My Heart goes out to Haiti

In the blink of an eye everything can change.
It is a delicate line that we tread with nature.

Yesterday, a Magnitude 7 earthquake rocked the very foundation of Haiti.
Killing 100,000 people, according to Haiti's prime minister.

"The largest earthquake to hit Haiti in more than 200 years rocked the Caribbean nation Tuesday, collapsing a hospital and heavily damaging other buildings. U.S. officials reported bodies lying in the streets and an aid official described "total disaster and chaos." -AP

My heart goes out to those who have died, lost loved ones, lost homes, etc.
So sad...

Pine Mouth

image randomly stolen from the internet following a google search. uncredited, so sue me.

"WHAT?"You may be asking yourself is pine mouth?

It is not some after-effect of chewing on a pinecone or a post holiday sydrome brought about by humping the Christmas tree. It may sound like a joke or a made-up phrase or some sort of sister to the dreaded pot smoker's cotton mouth, but I assure you that pine mouth is none of these things and is yet very serious business.

I will share my story with you today. Hopefully, my tale of bitter whoa will help to spare you from the agony that I suffered. Like countless others, I fell victim to this dreaded condition for almost two weeks, just in time for christmas dinner. Our stories are countless. Many of us suffer in silence, in the shadows. Today I step into the light to speak of my tribulation.

A few weeks ago, We received an early Christmas gift from my mother. It was a cuisinart griddler, a great tool in the making of panini, the Italian grilled glamour sandwich. I was so exciited that I ran to whole foods and bought a bunch of pine nuts to make pesto along with an assortment of cheeses, sun dried tomatoes and ecoutrement to immerse myself body and soul into the ancient art of panini.

I should mention that the bag of pinenuts I purchased was rather large. When I got home, I began ecstatically chopping up the garlic, basil and pine nuts for my pesto (using this recipe). I was hungry, which is a constant state for me. My pet tape worm felix requires constant attention, and I generally oblige. I shoved a handful of pinenuts into my mouth and gobbled them down. One handful led to two, led to three, led to....well, six. Ok. I'm a pig. I gorged myself on pinenuts and then ate a panini with lots of pesto on it. K and Laura did not consume the quantity of pine nuts that I did, but they did enjoy the luxurious lusciousness of my homemade pesto on their sandwiches.

In an ideal world my story would end here, with a full belly and a happily ever after and maybe a Post script titled "midnight bacon snack". Alas, dear readers, my story begins two days after my flirtation with panini and my glutenous mouth affair with the temptress known as pine nut.

On Thursday morning (2 days after panini) I woke up and grabbed my morning cup of coffee. When I took my first sip, it tasted, well, off. It was bitter and rotten tasting. I just thought perhaps my corner coffee shop had made a bad batch or something. Lunch time rolled around and I took a bight of my lunch. It tasted bitter, mettalic and rotten. I began to worry. What was wrong with me?

I contacted my doctor A.K.A. a google search of my symptoms...sudden bitter taste in mouth. Oddly enough an article about pine nuts came up. I read of the phenomenon known as pine mouth. Multiple people 1-3 days after ingesting pine nuts experienced a bitter metalic taste with all food and drink lasting for up to 2 weeks. I looked for a remedy and found that not only does no one know the cause of pine mouth but there is not cure except to just let it run its course. I also discovered that this phenomenon seemed to be specific for the most part to pine nuts grown in china.

I was confused because the pine nuts I bought were Whole Foods own brand. Surely Whole Foods with its whole organic produce philosophy would not be importing its pine nuts from a country with the most questionable farming practices in the world? right?
I called Whole Foods and was told that all their own label foods including the pine nuts were grown here in the United States. I didn't take their word for it though. I went into the store to double check this and surely enough MADE IN CHINA was on a sticker on the back of the pine nuts.

