My kids have gone here every summer of their lives, my wife has been coming since we were dating, this is my 36th consecutive summer, my Mother's 62nd consecutive summer, and would have been my Grandfathers 85th or so.
What do you call that? Tradition? Illness?
VACATION!!!
This is the start of my new year. Happy New Year Everybody....
I overslept today and I've developed a disorientation that I havent been able to shake yet, and I fear it will follow me till tonight.
At the Trolley station, a man in shorts walked up pushing an upright vaccuum down the sidewalk the same way you might push a baby-carriage or a lawn mower. It was a dull gray plastic that was scratched up and the bag and cord were also gray.
It was not plugged in.
He waits next to me on the bench for the Trolley to show up. I attribute the poor condition of the vaccuum to him using it outside on the sidewalk or on the front lawn. Perhaps today is the day he travels back to Mom's house to vaccuum her back deck and her dog.
I consider trying to sell him on the idea of a bagless vaccuum until the trolley shows.
During rush hour you can count on a common host of characters. They are reliable and you will very soon recognize people along your route, you will learn their sad stories from overhead celphone conversations, and their poor choice of reading material. We are all the same in our suburban commuting misery. Today I am well past rush hour and I am contained with an unfamiliar audience of people.
I sit next to a man who is reading a pocket bible. It's tiny and has a leather zipper cover. It's smaller than a pocket bible actually, like a third the size...almost like those little books they used to have in Cracker Jack boxes...perhaps the kind of bible you would have if you drove a clown car. I lean in closer to see what part of the bible when I realize that it's written in Arabic and the man is mouthing the words as if he were silently chanting or trying to memorize a passage. It's a pocket Koran!
He has a large mole on his cheek and the conflicting smell of someone who uses lots of deodorant but no soap. On his lap is a plastic bag containing a blender. I look around to see if anyone else has brought a home appliance along for the ride.
The man in front of me has his shirt on inside out. It's a GAP pollo type shirt and the seams on his shoulders stand out. The back of the shirt says:
GAP
made in Vietnam
M
He is holding up a photocopied packet of medical textbook stuff. He too is mouthing the words and I'm guessing he's a Medical Student on his way into the city to take an exam. I wonder if he's aware that his shirt is inside out. Perhaps he's some kind of undistractable Genius working on a cure for the Avian flu and only wears clothes to keep himself warm.
Across the Aisle is a man in his early sixties. He's over six foot, lean and very handsome. His jaw is strong and his features are chiseled. The old man has some sort of involutary movement issue and his leg stomps or his hand shakes. He seems frustrated and continues to work to still his body. I diagnose him with early onset Parkinsons and continue to take notes. He's dressed well, and I notice that he missed a few spots shaving. I wonder if I'll be brave enough to keep shaving when it comes for me. He's got a full head of beautiful silver hair, and I think 'Lucky'
The Medical student finally realizes that his shirt is inside-out and now cant read more than a paragraph without checking and rechecking his shirt. This makes me laugh.
A thick woman with three plastic bags boards the trolley and wants to sit next to the old man. He looks up at her with fear and embarrassment, but still scoots to make room on the bench seat. My heart goes out to him, and I marvel over the next few minutes how he is able to close his eyes and concentrate on being still. I think about the power of the mind, and the strength of mens souls.
We're a block away from the Station when he begins to audibly weep.
I was walking in the park yesterday when I came upon an empty bench with a Garbage Can next to it. Standing out of the garbage can was a single Aluminum Crutch. It's such curious place to discard such a thing and my imagination twists to provide me with the scene that lead up to it being deposited here.
The Answer I got was a single word:
"healed"
I'm standing next to a magazine stand in the city. The light has yet to change, so I scan the covers of magazines, hoping against hope for a view of Tom Cruises offspring. When will we be shown your demons horns, your Spider Thorax or your sharpened Fangs?
You will save us, you and your vitamins and electric prods. My god hates me so I am turning myself over to something new....a religion with some star power and Marketing know-how. Hook me up, you couch jumping freak....
The light has changed.
Something great happened to me and a friend of mine. Something that we should be THRILLED about.
Me: I'm angry and my head hurts. I feel deflated.
Him: He's angry and horny.
Intent changes everything.....
out of things to say
slack jawed, nothing there, window stare
a long day ahead
those words have echoed
"Floyd, run like you stole something"
wear it on your sleeve
(I wear it on mine!)
and here's what's really fucked. Did you know that Geraldo married and then divorced the daughter of Kurt Vonnegut?!?!? Poor Kurt, could you imagine handing your daughter away to HIM!?!?!?!
Can you actually see the ceremony? My goddamn literary hero and Geraldo
Kurt survived the Firebombing of Dresden in WWII!! Shouldnt he live have a life of jello and roses from then on? Doesnt he deserve better
"So it goes....."
god dont you love him, he's like 90 million years old or stuff
stubborn mind sparking
hardened heart awash in blood
who could want this more?
Hi
Take that blue-tooth enabled headset off your fucking head so that I might smash it into tiny bits.
It used to be easy to spot the crazies. The talkers would have conversations with seemingly invisible people, and I would nuzzle in close to them on the train to get a glimpse of the colorful world they have woven around themselves.
Now you all talk like that, straight into the air, nodding and hand waving like somebody is right in front of you.
I hate that blue flashing light on the headset, I hate your loud conversations, I hate the handbag you chose to wear with that outfit.
Many of you from New Jersey will cry outloud in rage because the law does not permit you to use a handheld phone while driving, and I answer you with a bellowing of wisdom.
Unless you are using that extra free hand to masterbate, detatch that retarted thing from your skull, and throw it asunder. You look stupid and I wont tolerate it anymore....
Kisses
-Steakbellie-
a hundred moons gone
i am so very different
who said you could change?
That asshole with the neck tattoo only had to be tough for one hour. He needs to move out of the way for me
"Mr Steakbellie,
This is (insert name of 10 year old punk neighborhood kid here)
I just ate a hotdog in 18 seconds
hahahahahaha"
-click-
Tomorrows the dance and I have no ticket.
I was up all freaking night, bothered that I have been left out. There's one last chance to win a seat, and it takes place TODAY in fact it takes place in about 30 minutes, but I'm stuck at work (probably the only guy in Philly) working on a major project. It's painful to let this opportunity go. Everyone that can beat me has either qualified or already done the three qualifier maximum.
So in exchange for responsibility, I let my dream go and will watch the contest with my family on ESPN. I'll cook up a stack of Nathan's 'bigger than the bun' and we'll scream at the TV like idiots. Coverage starts at noon, the eating starts at 12:40pm est sharp.
The big deal you will hear about is the showdown between Joey Chestnut, the young student from San Jose who can eat 50 HotDogs and Kobyashi from Japan who has once eaten 53 and hasnt lost the contest for 5 years.
But there's more....each of 20 or so competitors up there is also a fan and ironically wont be able to get a good view of the Joey/Koby Showdown. What I know is that each of those eaters has a number in their head and they will be putting up with great discomfort to hit that number and have a respectable showing.
What will they win? Maybe just a folded up yellow ribbon with the words "PARTICIPANT" on it. Thats good enough for me....and next year I'll get one.....
Good Luck to everybody at the table!!!!
