of their current lives for meaningless jobs in Palm Springs. I really enjoyed his novel, "Girlfriend in a Coma" and was hoping this book would also provide such mental stimulation. But that wasn't the case.

Lately I've been feeling like a poser. At least as far as being a writer is concerned. I've published a few minor things in the past but nothing lately. And I haven't written a word in my book in 7 weeks. I won't consider myself a writer until I finish it. For now I'm just a dreamer stuck in a mindless job.

I've been getting into a new travel show called "Passport to Europe" with Samantha Brown. I record them on DVR and watch a few when I'm able. What really got me interested was the first episode I saw, where she visits Amsterdam. Amsterdam is my favorite city and I'm usually disappointed on travel shows that go there. They tend to skip over the sex and drugs aspect. I understand that travel shows are geared towards families, but if you're going to visit a city such as Amsterdam you have to visit its most famous attractions. So I was quite impressed when Samantha Brown did just that. She visited a coffeeshop and even went so far as to inquire about the difference between marijuana and hash. The young girl at the counter showed Samantha the drug menu and explained the different types of pot and hash, where they're grown, and then showed her some large samplings of the drugs. The camera showed people happily smoking away right behind Samantha. I immediately gained respect for her and the show. Now don't get me wrong--I'm not saying that's all there is to Amsterdam. Amsterdam is a charming, friendly and historical city. It's filled with the most spectacular and bizarre architecture I've ever come across. But it's also a hell of a lot of fun.

I'd love to have my own travel show. I wonder how people get such a show. How does a woman I've never heard of suddenly have a show where she travels all over Europe? I'd love to go back to Europe. I've always felt more at home there than in the US. And I've always appreciated the US more while I was over there.

I bought some shares of Google a couple of weeks ago. I'm not sure why I did this, maybe just part of my obsessive compulsive behavior. I know zilch about the stock market. And then a week after I bought it Google had its biggest drop in their history. Great timing. But it's gone up quite a bit in the last two days, almost recouping the losses. This gives me a little stimulation during my workday. I monitor my stocks with streaming quotes that I minimize on my screen. Something to get me through the day.

That's about it for now. Maybe I'll write something more profound next time.

Where Am I Going, Where Have I Been?

2006-01-20T14:07:00.000-05:00

I took a break from all forms of writing recently. Mainly needed to get my head together--or at least parts of it back. Sometimes I feel I'm fooling myself. I dream about finishing my book, starting a worthy writing career and moving my life into a worthwhile direction. I also try to learn new tech programs to advance my career in case the writing doesn't work out. But I wonder if I'll ever actually do any of this, or if they're just pipe dreams. I enjoy watching television and renting movies, much more so than writing or learning programs. And I've been doing a lot of it lately.

I bought the Band of Brothers box set on E-Bay a few weeks ago. I truly love that series. Though I'd never want to experience the life-threatening hardships that those soldiers went through, I feel I'll never experience the permanent bonding and comradeship of those men. I've made a lot of friends in life, but have lost touch with most of them. I have no bonding experiences with anyone. There was great bonding with my backpacking trips around the world, especially those in the third world, but I've lost contact with most. I get a few sporadic e-mails and phone calls from a couple of people, but most are gone for good. And maybe that's the problem with society today. We feel isolated and disconnected. Most of us don't have a special bonding. Or at least that's how I feel.

This could be why I've lost my inspiration to write. My life seems meaningless and directionless at the moment. I have no fire. For example, Sera and I have never been happier since we moved to Orlando. We have no desire to ever return to the Northeast. But one of Sera's friends is looking into the possibility of getting Sera a job at her company back North. The salary was too good to turn down: 3.5 times her current salary. We didn't even have to think about it. If Sera gets it, she's gone. And if it works out for her up there I'll be back as well. So no matter how happy we are down here we'd be willing to sell our selves for more money--like selling our souls to the devil.

I'm lacking passion right now. And inspiration. I'm happy down here but I'm willing to return to an area I loathe for more money. What does that say about myself?

I want to continue with my book but I just don't feel it right now.

I Like Shiny, Metal Things

2006-01-12T09:08:00.000-05:00

Last month I attended a Microsoft convention for work. The center was filled with thousands of techno-geeks, most making tons more money than myself. The big draw was free software from Microsoft as well as stuff from other vendors. But despite all the high-tech lectures from Microsoft(complete with music by The Doors and Jimi Hendrix!) what stood out most for me was Hewlitt-Packard's gift--a flashing keychain. The lectures were packed with blinking glow in the dark key chains dangling around necks, shirt pockets, etc. I couldn't help but think that the intelligence quota of most people seems to decrease by at least half if they come across something shiny and metallic or something that blinks and flashes. A convention center filled with thousands of people presumably making 6 figure salaries, to hear about Microsoft's latest product line, and the biggest attention grabber is a 10 cent flashing key chain.

And this goes on everywhere. The Doobie Brothers played a free concert in Orlando a couple of months back. Flashing neon swirls of red and green lit up the crowd. Now keep in mind that most fans of the Doobies are 40+ years old.

So what is it about things that sparkle and flash that reduce our minds to that of children? I mean the same goes for myself. Sera and I were at Universal Studios a couple of months ago and we kept pointing out all the neat-o stuff for sale that blinks, flashes and glows in the dark. We can attend higher education, read classic literature to enrich our minds and visit third world cultures to expand our horizons. But it all goes down the drain when we something light up and blink. Though I must admit I don't go for any old blinking thing. I had no problem shutting off my blinking Hewlitt-Packard keychain and stuffing it into my pocket.

Empty My Brain

2006-01-07T11:45:00.000-05:00

"I'd like to go somewhere...and just empty my brain, read books, and be with people who wanted to do the same thing."
That's a quote that really stood out for me in the latest book I'm reading, Douglas Coupland's "Generation X." It's about 3 twenty-somethings who give up a life of stress, conformity and materialism and move to a cheap bungalow apartment complex in Palm Springs. I'd prefer to live by the ocean, but it's the idea that grabbed me. It's what I've been talking about for some time now. Just leaving it all and reading and writing. I would so love to do that. But I need some financial stability, otherwise I'd stress too much to do it. The characters in the story take menial jobs bartending or working in the mall for cash; the rest of the time they can just "be."
But the key is to "be with people who wanted to do the same thing." I'd hope the people I was with weren't too pretentious.

I left NYC for this very reason--to escape the frenetic rat race and pressure of the big city. Sera always pointed out that I walked twice as fast in Manhattan as anywhere else. In all my life I'd never noticed that. I was just keeping up with the pace. It took an outsider to point this out. So we picked up and moved to sunny Florida--for a quieter, slower pace of life and better weather. It is all those things, but it's also the land of the zombie. Everyone's idea of quality of life is to have a nice house with a pool and stop there. Sure, I'd love a nice house. But why stop there? No one here has any dreams. No one says, "I'd love to travel," or even "I want to go hiking." Instead it's "I want to retile my bathroom."

I'm mocked at work because I go canoeing some weekends. Most people I work with have never been to the Everglades, gone on an airboat or done anything to explore the State of Florida. Sera and I have been doing that since we moved here.
"Why do you want to do that?" I'm asked when I discuss my latest adventure proposal. In the meantime these people are content to just sit on their patio and stare out at the highways and strip malls that are quickly taking over the natural beauty of this area.

Oh, and this reminds me. Our adventure to find Kira Salak in Key West this weekend has been cancelled. With my cat's illness(he's doing SOOOO much better, by the way), I just don't feel comfortable leaving him. There are vet techs available to stay at our place and administer his medicine, but I'm just not at that point. It will take a little more time to feel secure in leaving him.

But I am planning on returning to my novel this weekend. It's been a month since I've written in it. Was too depressed, then too exhausted. But I think I'm ready to pick it up again. Plus I think I came up with a good idea for the prologue.

Gina and the rest of the day

2006-01-05T19:01:00.000-05:00

Saw Gina today for the first time in a month. We got into a fight last time and I wondered if it might be awkward today. Thought maybe she might not even come over. But she did and it was awesome.

Tom, myself and a few others went to the club on a Friday after work last month. Everyone got very drunk and a bit belligerent. Especially Tom. He can get out of control when he drinks. Gina was spending time with all her rich friends that night and that pissed him off.
"You're evil and I hate you," he told her. Not something you want to say to a really sweet girl.

She and I had some words--I was pretty drunk and upset that she wouldn't spend more time with me.
"How much do I have to give you to sit with me?" I demanded.
She looked pissed. "I don't want you to give me anything. I don't think of you like that."
Tom threw a $10 bill at her. "Dance, bitch, dance!" he yelled. Not good.
Gina threw the bill back at him.
"But you have to dance," he said. "It's your job."
"I don't HAVE to do anything!" she said as she stood up.
Gina looked at me and said, "I like you better when you're sober. You have this look of hate in your eyes."
A few more words were spoken before we left, thought I don't recall what they were.

But there was Gina today, all sweet and pretty.
"That was a horrible night," she said. "I had so many men asking for me and I didn't have time for everyone. I really didn't know what to do."
Tom stood up and reached out his hand, "I'm so sorry for the things I said. I was very drunk." They shook and made up.

Gina sat down beside me. "I wanted to call you to apologize but I couldn't find your number. And when I finally did find it I figured it was too late. I didn't see you for the longest time and assumed you just weren't coming back."

I felt like an excited teen sitting next to her. It had been so long.
"Can you flash me?" I asked.
Gina giggled.
"Quick," I said, "while nobody's looking."
She burst out laughing. "Why does it matter if anyone's looking? This is a strip club." And she gave me a nice flash. Funny, it's more enjoyable to be flashed than to have a lap dance. It feels like you're doing something naughty.
Tom leaned over the table and yelled, "Hey, you're supposed to pay her for that."
Gina wrapped her arms around my neck and replied, "He doesn't have to give me anything."

I could only stay an hour before going back to work. Gina didn't feel like doing any lap dances and I didn't really want one anyway(how many times can I watch the same girl dance?). We talked like old friends that hadn't seen each other in years, with an occasional flash thrown in. She didn't want any money. Just to relax and catch up. It was beautiful.

And then I got back to work and felt stressed. I don't want to be stressed at work. I don't need that in my life. I try and convince myself that work doesn't matter; it's not an important part of my life. It just pays the bills. I try and convince myself of this--but it just doesn't work. Yes, it would be hard financially if I lost this job. But I could collect unemployment and work on other things that mean more to me. Like my novel. Yet I'm still feeling stressed and I don't like this. I need to get out of all this.

Beware of The Blob and Dirty Mary

2006-01-03T19:44:00.000-05:00

"The Blob" with Steve McQueen was on TV the other night. Sera had never seen this "classic," and so I raved on and on to her about how great it was. Of course I hadn't seen the film since I was about 6 or 7. I'd gather with my friends when it was on and we'd be awestruck. It was creepy and scary, great effects and the best acting.

Now flash forward to the other night, many years later...more mature and jaded. This was the most silly and ridiculous film. And the special effects--well, I could have created better effects with some motor oil and ketchup. I always recalled The Blob being this eerie looking black ooze(I always watched it on black and white TV way back then). Now it looks like cherry pie filling--like someone was having difficulty trying to squeeze it through vents or roll it around the floor in a large lumpy ball.

The scenes I most vividly recalled from my childhood where the panic in the movie theater and the end. Now I found the movie theater scene to be hilarious. Funny how the theater only has about 20 people when McQueen goes inside, but when the crowd flees in a mad rush there seems to be a thousand people. They were watching a midnight horror film fest--the audience included elderly blue-haired grandmothers with glasses and little old men. And if you watch close enough as they flee you can see some people laughing and smiling.

But the most memorable part of the film, which comes right at the beginning and seems to tell you right away that "this film is silly and absurd," is the opening credit theme song. If you play this, and you really must, listen to the entire song. The last 30 seconds have the funniest lyrics. But another great effect is the popping sound which seems to be made by someone popping their finger in their cheek.

The Blob Theme Song

So this brings me to another film "classic" that I made Sera stay up late to watch. It was called "Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry" and starred Peter Fonda and Susan George. I LOVED this movie as a kid. One time I acted out my favorite scenes, solo, on my front yard. In fact, I loved it so much I wrote a letter to Susan George. She never responded. A few years ago Sera and I watched it and once again I was shocked. The movie was terrible! There was very little story--the point of the film seemed to have Peter Fonda's Dodge Charger speed around on dirt roads trying to look cool while the cops chase them with cars and helicopters.

And I always remembered Mary (Susan George) as being so beautiful and cool. Now I saw her as this little bug-eyed nuisance. Funny, isn't it? How the things we think are so cool as kids are really just junk? But it's fun to look back at how stupid and naive we were back then. And it's fun to watch films like this today for a good laugh.

Here We Are...Now Entertain Us

2006-01-01T09:19:00.000-05:00

It's 2006. I can't believe it. It seems like just yesterday it was 1986--the year of the Mets. How can that be 20 years ago? That's sick. I wasn't even alive 20 years before 1986. I always have a problem refusing to believe the world existed before my birth. How self-indulgent of me.

Sera and I rented a couple of movies last night: "Van Helsing" and "Star Wars Episode 3." Universal Studios has a horror exhibit based on the "Van Helsing" film. It always looked so cool and we've been meaning to rent it. Plus it has Kate Beckinsale--one of my top 5 lust women. The first scene of the flick was great--excellent effects, nice touch with the black and white. Then came a ridiculous scene where he fights Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde. Terrible effects, many flaws in the scene.

Then my phone rang. It was Tom. Sera and I were planning to blow off his New Year's party. It was nice to relax and just watch movies last night. I figured Tom would be so drunk he wouldn't notice my absence. Guess I was wrong. So we stopped our movie night and drove over there at 10:30.

There weren't nearly as many people there as planned. Only about 30 or so. The highlight for me was watching the reunion of The Bangles on TV. I loved The Bangles in the '80s and have always been disappointed that I never got to see them(I have the same problem with The Go-Go's). I hope they go on tour and play down here.

As for the party--got flashed by a few girls--that's always nice. Men are so easy to please. Met a strange woman, Rachel, who apparently works with me. She's only been there a month so I didn't know her. Rachel kept saying how she hadn't been kissed in years and didn't want anyone to kiss her.
"I usually leave New Year's parties at 11:30 for that reason," she blurts out.
"But all you guys are typical in that none of have you have even asked why."
I speak up. "Okay, why do you usually leave at 11:30?"
"I'm not answering that. It's very personal."
Stupid woman.

I told Rachel she reminded me of the '70's actress P.J. Soles. P.J. was a cult star in films like "Halloween," "Carrie" and "Stripes." Rachel never heard of her but took offense.
"Oh, so I remind you of a girl who gets killed in 'Halloween.' Thanks a lot."
Isn't the point that she looks like an actress, not the fact that the actress dies in a film?

Then Rachel says most men are evil(I'm evil because I don't wear a wedding ring, despite my wife standing by my side all night). She got into a nasty argument with my friend, Mark, in the kitchen. Then as I'm leaving I see the two of them head upstairs together. Total psycho girl. Even Tom, who was his usual drunk self, had enough wits left to whisper, "that girl's a whacko."

Sera, always the astute woman, points out that Rachel just wants attention. The arguing, the stupid comments--it all just keeps the attention on herself. At least I don't work in her department. I can just give the obligatory 'hello' on Tuesday.

As Sandra, one of my managers, was leaving I asked her to give me my birthday present--a couple of flashes of her boobs in the kitchen. The look on Rachel's face was priceless.

It was an interesting evening considering I was only there 2 1/2 hours. And I didn't get too drunk--so now I can enjoy my b-day pain free.

Happy New Year's

2005-12-31T11:39:00.000-05:00

Wow--another year ending. I feel like I'm in the same point of my life that I was last year at this time. I'm not one for resolutions but there are a couple I have to make this time:
1. Finish my damn book already. It's become more than just an albatross around my neck.

2. Finish the redesign of my website. I've had a travel website for 5 years. Hundreds and hundreds of photos and travel stories of all my trips. But the Internet has changed so rapidly that my site hasn't had time to catch up. I've been working on a redesign for a year now--retouching all the photos, learning some Flash, adding maps. Hopefully it'll be done in a few months.

3. Despite my goal of making enough off my novel and quitting my job, I need to improve my programming skills to look for a better job. I'd really like to double my salary, and I think I can if I just put my mind to it.

And that's it. Not so bad and actually quite manageable.

So tonight we're headed out to Tom's New Year's party. I originally wanted a nice peaceful day to relax. But in the end I gave in to Tom's many requests for me to come. His parties are usually extremely wild--people thrown in the pool, skinny dipping, sex in the bathroom, etc., and I'm really not in the mood for that today. So Sera and I won't arrive until about 10:30 and I'm hoping to get out by 1.