I went online and found multiple articles on pine mouth and chinese pine nuts and like the crazy cat lady that I am, I stapled and paperclipped all the articles and walked back into whole foods and asked to speak to the manager. He of course looked at me like I was crazy and I insisted that he look at my documentation on pine mouth and that the pine nuts should have a warning or be removed from the shelves. He said he would forward the information to their corporate headquarters.

Continuing on my rampage of outrage, I wrote and email to corporate Whole Foods. Almost immediately I received a form letter response that was specific to pine mouth. Whole Foods was completely aware that they were selling a product that could make everything their customer ate for up to 2 weeks taste bitter. Unsatisfied by this form letter, I sent an email of outrage and a request that they warn customers of this issue or find another source for their pine nuts. Their response was basically that I could return the pine nuts for a refund and that they were sorry.

I now have a boycott on whole foods. Any company that would knowingly sell tainted pine nuts and have a form letter prepared to fire off at angry customers is not a company that I will ever again support with my business.

My pine mouth lasted for two weeks. The only things that tasted normal were scotch and broccoli, but I forced myself to eat the bitter tasting things instead of becoming an alcoholic cruciferous vegetable addict. Actually I already am a bit of a cruciferous vegetable addict and with the many health benefits of being one, why not?

So, consider this your warning. Something strange is going on with pine nuts. The FDA is investigating it and nobody knows what causes pine mouth, but believe me, you don't want to have it.

May-oh-no-no!

Mayonaise is like the poor man's butter, you can add it to almost anything and increase the fatty goodness and flavor. What would Potato salad or tuna salad or a BLT be without mayo. I hobble through this world carrying many sinful vices , one of which is an overindulgance in foods of a fatty nature. Bacon is at the top of the list, but in a close third just behind butter there is Mayo.

Recently I thought it necessary to buy a giant tub of mayo as part of my stockpiling madness. I also recently turned up the temperature of the fridge because things had been freezing. I noticed more recently that milk seems to go bad so quickly, but attributed this to the fact that it was fresh milk from the farmer's market. Perhaps, I turned the temperature up too high in the fridge, yes the same one with the giant tub of mayo. Do you see the kitten tied to the railroad tracks? in other words the impending doom facing my belly?

We were invited to dinner on Thursday by our friends Jason and Simon. Jason cooked an amazing meal centered around one of my favorite forms of pig, the porkchop. We had wine, enjoyed music and the company of Jason's friend Heather. All was well in the world. We said our goodbyes and walked home.

When we got home I was a bit peckish, so I made veggie burgers from frozen patties and put some mayo and ketchup on the side. I awoke to the sound of K vomitting but thought nothing of it. People vomit. I made myself a sandwich for lunch slathered with a generous helping of mayo. A couple hours after eating said sandwich, I began to get extremely nauseous. I ran to the bathroom and went all Linda Blair on the toilet. I still did not make the mayo connection, but thought perhaps we had both gotten a stomach bug similar to the one I had wrongly blamed on the empanada place. I think they may have closed. I think it might have been my fault. Oh dear. The last stomach bug was extremely contageous and basically struck everyone. I watched all my friends fall like dominoes around me. Well, anyway I heard no word of anyone else being sick and I will spare you the gorry details, but I have never in my life vomitted like I did on Friday. I could not hold down water and the pain was horrific. I spent Saturday in bed most of the day just recovering from Friday, but luckily by Sunday I was back to normal.

So, with picnic season fast approaching, please heed the warning of making sure you keep all dishes containing mayo nice and cold. Don't let what happened to me happen to you. On the upside if it does happen to you, the weightloss side-effect is amazing. I lost that last stuborn 5 pounds around my waistline and just in time for spring break. ;)

Critters: Bat hitches ride to space

"A bat that was clinging to space shuttle Discovery’s external fuel tank during the countdown to launch the STS-119 mission remained with the spacecraft as it cleared the tower, analysts at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center concluded.

Based on images and video, a wildlife expert who provides support to the center said the small creature was a free tail bat that likely had a broken left wing and some problem with its right shoulder or wrist. The animal likely perished quickly during Discovery’s climb into orbit." [Nasa]

aw, this poor critter got a rather rude awakening while trying to take a nap on the side of the space shuttle discovery.

Friday the 13th, the full moon and the Brooklyn Penal system in a 14 year old vagina

There is something about the full moon and the amount of water that is in the human body. Much like the oceans we have our high and low tides, governed by the whims of the man in the moon. My mother is a nurse and she used to work nights in Medicine Lodge Kansas. She would come home and recount tales of how the emergency room was flooded with crazy cases and crazy patients and then she would say how the full moon seems to always bring them out.

I'm not sure if it is just the movie with the guy in the hockey mask that has made Friday the 13th so menacing, but whatever it is, there is a truth to it. Oddly we've had two months in a row with the 13th falling on a Friday. Just so you know, this will not happen again until November. However, this Friday the 13th proved for me to be particularly crazy. I don't mind waiting until the fall to deal with such craziness again.

Thursday the 12th was a pretty great day. I met up with a friend who shall remain nameless for the purposes of this blog. I respect him greatly and he has been a shining light for me in times of bitter darkness. I was pleased to take him out for a drink in celebration of him obtaining temporary employment after a rather long dry spell and a time which I feel has been damaging to his confidence and his heart. Another purpose of our drink was to discuss a rather difficult time he has been enduring with his current boyfriend. I gave advice which is like giving yourself and express ticket to hell when dealing with relationships. This is something I've learned oh too well in the past. You express your true feelings about someone your friend is dating, they breakup and later, you are held accountable for being a shoulder to cry on and saying that the person your friend has been dating is a user and a dick.

We parted and I returned home. At midnight I tried to call him, but his phone went to voicemail. Immediately, my phone flashed with a new message. It was from him. The message basically said that his boyfriend was threatening him and that if anything should happen to him, I should know that the boyfriend was responsible. In the background I heard the boyfriend yelling at my friend that he was an asshole and full of shit. I called my friend and spoke briefly with the boyfriend still yelling in the background. Though he assured me that things were semi-o.k., I had a bit of worry regarding the situation. I had taken a tylenol PM to counter my natural state of insomnia. Actually, I lie. I had taken two tylenol PM and washed them down with a martini. I'm not sure that this is recommended, so please don't try this at home. At 1am my phone rang with a call from my friend's boyfriend but I was very groggy from the tylenol and possibly the martini or the combination of the two so I chose not to incoherently answer the call.

I awoke on Friday the 13th with a nagging feeling of worry. At 10am I called my friend. NO answer. At noon, I called my friend, no answer. By 6:00, I became worried after leaving multiple messages and repeatedly calling my friend and his boyfriend. I went to visit my friend and adopted grandmother, Beverly. She suggested that I call the precinct in the neighborhood and see if there had been any arrests at my friend's location. I called the precinct and was told that my friend had been arrested and that I should call another number where they could give me more information. I asked about his boyfriend but was told that he was not arrested. I called the number but it rang with no answer. My mind then began to spin. I had called and text messaged the boyfriend with no reply. Was he in the hospital? Was he dead? Was he ignoring me. Beverly called local hospitals pretending to be his aunt, and we could not find any information connected to his name. I called the number I was given again but got no answer. I called back the precinct and was given the address for the Brooklyn Criminal Courthouse. I was told that they were in session until 2am.

I arrived at the courthouse at midnight. I removed all the metal from my pockets and they put my bag through one of those xray machines like they have at the airport. They kept putting my bag through while I stood there. One of the officers turned to me and asked if I had a microphone in my bag. I replied yes and she said, oh yeah, well prove it. I sang "flapjacks are flippin' in the fryin' pan".

She smiled and handed me my bag after making sure that I did not have a recording device on me.

I arrived at a window with lists of names on pieces of paper. I frantically looked for my friend's name with no luck. I went to the window and a tired looking man with a mustache approached me. I gave him my friend's name and he told me that he would be arraigned in the morning. I asked what the charges were and was told assault. I asked about his boyfriend and he said that his boyfriend would also be seen in the morning also for assault. I was told to come back at 9:00 am. I pictured my friend with a swollen lip and a black eye, his boyfriend also battered and swollen.