Well, I guess another reason I gave in to Tom's request is that my birthday arrives at the stroke of midnight. I've had a bit of depression in the past month and there's nothing more depressing than ringing in a new year and your birthday by watching Regis. So I'd like to be surrounded by a large group of friends tonight--even though they'll all be blitzed by the time I arrive.

Oh, by the way--it's New Year's Eve and it's almost 80 degrees here in Orlando!! This is why I love living here. Sera and I are heading out to ride the swan boats at Lake Eola this afternoon.

Here's wishing everyone a safe and Happy New Year!!!!

Non-Sequiturs

2005-12-29T20:00:00.000-05:00

I've seen a few others listing some tidbits about themselves and I thought, "why not?" Here's 51 little bits about me. And who knows, maybe I'll even learn something from this.

1. I hate meeting people I don't know.
2.One of my favorite reasons for travelling is to meet new and interesting people.
3. I changed my major 4 times in college. I returned to college a few years later for a second degree and changed it twice (never finished the second degree).
4. I gave more thought to who I should see for my first rock concert than who I should sleep with to lose my virginity.
5. I've never told anyone who the first girl was(I've always lied about who it was).
6. I've cried during such films as "Elf," "The Sound of Music," "Snoopy Comes Home," and "Big."
7. I hate pretentious people.
8. I had two best friends from the age of 3 until the age of 31. The three of us have not spoken to one another in 3 years and I doubt if we ever will again. After 28 years together we suddenly grew apart.
9. My sister went to high school with Fran Drescher and Ray Romano. I went to the same school many years later but don't know of anyone famous during my time.
10. I once played mind games with John Cusack at a Nirvana concert.
11. I once roadied for The Ramones in order to get in to a sold out concert. My friends and I waited by the side exit until they arrived. We asked if they needed any help and they gave an emphatic "Sure!" Joey and Dee Dee were really cool. Johnny was an asshole. He snapped at me when he learned I was a Mets fan(he loved the Yankees). I played the video game "Dig Dug" with Joey for over an hour. My friends and I drove Dee Dee around Allentown, PA trying to find him cocaine. He told us, "I can't be gone too long because otherwise my manager will think I'm doing smack again. But I don't do that shit no more." He died a few years later of a heroin overdose.
12. I saw the Grateful Dead 23 times ranging from NYC to San Francisco.

13. I didn't say "I love you" to another person and actually mean it until I was 21. I began crying uncontrollably because I had never before felt such an emotion.
14. My mother is Jewish. The Jewish faith therefore decrees that I am Jewish. I have never followed any religion and consider myself agnostic.
15. I once had an addiction that I was positive was going to kill me if I didn't stop. I never told anyone about it and it was a bane to my life for over 10 years.
16. Someone I loved very much became seriously ill. I prayed to whoever might be listening that if they got better I would never again toil with that to which I was addicted. They recovered and I've kept up my end of the bargain.
17. My favorite city is Amsterdam. I've been there 7 times.
18. I was a nerd in high school.
19. The two books that changed my life from nerd to partier were "Go Ask Alice," and the Jim Morrison biography "No One Here Gets Out Alive."
20. I have idolized Jim Morrison since my junior year of high school.
21. My dream since that time was to visit his grave in Paris. I fulfilled this dream 7 years later. I have visited his grave numerous times since then.
22. Though I enjoyed the lively party scene on Jim's grave I found it difficult to believe that anyone was really buried in it.
23. I did a fair amount of drugs in college and the years shortly after. I enjoyed every moment of it.
24. I drank a fair amount during that time as well. I also enjoyed every moment of that.
25. I only do drugs today if I am in Amsterdam, which is quite infrequently. But I'd love to go back soon.
26. I stole a few ruins from the Acropolis in Athens. I'd like to return them some day.
27. The wildest thing I ever did: I flew from New York to New Orleans to find a girl I had met in Chicago a week earlier. I didn't know her last name, where she'd be staying or if she was even going to New Orleans(she hinted she may be down there in a few days). I had never been there before. I found her on my first night there.
28. I once convinced an English girl in Greece that I was a professional gigolo.
29. I once convinced an American guy in Greece that I was English and spent a few hours with him in a bar making up stories about my life in England with a phony accent.
30. I once lied several times on a lie detector test and passed.
31. I always prefer to be abroad.
32. My family never traveled with me when I grew up.
33. Other than a couple of tiny commuter planes, my first real plane flight was when I went to Europe by myself for my first backpacking trip when I was 23. I recall thinking on the flight, "people in Europe don't know it yet, but they're about to meet me."
34. I hope that some day I can permanently live overseas.
35. I almost got married twice to European girls--one in Paris and the other in London.
36. I love Europe but I hate Europhiles. I can't stand people who talk endlessly about how much better it is over there.
37. I have an incredibly good memory.
38. I've always preferred brunettes.
39. I love the smell of skunks.
40. The best kissing of my life came courtesy of my French girlfriend. I wondered if it was a natural ability of the French. She let me test this theory by allowing me to kiss her best friend. Her friend was not nearly as good.
41. I usually find kissing more passionate than sex.
42. I always need to check out my hair in the mirror. Some people think this is vain, but it's actually because I'm extremely self-conscious.
43. I have 2 tattoos--an angel and the Led Zeppelin Zoso symbol.
44. I've only had one broken bone in my life and I didn't find out about this until 5 years later. A girl on a ferry in Greece accidentally crushed my little toe. It turned black the next day and stayed that way for a few days. 5 years later I told this story to a friend and he explained that's what happens when you break a toe.
45. I've always wanted to look like Jesus--very long hair, long beard, white robe and sandals. I tried to do this in New Zealand but I got too self-conscious and shaved and cut my hair. Sera thought I looked "grubby, but cute."
46. I once called Christie Brinkley and hung up when she answered the phone.
47. The wife of Kerry Wood of the Chicago Cubs repeatedly called me on my cell phone one night to yell at me. I finally just kept putting her through to voice mail until she left me alone.
48. I think Goldie Hawn subtlely said some disparaging things about me on "The Tonight Show."
49. My favorite color is purple.
50. During various points of my life I've been told I looked like Gilligan(high school), Prince(college and shortly after), Seinfeld(when his show was big) and Ray Romano(currently). I never thought I looked like any of them and I don't see how they even resemble one another.
51. I love Kate Beckinsale but don't understand why she makes such horrible Goth films.

The Sound of Music

2005-12-29T16:07:00.000-05:00

Sera got me the 40th Anniversary edition of The Sound of Music for Xmas. That was the only gift I said I REALLY wanted. Most people don't believe me when I tell them it's one of my favorite films. "The Graduate," "Taxi Driver," "Midnight Cowboy," "The Sound of Music." The first 3 deal with loneliness--the last just doesn't seem to fit.

I was sitting in my apartment in Hoboken many years ago when the movie was on TV for Xmas. I had seen it many times before(it was not yet a fav) but watched it again anyway. The scene where all the kids sing and dance for the dinner guests really moved me. That's what I wanted: a large family of Aryan children that would happily sing and dance for my friends at dinner. Well, the Aryan part would never happen as there's no blonde in my family and it's not a dominant gene. But the rest would be nice.

Perhaps this scene moved me so because I come from a very dysfunctional family. I never spend the holidays with them. Holidays were the worst time of year for me growing up. A large group of relatives telling me I looked like a pretty little girl with my long hair; that I'm wasting my life (I was only 19!); and then ignoring me during the rest of dinner. My mother always forgot to include me when making dinner preparations and I'd get stuck in a tiny folding chair at the corner of the table drinking diet soda("it all tastes the same," she would yell at me, "just drink the damn thing!"). I'd sit quietly and stare at the clock on the wall and think, "I can't wait 'till I'm older and move out. I'll never have to deal with these people again."

It's the closeness of the Von Trapp family in the movie that gets me. All the kids get along with one another. They love their father who eventually warms up. Maria is just the best mom. Of course it's all very unrealistic. I read a book about the real Von Trapps. Half the kids in the film didn't even exist. The father wasn't nearly as cold as depicted. Maria became a dominating matriarch who refused to let the kids grow up and leave the family. The eldest daughter escaped one night and disappeared for a period of time. The last I heard the kids were suing one another over their Vermont ski lodge.

The Sound of Music has become a traditional Xmas movie for me. Sera and I make sure to watch it every year. Sometimes I get a tear in my eye just watching the kids romp all over beautiful Salzburg. I love Salzburg. I was fortunate enough to visit the town on one of my backpacking trips. I rode an all-night train from southern France to Salzburg, arriving on a Saturday afternoon. I met a guy from Florida on the train and we got beds at a hostel.
"Hey," he said, "they have a Sound of Music tour today. We should go."
I wasn't so into the film as yet and just wanted some sleep. It's not a good sleep on those all night trains.
"Not today. I just want to go to sleep."
"They won't have another tour until Monday," he said. We'll be gone by then."
This was true. We both planned on leaving the next day, Sunday. Salzburg is that small.
We went on the tour and had a good time, though I mostly enjoyed sleeping on the tour van.
"Wake up, we're at the church where they got married!"
I'd stumble out half asleep, snap a couple of pics, then get back on the bus and sleep. I am glad I went on the tour, though. I did enjoy it.

But the following morning, Sunday, I got up early and took a stroll around Salzburg. It was a beautiful blue sky summer morning. An outdoor church service was being held in the town square. I sat in a chair in the back and breathed in all the alpine scenery. Salzburg looked exactly as it did when the Sound of Music was filmed in the 1960s, which is how it must have looked during the time period of the story, the late 1930s. When the service ended I meandered along the town's cobblestone alleys imagining life here during the Angschluss, during Mozart's life(he was born here). You can easily do that in Europe--where they usually know enough to not mess with perfection.

And so when I watch The Sound of Music I recognize the square where I sat for the church service; the wall I sat on while I studied the alpine fortress; the church steeples; the many film locations we visited on the tour. And it floods my heart with the desire to return. But really to return to a much simpler time in my life. That time many years ago when I was much younger and more carefree. When I could just aimlessly wander through the ancient streets of a historical city, and then hop on a train to another.

Talkin' Baseball

2005-12-29T10:09:00.000-05:00

I'm a baseball fanatic. Have been since I was 10. I'm a die-hard Mets fan. I was there during the lean years in the late '70s and early '80s. My wife gets a good laugh when I pull out my old yearbooks and show her the futile stats of such a woeful team. There were half a dozen players on the 1977 team with 12 or less RBI's for the season. But I was a naive little boy who rooted for them all through the season, despite their obvious inadequacies on the field. Of course things got great in the mid 1980s and the Mets kicked everyone's asses. They kicked sand in their opponents' face. But they deserved to after the way they had been laughed at in previous years. I hated all the people that jumped on their bandwagon in the '80s. Where were they during the last place seasons? Sort of like the Yankees today. I see "fans" everywhere with Yankee emblems. But where were they in the late '80's and early '90s? Who remembers Stump Merrill, Andre Robertson, Bobby Meachem, Ed Whitson, Pags and Kevin Maas? These are questions I ask people who claim to be Yankees fans. If they don't recall these names then they're just hitching on the bandwagon. They'd just as soon be wearing Washington National jerseys if it was popular. I hate the Yankees and always will. But I know more about them than most of their so-called fans today.

Anyway, I just wanted to vent a bit on recent trades and Free Agent moves.
First: it's great the Mets signed Billy Wagner. An ace closer is a big key to winning a pennant.
I'm not so thrilled about trading for Carlos Delgado. He spurned the Mets last winter and I doubt the fans will appreciate him. Also, I've learned the last few years that first base is a key defensive position. I'd rather have a Gold Glove over there than a big bat. I can see Reyes and Wright throwing a few more balls down the line.

Second: the main reason for this entry is my opinion on Johnny Damon going to the Yankees. I'm still stunned by this, but I have to blame Boston more than Damon. Damon was a decent player buried in the anonymity of Kansas City. He had a dismal season with Oakland, though slightly redeemed himself with his post-season performance. But he really took off in Boston. He was made for that team. The lack of foul territory in Boston helps anyone's average. Plus the chemistry of that team and the Boston fans really sparked Damon into life. I'm a Mets fan first and always, but thanks to the Extra Innings baseball package I became a Red Sox fan. I love watching games with Jerry Remy and Don Orso(sp?) announcing. I loved the dramatics of the Red Sox coming from behind in the late innings. I loved watching Damon with his long hair and beard. And I'll never forget the ageless Vin Scully saying, "He looks like Charles Manson out there."

So then Damon joins the arch enemy Yankees. The obvious question with that is, "is there no loyalty in baseball?" I was more than a bit peeved to say the least. But then I heard that the Yankees' offer was only good until midnight. Had Damon turned it down he would have had no bargaining advantage. The Sox and any other team could have made any offer they wanted and Johnny would be screwed. So I have to blame the Red Sox in this. And looking back, it seems the Red Sox will always be doomed for failure because of their ineptitude off the field. They let Roger Clemens go(though he had turned in a few subpar seasons at the time). There was the whole fiasco with Nomar--the man was a great leader on the field, but it all fell apart too soon. And the disaster with the Manny Ramirez-A.Rod trade. I think it's better in the end that they kept Manny, but the Sox really did make fools of themselves by not offering to pay the rest of A.Rod's salary. But not resigning Damon was the worst. He was the catalyst of the team. The heart.

So the Sox won in 2004. They had the team and the chemistry. They just don't have the management. I won't be surprised if it's another 86 years before they win again.

Coincidences

2005-12-28T15:44:00.000-05:00

I love coincidences. They make me wonder if there are higher forces playing around with us out there. Of course many coincidences only exist if you're keenly aware.

For example: In a college accounting class many years ago my teacher, Dr. Gum, reached up towards the blackboard with a piece of chalk. The chalk snapped in two, with one piece flying through the air, landing on the chalk rail and sliding towards the end of the rail, stopping just as it reached the end. Dr. Gum turned towards the classroom and said, "I bet if I couldn't do that again in a million years if I tried!"

Now flash forward 2 years. I have another accounting class with Dr. Gum. I'm struggling to stay awake as he casually reaches up towards the blackboard. Suddenly the chalk snaps in half--one half lands on the chalk rail, slides towards the end and stops. He turns to us and says, "I bet if I couldn't do that again in a million years if I tried!" I nearly jump out of my seat to yell, "But you did the exact same thing two years ago!" Instead I sat quietly, realizing I was the only one in the room who knew this. Even Dr. Gum didn't recall this repeat in his life.

Another little coincidence I always liked occurred while I was hiking through the Swiss Alps. I came across an American girl on the path and we got to talking. She told me she was from Reading, PA, the same town as my college roommate. I asked if she knew him. Her eyes lit up with shock as she took a step back. "I dreamed about him last night!" she said.

Last year while visiting friends in London, a woman from work spotted me in front of Big Ben. She was on her honeymoon and saw me across the street. I was gone by the time she could cross the street.

But my favorite has to be this sequence of events: I was working at a temp job in mid-town Manhattan. Sera and I lived in NJ, and I would drive to Hoboken and take the PATH train into the city. When I got to work I realized I didn't have my car keys. I began to panic, and called Sera at work. She was working as a lawyer for a firm in NJ. I was hoping she could ride on over to the garage in Hoboken and check if I left my keys in the car. Her secretary informed me that Sera was at a meeting out of town and couldn't be reached. I didn't know what to do, and just sat at my desk in panic. No more than five minutes passed after I called Sera's office when suddenly Sera walks in the door. In the 6 weeks I had been at this job she had never come to my office. Turns out her out of town meeting was in Manhattan--3 blocks from my job.
"I knew you worked in this area and I thought I'd stop by," she said, not knowing I just called her office.
I explained my situation to her.
"What garage are you parked at?" she asked.
"In Hoboken. The 2nd one on Hudson St."
"Oh, I'm also parked there. What level are you on?"
"The third."
"Me, too!"
Turns out she was parked just across from my car. When she got to the garage she saw my keys lying under a book on the passenger seat, and called to let me know.

The Great Writer

2005-12-27T14:41:00.000-05:00

The power cord on my cable modem at home doesn't seem to be working, and so I have no Internet. I'm currently surfing the net at work--most people are out of the office this week and it's nice and quiet.

I dated a girl named Mary in college. She was the most talented writer I knew. Mary was an 18 year old freshman and I was a 22 year old senior. Despite being an English major I was still a neophyte when it came to good writing(hated The Great Gatsby and On the Road back then). Mary would proudly show me her term papers (professor remarks read like, "You should be at Harvard or Oxford, not here!") and have me read over them. The problem was that I couldn't understand her papers. The writing was well over my head. Mary would get all frustrated because I couldn't comment on her stuff and I usually didn't bother to finish reading. Then she'd cry. I'd futilely try to explain that it was useless for me to read her papers as I couldn't understand what the hell she was writing.