I got home at 2am and didn't sleep very well. I was so worried. What if there was bail to be paid? Could I afford it? What could I do if I couldn't? Should I call my friend's mother. I had never been in this situation. I felt helpless.

I was barely able to drag myself out of bed, very bleary eyed, very groggy. I took the train and arrived at the courthouse at 8:45. I waited outside with a crowd of people until 9:15 when the unlocked a chain that was tied around a tall metal gate in front of the entrance. I took all the metal out of my pockets and went back through the metal detector. I approached the same window and found my friend's name and his boyfriend's name on a list and an arrow pointing towards a courtroom.

The courtroom was full of hard wooden seating much like church pews, the kind of seats that make your butt hurt after 15 minutes. I sat there for an hour before the judge saw the first case. The prisoners were brought out in groups of six and put into a little holding pin towards the right side of the court. As their names were called, they were led to stand in front of the judge. They had to hold their hands behind their backs as though invisible handcuffs were keeping them there.

I heard case after case after case. I wondered when my friend would be one of the six or 8 led out the door by an officer of the court. I began to familiarize myself with lingo to which I had not previously been privy.

The one case that stuck in my mind the most for some reason was one where they began reading the charge of an 18 year old boy forcing a 14 year old girl into a bathroom. They described him sticking his fingers in her vagina, then his penis, then her recounting that she did not see any semen and she didn't think he had orgasmed inside of her. It was at that moment that I began to feel sick. What was I doing here? I heard case after case and got to her the rap sheets of those there. Some of them were there for disorderly conduct, some for selling crack. People still sell crack? Really?

After a few hours of this something struck me like a brick in the chest. Our justice system is completely broken. As the judge set bail for these people, I began to see a pattern. Bail would be set based upon whether the person had a job, whether they had a phone in the home, whether they were considered an upstanding member of society with some sort of value. I noticed also that most of the people being brought before the judge were poor and black and that the bail seemed like a punishment for their circumstance, often the thing that had brought them to this place. Basically, it's all about money. If you are poor and your skin is too dark, then you are locked up because you can't afford bail. If you are a white kid with a b.b. gun who held up a car and stole property, well then you are released to your white parents, because you just need to see a therapist. (a real case, btw)

At 12:45 they adjourned for lunch and locked the big gates to the courthouse. I went to the local Wendy's and then sat on the steps waiting for them to reopen the doors. At 2:15, they reopened the gates and I took all the metal out of my pockets and went back through the metal detector. I sat back down on the hard wooden benches and listened to case after case for the next 3 1/2 hours. Finally my friends were brought out. Neither of them had black eyes. Neither of them had swollen lips. No bail was set and there was no reason for me to be there. They looked at me strangely like, WHY ARE YOU HERE? Their case was dropped because neither of them pressed charges against the other.

I was told that they had gotten into a loud argument and knocked over a table and broken a glass. Apparently the neighbors had called the cops and though they told the cops that there was no physical violence occurring, just an argument, they were still taken into the station an booked for assault.

I had double vision and was pretty exhausted by the time they got out. I did not sit in the courthouse to receive a medal of appreciation, but I just felt a coldness from both of them. When I mentioned that I was tired from being there all day they just recounted competitively that they were more tired from being in holding. When I told them that I had been worried about the message and not hearing from them, the boyfriend attacked me as though I was a horrible person for thinking he might be capable of doing anything to my friend. I walked them to the precinct to get their keys and belongings. They offered to get me a car to take me to the train but I chose to walk.

I asked if they would be ok going home together, if they would not fight or end up in jail again. They said they would be fine. I have not heard from them at all today. They did not call to thank me for spending two days worrying or a day sitting on a hard wooden bench at the courthouse. I know this is what friends are for, but a part of me feels like a phone call today would have been the least that they could do.