Mary was a psychology major and I had to convince her into changing to English or Journalism. She was a born writer. But as great a writer as Mary was I always felt there might be a problem. She lacked imagination. She took a short story course and the professor felt most of her stories were publishable. I hated her stories. They seemed more geared for children's magazines than great works of art. Of course she was only 18 at the time and had yet to live, but I still wonder. It's been many years since I last heard from Mary. After we split up we briefly wrote and called for a few years until it eventually ceased for good back in 1993. In the last letter I received from her she wrote that she had won a writing contest in Philadelphia and was given a tour of Veterans Stadium.

I always thought while we were dating that we'd make a great writing team. I have a great imagination and she had the great writing skills. Together we could have written some great stuff.

I've always had such a hard time writing what I think is good stuff. It takes many hours and rewrites and I get extremely frustrated. I'd watch Mary write an "A" paper in 20 minutes. Her first drafts were usually the only drafts. But I've never seen her name anywhere in print. Maybe she never did expand her imagination. But I get jealous of someone with the skills that she had. I've always felt that I was meant to be a writer. I do have a great imagination and definitely have some book worthy moments in life. I've tried to live my life to the Jim Morrison quote, "Did you have a good world when you died? Enough to base a movie on?" So if writing is meant to be my calling, then why do I struggle so much with it? It could be because most people struggle until they hone their skills. Including the best writers.

I look back at Mary's life at 18 and think about how she got to be so good. She was ALWAYS reading. If she spent time at my parents' house (she lived in Philly and I was in NY) I'd find her in the mornings curled up in bed reading something from my mom's bookshelf. She was such a nerd in high school that she went to vocabulary parties(she really did) instead of drinking and sex parties. Of course all that changed once she got to college.

I read a lot growing up and was very advanced for my age in reading. Then something happened in my teen years and I stopped. I'm not sure why. I've tried to analyze this to find some sort of answer. My reading skills diminished and my vocabulary stopped growing. Maybe it had something to do with my family becoming extremely dysfunctional. I was very unhappy during my teen years. I don't know if that's why I stopped reading, but it's a thought. My studying English in college had nothing to do with love of literature. It was just a quick, easy way out of having to study too hard. But it did teach me to think and analyze life. I obviously began reading more at this point, but not enough. It wasn't until a few years ago that I consciously decided I needed to improve my vocabulary and my mind. I began reading about 30-40 books a year. My vocabulary has improved tenfold and I just feel so much more intelligent. But I wonder how I might have turned out had I not stopped reading way back when. Would I have been as great a writer as Mary? Can I still be that good if I keep reading and continue working on my writing? I hope so.

Signs of Old

2005-12-23T21:20:00.000-05:00

As a kid I used to love playing with bugs. I suppose most kids are like that. My friends and I had a blast playing with insects, worms and other creepy-crawlies. I even got a bug collecting kit for Christmas one year. Today I'm scared to death of bugs. I'm such a wimp that if I see one in the house I yell for Sera to come and kill it. And I have the feeling I'm not the only one who went through this transformation. So when did the moment come in life when bugs went from fun playthings to frighteningly ugly monsters?

I've often pondered this question and am still debating about whether to include this little idea into my book. It's not like one day I just decided to be afraid of bugs. But when did I go from having fun with them to being terrified? I have no idea. Is this the definitive point when your childhood is officially over...the moment when fun becomes fear?

Christmas was obviously my favorite holiday as a child. (If you read my last post you're probably wondering why a Jewish kid was celebrating Christmas--it's just another part of how crazy my whole life is). I'd make a huge list of things I wanted and count the days until the big day arrived. I didn't sleep more than a couple of hours on Christmas Eve. When family ask me today what I'd like I reply, "Nuthin'." And it's the truth. There's really nothing that I want. Is this another sign of getting old? My parents always get frustrated with me at this time of year.
"There must be something you want," they'd say. But why must there be something I want? Maybe what I want can't be bought at the mall. I want to travel. I want to experience other cultures. I want the world to be peaceful and happy. I want those I love to be healthy.

But in the end I acquiesce, if only to appease them, and tell them clothes. Clothes! That was every kid's nightmare gift. And now that's what I ask for. It's even a struggle with Sera. I told her today to get me some books--Charles Bukowski and Doug Coupland. I guess it's a good sign when there's nothing material that I want.

But all this goes back to my original question: when did I start getting old?

Xmas in Hell

2005-12-23T19:45:00.000-05:00

Okay, I've done it again. Two days before Christmas and I've yet to buy anything. We got out of work at 2 to get some last minute shopping done. The mall is a mile from my job so I thought I could just swing by there on the way home. Hmm...To start with, lots and lots of traffic. Took me 30 minutes to get there. Got into a bit of road rage with a woman. I didn't want to pass through a green light because the cars were backed up and it would have caused gridlock. The woman behind me kept blaring her horn. I gave her the finger. Sorry, but she deserved it. I'm driving safely and thoughtfully(I would never intentionally cause gridlock) and this stupid selfish woman kept honking. After I gave her the finger she gives it right back! So of course I flipped her off again. I so wanted to block her in and not move my car. But it's just not worth it.

So I get to the Barnes & Noble to get the books Sera asked for. But, of course, they didn't have the whole set. I left and head for Target to get some other gifts. But traffic was just backed up too far. I thought "to hell with this" and took some backroads to get home. I'd go to Target later tonight. But the backroads were all backed up and it took another 30 minutes to get home. I spent 90 minutes in hell and got nothing. I'm going out in a few minutes to the Target to see if I can find anything Sera asked for. Or maybe I'll give in and go to Wal-Mart. I hate Wal-Mart with immense passion. They're destroying the US. I eschew their stores at all costs. But I'm very tired right now and they're so close to home.

So isn't Christmas just wonderful? I know, I know. This is all my fault for waiting so long to go shopping. And I do this every year. You'd think one of these times I'd learn.

I can't decide if I should write "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays." You wouldn't think it should be such a big deal, right? Well get this: I work for the newspaper in Orlando. One of my tasks at work is handling Christmas donations to help underprivileged children get presents. The fund used to be called the Christmas campaign. But due to PC reasons it was changed to Holiday compaign(why someone in technology is doing this I still don't know). We've received several letters of complaint about this change, but one takes the cake. A woman wrote that she would not donate until we changed the name back. It MUST have the word "Christmas" in it--the only true Americans are Christians, and all Christians observe Christmas. She only buys presents from stores that say "Christmas" in their window. Can you believe that? So screw all the poor kiddies this year unless the name of the fund is changed. That's the holiday spirit!

At the risk of offending TRUE Christians I will wish everyone a Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Hannuaka(you know, I'm actually Jewish and I still don't know how to spell that) and anything else you may follow.

The Future's So Bright...

2005-12-22T11:33:00.000-05:00

Last week I got to thinking about how lucky animals (non-humans) are in that they don't keep track of time. I'm sure many observe the changes in seasons, but they don't worry about their age or life expectancy. I think we're cursed in that aspect. It's disheartening to think my cats won't be around as long as us, but they're so blessed in that they don't know that. They live moment to moment without a care or concern about tomorrow; they don't dwell on yesterday.

And then I finished a great book that deals with this point on a much larger scale--Douglas Coupland's "Girlfriend in a Coma." One issue it dwells on is that humans are the only animal that keeps track of history. We're the only ones concerned with the future. But are we meant to do this? The human mind cannot really grasp anything further than 50 years into the future or 100 years into the past. Have you ever wrestled with the concept of when the universe first began, and then what was there before it? Your mind just can't handle it. "Girlfriend in a Coma" put it quite simply: the universe is just the universe. There's no point in measuring how old it is. We weren't meant to keep track of time in such a manner.

But the main question the book asks is this: are we really progressing as humans? The more advanced we become, the more unhappier we are. Technology is advancing at lightning speed: as you try to catch up you only fall further behind. More and more people are feeling lost as a result. I work in technology and it's a never ending learning process. Java was huge--now it's dying. Dot Net is huge now. But by the time I learn that it'll be dying. I'll never be caught up. And that's a microcosm for all society. We're advancing so fast that most people are stressed and unhappy that they're getting left behind. Imagine what life was like 50 years ago. If you wanted a job you could look in the paper, make a phone call and be interviewed right over the phone. You might be hired within minutes. Today you fax a resume to a number (many times the company doesn't even identify themselves) and hope they even receive it. Chances are you may be qualified and not even get a call back. You're just lost in oblivion with hundreds of other resumes. Things were simpler back then, and I have a feeling there were more happy people.

I just feel like I'm not living the life I'm supposed to live. I work in technology but I'm beginning to hate it. At least what it's doing to us. Things appear to be simpler on the surface: on-line banking, e-mail. It's hard to picture life without the Internet. Granted the information you can find there in minutes can be priceless. And being able to communicate with people from around the world for virtually nothing is amazing. But when I compare my life now to that before the Internet, I realize I was much happier then. I got out more. I didn't feel the need to learn HTML, Java, all the dot net languages, Flash, Photoshop. I didn't worry about identity theft, hackers, worms and viruses.

And it's not just the Internet. I have digital cable with over 250 channels and DVR. This package combined with high speed Internet costs $100 a month. I have 2 computers, each with 2 hard drives and dual boot operating systems, linked to a network at home. I feel like I always have to keep up with the Joneses.

I wish I could have a job where I could reach a certain level of expertise and be done with it. That will never happen in technology. And it's not just the technology field. Most jobs today require computer skills--and it's a never ending process. I remember when Wordperfect and Lotus were huge. Now it's MS Office. Many fields are becoming obsolete because of technology. It's forcing more and more people to switch careers at a point in their lives when they should be comfortable. I switched several years ago to technology because it was so lucrative. Now everyone's doing it and it's hard to find anything worthwhile. And everyone spends so much time learning what's new and improved that we have little time for the things that really matter: such as life itself. I don't see an end to this. I have to study all these damn new programs only to find that something new and better will be coming out shortly.

My point is that I don't want to worry about the future. I don't like spending so much time planning for my future that I can't even enjoy the present. Why do I even have to know that I'm getting older? I look at my cats and I envy them so much. For them the sun goes up and then it goes down. They don't know they're getting older. They don't worry about the future and they don't dwell on the past. I really wonder if we're the only species that does this.

We're always in such a hurry. Life is moving so fast that we'll all be in our graves before we know it. I want to slow down so much. But how? It seems you can't function in the first world without technology. You won't be able to communicate with the outside world. You'll get stuck behind with your head under water. I want life to be simple again. And I want to do it my way. Who knows--maybe my book will get published and I can finally live my life the way I want.

Gina Part Three

2005-12-16T18:21:00.000-05:00

"I love you," I tell Gina, although we've only known each other a few hours.

She smiles. Her eyes glisten.

"I mean...I don't really LOVE you. But I love you." I sound like a confused fourteen year old.

"Yes, I know what you mean," she says haughtily. "You don't have to explain."

"We should meet some time. Somewhere neutral, where I don't have to pay you to talk to me."

Gina's eyes widen at my proposal. My heart races, partly because I want her to say 'yes' and partly because I'm shocked at my own audacity. After all, I am married. Nothing good can possibly come out of us meeting.

"Hmm," she moans. "I can't believe I'm even considering this."

I want to tell her to forget it. That I know this is just a fantasy world that's not meant to collide with reality. I want to pull away from her steely eyes and sensuous crimson lips, those full swollen lips I crave to press against mine as her soft slippery tongue thrusts in and out of my mouth, probing and penetrating deeper and harder until her wetness becomes mine and we are one.

I snap back into focus. Gina stares deeply into me, manipulating my mind. "It'll be fun," I suggest. "We can just sit at a bar and have a couple of drinks."

"I definitely don't want to go to a bar," she says. "I drink in here every day. It would have to be someplace else. And I don't mean my place, either."

"Well, we can't go to my place." My mind races in search of the perfect meeting spot. A place where we can relax incognito. Where we can be ourselves.
"I know a great place," I announce. "It's an alternative video store that serves drinks from around the world and has live acoustic music. It's small, dark and relaxing."

"Oh my God," she says. "I know the place. Stardust Video!"

Stardust Video looks like a typical Amsterdam hash bar. Cozy and dark with low wood ceilings. An illuminated cake display at the front counter. A frig behind the counter featuring exotic drinks from around the world. An eclectic crowd of hipsters in dreads, poet wannabes and dreamers. A place you'd expect to be able to casually light up a joint and puff away while analyzing Keroauc and Bukowski.

"Wow," she says. "I can't believe how much we have in common. And this should convince you that I like you. I've only met one other person from here, and that was when I was 19."

"How old are you now?"

"27. But I took a few years off from this. I came back two years ago." Gina strokes my hand, never taking her eyes off mine, never releasing me. I feel weightless, like I'm freefalling into an abyss.

"But I won't sleep with you," I state authoratively. I still have enough sense to announce this.

Gina's tilts her head back and laughs. "Don't worry." Her sensuous red lips purse. "But we can always kiss. I'd love to kiss those lips of yours."

My heart thumps in panic mode. Just stop this, I say to myself. It's going too far. There is no way you are going to kiss this girl. This stripper who only wants to corrupt my mind...and my morality.

"After all, kissing isn't really cheating."

Kissing isn't really cheating. The hallowed cry of the adulterer. The words echo as I wrestle with the logic. Kissing is something I first tried when I was seven. But seven year olds are innocent, so therefore kissing must be innocent.

"You're right," I say.

My response rings loudly through my head; loud enough for Tom and his playmates to stop flirting and look over; for the hostess who was walking by at just that moment to pause by our table; for the flames in Gina's eyes to dance with delight.

She leans over and kisses me firmly on the lips. I taste her sticky strawberry lip gloss. She pulls back and grins. "There'll be a lot more of that when we meet. And more passionate. I can't really kiss in here. It's against the rules." Gina leans in to my ear and whispers, "I want to taste your mouth."

I'm quiver like a frightened child. "Can you do that again?" I ask meekly. Gina looks around to make sure management isn't watching and leans in for another kiss. A soft, moist liplock as she gently bites my lower lip. I feel a throbbing in my pants. My cell phone. I pull back and pull it out.

"You have a call," Gina says, grinning.
I hand the phone to her without looking at the caller. There's no need. "It's for you," I tell her.
For once Gina is the one who looks lost.
"Go on," I say, pressing the 'receive' button, "answer it."

"Hello? ......This is Gina, who's this?......Oh, hi. Sure, he's right here."
Gina passes the phone back.
It's Sera.

But Sera is the coolest wife in the world. She doesn't mind that I go to strip clubs. It's natural for men to want to look at other women. And for women to look at other men. You're only lying and cheating yourself if you deny this fact of life. We can look all we want and openly talk about people we find "hot." Honesty is what keeps a relationship together. I tell Sera everything...almost everything. I tell her a little bit about my predicament. How Tom coaxed me into coming and now he's too drunk to drive. I tell her about Gina. That Gina's keeping me company while Tom flirts with all the women. Isn't it nice of her to do that? We chat for a few minutes before she lets me get back.

"Let me give you my phone number," I tell Gina as the evening shift girls begin arriving. It's night time now and I've been sitting with her for seven hours. Our only breaks have been when she has had to dance on stage--for two songs every 45 minutes. I get upset when someone comes over and stuffs a dollar into her garter. But when she's done she forces a fake smile for the others and comes directly back to me. It's been this way all day.

But now it's time to go. Gina's shift is ending.
"Do you have a business card?" she asks.
I fumble through my wallet although I know I don't. I stopped carrying business cards because I hated to think of myself as the type of person who would need a business card. I hate thinking of myself as being in any type of business. I don't like to be categorized or labeled and reduced to a faceless name and title on a pompous little card.

"Can I just give you my number on a napkin or something?"

"Sweetie, that would look too obvious. You'd need to sneak a card into my hand or garter. You'll have to come back again and have a card ready for me."
I'm desperate to give her something...anything with my name and number. But I have nothing.
Gina leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. Her eyes sparkle as her gaze meets mine. "Bring a card next time. I promise I'll call."
She slides out and walks back towards the dressing room. I watch her shadowy figure as it slowly fades from view...until it disappears into the darkness.

Outside in the parking lot it is night. Tom has sobered up some, but is probably still too drunk to drive. But all sense of reason was lost many hours and promises ago. The drive home is a blurry sea of red taillights.
"Did you have a good time?," Tom asks with a conspiratorial grin.

I nod.