It is a horrible place to be when you are filled with worry, but have no control and can't do anything about it but wait.

On the bright side of all this, I think it is an invaluable experience to sit on a hard wooden bench and see the true ugly face of justice in this country. It is frightening, and I have a new appreciation for not having been thrown into the system to experience it first hand.

My tylenol PM is kicking in and I am about to slip into a warm milk and olive oil bath as the cats play in the hallway. If the phone rings at 1am, I think again in my grogginess, I will choose to not answer it. If it rings tomorrow at 1am, again, I think I shall choose to sleep.

A Picture w/ Some Words is Worth 1,000 Words

I have a softspot for old lesbian pulp novels, educational films(especially sex ed) from the 1950's and a plethera of other odd objects from the past.
There has been so much going on lately that I don't know where to start, though I suppose the best place would be with an apology for neglecting my duties here at the Rant. As many of you may have noticed, Chester Devonshire's image and name never left the blog after he was so suddenly fired due to the economic downturn. After a week, without Chester, I found myself sinking into a slow paralyzing depression. I found myself down on my hands and knees begging Chester to come back. Some of you will be very pleased to know that he has accepted on the condition that his return was to begin after a 4 week vacation to the Virgin Islands.

It is cold in New York, that kind of cold that seeps through your skin and into your bones, making your fingers red and numb, your skin cracked, your toes pulsating with tinges of pain.

K went away to Canada for a week. During his absence aspects of my life began to fall apart, completely unrelated to him, but rather connected to my family. Many hidden thing came forth and my parents separated.

My father was in another car accident, totaling his truck on the way back from a therapy session. He was unconcious when they found him. I'm not sure what happened. The details still seem to not add up. He is in the hospital with a broken sternum, some bleeding in his brain that seems to be headling and an extremely broken leg.

Despite being in a whirwind of stress that has bounced me around from crying to hysterically laughing, I decided to stop smoking cigarettes. I have only been smoking for a couple of months. I wave goodbye to nicotine and spend long stretches without it in my system and then suddenly welcome it back like an old friend only to say goodbye again. I have felt a bit tense the last couple of days, but I am breathing deeper and smelling more, some of which I wish I weren't smelling.

I am feeling very rundown from everything. I don't fully know how to process all events and emotions. I have fear of things to come. Life goes on, but it changes so often in unexpected ways.

US Airways Plane Crashes into the Hudson River

Today a US Airways plane crash landed in the hudson river after it's engines were disabled by running into a flock of geese. Amazingly, it seems that all the passengers and crew made it out ok. Wow.

Read the Full Story Here

My Father:Update

I thought it strange that my father was released from the hospital so soon after fracturing a vertebrae in his spine and I guess so did the neurosurgeon who said that he should have been lifewatched by helicopter on Friday.

On Tuesday he was readmitted to the hospital and last night at 7pm, he was taken into surgery to repair the damage.

A huge thank you to all of you for your thoughts and prayers. His surgery went well and my father is recovering. This has been a week of emotional ups and downs for me, and I am very thankful that my father is alive and relatively well given the circumstances.

My Father

My father was in a car accident on Friday. After swerving to avoid hitting a deer, he crashed the car off a 15 foot bridge into 5 feet of icy water. He managed to pull himself out of the car, climb a hill and reach the highway at the same time that a friend was driving by. One ear is very badly injured and he fractured a vertebrae in his neck. He goes to see a neurosurgeon on Tuesday. Despite major head trauma, swelling,etc, it is pretty much a miracle that he is alive and was able to go home from the hospital yesterday. I was able to speak with him today on the phone and he was in good spirits despite being in a lot of pain and in a brace from chin to chest which leaves him very immobile.

I ask please that you keep my father and his recovery in your thoughts and prayers.

Thank you so much

Robert

Manhole Explosion!

No, This is not a walk down memory lane to recount my harrowing experience with the stomach flu, nor is this a post worthy of the possible titillation sparked by its title.