"I met this really hot girl with schoolteacher glasses," he says. "Man, I don't even remember her name. She's Hot For Teacher!"
He turns to me and says, "You know we have to go back now. I've gotta see this girl again. You're gonna come back with me, right?"

I don't want to come back. I'm no longer a simple bystander. I've become a key player in this emotional chess game.

"Sure," I say, trying not to sound too interested. "I'll come back with you. Just remind me to bring a business card next time."

Xmas in New York

2005-12-13T18:27:00.000-05:00

There has not been one single day since I left NYC in 2001 where I have ever yearned to return. They just had a blizzard a few days ago while temps are in the 60's here in Florida. I love Florida. But I do have a slight problem. It's difficult to get in the spirit of Christmas down here. It looks tacky seeing the streets lined with decorations of snowflakes and Christmas trees when it's typically in the 70's and people are in shorts.

Although I no longer live in NYC, I will always be a New Yorker. And this is that one time of year when it's good to be there (except for the cold and snow). People are friendlier this time of year. They're smiling and not so concerned to be in a hurry. It's always exciting to look at the storefront Christmas displays along 5th Avenue. It makes you feel like a child again, no matter how ambitious you are. Everyone slowly takes in the displays saying "oooh," and "aaah."

Rockefeller Center is at its most beautiful. The Xmas tree stretches deep into the night, illuminating the ice rink below. Funny--when Sera first moved to NY she thought the tree grew there naturally! Trumpeting snow angels line the pedestrian plaza from the tree to St. Patrick's Cathedral. I loved strolling down the avenues just beaming at all the decorations. I can't picture a city that's decorated any more festive than New York at Xmas. Miles and miles of lights, wreaths, and all the trimmings.

Meanwhile here in Orlando the only reminder I have that it's Xmas are the television commercials. I'd like to do something Christmasy here this year. My options are drastically limited--there's no snow or ice. Maybe I'll shoot over to Disney or Universal and see what they have going on. But, boy, I'd love to be in NYC right now.

Bit of Trauma

2005-12-12T18:00:00.000-05:00

Just when I was writing every day on the final draft of my book, life got in the way. First impending layoffs at work caused some depression. Then when I learned I wasn't getting cut, one of my cats became seriously ill last week. I'm a HUGE animal lover, and was absolutely traumatized by this. Couldn't sleep or eat while he was in the hospital.

We met him during the early days of our relationship. He was just 10 weeks old at the time (a little stray kitten living in our bushes), and it's now many years later. We've been together during our extended stay in New Jersey, our temporary residence in Virginia and now Florida. He stayed with relatives in Maryland during our Round-The-World trip. He's an integral part of our family and has been a stabilizing force during our up and down periods. So to come home one night and find him listless and depressed was horrifying for us.

Our little friend spent two nights in a hospital, during which time I couldn't sleep. I took two days off from work to deal with this. But he's back home now and on medication, so we're hoping and praying that he'll be okay. I haven't been able to write during this time, but hopefully I will soon. Sera thinks the cat is doing better than I am at the moment. He runs around and plays like normal, while I can't sleep or eat from worry-"does he look okay?" "Is he drinking enough water?" "Is he drinking too much water?". So right now I'm just relaxing and trying to get myself better. I'm hoping to continue the final draft of my book tomorrow. 'Til then.

Attack of the Library Books

2005-12-06T18:16:00.000-05:00

Back from a short hiatus. Had to defeat a brief bout of depression, what with layoffs at work and my struggles with my book. But now I'm feeling better.

Anyway, I've been getting stressed lately about my library book problems. The Orlando library just makes it too easy for someone like me. I log on to their website, find the book I want and click "Submit." And viola! They deliver the book to my doorstep. So I spend part of my work day browsing Amazon.com for reviews of interesting novels. If something looks good I'll order it from the library website. The problem is that I can't stop doing this. I now have 18 books out. There's no way I can read all these in time. I'm limited by the number of times I can renew a book and I'll soon be forced to return some. My problem also lies in the fact that I can't go to a bookstore without buying several more. Or I may even go to Amazon and order a used book at a cheap price. I've stacked all the books that I've recently purchased and ordered from the library on my coffeetable. They total 37 books!

I want to read the new books I buy but feel pressured to read the library ones first. I'd get excited about finishing a few novels and returning them, only to have several more arrive in the following days. I just can't reduce the books I have out. So the other day I decided to return the majority of the books I have out since I can always take them out again later. The idea sounds great, until I went back to their site and ordered a couple of more books. And then I found another one on my doorstep this morning. I just can't control myself.

It's funny: I just finished Wally Lamb's "She's Come Undone," in which one of the characters loses his teaching job. He decides to spend the next few months catching up on reading the "classics" in order to improve his writing skills so that he can become a writer. I'd love to do that. Only I can't afford to at the moment.

Charles Bukowski quit his job at the post office to write. He then wrote 10-35 pages a night while drinking, and finished his book "Post Office" in 21 days. But I can't do that. I need the stability of a job in order to write. If I was unemployed and running out of cash I'd be too panicked to write. It's a Catch-22: I can't find the time to write enough, but if I had the time I'd be too worried about finances to write.

The Classics

2005-11-29T18:08:00.000-05:00

I just finished reading Graham Greene's "The Heart of the Matter," a brilliant and thought-provoking novel. I mainly chose to read it because it was on Time's Top 100, and because Paul Theroux always raves about Greene. But as it is a classic, it made me think: just what makes a book classifiable as "classic?"

Does the story have to effectively touch on social and moral issues that not only reflect the time period it's written in, but also of future generations? Classics seem to be a dying breed; I'm not sure what would be considered a classic in today's genre. But as for those considered to be classics, many wouldn't even be published today. I can't see "The Heart of the Matter" finding a large enough audience in today's market to warrant publishing. About 15 years ago the New York Post submitted the novel "The Yearling" to several New York publishers--and they all turned it down(none recognized the story). They claimed it was rejected on the basis that there was just no market for it. It wouldn't sell today. Young people don't want a novel about a boy and a deer. They want Harry Potter.

Who decides whether or not a book is a classic? Herman Melville's "Moby Dick" was ridiculed during his time as a writer, but suddenly became popular 30 years after his death and is now regarded as a classic. Why the sudden change and what groups of literary elite made this discovery?

I'm also curious about today's classics--mainly, what are they? I used to consider a book a classic based on whether or not there were Cliff's Notes available for them. If there was enough interest in a book to create a marketable analysis then it must be a classic (I say this tongue in cheek). There were many classics in the '50's and 60's--"To Kill a Mockingbird," "Catcher in the Rye," "Catch-22," just to name a few. I wasn't around during that time period, but it seems as though those novels were regarded as instant classics. But what about from the 1970's forward? Are there any out there? Stephen King has definitely been the most prolific writer since the '70's, but as one of my college profs firmly stated, "he's entertaining, but he's not a great writer." But yet another prof said it may be too early to judge King; he may be deemed a classic author in 100 years. Look at Edgar Allen Poe. Poe's stories dig deep into the human psyche, so they're not simply classified as "horror." But couldn't the same be said about King's "The Stand?"

A friend once predicted that Tom Wolfe's "Bonfire of the Vanities" was destined to become a classic. But I've barely heard mention of the novel in the last 15 years. It seems to have faded after the poor Brian De Palma film. A few modern authors that I personally view as being possible "classic" worthy are Jeffrey Eugenides, Jay McInerney(if only for "Bright Lights Big City"), and possibly Bret Easton Ellis. But that's just my humble opinion. I'm sure there are many others (Alice Walker, Amy Tan, Joyce Carol Oates) that people would put on their list.

I went to the Cliff's Notes website today to see if I could find any synopses of modern novels. I was surprised to find Amy Tan's "The Joy Luck Club" on their list. I've never read it, but is it regarded as a classic? Is there another way to judge what books today can be thought of as belonging in this elite category? Or maybe classic novels are like Broadway--whose heyday died 40 years ago.

Survivor

2005-11-29T17:49:00.000-05:00

Today was the BIG day at work. Layoffs. Luckily I managed to escape the chopping block. Everyone in my little group was spared. A woman in another group that's linked to us was let go. After 19 years. The upside is that the company gives 2 weeks of severance for every year of service. That's 38 weeks. She's the type to go out and immediately look for another job. I'm not. I would take off for 2 months, travel, then look for work.

But this time of uncertainty has provided another wake-up call. I've got to get moving on my book...on my life. I've gotta be in control of my destiny. I can't live in fear of having the "higher ups" determine my fate.

Happy Holidays from Big Corporate!

2005-11-22T18:08:00.000-05:00

My company decided to give us an extra special bonus for the holidays this year--they announced that layoffs will be imminent! Woo-hoo! That's such great timing, isn't it? What with Thanksgiving and Xmas just around the corner. If that doesn't spread the ol' holiday cheer then I don't know what.

Yes, the first word of this came last week. Our sister companies in L.A., Chicago, New York and Baltimore have already begun laying people off. Our company, however, has not. We've only been told to expect it to come soon. If you're a "chosen one" you will be called in to a manager's office first thing in the morning on that very special day and then led down to HR. Then I assume it's a security escort out of the building!

So now we all just sit around acting all gloomy at work. My boss has told our group that we should be okay, but really, what does he know? My belief is that they'll start on the Monday after Thanksgiving. That way we can enjoy our turkey dinner with a stomach full of anxiety and depression--great way to spend the day with your family. Okay, so I don't see my family on Thanksgiving. Or Xmas. Or any other time of year for that matter. But that's another story and besides the point. Others at work do enjoy seeing their families. But just in case some of us have tried to put it out of our minds, big corporate decides to send out another cheerful holiday e-mail today reminding us not to worry--there's still plenty more layoffs to come!! If you haven't gotten yours yet, just sit tight.

Sera, the eternal optimist, said, "if you do get laid off you'll have a lot more time to work on your book." Of course there will probably be an initial period of depression, after which I will be able to continue writing.

But in the meantime fear has filled me with an extra dose of adrenaline to get cracking on my book. This whole message from big corporate just reaffirms the notion that I need to be in control of my own life. I don't want the holidays to be ruined because some multi-millionaire CEOs have decided to do away with the lower peasants while they continue to relish their 7 figure salaries.

So I have been working on the final version of my book. It's very difficult work laboring over each paragraph to make sure it comes out well. I'm struggling with the patience for that(at least the first draft is complete). But it's even more difficult for me to judge what's good and what's not. I'll write a few paragraphs, then get too carried away with description. Sera will read it and put me back into place.

"You're story is meant to be fast-paced, like someone's talking to you. All that description takes the reader off-track," she says. At first I'll sulk and say "admit it, my writing is terrible." But after a good pep talk I'll realize that Sera is right and I go back and edit. Then she'll read it and say, "that's much better. Now it's great stuff." But I can't tell what the hell is great stuff. I mean I can read Fitzgerald and Henry Miller and think, "wow, that REALLY is great stuff." And then I look at my writing and it reads like, "the cat jumped over the dog."

Sera tells me I'm my own worst enemy when it comes to writing. When something of mine is published I'm all exuberant and proud. But then when I read the printed version I'm embarrassed by its inferiority and don't show it to anyone. Other times I'll write stuff that I really do think is good and it gets rejected. What am I supposed to think about all that? I really don't have a clue. But I do know that even if my novel turns out to be trash, at least I'll have a finished book. And that's another question I've got. Sera just showed me where a "novel" specifically refers to fiction. All these years and I never knew this. My book is non-fiction and therefore I can't refer to it as a novel. I'm not going to refer to it as a "memoir" or biography. What can I call this thing? I think I'll just stick with "novel" and to hell with anyone who contradicts me.

Top Lists

2005-11-19T11:30:00.000-05:00

I notice that top 10 and 100 lists always seem to pop up, and it makes me wonder who really has the authority to create such lists. The lists are really just a matter of opinion of a few people that I may or may not disagree with. But as long as everyone agrees that those lists are just a matter of opinion, then they can be kind of fun.

I've always had a dislike for Rolling Stone magazine (they're obviously biased towards most major artists--how can they justify giving five stars to the vastly subpar Pink Floyd "The Final Cut" and to every Rolling Stones album in the '90s, while consistenly panning every Led Zeppelin album ever?) But I've noticed that in efforts to boost sales they will periodically come up with a Top 100 of this or that. I recall the frenzy when they came out with the Top 100 albums of all time back in the late 1980's. Though I agree with their No. 1 choice of The Beatles' "Sgt. Pepper," I lost all respect for the list with their inclusion of The Sex Pistols' "Never Mind The Bollocks" and Paul Simon's "Graceland" in the top 10. I've always been a fan of the Pistols, and especially their lone classic album, but seriously--the No. 2 album of all time? And while Simon's "Graceland" was great for what it did in spreading awareness about Apartheid, I find it difficult to swallow as one of the 10 greatest EVER.

Time recently published their Top 100 books (narrowing the field to English language since the magazine's inception in 1923). I felt quite the erudite in seeing I had read 19 of their top 100, but also a bit dismayed in their exclusion of some others I love.

I've always been serious about my Top 10 lists of favorites, even going so far as ending relationships if the girl didn't fully feel the emotion of my favorite all-time films. One thick-headed girl actually walked out on "The Graduate," claiming it was by far Dustin Hoffman's worst film (her fav was the "timeless" classic "The Legend of Billie Jean"). There are times when I fantasize about finding her just to proudly show how "The Graduate" came in at No. 7 in AFI's Top 100 greatest films of all time. But common sense and reason always prevail with the reality that she's probably no smarter today than she was all those years ago, and probably wouldn't give a damn.

But I figure for what it's worth (probably very little in my opinion) I'd list my top 5 favorites in select categories. I feel a bit like Rob in "High Fidelity."

Top 5 favorite books:
1.Lolita
2.The Catcher in the Rye
3.Catch-22
4.One Hundred Years of Solitude
5.The Beach

Top 5 favorite films:
1.The Graduate--fell in love with it when I saw it at age 13 and have never looked back.

2.Midnight Cowboy--one of the most vivid depictions of New York, and now serves as a trip back in time into the sleaze of Times Square back in the '60s/'70s.

3.Taxi Driver--also incredibly vivid depiction of NY in the '70s, but also incredible to watch Travis Bickle slowly go from confused to outright insane.

4.Risky Business--many are stunned when I mention this as a top five. But I've also seen it written up as a modern day version of "The Graduate." It really is a film as opposed to a "movie." Watch it some time late at night with all the lights out and no distractions. It's incredible.

5.Cinema Paradiso--the most beautiful film I've ever seen.

Top 5 Albums:
1. The Beatles "Sgt. Pepper": there had never been anything like this at the time it came out, and it changed the music scene. From the opening theatrics of the title song to the haunting close of "A Day in the Life."

2. The Doors first album: Has there ever been another debut album that created such a rippling effect on the world? The band ventured to go beyond the three minute ditties that bombarded airwaves at the time and literally broke on through and dared the listener to do the same with songs like "Light My Fire," and the disturbing finale "The End."

3. Pink Floyd "The Wall": a remarkable biographical double album morphing the lives of Roger Waters and ill-fated Syd Barrett. Not only is the story itself fascinating, but Waters managed to put it all to brilliant lyrics and music.

4. The Rolling Stones "Sticky Fingers": this is like no other Stones album. Many fans and critics always point to "Exile On Main Street," but I've always preferred this one. "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" is simply brilliant with the raunchy guitar and chorus in the first half, followed by the jazzy horns in the second half, all building in crescendo to its explosive finale. "Dead Flowers" is a nice twangy sing-along, plus the timeless "Brown Sugar," and "Bitch."

5. Led Zeppelin 4: I thought about not including this one because it's so overplayed on the radio, but is that really the band's fault? It's really just a testament to its brilliance. Everyone's favorite song in high school in the '70s and '80s was "Stairway to Heaven." You just weren't cool if you didn't say it. It must be the most overplayed song never released as a single--overplayed to the point where I find myself turning stations when I hear it (was very thankful they didn't play it on the Page/Plant tour 10 years ago). But I can never get sick of "Rock and Roll" and "The Battle of Evermore."

Top 5 songs:
1. The Doors: Riders on the Storm
2. Bob Dylan: Knockin' on Heaven's Door
3. Don Henley: Boys of Summer: This song has haunted me since I first heard it back in 1984.
4. The Rolling Stones: Midnight Rambler(live version): some songs are better live, and this is possibly the best of them. Especially love the fan yelling out "God damn!" in the middle.
5. The Eagles: Hotel California: just a work of genius from start to finish.