Last night I was mixing some tracks for the extraordinarily talented Jeff Cubeta, when my studio monitors started making a low crackling noise. I looked up and the lights in the apartment were flickering oddly. Seeing as how the wiring in our building is so messed up that we're one toaster strudel away from the building bursting into a towering inferno, I began to run around frantically lighting candles in preparation for an electric apocalypse. Ooh, I like the sound of that. Don't be surprised when I release my electro album titled electro apocalypse just in time for you to check the last box on your Mayan calendar.

Suddenly there was a loud boom and more flickering of lights. I decided to flee the apartment, leaving K in his underwear to fend for himself. well, I mean, I offered to take him with me, but he chose to stay behind.

So, this takes me back to a different walk down memory lane, but not the one where I was simultaneously hugging the toilet and the bathroom sink. It was late one wintry night back when I had hope in my eyes and an ass like a 12 year old Chinese gymnast. I had been drinking scotch and fighting off the advances of lecherous old men who wanted to shower me with platinum visas and buy me small islands off the coast of Spain. I was crossing an empty street when an odd clicking sound stopped me in my tracks. I looked down to see that I was standing over a steaming manhole, which sounds a lot more salacious than it actually was. Like the young fool that I was, I stood there trying to place the clicking sound. I shrugged, oh well and continued on my journey. I got about halfway down the block when I heard a loud explosion.

I turned around to see the manhole cover flying through the air landing and spinning like a sloppily flipped quarter. A steaming crater of devastation now occupied the space where I had been standing. Fire trucks, police, crowds descended upon the scene and I, a bit shocked, sauntered home, having lived to recount my tale to my roommate at the time.

So, last night, I went outside to discover that people were all coming out of their buildings, having heard the explosion. A similar descent of fire trucks, police and crowds swarmed to the front of Phat Albert's discount warehouse where yet another manhole had exploded. The street light flickered on and then off. People got bored with nothing much to see and the crowds dissipated.

So, the moral of the story, dear readers? As tempting as it may be, stay away from a steaming manhole, because it just might be the last manhole you lay your eyes on.

Typhoid Mary would like to retract her statement

Last week, after a meal of Empanada's at the newly opened location for Empanada Joe's on 22nd street, I became very ill with what I thought for sure was food poisoning. I have discovered over the course of the last few days as those around me have fallen ill , condemned to a similar fate of toilet hugging, that I was too quick to conclude food poisoning to be the source of my harrowing experience.

It is rare that I remove a post from this blog. However, in this case, I feel it is necessary to prevent any unfair criticism of Empanada Joes. I afterall did enjoy the food that I had there and it was reasonably priced. It is important to be able to admit when one has made a mistake, and in this case I have concluded that I was wrong.
I whole heartedly apologize to the folks over at Empanada Joes and wish them all the best with their new location.

That being said, Please everyone be aware that there is a highly contagious virus that can be spread with very little physical contact. (see here) I rode the train with poor Carrie Thomas on Thursday and on Friday night, she found herself bowing to the porcelain god.

On Saturday evening, Konstantine also fell to his knees and bowed his head in the confessional known as Jason and Simon's bathroom.

I sign this post typhoid Mary, admittedly wrong...but ultimately just happy to eat solid food again.

Solid Food=A beautiful thing

Slowly I am venturing back to solid food.
Tentatively I can say that it is a good thing.
I'm such a foodie. I love to cook, to eat.
I may not have empanadas for a long time but I plan on relishing this weekend in the splendors of solid food once again.

Ricky...Thank you for the kind wishes. They seem to have worked. :)

Faggot Bitch

Photo by Carrie Thomas

Last night I was walking down the steps to the subway platform to try and catch the train. At the bottom of the steps, the woman in front of me slowed down abruptly, causing me to step on her flip flop. Her foot slipped out and touched the floor of platform. She began to yell.

"Goddammit, Goddammit"

I stopped, acknowledged her and apologized but she kept yelling. She seemed kind of crazy. I apologized again and said that it was an accident.
She was still yelling so I started to walk away.