Top 5 concerts I've been to:
1. John Mellencamp: Back in the '80s he outperformed them all. I used to have an old news clipping that the New York Post wrote about one of his shows. It proclaimed he was better live than the Stones, Pink Floyd or any other biggies. And it was true. He's slowed down since then, and still puts on a good show. But back then there was no one like him live. Two sets, great covers like "Like a Rolling Stone" and "Under the Boardwalk." Pulling someone out of the crowd to sing "Pink Houses" with him. He and his band had a great time on stage and the energy and enthusiasm rubbed off on the crowd. Mellencamp actually put on the two best concerts I've ever been to: Thanksgiving Night 1987 at Madison Square Garden(10th row) and then in June of 1988 at the Meadowlands (now Continental Airlines Arena)--had front row.

2.The Black Crowes at the Beacon Theater, March 1995: Waited five years to see this band after I got frustrated and walked off a line to see them at London's historic Marquee in 1990. I've seen them 5 times since, and though it's always a great time none have compared to this performance.

3. AC/DC, Nassau Coliseum, Sept. 1986: Had never seen such a show before, with cannons firing, a giant bell and just the fun of watching Angus Young. A band that really knows how to put on a show.

4. Bob Dylan/Sheryl Crow at Roseland, September, 1994: Had seen Dylan in the past and was somewhat disappointed (as many are by his terrible voice and lack of enthusiasm on stage these days). But I loved Sheryl Crow's debut album and mainly went for her. She put on a great show herself, but Dylan was on top of his act this night. The VIP section was full of stars: Bruce Springsteen and his wife, Allen Ginsberg, Steven Wright, GE Smith, Ric Ocasek and his wife, Paulina, Neil Young. Perhaps this is what led Dylan to go the extra mile at this show. Roseland is a tiny place, and the stars were literally 20 feet from me. It was as much fun to stargaze as it was to watch the iconesque Dylan perform. The crowd was into the entire show. Dylan was joined by Springsteen and Neil Young for the encore of "Rainy Day Women," and "Highway 61." I've seen Dylan several times since (always playing with the Dead), and this was the only time I ever saw him enjoying himself and smiling. You couldn't help but smile watching Springsteen fumble with the guitar during "Rainy Day Women" while Neil Young tried to show him the chords. And then having a thousand fans singing "Everybody Must Get Stoned" along with these stars was especially memorable.

5. The Rolling Stones, July 1990 in Turin, Italy: I had fulfilled a fantasy of finally seeing the Stones, twice, on their Steel Wheels tour at Shea Stadium in Oct. 1989. Though my seats were very far away, it didn't matter. It was the Rolling Stones and it was my dream to see them. But in the summer of 1990 I was backpacking through Europe when I happened to see a poster for the Stones in Italy. I took a French girl I was seeing to the show, and it turned out to be a lesson in cultural differences between the US and Italy. The concert was at a large soccer stadium with general admission seating. In the US a Stones show with general admission would surely result in a stampede with several deaths. We got to the arena early and I was surprised when we were able to casually walk up to the front and sit. There was no one else around us.
"Are we allowed to sit here?" I asked my g/f.
"Of course," she replied.
Others were at the concession stands buying food and drinks, or just milling about and chatting with one another.
"Back home people would kill for these seats."
"Well that's stupid," she said. "It's just a concert."
And she was obviously right.

The stage was half the size it had been in the US, allowing a more personalized show. And since I had seen them twice, I knew what songs were usually coming up. At one such point I yelled out, "let Keith sing!" The Italians in our area began yelling it out with me, and got excited when Mick Jagger then announced, "I'm going to let Keith sing now." I kept yelling for them to play "The Midnight Rambler," and when the finally did my fellow Italian friends erupted in a frenzy(I doubt they had ever heard of the song.) During the encore break the stadium chanted an Italian song, and Mick Jagger joined in when the band returned. It was one of the most memorable nights I've ever had.

6. Aerosmith/Deep Purple/Guns 'N Roses, Aug. 1988 at Giants Stadium: Sorry, I just had to make room for this show. Aerosmith was on their comeback tour for "Permanent Vacation." Guns 'N Roses had just exploded with "Appetite For Destruction," and Deep Purple was there just to make an already great concert even better. GNR filmed the "Paradise City" video at this show; this was pre-Axl whining like a baby days, and they put on a fantastic performance. Deep Purple shot colored lasers into the night sky while jamming for two hours. Aerosmith didn't even get on stage until 11:30, and played until the wee hours of the morning. It was over 7 hours of great music.

South Beach and U2

2005-11-17T19:51:00.000-05:00

Sera and I spent last weekend in Miami, our first time there. We were excited to see South Beach, and had images of glistening hard-toned bodies, women with supermodel figures--the types of people that would make you feel intimidated and insecure at the beach. Instead we saw the real reason South Beach needs a Diet--an over-abundance of obese men and women flaunting their rolls in all their glory. Most of the men that were not overweight were wearing speedos, always an unseemly sight.

It was too windy to lay out on the beach, but we enjoyed strolling along the surf while people watching. I was surprised that women would lie out topless with the wind blowing. Sera said, "the sand would really hurt your breasts!"

It was also nice to people watch along Lincoln Avenue, a pedestrian mall featuring lots of outdoor restaurants, trendy shops and boutiques, and tons of gay men walking their little poodles. I always figured there'd be a lot of gays there (the breadth of my knowledge of South Beach comes from "The Birdcage"), but I was surprised we didn't see any gay women.

All in all South Beach was definitely interesting, but not as great as we expected.

But the main reason for our trip was the U2 concert Sunday night. As I wrote in my last entry I felt U2 had become the biggest sellouts. Gone were the days of angst filled songs of protest, the flag waving of "Sunday Bloody Sunday," replaced by the commercialism of cell phone and iPod ads, Bono's "cool" shades, ordering pizzas on stage and techno-pop. "I just hope they play a few of their old songs," Sera kept saying all weekend.

Despite my reservations about the show, I found myself excited with anticipation while waiting for it to begin. I had wanted to see U2 for 20 years, and I was thrilled knowing they would be coming on stage shortly. The stage itself wasn't tacky--just a small spiraling circle(the Vertigo for which the tour is named). There was a small general admission pit in front of the stage. A long, thin ramp wound its way around the main stage, separating the front pit from another general admission pit.

When they finally did come on stage the audience was as loud as any as I've ever heard in my life. It's amazing what kind of presence one band can have on stage. Fans get loud at Rolling Stones concerts, but then there are moments when they settle in and take a seat (usually during songs like, "Miss You," or "The Harlem Shuffle.") But not at the U2 show. No one sat for the entire show and the audience was completely into it from start to finish. And both Sera and I were pleasantly surprised. The band seemed to revert to their old days of playing for a cause. Bono often spoke about peace and what we can do to help stop poverty. They made a statement by playing all their political songs together: "Love and Peace or Else," "Sunday Bloody Sunday," "Bullet the Blue Sky," a short version of "Johnny Comes Marching Home," "Miss Sarajevo," "Where the Streets Have No Name," and "Pride." Bono took off his trademark shades during this segment and wore a headband displaying symbols of all the major religions: the Cross, Star of David, etc. At one point he played the part of a prisoner of war, wearing the headband as a blindfold and needing guidance to find the microphone. At the end of "Sunday Bloody Sunday" he pulled a child out of the audience and had him repeatedly scream "No More!" into the mike. There were no giant lemons, no plethora of giant TV's. U2 allowed their lyrics and music to create the greatest and most everlasting effect.

Another highlight was during the encore when they played, "Stuck in the Moment." It's probably my favorite of theirs from the late '90's era, but I was surprised when Bono announced it was written about Michael Hutchence. I was a big fan of Hutchence in the 1980's, and was fortunate to see INXS when they played at my college on their "Kick" tour.

So I must say that U2 has definitely gained my respect back. And it's funny: I just saw them last night on a commercial for a mobile phone. But instead of thinking of them as sellouts, I now know they still do care and are playing their part in trying to spread an important message to the world.

The Sell Outs

2005-11-11T18:08:00.000-05:00

In the 1980's U2 dominated the world. And I was a big fan. Songs like "With or Without You" and "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" perfectly epitomized my tragic relationships of that time period. I'd listen to the "Joshua Tree" until my record(remember those?) began to crackle. To this day I'm still haunted by the "Rattle and Hum" epic ballad "All I Want Is You." I never saw them in the '80s as I was always away at college when they toured, far from a major city and usually broke.

"Achtung Baby" came out in 1992. It was a bit different from the rest, but they didn't disappoint with the beautiful ballad "One." They came to Madison Square Garden that spring, and for once I would not only be around but had the money. But tickets proved impossible to get. They sold out all their shows in seconds, with most tickets going to corporations and brokers. I called a few brokers and asked, "what kind of seat can I get for $150?" I was told, "you'll be lucky to get in the door and stand by the rafters for that." Decent seats were going for $500. There was no way I was going to pay that. I was willing to do the $150 for nosebleeds until a friend told me the band was no longer playing "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" and "New Year's Day." I wasn't going to pay that much unless I could hear all their hits.

The years went by and U2's albums, in my opinion, became meaningless pop junk. They went from a band with meaning with songs like "Pride" and "Sunday, Bloody Sunday," to techno crap like "Zooropa." Gone were the political flag-waving rants, replaced by leather, giant TV screens and plastic lemons on stage. It was sickening to watch. U2 became perhaps the biggest sellouts in music history.

But despite the fact that I can't stand what has become of this icon of the music industry, I always regretted that I never got to see them in their prime. So when I saw last spring that they were touring the US, I decided to give it a shot. I figured I didn't have a chance at getting tickets, and wasn't going to waste too much time trying. But to my surprise I was able to quickly get tickets for one of their Miami shows, for this Sunday night.

So Sera and I will be making our first trip ever to Miami and making a weekend out of it. We leave tomorrow, and will get our first ever South Beach experience. I have no expectations for the concert, other than the hope that perhaps they'll play a few of my favorites. Thankfully the show is not at an impersonal stadium--there should be no giant TV's, no giant fruits on stage. And after 20 years of waiting I will at last get to see the band I once most yearned to see...or at least what's left of them.

Office Affairs Part One

2005-11-06T10:30:00.000-05:00

"I want to leave my wife," Rob says to me in between swigs of beer.

A group of us from the office are at a club in downtown Orlando. It was supposed to be a couple of beers after work, but it's five hours later. And we've all had a lot to drink.

Rob is a quiet, friendly guy I work with. Comes in early, leaves early. Has those perfect family photos of himself, his wife and two year old son framed around his desk. Of course everyone is smiling in the pics like they're thinking, "life is so perfect for us." That's what I see every day.

This is the first time Rob has gone out with us. I thought he'd come by for a quick beer and then go home. He usually leaves work by 4, leaving the rest of us behind. It's 9 o'clock now and he's been drinking heavily for five hours. And then he stuns me with this revelation.

The confessions flow as freely as the alcohol tonight. "I'm enjoying this," he says. "My wife never lets me out of her sight. We started dating in high school and got married shortly after. I've never gone out drinking with a group of people. And there's so many beautiful girls here. And I'm falling for Kara."

Kara is a young blonde in the office. She and Rob spend a lot of time together--going out to lunch, visiting each other's cubicles. A few people have started gossiping. "Is something going on with Rob and Kara?" they whisper.

But I know the truth. There's nothing going on between Rob and Kara. That's because Kara's been banging my boss, Tom, for the past year. They've kept it secret. Except that Tom likes to boast to me about all his exploits. Kara thinks, or hopes, that she's the only one sleeping with Tom. Tom has made it clear to her that they're not officially "dating," but still doesn't want her to know about the others. And there's plenty of others. In addition to our weekly visits to the strip club Rachel's, he sleeps with about two different girls a week. And it's rarely the same two.

All the guys in my work area tell me, "I wonder if Kara's seeing anyone?" And I have to keep quiet. But lately Rob has been following Kara around like a lost puppy. To the point that rumors have started. And Rob is so quiet that you'd never really expect anything. And he's got all those photos of his wife and child watching him all day. The perfect nuclear family. The type of photos which make me question my own life. Where are my children? Where's my house with the yard? Am I doing something wrong? Everyone around me is so perfect and happy. It makes my stomach twist in knots.

And now Rob tells me he wants to leave his life...his wife. "I envy you," he says.
"Why me?" I ask incredulously.
"Your wife lets you go out whenever you want. You can go to Rachel's and drink with strippers all day. You can go out partying with Tom whenever you want and she doesn't mind. I'm only out because my wife is visiting her parents this weekend. She'd kill me if she found out."

So Rob envies me.

The situation reminds me of when I get my college alumni magazine. All the notices of people I know getting married, having kids, getting promoted. But they never write in about their divorces, their affairs, their alcoholisms.

"And I think I'm falling for Kara," he tells me. "She's so sweet. And she told me she wasn't seeing anybody. The timing would be perfect for me to leave my wife."

I promised Tom I would never tell anyone, but this is too much. I can't let Rob leave his wife...at least not for Kara.

"Rob, I need to tell you something. But you have to swear you won't tell anyone."

A panic-stricken look contorts his face. "Is this going to be bad?"

"Yes, but you need to hear this."

Rob slumps onto one of the bar stools and poises himself for what he probably knew deep down inside.

"Tom and Kara have been doing it for the past year. And I'm sure they'll do it again tonight."

"But that doesn't make sense! I specifically asked her last week about Tom and she told me they were just friends. It doesn't make any sense!"

Rob is visibly shaken. And so he gets another drink. And another. And another. And it's going to be a long night.

After all, we've got a half dozen more clubs to hit tonight. And Kara's going with us to all of them. And so is Tom. And everyone is very drunk. And I sense things may get very ugly later on.

Death of The Village

2005-11-02T19:31:00.000-05:00

Growing up in NYC had its advantages. Instead of being stuck in BF Iowa dreaming about living in the big city, I was there living it up and partying in my 20's.

When I first turned 21 I stumbled upon a basement bar in the West Village called The Scrap Bar. It was covered with pieces of fluorescent colored junk, making it look like a Day-Glo junkyard on acid. And it was set up like an actual basement inside--torn couches, stone walls jutting out, low ceiling.

My friends and I would hang there until 4 a.m. (another great advantage of NYC), then take a train and a bus to Rockaway Beach and pass out by the ocean. Inside the bar was an eclectic and motley crew of patrons--punks, pseudo-hippies, headbangers--all having a good time. Sometimes rockers showed up--Axl Rose, Ian Astbury, Joe Strummer. It was a great place to chill out.

And then one day in the spring of 1995 it was gone...just like that. A rusty, metal gate was pulled over the door. There was no sign or message about what happened. The Village remained my stomping grounds, and I'd always pass The Scrap Bar and wonder. For years it remained shut, just a dark, empty hole on MacDougal Street.

And then last night I was watching a rerun from last season of NYPD Blue on my DVR (what a great invention!). MacKenzie Phillips (another blast from the past) was on, and she mentioned she was out at The Scrap Bar the other night. I thought, "whoa! What the hell? Has it reopened?" I went on-line and Googled it (gotta love the Internet). Well, it hasn't reopened, but I finally found out what happened to my old haunt. The former owner has recently put up a Scrap Bar website, and so I e-mailed him about the bar. He sent me this link with a sad little story(the first half is about the loss of his bar, the Scrapbar):

Scrapbar

His story also depicts the end of an era: the end of the East Village and the closing of CBGB's. It's sad that such an icon can close. It's the club that spawned bands such as Blondie, The Ramones, The Police, The B-52's. In other countries locals frequently asked me about CBGB's after learning I was from NYC(can you tell I never stayed at The Hilton?). I never particularly cared for CBGB's--it was a real dive and in a terrible neighborhood--but it was still a legend.

And I did love the East Village. Many years ago my friend Brian and I would hang out at a dive called Downtown Beirut II(there were actually two of these dumps). They literally served beer in a dirty glass. It was full of such lively characters. Brian and I would often get really stoned, or do 'shrooms or coke and then head over. There were people on the street trying to sell all sorts of junk from torn couches to a broken metronome stick. "I don't know what the hell it is," said the stoner trying to sell the stick to us, "but it's cool as shit!"

One time there was a black guy with no legs crawling along the beer splattered floor trying to sell bootlegged Beatles videos. I mean what the hell was that? It was great! We'd drink inside and soak up some atmosphere, then step out and light up a joint and hang with the "merchants" at 1 a.m.

One night we met this Brazilian woman and were chatting away for a while. She excused herself and went to the bathroom. Brian and I were chilling and drinking, both VERY stoned.

"I'll be right back," he said. "I gotta go to the bathroom."
He was too high to realize that the Brazilian woman was still in there. Suddenly I heard a scream.

"Close the fucking door!" she yelled.

I looked over and saw Brian standing in the bathroom doorway, his jaw dropped like he'd seen a dead body.

"Would you close the fucking door!" she yelled again.

Brian finally stammered, "What are you doing in there?"

The rest of us were laughing. Poor Brian being scolded like an insolent child, glowing from the bathroom's yellow light. He was too stoned to say anything comprehensible. We couldn't tell what was going on, but all heads were turned. The screaming continued until Brian slowly turned his heels and meekly walked back to us. But the woman stormed out of the bathroom after him, completely naked.

"You're like little baby!" she shouted. "You stand there like stupid baby! What the fuck's the matter with you!"

Everyone was stunned at the spectacle of a crazy naked woman screaming at stoned Brian in the middle of the bar. Brian had enough brain cells left to say,"You're completely naked. I don't understand."

She screamed a bit longer before finally going back to the bathroom. The bartender leaned over and whispered, "she usually shoots up in there. I keep telling her to stop, but what can I do?"

And then there was the night when Brian and I were talking to a South African guy at the bar. Next to us were these two German girls. The South African was telling us all about his country while the Germans were engaged in their own conversation. The one girl was upset, and tears began gently flowing down her cheeks. Her friend tried to console her by reaching over and wiping away the tears. They stared into each other's eyes, tears still streaming down the one girl's face. The rest of us were frozen--too caught up in what we all hoped would happen next.

And then it happened. They kissed--on the mouth. The South African said, "holy shit! Do you see that?"
Of course we did. It was beautiful, like right out of a movie. The girls began passionately kissing right there at the bar, before heading over towards the center of the room. They were slow dancing to a soft song on the jukebox, hugging and kissing.

And these are just a few of my memories of the East Village. When I left NYC the Village was changing. It was now "cool" for the pampered yuppies to go down there, sort of like "look at me slumming it!" Gone were the colorful people selling junk; gone were the stoners; gone were all the great stories. And then I read that article about the death of CBGB's and the Village. One reader commented that The Gap now had a store in the East Village. Any neighborhood with a Gap has lost all sense of culture and personality. I don't miss living in NYC, but I always miss the Village. Of all the places in the world I've travelled nothing ever compared to Greenwich Village. But if it's truly changing that much then Dylan Thomas has never been more appropriate when he said, "you can't go home again."

The Good, the Bad and the Elf Shoes

2005-10-30T17:29:00.000-05:00

It's difficult to find something to say when I'm at one of those moments where I feel my writing is very sophomoric. It could be because I'm reading plenty of well written books and articles, and I think "ooh, that's good." And then I read my own and I think, "man, that sucks!" A teacher in college told us that it was best to read bad books in order to build confidence. You won't read "The Great Gatsby" and then be able to write something so eloquent. You need to read lots of Danielle Steele and think, "I can do much better." But I can't read bad books. They're insipid and put me to sleep.

I reread a travel article I've been working on--it was great a couple of weeks ago, but now I just hate it. Too much description. But I think I came up with a good opening idea for my book. It's still a rough idea that I just jotted down and needs to be worked on, but at least it's there. But I've got to keep on writing. It's the only way to improve. And I was actually impressed with a travel story I submitted the other day. It was one of those where I showed it to others and they all had the response I was looking for, that "wow, that's good!" reaction. So I must be getting better.

Oh--my elf shoes arrived in the mail. I'll be wearing them to work for Halloween. Hopefully it'll liven up my co-workers a bit!

Back in the Saddle

2005-10-28T21:46:00.000-04:00

Have finally gotten back into writing. Finished a travel article and submitted it today. Still haven't heard about the article I wrote last month. I hate that. I'm very self-conscious and critical about my writing and I know when it pretty much blows. But that article was well written. And it was much better than most of those I've seen published in the paper the past few weeks. There's a new travel editor, so maybe he's just got really poor taste. In any case, this last article I wrote was a rewrite of one that was rejected a year ago. But I rewrote it in such a manner that it's not even recognizable from the earlier one.

I finished rewriting the first few sections of my book. It's hard to call them chapters when each "chapter" is only 2-3 pages long. I realize that my book needs to take on a simple matter-of-fact voice. My problem is I try to do too much at times and take on a Dickensian approach to writing. But the fact is that this story is non-fiction and needs to be told in a simpler fashion. And the big sell is that it's interesting. That's what Sera keeps reminding me. She proofreads it and says it's good, but then I question her judgment. Tell her she's biased and doesn't know what good writing is. It's amazing that she sticks with me through all that. But then Sera points out that for this story, the only thing at matters is that it's interesting. And it is. I just hope it reads well.

And now for another little problem. In addition to the 13! books I have out from the library, I can't seem to stop buying books. Spent another $50 over the weekend. I'm half-way through Henry Miller's "Tropic of Cancer," but feel the need to put it away for a bit and move on to something else. It's a good book, and Miller is a very talented writer, but I'm in the mood for something with a storyline or semblance of a plot. Then I'll return to "Tropic." It's a book I must finish, especially since it's listed as one of the Top 100 by Time.

Gina Part Two

2005-10-22T13:55:00.000-04:00

I slip into the watery depths of Gina's eyes, my surroundings dissolving into an aqueous blur. There's no more Tom. No more plastic bunnies. No more sense of reason.

Just Gina and her sparkling eyes.

"You have the most incredible eyes," I tell her. "I can't stop staring into them."

I've never felt like this at a strip club. Losing grip with reality. Common sense drowning in my bottle of beer. I'm sure it's just an act, but Gina just seems so different. And I feel so different sitting next to her.

"Your eyes are sparkling," I said. "At first I thought it was the reflection of those mirror balls and all the lights."

She shakes her head resolutely before I can finish my thought. "They only reflect my soul," she says.

Her pupils flash from green to steel blue to gray, with flames dancing around the retinas. It's how I'd imagine a fallen angel's eyes might look--as she lures you away from reason and sensibility and drags you helplessly into eternal darkness.

"You have really beautiful eyes yourself," she says, massaging my thighs.

Though the compliment makes me feel good, its source raises doubts in my mind.

"But you have to say that," I reply.

"I don't have to say anything," she states firmly.

"You're not going to insult me, otherwise there'd be no money in it for you. I'm sure you have to shower all the guys here with compliments."

Gina's smile fades as she removes her hands from my legs. "No, I don't have to say anything. I can just ask you questions about what you do for a living, the weather. I wouldn't tell you that you had beautiful eyes unless I meant it."

There's conviction in her voice and I want to believe. But I know that everything in a strip club is just an illusion. The girls make a living out of making you feel special. I'm torn between reality and fantasy and what to believe. Should I believe a stripper when she compliments me?

A voice suddenly screams into my head, pulling everything back into focus.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" it yells.

It's Tom.

"Make her dance already!" he slurs while tossing a $10 bill in my direction. The girls surrounding him are enjoying our show while sipping watered-down drinks. Their basketball breasts remain unnaturally still while their diaphragms ripple with laughter.

Gina smiles and asks the inevitable question. "Would you like a dance?"

"I wish you were asking me that under different circumstances," I reply. "Like at a club. But since that's beyond my control at the moment, you may as well dance here."

At the start of the next song Gina begins her dance. Her curvaceous body slowly gyrates and grinds by my legs. Her black bustier peels off, revealing shapely, natural breasts.

Leaning into my face, she squeezes her breasts inches from my hungry mouth. She pulls away moments before contact, flashing a lustful grin. Gina glides her hands sinuously along smooth creamy legs, pausing to caress the outline of her black panties. Again her body drops closer to mine, tempting me. I yearn to stroke her milky thighs, swirl my tongue around that flat stomach. But it's forbidden to touch; I would be expelled from this sultry paradise.

Gina moves in close to my face, and whispers into my ear. "I'm really glad you came in today."

We smile at one another and I so want to believe.

When the song ends Gina hands me her bustier.
"Would you put this back on for me?" she innocently asks. "I'm sure you have a lot of experience with this type of thing."

I'm excited at the chance to wrap my arms around her while doing this, but I struggle. I'm fumbling in the darkness and can't properly hook the clasps together.

"Are you okay back there?" she asks.

"I'm having a bit of trouble," I tell her, a bit embarrassed. "It's too dark and I can't see what I'm doing."

Reaching her hands around, she easily hooks her bustier back together.

"I've always had trouble with bras and other things that clasp and hook," I explain. "I've never worn them myself so I can't be expected to work them like an expert."

Gina looks at me curiously and laughs. Then she leans over and lightly kisses my mouth. A strip club first for me.

"There's something about you," she says, "that makes me feel really good inside."

The irregular rhythm of techno music pounds my ears while smoke drifts off the stage and clouds around my head. The kiss, the beer, the music, Tom, the plastic girls, Gina, the smoke...that kiss...fog my brain and I can't think clearly. I need to get out.

"I have to call work," I announce and immediately stand up.

I look over at Gina. "Will you be here when I come back?" I ask, sounding like a desperate schoolboy.

"Of course I'll wait for you," she replies.

Stepping out of the darkness of Rachel's I'm instantly blinded by the mid-afternoon sun. I have trouble focusing in the bright light and the parking lot is blanched and overexposed. But the fresh air is invigorating and I'm soon able to see more clearly. I need to call work...and lie.

Rob, a co-worker, answers.

"Hi, Rob, it's me. I have some errands to run and I won't be returning to the office today."

I pause, realizing I need to embellish this further. "Yeah, this really sucks," I continue. "I wanted to get this minor thing done on my car and now it's taking forever. And now there's an accident on the highway and everything's all backed up. I'm gonna have to take a half a vacation day."

"No problem," Rob replies. "See ya tomorrow."

Cars speed down Orange Avenue as a plane roars overhead. Everything hurries at a frenzied pace outside, quickly moving forward, quickly growing old. But inside Rachel's time is always frozen. There is no past and there is definitely no future. All that matters is the present--a beautiful young girl making you feel special. No clocks, no windows. Just darkness swallowing all sense of reality--and reason. I'm desperate to return.

I snap my phone shut and am about to stuff it into my pocket when it vibrates threateningly in my palm.

"####!," I think. "It's probably someone from work--they're on to me."

Flipping the phone open I check the caller ID. And freeze.

The number illuminated on the screen is most familiar--my wife.

I stand motionless in the parking lot as the world rushes past, the phone ringing and vibrating in my hand. I should answer this call, I say to myself. Bring myself back to reality. If I can explain what's going on inside Rachel's, about Tom and blowing off work--and especially about Gina, I'll feel so much better. A complete absolution of guilt. There's nothing wrong with the situation if I can just tell Sera that what's going on is beyond my control. I'm stuck here and I have no choice in this. Once I purge this from my system I'll regain complete control of my senses. It's an easy decision. Just answer the phone.

But it keeps ringing.

And ringing.

Until I snap it shut and stuff it deep into my pocket.

And I turn and head back to the darkness.

Back to Gina.

The Great Gatsby and Me

2005-10-19T18:55:00.000-04:00

A friend from back North came to visit us the past week and so I haven't had the chance to write in this blog. Or on my other stuff--my two half-finished travel articles and the rewrite on my novel. So now I haven't written anything in a week. I've got to get refocused and get back into this.

In any case--here's a little something. Back in college I read "The Great Gatsby" and was not impressed. I found it an insipid bore and for years I expressed my dissatisfaction with it. But lately I've been seeing it listed as people's favorites and thought I should try again. So I reread it this past weekend and had to ask myself a question--was I really THAT stupid back then? It was one of the greatest novels I've ever read. Fitzgerald is able to express emotion better than anyone I've ever read--and not pretentiously.

This made me look back at my life in a retrospective sort of way. Perhaps I had not yet lived while in college. I had never traveled and was still a naive young boy who had never even had a job. So much has happened since then--relationships, exploring the world, working. There were parts of "The Great Gatsby" that I felt perfectly summed up periods of my life--periods I had not yet lived the first time I read this. A perfect example is this one paragraph:
"...I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby's face, as though a faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams--not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart."

I lived in Paris many years ago, madly in love with a beautiful French girl. Due to circumstances mostly beyond my control I had to return to NY. We cried uncontrollably in the last few days before my flight. Lazing on the lawn by the Eiffel Tower one afternoon a loose page of a USA Today happened to blow over to our feet. There was an article of how long distance romances don't work. Very prophetic.
She looked at me with sad eyes and I tried to reassure her.
"Our love is strong," I said. "Don't worry."

As I walked up the ramp for my flight home(pre 9/11 security), I turned suddenly and ran back, kneeled down and kissed her beautiful, smooth belly button. She laughed while tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I will always love you and will always be yours," she said in broken English.
We wrote several letters a week (pre Internet days as well) and called frequently. Several months went by before we saw each other again. But by then the passion and intensity was gone; we were left with smoldering ruins of a great fire.

For years I've thought about writing our story but could never properly express it. Then I found that paragraph in "The Great Gatsby." It was like Fitzgerald had experienced the same. He must have in order to express it so perfectly. And it's not just that paragraph. There were several others that expressed my story equally well. Was I really that stupid back then? Or did I just need a lifetime of experience to appreciate its beauty?

Gina Part One

2005-10-13T10:16:00.000-04:00

She tells me her name is Brandi but I know she's lying. A good relationship can never start off so artificially so I get right to the point.

"What's your real name?" I ask.

Brandi fixes a deep gaze into my eyes--and doesn't let go.

Techno music drones incessantly while pulsing colors swirl around us; Brandi's face flashes like a Christmas tree.

Red.
Green.
Blue.
Darkness.

"It's Gina," she finally says, still staring into my eyes.
"Is it really Gina?" I ask.
"Yes. And that's not short for anything. It's not Regina. Just Gina. I hate when guys think it's Regina."

Gina has that Goth look without being Goth. Naturally jet black hair hangs to the edge of black mascara outlining her sparkling green eyes. Alabaster white skin accentuates the darkness, and is highlighted by sensuous crimson lips.

Gina's eyes flicker with the reflection of the spinning mirror balls above the stage. I break from our trance and look at the others. They smile, but their eyes don't flicker. They don't do anything at all. Their pupils are lifeless Milk Duds. And still they smile.

"You're not like the others," I say to Gina.
But before she can respond I continue.
"Everyone else is so fake. You're the most real thing I've ever seen in here."
Gina smiles but doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. And now I don't want to leave this place.

This place being Rachel's, an "upscale" gentleman's club in Orlando. But that's just an expensive term for strip club. I've been coming here every week courtesy of my boss at work, Tom. He e-mails me about coming for lunch whenever he's in the mood. But it has to be secret. Tom doesn't want the others to know what kind of debaucherous lifestyle he leads. As if the wild parties he throws at his house which end in naked people in his pool and sex in the bathrooms doesn't already send that message. And there was that half-naked, drunk intern bouncing off everyone's lap at the Super Bowl party. He could have gotten into a lot of trouble for that one.

Tom always makes me wait in the parking lot for him, while he lingers a good 5 minutes behind. "Can't be obvious," he says. But he doesn't fool anyone. Lunch shouldn't take two and a half hours and we return to the snickers of our co-workers. How was "lunch?" John will ask with a goofy grin.

For me, going to Rachel's means indulging in their incredible buffet for $10. It's a 4 star restaurant with topless girls dancing about. But there's nothing sexy for me about stuffing barbecue ribs into my mouth, and I pay little attention to the show. Tom is busy stuffing dollar bills into the G-strings of girls half his age. I get up and go for seconds on lunch. And thirds. And there's that scrumptious strawberry pastry for dessert. As much as I want. When I return with dessert there's usually a topless girl at my table making Tom laugh. Her arms draped around his neck. The girl usually has basketballs where her breasts should be. I've never liked fake boobs. It literally feels like squeezing a rubber ball, and I don't get any pleasure out of that. In fact most of the girls at Rachel's are fake, and not just in their boobs.

Every few weeks Tom finds a new girl to flirt with, to try and convince to meet up for dinner some time. Some of these girls will take his phone number...and never call. Some will call on a weekday morning, when they know he's at work, and leave a message on his cell. Tom will frantically return their calls over and over...and over. But they'll never pick up. It's just a tease. These girls may be fake, but they're not stupid.

Tom will easily spend $50 during lunch. It's $10 a lap dance, and he always gets more than a couple. Me, I can get out of there with just the $10 for lunch. I'm not interested in plastic girls. With their plastic boobs and their plastic personalities.

And then one day Tom takes the day off but still calls me to go to Rachel's. He'll pick me up at the office. But don't tell anyone, he says, it's our secret.

And on this day Tom can drink all the alcohol he wants. After all, he's not working. But I am. And now he's too drunk to drive me back to the office and I can't drive a stick. And he's got three plastic bunnies surrounding him, all of them saying how happy they are to meet us. All of them drinking overpriced ######### that Tom has bought for them.