She yelled as I walked away

"it wouldn'a happened if you hadn' been ridin' my muthafuckin ass, you faggot bitch."
(Pause)...
"DID YOU HEAR ME?"

I kept walking as though I did not hear her until there was enough distance between us that I felt there would be no confrontation.

Though it would not normally matter, it is important to note that this woman was african american. The reason I imbue importance upon her race is that her use of the F-word in my mind seems incongruous to a people who suffered years of persecution, segregation and degradation under lashful tongues armed with the N-word.

My mind began to flip the situation. Had I been wearing flip flops, experienced the same situation from her perspective and turned to weak-minded hate speech substitute, the N-Word for the F-Word coming from a white man, there would have been a riot/murder on the subway platform.

I know that the best thing in this situation was to walk away from crazy, low-class, feeble-minded hatred, but regardless I felt violated.

The words echoed through my head. I found myself taken back to a place where I was 13 years old and scared to walk down the hallway at school because I knew that I would be called a faggot. Almost every day it happened. Many days I cried. I did not cry yesterday, but I will say this. As much as I do not have the right to use the N-word, unless you are of the homosexual persuasion, you do not have the right to use the F-word. So, nameless trashy lady, I doubt that you will read this, but I address this do you.

Don't you call me a motherfuckin' faggot. You don't have the right to use that word unless you want to give motherfuckin' faggots the right to use your word and I don't think you do, so back it off. You need to deal with your anger and your hatred. It is brewing underneath the surface and having your fucking flip flop come off does not give you the right to spew your venom on me. I forgive you for your ignorance, your prejudice and your hatred. I hope that one day, you are able to rise above it and behave like an adult. If you are unable to pursue that point of enlightenment, I suggest that you either stay home or keep it to yourself. There is no room for it in my world.

What's wrong with this picture?

What's wrong with this picture taken of our president at the olympic games in
China?

You've gotta be kidding. ugh.
George Bush never ceased to amaze and embarrass us as a nation.

We Can't Have Nice Things

Photo by Carrie Thomas

I remember knocking over a china vase while fighting with my sister. It was probably the 5th grade. I remember getting super glue and piecing it back together to cover all traces of our sin. My mother used to say that we couldn't have nice things. I think that I was a big part of this.

I remember staining the carpet with bleach. I had white shoes that I wore to gymnastics and they had turned an earthy shade of brown. I took a bottle of bleach and cotton balls and sat Indian-style on the carpet, dapping the bleach on the offending spots. I was so proud of my accomplishment until I looked down at the half dollar sized circles of bleached carpet. I grabbed magic markers and shoe polish to try and fix the mistake, but I was found out. My mother was furious. I had to sit in a chair without moving until my father got home. I think this was the last time in my life that my father whipped me with a belt.

I was standing in line this week at the post office, listening to music when the sound stopped pumping into my left ear. I discovered that my nice headphones, a christmas gift had started to come apart due more than likely to the rigors of abuse that I have inflicted on them. For the last week, I have been listening to music through one ear. The strange thing is that I feel like I can hear what should be coming through the broken headphone, but it's just in my head. I'm completing a circuit like an amputee who feels the need to scratch a limb that is no longer there. Yes, We just can't have nice things

I broke a nail

Ahhhh! I broke a nail. Normally this would be a phrase to fall from the lips of a high maintenance prissy girl with a finely buffed French manicure. In my case, I use my fingernails to strum the guitar. My left hand is nubby where I chew the fingernails down to the quick. It's the hand that holds down the strings. My right hand however has long unkempt nails that look like that of a crazy old mountain man. I've resisted getting press on nails for a while, but it might be the time. Grow little fingernail. Grow now. I need you. If you can't grow fast little friend, I'll be forced to have an affair with Lee and her tempting Press-on-nails.

a shift in the tide

something has shifted and everything is changing.
I fell down the rain soaked stairs to my apartment last night whilst wearing rubber shoes. i have bruises and soreness throughout my body. I am covered in bug bites on my legs from watching the sun set on turtle bridge.