"Just call work and tell them you had to run some errands," he says. "Tell them you're taking half a vacation day. But don't put it down on the time sheet, if you know what I mean." I feel dishonest about doing this. I worry about what the others at work will think. They're not stupid and they'll figure it out. I worry. I worry. I worry.

And then I see Gina.

And she comes over and sits next to me. She doesn't look at Tom. Not even a glance. It's just me.

And she's not like the others.

And now I don't want to leave this place.

First Novels

2005-10-08T19:55:00.000-04:00

I haven't written a word since I finished the first draft of my novel. At least I'm more relaxed now. I have added some notes for the first chapter, just need to start putting it all together. Sera got me a book on how to sell your ideas to publishers. I found it uplifting as my book is non-fiction and I believe to be about something interesting, and different. Something most people can relate to. Everyone tells me the same, and I do get worried at times that someone might put out a similar story if I don't get moving on this. So I'm thinking that when I'm about half-way done I'll start sending out query letters.

I just finished reading "The 25th Hour" by David Benioff. I found it captivating and exceptionally well written. It wasn't pretentious and the characters were realistically created. I learned this was Benioff's first novel and so I decided to do some further digging into him. For some reason I was kind of hoping that he had struggled in the past, like Rex Pickett (author of "Sideways.") Instead I saw that Benioff wrote the screenplay for "Troy," received a large salary for another film coming out shortly and is engaged to Amanda Peet. Though I still loved the book, I can't help losing a bit of interest in Benioff. It's tough to relate to a writer when he's that successful...and is engaged to Amanda Peet. Of course, I do need to get my act together and finish my novel so that I can make a ton of money and write some screenplays...hahaha!

I'm currently reading "Invisible Monsters" by Chuck Palahniuk, the author of "Fight Club." I loved "Fight Club," but "Invisible Monsters" doesn't seem to have the same luster and appeal. Palahniuk seems to be trying too hard--too much description, a few metaphors that don't seem to work. It's hard to keep focused while I'm reading this one. I've thought about putting it down and starting something else, but as the library won't let me renew it I've got to finish it by next week.

Lightning Strikes Twice--Catching Harmonicas

2005-10-04T19:28:00.000-04:00

Well, it's done...sort of. I finally finished the first draft of my novel on Sunday. I goofed off on Saturday and didn't write a thing, and so Sera and I canceled our "weekly" canoe trip on the Wekiwa River Sunday so I could get it done. I ended up with two different epilogues and couldn't decide which one to go with. In the end I decided it was best to finally start the rewrite...that vainglorious rewrite...and by the time I reach the end I should have a better idea of which direction the book is heading. Though the rewrite will take some doing as the first draft reads like shit. It's all disjointed, out of sequence, etc. Most of it is written poorly as my goal was just to get to the end without stopping. This is probably why I was so frustrated with writing it; I knew it read terribly but if I stopped and belabored over it I'd never get to the end. Now I'm going to take a few days off from the book and possibly begin the rewrite over the weekend.

And now for something completely different:
On a cold, wet Thanksgiving Eve in 1998 Sera and I went to see Blues Traveler in Atlantic City. At the end of the show frontman John Popper tosses his half dozen show harmonicas into the crowd. He looked my way and tossed me one, but I reached for the secret too soon and it glanced off my thumb. It was always an amusing little anecdote to tell people the past several years.

Flash forward to Sunday night, Blues Traveler live, at the House of Blues in Orlando. I told Sera that I knew, absolutely knew, that John Popper would be throwing another harmonica my way. We arrived early and got to the front row. It was an amazing concert--especially when you're that close. During the whole show I eagerly awaited the moment when John would toss us his harmonicas. When it came time and the audience was screaming, I yelled, "over here, John!" He looked my way and tossed it directly to me. There was no one in my way as I was in the front row. And then I don't know what happened. I grabbed it, and dropped it. It went right over the security barrier. A bunch of us hung around after the show trying to convince security to find it. Finally one guard picked it up and handed it to the guy next to me! What did I learn from this? It's really fucking hard to catch a harmonica!!!! This bothered me so much that I had a fitful sleep that night--lots of dreams of me getting another chance for the catch, of John personally handing me a harmonica. When I got up for work on Monday, groggy and grumpy, I was more upset with the fact that I let such a trivial matter bother me so much. There's so much more important stuff to dwell on in life, so why oh why was this bothering me? I really don't know. But in the end I went to the Blues Traveler website and put a post up about my harmonically challenged inadequacies. And a bunch of people responded saying they've all had their share of problems catching that harmonica. Its taken most of them several shows (one guy 47!) to finally land that elusive instrument. Maybe the harmonica is a metaphor for something in my life. Any ideas? In any case, one of my goals is now to meet John Popper and tell him this story--and get him to hand me a harmonica.

At least if I manage to meet Kira Salak in January it's highly unlikely that she'll be tossing any harmonicas at me.

The Keys to Adventure

2005-09-30T18:10:00.000-04:00

I finished reading Kira Salak's "Four Corners" last night and couldn't help but stare at her photo on the cover. It's not as if she's overly attractive or anything like that--I was simply trying to put a face with the voice of the story.

I related to her tale, about traveling solo through a third world country and always asking yourself "why am I doing this?" And as Kira is not a literary magnate like Stephen King, I thought that with enough determination I could actually meet her.

"I'm determined to meet Kira Salak someday," I said to Sera.

I had been raving about this author to Sera since discovering her books a couple of weeks ago. Her writing style and ambition has truly helped and motivated my quest to finish my own novel. But instead of writing my comment off as another passing fancy, Sera turned to me and asked, "when is the Key West Literary Seminar?" (the four day writers seminar which includes, among many others, Kira Salak).

"It's January 4th through the 8th," I replied.

I wasn't sure where Sera was going with this. The seminar was sold out. And it was also too expensive, at $450, plus the cost of a hotel room for the entire four days.

She asked, "Will Kira be there the entire four days?"

I suddenly saw where Sera was heading. "Yes," I said excitedly, "because she'll be giving a short speech on the last day, which is free to the general public."

She responded, "Well, why don't we leave early Saturday morning (the next to last day) and drive down there? We can get a room for the night on Key West or on a neighboring Key."

There was no reason we couldn't do this. Key West is a 7 hour drive from Orlando. We could arrive early Saturday afternoon and spend the day looking for her. Half the fun would just be the adventure of driving down there (neither of us have ever been to the Keys) and then trying to find Kira that night. We would definitely see her on Sunday during her speech, and maybe get a chance to meet up with her afterwards.

"What if she thinks I'm a stalker?" I asked.

"I'll be there with you. It will look completely normal. Just act natural, compliment her on the book and don't expect too much."

And how amazing is Sera? Seeing how obsessed I've become with Kira Salak, and actually suggesting the idea that we drive all the way down to Key West for a chance meeting. I didn't even bother telling anyone at work about this plan. They would never understand. They laugh when I tell them about canoeing on a nearby river. They only get excited about mortgage rates and leaf blowers.

And Kira herself has a great quote at the end of the book that perfectly justifies our reasoning for embarking on such adventures, "But if I fear anything now, it's what I might be missing by not taking any chances and limiting the experiences of my life."

Neither Here Nor There

2005-09-28T17:44:00.000-04:00

A friend and I were sitting at a bar the other week having typical random bar chat when the discussion turned to time travel. He had read that the most accepted theory of time travel lies in the idea that the world exists in an infinite number of parallel universes. There is no past or future; just an infinite number of present moments lying on different planes. At this very moment, you are 10 years old. At this very moment, you are having your first kiss. I liked that idea, and thought it may actually explain the feeling of deja vu.

The idea that I'm currently living in other periods of my life intrigues me. It makes me think back to a time when I felt the most free I've ever been:

I was backpacking through Europe one summer, when I met these two guys from Jacksonville, Jon and Darrin, and two girls from Vancouver, Barb and Pam, while in a train station in Florence. Barb and Pam had read about a small, secluded area called Cinque Terra (Five Towns), on the Italian Riviera. It wasn't known to many foreigners and was described as a secret idyllic escape. Jon and Darrin had just met Barb and Pam 10 minutes before I showed up, and invited me along to explore. An hour later we found ourselves on a train hugging the turquoise waters off the Italian coast, the sea spraying our faces from the open windows.

The five of us became immediate friends, and it was as if we had known each other all our lives. Travel always seems to bring about a special bonding.

Darrin, Barb, Jon, Pam and me (I'm going through one of my many wild hairstyles--the oversized tie-dye the only clean shirt I had left).

We spent our days lazing on the beach and drinking cheap wine in the coastal town of Monterroso. We could have stayed forever. But we knew there was more of this area to explore. Monterroso was but one town making up the "five towns." Other towns lay hidden in the valleys of the Alps or resting against the coastline. So we dropped most of our baggage off at the train station locker room and hiked our way through the neighboring mountains to see what else we might find. Armed with nothing more than our sleeping bags and a few necessities, we set off.

After a couple of hours hiking along the mountain's edge, we stumbled upon a site that would forever be embedded in my mind. Off the steep drop to our left lay a small town perched on a cliff jutting into the sea. It was perfect.

You can see the cave. The wall jutting out to the left of the cave is the cliff we would climb. Also note the lighthouse at the far end of the village.

Hiking our way down to the town, we found a local woman who agreed to rent out the top floor of her villa to us, including access to the roof. We paid in advance for five days and applauded ourselves for this fortuitous discovery. There were no tourists in this paradise--just locals on holiday. Vernazzo was a cobblestone maze of alleys flavored with family-style restaurants and homey shops. We were immediately made welcome, and hung out and sang with locals who strummed guitar(surprisingly, it was always songs like "Wish You Were Here" and "Hotel California") on the beach and in the streets. Every evening we'd drink wine from our rooftop and watch the sun fade behind distant mountaintops, its golden glow shimmering on the Mediterranean below.

Each night we'd hike through the cave behind the town and climb on top of its cliff. We'd strip off all our clothes, lie back and just be.

This was the first time in my life I had ever taken my clothes off with a group of people. I had felt insecure about my body since I was a teen, having always looked a lot younger than I really was. When I entered college at 17, I only looked about 14. But those three years are more like 30 when trying to fit in at that age, and it left an almost indelible impression on my fragile ego. People would ask me at parties "how old are you?" and say, "God, you look like a kid." I used to pass up chances to go skinny-dipping at the local pool, making excuses for why I couldn't go.

But now I felt so free of worries and inhibitions that it only felt natural to take my clothes off. I was surprised at how easily I did it, and how great it felt. The waves’ spray left the cliff’s rocky floor cold and slick under my back. The winds blowing off the dark sea buffeted my body, and for the first time in my life I felt truly alive. We all knew how special the moment was, and we just lay on our backs and stared into the night sky. I could feel myself drifting up into the celestial void, being sucked into a swirling panorama of stars. As Jim Morrison put it so aptly, "we were stoned, immaculate."

I vividly recall thinking, "this is the best I've ever felt in my life. I have no worries or concerns. I don't need to think about the future. I just need to think about now, and how beautiful now really is." I thought of my four friends, whom I had just met a few days earlier, and how close we had already become. They allowed me to permanently discard my inhibitions, and to forever feel free and natural.

And as I sit here now, typing this very sentence, I like to believe that I am still lying on that cliff wall. And that I will still be there tomorrow, when I head to work in the morning.

Fantasy Will Set You Free

2005-09-25T17:52:00.000-04:00

Sera and I went canoeing on the Wekiwa River today. It was the wake-up call I needed. Paddling downstream on a tranquil river of water lilies, floating past spongey marshes of stilted ibis and egrets. Alligators and turtles sunning on muddy banks, a deer crossing the river, an otter splashing about, a family of raccoons playing on the water's edge. THIS is my life. I have to do something to get out of this other life I'm pretending to live: Sitting in a cubicle. Pretending to be excited when my cube-neighbor, John, writes a new program. Applauding new product announcements when I really don't give a shit. Waking up at the crack of dawn after a fitful sleep to drive in each morning--only to stare at the clock tick 8 more hours of my life away. THIS IS NOT MY LIFE. I'm glad I've decided to focus on becoming a writer. It's my dream that gets me through the workday.

Everyone I work with has a house, and that depresses me at times. I had money for a house a few years ago, but instead decided to travel around the world. That was my lifelong dream, and it was an incredible experience. But at times I get very depressed hearing everyone at work discussing the value of their homes, their yards, their pools--I'm still living in a small apartment. And then I remind myself that I chose the path less traveled. These people have never been overseas--not a one. They are happy living in their nice homes in suburbia. Had I bought that house a few years ago I'd probably be even more depressed.

I used to zealously watch travel shows and dream of going to exotic places. That's all I ever thought about. I was broke, unemployed and living in New Jersey, watching a show on Komodo Island--there were dragons that ate people! Komodo was too surreal to exist outside of my living room in Jersey. I dreamed to visit a land that could only possibly exist in the most creative of imaginations. But it was reality--just not mine.

New Jersey and its refineries and the DuPont plant pumping chemicals in my backyard(they were literally down the street) was my reality. This dream of Komodo is what inspired me to get off my couch and get out of the depression I was in--to do whatever it took to get to that island. And then one sweltering hot day five years later, after floating around the South China Sea in a tiny wooden boat for two days, I stepped foot on Komodo Island. And suddenly it was New Jersey that couldn't possibly exist. Komodo had become my reality.

And after our little excursion today, and from my reading of Kira Salak's book "Four Corners," I realize this is not my life that I'm living. This is not my reality. I will work harder at getting out of this and doing what I want to do. Sure, I'd love to have a house someday. But not at the expense of giving up MY dreams. I just need to stay focused on what I want out of life. But for now I'll have to put my little happy face together. Because tomorrow is Monday and I need to be ready.

Obsession with Kira

2005-09-23T23:39:00.000-04:00

As the subtitle of this blog indicates, I'm very obsessive compulsive. My latest obsession is with the writer Kira Salak. I absolutely love her work. I'm currently reading her second book, "Four Corners," and I can't put it down (I've had to put two other books that I'm simultaneously reading on hold). I've searched for everything I can find about her online--articles she's written, biographies about her, photos. While searching I stumbled upon something called the Key West Literary Seminar. Apparently it's held in early January of every year and features authors such as Amy Tan, Sebastian Junger, etc. I've never even heard of this. Well, this year, Kira will be there. I tried to get tickets but was informed it sells out a year in advance!

I told my co-worker, John, about this. And we ended up having a rather enlightening conversation:

"What would you ask her at the seminar?" John asked.

Realizing my trepidation of speaking in front of an audience (even just to ask a simple question), I answered, "nothing."

"So then why do you want to go?"

Hmmm...

"I was kind of hoping I can run into her at a local bar and we could get to talking," I reply.

"Oh, okay," Mike says while laughing, "you want to meet her in a bar."

The truth is, I'm a great conversationalist when I talk one on one with someone. I can usually get people, especially women, to open up like they never thought they could. I've had countless women say, "I can't believe we're actually talking about this." People feel very comfortable speaking with me on an individual basis. But in a group setting I just tense up. My heart races and I fear embarrassment, and usually keep all my thoughts to myself. It's a real struggle for me. So in this case I thought it would be fun to meet up with Kira in a bar and talk about travel, writing and anything else. Get her to open up and really get to know her. But I hadn't thought about how ridiculous this sounded until the conversation with Mike.

"Yes," I reply, feeling a bit foolish. "I thought we could just hang out somewhere."

"You don't think she'll be hanging out with the other writers and speakers? When would you even get a chance to meet up with her?

"Key West is small. I'm bound to see her," I said.

"Yes, you and all the other hundreds of people attending this seminar. Do you think you'll just run into her on the beach or at a bar, while she's alone, and the two of you will just hit it off?"

Sadly, I realize Mike is right. The seminar doesn't mean much to me. It's hanging out with Kira that I really want. Sometimes there are books that you enjoy so much and relate to you on such a level that you feel as if the writer was personally telling the story to you. And so you feel like you and the author are now good friends because they've opened up to you in such a way. And of course they wouldn't mind if you called them sometime just to chat or maybe meet up at a local bar--because you now have this connection. I think the book that most exemplifies this is "Catcher In The Rye." And if I'm not mistaken, I believe that Holden Caulfield even mentions this in the book.

So in the end I realize it's all just a fantasy. But eventually this obsession will wear thin and I'll move on to something else. I always do. Kind of sad, isn't it?

Finished Article...and some slight ranting

2005-09-23T23:21:00.000-04:00

Well, I actually finished a short travel article. It went through a dozen or so rewrites, but it's done! The problem is, I went over it so many times that it no longer makes sense to me. Fortunately Sera isn't nearly as obsessive as I am and said it looks good. I had another friend read it over and he liked it as well. But I'll submit it tomorrow to the newspaper and see if they publish it. It's the first writing I've completed in several months (I won't even say how many because it frightens me). And since the weekend starts tomorrow, my goal will once again be to finish my novel. Hmmm...when have I heard THAT before?

Here's something that really bugs me. Sera is currently teaching paralegal courses at a local university (she's a lawyer). One of her students told her this week that she was dropping out because she has an arrest record and will never get hired by a law firm. She had been busted for marijuana a few years ago. To me that's a small offense, but the sad fact is she's right. No law firm will hire her. It makes me sick to think our society has become so discriminatory. Plenty of lawyers have done drugs (I know many of them myself) and other illicit activities. But if you happen to be unlucky enough to get caught, you're career is over. What you do outside of work is your business (not including crimes that hurt others).

It goes along with companies that do credit checks. I find that to be a total invasion of privacy. Why should your credit history get in the way of getting a job? It's total BS to claim that it's "ethical responsibility." What about this all-too-common scenario: a person loses their job. After 6 months they are no longer eligible for unemployment benefits. It's tough luck and good luck. Now they start falling behind in their bills and BINGO! Bad credit. They finally get a decent job opportunity, only to have it pulled out from under because they have bad credit. It's almost a Catch-22. You get bad credit because you have no income, and now you can't get a job because you have bad credit. Our society's ideas of mores are well out of perspective and it's almost dividing our country into a caste system.

Just needed to vent a bit there. I feel much better now, thank you.

Getting Closer

2005-09-18T19:36:00.000-04:00

I wrote in my novel a bit today. And though one of my driving forces for getting through the laborious work week is my desire to finish the book over the weekend, I am at least edging just a wee bit closer. I can see the end of the horizon. I just need to keep going forward.

I finished Kira Salak's "The Cruelest Journey," today. I really love her writing style. It gives a deep insight into her character as she travels alone to Timbuktu. I feel I can relate to her thoughts and lifestyle. I realize I need to incorporate more of my feelings as to why I'm doing such things when explaining my story in my novel. These types of books give me inspiration for my book. They're a learning and motivation tool to not only get me to finish the book, but to teach me how to open up and pour more of myself into the story. And hopefully I can do that soon when I begin the rewrite...after I've finished the first draft.

And now for something completely different.
Saw Paul McCartney last night in Tampa. He was absolutely brilliant. Forty plus years of performing live has definitely allowed him to put on a great show. It was a "feel good" type show, as much as I hate to use that pithy term. He talked about the early days with John and George, which I imagine must be difficult at times since they've both left us. I felt the highlight was when he performed solo on stage, playing early obscure Beatles songs on his acoustic guitar and discussing how he vividly recalls sitting in his parents' bedroom with John and George while writing. Isn't that what many of us want someday? To affectionately talk about the small, cluttered room where you wrote such and such? Hopefully I can do that someday about my novel. Hopefully soon.

Coldplay

2005-09-16T18:24:00.000-04:00

We were supposed to see Coldplay on Wed. night in Tampa. I really enjoy their music as I find it to be quite motivating and inspirational. Shortly before leaving for the show I get an e-mail stating it's been cancelled due to the singer, Chris Martin, falling ill. That pretty much put me in a dour mood the rest of the evening. So for the last couple of days I've been involved in the forum on the Coldplay website and have found it be very entertaining. A lot of pissed off fans griping about cancellations in Tampa and Birmingham, AL. There's a message from the manager saying they'll return to those areas in the spring--which has pissed people off even more. But as upset as I was over this, I had to put things in perspective. Most of our lives here in the first world have us stressed out about very material things. We need to buy a nice house, a nice car, wear expensive clothes. But there's a whole other side of the world that would laugh at our concerns about that stuff. The locals I met in Africa were happy to catch some fish and kill a fresh chicken for dinner and then relax in front of a bonfire on the beach. I mean, sure, I'm a bit annoyed about Coldplay's cancellation, but hey, there's more to the world than that.

Continuing with this whole concert thing, we're going to see Paul McCartney tomorrow in Tampa. Not that I'm a great fan of his, but I felt I owed it to myself to see a Beatle perform. Kind of like when I went to see Bob Dylan several years ago. I'm not his biggest fan, but as a fan of rock music I felt I needed to see one of the founding legends that helped fuel the entire industry. I mean what would music be like today if there had never been The Beatles? So since this is probably Paul's last tour, I owe it to myself. Usually when I see people like that I drift off into my own fantasy world. I'll watch him on stage and imagine him playing at those seedy clubs in Hamburg when The Beatles first started out. Picture him working on songwriting with John. Imagine him as a poor kid in Liverpool having no idea his life would turn out this way.

And speaking of classic concerts, what is up with the Rolling Stones? I've seen them play several times and would love to see them again, but I refuse to pay the usurious prices they're charging. Up to $450?!! That's pathetic. They have enough money. Is there any reason to rob fans like that? I remember being outraged when I had to fork out $17 to see The Police/REM/Joan Jett at Shea Stadium in 1983. But $450?? Nice way to thank all your loyal fans after all these years.

On Travel

2005-09-13T16:07:00.000-04:00

I just got a couple of books from Amazon in the mail today. Kira Salak's "Four Corners" and "The Cruelest Journey." She travels alone through Africa and New Guinea. These are the travels I admire most-- solo exploration off the beaten track. I've done a lot of travelling on my own, and it's a life changing experience. The adventure of discovering new worlds is the best learning experience in life. Especially meeting the locals and getting a whole new perspective from their eyes on the world. I always feel as if I'm exploring myself as well as the culture around me. Perhaps that's why I feel so lost now, trying to settle into a stable home life. There's nothing to explore.

I admire Salak for doing such journeys, but most of all for successfully writing about them. That's where my problem lies. I've traveled much of the world and have written nothing about it. I've traveled across Africa and Borneo. I have a website about this which I'm currently redoing. Sera has to remind me that my website is my story. I just need to rewrite it to make it bookworthy. I read the first few pages of Salak's books and was very impressed. It's not written in an intimidating or pretentious style such as Paul Theroux, but more down to earth. It's writing like this that can motivate me. I was watching TV earlier and the main character kept saying, "Regret is worse than fear." That really applies to my situation, probably to all of ours.

To get out of slaving at a job all day I HAVE to write and get better at it. But I've been diligently writing in this blog and that's a start. Plus I have some good ideas for articles. I am feeling refreshed today. I'm eating better and I exercised this morning. Hopefully if I can keep this up it will also refresh my mind and allow to write more. We shall see.

A New Beginning

2005-09-13T11:32:00.000-04:00

I called out sick today. My body feels completely drained without vigor or strength. I'm sure it's my poor eating habits. I mentioned earlier that I had only been eating once a day, and even that meal wasn't anything great. I feel like that guy in "Super Size Me," who after eating nothing but McDonald's felt like total shit. Mood swings, trouble sleeping, no energy. That's exactly how I feel.

So as of today, I'm going to eat better and start exercising. Last winter I had been playing racketball three times a week, walking a few miles each day and was using weights. Then the Florida heat came and racketball was out (it's an open air court), walks were out, and with all that I lost the motivation to lift weights. Perhaps this is an attribute of my stress.

I'm going to the mall later to see if I can find a blender to mix smoothies with. I'd love to feel energized all day--it helps you get through the work day so much easier when you're feeling right.

On another note--here's an interesting little story. Last week while at work I was on my way to the bathroom when I happened to pass a woman who was struggling to put some boxes on a shelf. Due to my thoughts being preoccupied elsewhere my muddled mind didn't register what she was doing until I had already passed. I turned to ask if she needed any help and saw that she had just finished. She turned and looked at me at that moment. Since she was done I turned and went into the bathroom. This took all of a half second. But while in the bathroom I realized something. She was wearing a short skirt and was completely bent over at the moment I glanced over at her. She probably thought I was looking at her ass.

I got home that night and told Sera about this.
"Was she facing you when you walked towards her?" she asked.
"Yes."
"So when you turned back to look at her, you were looking towards her bent over ass?"
"Yes."
"Then she definitely thought you were looking at her ass."

I felt bad about that, because I wasn't doing that at all. And it's too awkward to explain myself since I barely know this woman. I'm just hoping that one day we could happen to meet in a social setting and I could apologize. It would make for an amusing anectode. But for now she probably thinks I'm just such lecherous sleaze.

On Writing...and Reading

2005-09-11T18:21:00.000-04:00

I wrote a lot in my novel today. It's just a rough first draft and I hate how it reads. But Sera keeps reminding me that this is just a first draft. My problem in the past when trying to write is that I'd rewrite the same pages over and over and never get anywhere with the book. Eventually I'd get so frustrated I'd just toss the whole thing. Her solution was for me to just write the entire book from start to finish without any rewrites. Just get the whole thing down. The farther along I get the more motivated I'll be to finish. It has worked in that this is the farthest I've ever gotten on a novel. I'm so close to finishing. But it just reads like garbage. I have all these great ideas for rewrites, but I know if I go back and do that I'll never finish. So for now I'm just going to keep going forward.

I'm a voracious reader. The library here in Orlando will deliver books to your home. I find that amazing. My obsessive compulsiveness leads me to order about a dozen books at once, and I often wind up with lots late fees as a result. I currently have 8 books out. I've also recently placed several recent orders at Amazon, and so I'm expecting quite a few more. I'm currently reading Gabriel-Garcia Marquez's "Love in the Time of Cholera." His books always intimidate me in that I doubt I can ever write that well. Writing teachers have always recommended reading bad novels to get motivated. I tried that once, but if the novel is that bad I just can't read it.

I'm very insecure about my writing, though people tell me they enjoy my style. I just don't know. I began reading "Leaving Las Vegas" by John O'Brien, which arrived from the library the other day. It's brilliantly written, and, of course, it intimidates me. Sera told me last night, "you have you're own writing style. Don't be so intimidated by others." I know she's right, but I need reaffirmation.

In case you don't know, O'Brien committed suicide a few years after the book was published. They were just getting ready to begin production on the film with Nicholas Cage and Elizabeth Shue when he died. I wish I knew more about why he killed himself. He was such a talented writer. His book was a success and he was a part of the production of the film when he did it. I guess that wasn't enough. Kind of like that actor on "Suddenly Susan" who did the same thing. There's a lot more going on than fame and success.

The book I have is a first edition hardcover, printed before his death. The book jacket says, "...married happily in 1979." I spent a lot of time staring at his photograph and thinking about that. He hides behind dark glasses in the photo.
Don't most book jackets just say something like, "married to so and so...has 2 kids and a cat?" The "married happily" is what gets me since he ended up killing himself. Plus the book is supposed to be semi-autobiographical. It's about an alcoholic whose wife left him and he goes to Vegas to drink himself to death. Now, if this is an autobiography, does it make sense for the jacket to say, "happily married?" He was just so talented.

Anyway, at least I wrote something today. A lot actually. My book is an autobiography about a period where I was pretty much wasting my life away in NYC. It's supposed to be kind of funny, though that brief description doesn't exactly show it. I just want to get this thing done. But the important thing is I did write today and I'm determined to write more tomorrow.

Cops

2005-09-11T18:14:00.000-04:00

I don't usually watch shows like "COPS," but happened to have it on in the background while working around the house yesterday. I found it to be very disturbing. They had an undercover female cop working as a prostitute along a well traveled road in the middle of the day. A old man agreed to meet her in a parking lot around the corner, and when he got there he was surrounded by two police cars. Five excited officers jumped out, guns fully drawn at the poor man, and asked him to get out. He must have been about 65, and he started crying. Is this where our tax dollars go? Including the undercover cop, there were 6 officers involved in a sting to lure an aged retiree into asking for sex. The undercover female cop was the only "hooker" on the street at the time. If she had not been there this poor man would have continued on to his destination. And plus, this could be the only way someone his age can even get sex.

These officers went out of their way to lure this poor guy into this horrible situation. And were 6 cops really needed to do this? And was it necessary to approach him with all their guns drawn? I mean, come on! I can think of many other things these cops can be doing with their day. I'm sure our tax dollars can be put to better use.

Trouble Sleeping

2005-09-10T10:15:00.000-04:00

I've been having trouble sleeping the last few weeks and I don't know why. I think I'm okay, but then I wake up with pangs of stress in my stomach during the night. I'm always so tired when I go to work. The only thing that gets me through the week is the thought of disappearing into a nice long sleep over the weekend. But I end up waking up too early on Saturday and Sunday and I'm not sure why. Something is bothering me, but what?

I frequently have the same recurring dream. I have final exams coming up for classes I didn't even know I had. I had been constantly dropping classes at the beginning of the term and have just found out that I never dropped these particular ones. I panic at the thought of having to learn an entire semester's worth of work in a matter of days, plus the embarrassment of showing up for the final and everyone laughing at me because they've never seen me in class before. I've been out of school for years, but yet I still have this dream. It means I'm feeling unprepared about things. But what am I unprepared for now?

I have a decent enough job, but it drains me. I dread having to get up early five days a week and drag myself to a place where I have to spend the next 8-9 hours. Lately I've been trying to skip lunch so that I can get out early. It leaves me tired and hungry and a bit dizzy.
"I think you have an eating disorder," my co-worker Robert tells me the other day.

"It's not a disorder," I tell him. "I'm choosing not to eat lunch here so I can leave early."

"Well, whatever it is, it's not good for you." And it's not. I've only been eating once a day during the week. Though I guess it is a good way to lose weight.

The people I work with are nice, but I have nothing in common with them. The guy sitting in the cubicle directly across from me, John, is the most boring person I've ever met. He told me he doesn't like movies, doesn't read, doesn't watch television, has never travelled, doesn't go out. He is married, but I don't see what his wife could have found in him that made her say, "this is the one for me."

I'm the type of person who can't just sit quietly at work. I need some stimulation to keep me going. I'll start senseless conversations with John just because he's there.

"Hey, John, did you see that new movie?" I'll ask, already knowing the answer.

"No."

"Well, this is what it's about..."

"Hey, John, did you ever read this book by so and so?"

"No."

"Well, let me tell you about it."

Sometimes I can tell it annoys him, but hell, he's annoying me with his dullness.

The people I worked with in NYC were far more interesting. I once had a supervisor addicted to heroin. He'd come in all strung out, falling asleep in the middle of conversations. But he was also very well read. I never saw him without a book. We could talk about all types of interesting stuff. Another co-worker at that same job would sell himself in the gay area when he needed more money. But he was also very well read and loved to travel. We could talk about anything. I enjoyed that. The problem was, I didn't enjoy New York anymore. I was very stressed out about commuting to and from the city. I hated rush hour and its resulting animosity on the trains. I had several verbal altercations with strangers about space and seats. That's no way to live life. I also didn't like the fast pace of the city. My wife, Sera, noticed I always walked at least twice as fast when I was in Manhattan. I didn't even know I was doing that. The cold, miserable weather also depressed me there. It was time to leave.

I like Orlando. The weather suits me as does the slow pace of life. But my God, the people I work with are so FUCKING BORING!!! The only people I've been able to relate to at work have been the temps. We once had a temp who used to strip at Rachel's, a fancy strip club here. We'd go out to lunch and talk about everything from stripping and orgies to literature and film. I told her about the contrast between Orlando and New York.

"Look where you work," she said. "You work in a technology department of a large corporation of a conservative city. If you want to find intellectual stimulation you're gonna need to change careers."

She was right. I didn't work in technology back in New York. I bounced around various temp jobs. The other temps were like me--lost and confused, not knowing where exactly they fit in.

Enough for now. It's Saturday. My goal today is to read and work on my novel. I've got to finish it soon, if not this weekend.

Later.

Background

2005-09-09T20:22:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to write a novel. I've been writing it on and off the past two years, mostly off. But lately it's been on. That's one of the reasons I'm starting this blog. I'm hoping that by having an outlet to write all my thoughts it'll motivate me to finish this book. The first draft of the book is three-quarters done. As good as that may sound, it was two-thirds done back in February.

I had my first article published a few months back for a newspaper. I was very excited about this as it gave me the confidence I needed to continue with my novel. I was not only going to finish the book, I was going to submit more articles and to a wider variety of papers and magazines. It was very exciting. So exciting, in fact, that I never wrote another article.

I'm often told, "you're different. But in a good way." I've never been sure what that meant. It reminds me of that scene in Taxi Driver where Cybil Shepard and Robert DeNiro are having coffee and she says, "I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you." I'm no Travis Bickle, but there is a lot going on upstairs.

I've spent most of life in NYC, but have also lived in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Paris and London. I currently live in Orlando. The only time I've felt at home is when I'm away from it. Things are exciting when I move to a new place, but I quickly get bored and need to move on. I'm tired of living in a big city, which is why I'm now in Orlando. I enjoy it here, at least for now.

Welcome to my insanity.