I have scrapes on my arms and legs from climbing a tree to comfort a rather upset cat. i am in-fact a boy.
I watched hours of animal planet with K, because we are lame little nerd boys. I now have a love for wombats and want one for a pet. The closest thing I have is this picture that K made me. This morning I got a message from my mother letting me know that my uncle Louie has died. The funeral is in North Dakota on Monday. He was such a great man with a sweet heart. I hope he his smiling wherever he is.

Ride on, Ride on

I haven't slept well for three days.

On the night of my birthday, the cab that was taking me back to Brooklyn pealed away with my guitar still in the trunk. With the help of K. we have called every cab company in the city. We've called every police precinct. We've filed reports and frantically paced.

I woke with a startle at 3:30 am and started scrubbing the tile in my shower, just trying to get rid of the nervous energy. I feel disoriented and foggy and unable to breathe or swallow.

I am worried about black swan. I feel sick to my stomach, to my head, to my crawling skin. I want to claw at the walls, claw at my ears, my face, my eyes. I want to curl into a ball and cry until there is no moisture left in my body.
I can't though. I can't get a single tear to come. I just feel empty and numb and disjointed.

I don't know what to do.


"Ride on, Ride on Friends of the black swan. Ride on Ride on. Do you know where she's gone?"- Tori Amos' Black Swan

Photo of Robert German going up in flames courtesy of Carrie Thomas

Yes Virginia,

I did catch on fire.
In response to the "outpouring of concern" I have compiled this frequently asked questions section.
By outpouring of concern I mean 2 emails which were more mildly curious than concerned, but
let's humor my inflated delusions of self worth.

FAQ

Q: Were you burned?
A: First of all, I was not burned. Thank you baby Jesus.

Q: How did you catch on Fire?
A: There were tea candles on a table at waist level. I leaned back and the highly flamable lining of my cordaroy jacket lit up like a hannuka candle.

Q: Were you outraged by the party host's response to the situation?
A: I am constantly and consistently outraged by the lack of compasion many fully functioning human beings exhibit. Yes. Thank you for asking.

Q: Has there been any kind of apology?
A: Yes, in fact I received a very nice apologetic phone call two days after the event ,and the party host offered to replace my jacket. This 360 degree turn in attitude is appreciated but so confusing to my little head which had settled into a state of justifiable outrage. Is it two days late and $300 short? Probably not, I'm going to go with the baby jesus and embrace forgiveness and the new distressed jacket that I'm passing off as a bohemian fashion statement. Though I kind of smell like burnt hair now.

Stop Drop and Roll

Photo by the extraordinary Carrie Thomas

I must have been on fire for a while before i realized what was happening. First of all, when you catch on fire all logic goes out the window. Somewhere in the back of my head was a hippie kindergarten teacher yelling Stop drop and roll. Instead, I casually placed my drink on the table and turned back to look at the flames. It was like it was happening to someone else.

People began beating at my jacket to try and stop the fire. A girl actually yelled "Stop, Drop and roll." I squatted on the floor and threw my jacket off. people began stomping on it to put out the last of the flames. My first thought was that I hoped they weren't stomping on my ipod. I picked up my jacket and stared at the holes and the charred bits of cordaroy, less concerned about my own life or well being than i was with the amount of money that I had spent on the jacket. My mother always used to say that we just can't have nice things. As usual, she was right.

The host of the party came over as I was surveying the wreckage, not to make sure I was ok, but rather to make it clear that he would not be reimbursing me for the damage to my jacket. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but instead smiled and said. "Oh, I know. Don't worry about it."

My brush with fire became an anecdote that propelled the momentum for the rest of the party. By the way, for those of you who decided to use every form of the word flame...flaming...flamer....Yes, I appreciate your creativity. You are so cleavor, I can barely contain myself. Bruce Springstein's "I'm on fire" started playing on repeat in my head.

I was unable to stop drop and roll my way to silence on that one.