Children

Children in New York are terrible. At twelve o'clock everyday, they descend upon the city, getting out of school for lunch and rushing the streets. The pizza shops and bodegas nearest the school are overwhelmed by these foul creatures, who have yet to learn the responsibilities that all of us share. They curse each other, spit, yell, listen to ipods, and 'shout out' their friends on cell phones. Inside the Chelsea Market, they buy their food or bring their lunches and sit in the middle of the promenade. Blocking honest men and women, these children are a fire hazard. Surely, too, they are a health code violation. Surely, they have never washed their hands.

In my neighborhood, these beasts are being spawned. Women walk their boys and girls around in strollers. These strollers too are a nuisance. They take up the isles in the market and the sidewalks on the street. As a man, i am terrified of these women, and i feel for the men they have indentured. I can only imagine how flabbergasted these men must be, receiving the knowledge that their wives and girlfriends are pregnant. The innocuous act, which they had engaged in time and time again, or worse, only the once, for social purposes had culminated in its reproductive one. As a man whose parts have never been successfully tested in the field, I can sympathize with the sort of shock that this news would bring on; a mixed pot of wonder, joy, fear, and sadness.

This Goes Out to the Ladies

To all you girls in Brooklyn that 'prefer' to live with female roommates, fuck you. I didn't want to live with you anyway, you're doing me a favor, but just say what you mean and say it with some balls. "No boys," maybe, or perhaps, "if you're a dude, you need not apply." Be definitive and ardent. Exclude with vigor. Do not say maybe. Do not give even a twinkle of hope.

In addition, it is only women who 'prefer' to live with anyone on craigslist. This is simply an observation. There are no men posting about living preferences, and if there are, i'd advise them to check their pants for a vagina. I believe the reasons for this to be two-fold: First, these women--no, these girls--do not have friends who are stupid or crazy enough to live with them. Two, these girls are assholes. That's it. Their friends wont live with them and so they want to go find new friends on craiglist.

This, polemic, keep in mind, has nothing to do with anyone i know/love who is currently looking for housing. It has to do with silly girls from NYU, who want to get away from the dorm life. Maybe it also has to do with some performance artists, I'm not sure. Maybe, also, it has to do with me and this thing i have about rejection.

Democrats in da House

Seriously, fuck the Democratic National Convention. Fuck it. Fuck democrats for the matter. Fuck Nancy Pelosi. Fuck Barack Obama.

I'm not sure why these people think it's cool to swarm together and talk about how tight they are. It makes sense. Kinda. I guess. Like it must feel good to stand in a huge crowd of like minded-people and chant little quips and catch phrases. I don't know. Doesn't that sound kinda good? Right?

So, honestly, i didn't even finish this shit. I watched for a few minutes, learned some shit about Nancy Pelosi, Barack Obama, and John McCain. Pelosi is the first Italian American speaker of the house. She's also a woman. Incidentally, she's a great speaker and kinda charismatic, but fuck, is she annoying. I've never heard so much goddamn talk about modern patriotism and coalitions.

I mean, i really don't know what it is that irks me so goddamn much about politics. i think it's all really foolish and iritating on this superficial level; but in this whole other, more complex way i thinks it's kind of malevolent or something. I think, for sure, that these people, almost categorically, are snakes. i think no congress person ought to speak to passingly about right and wrong when it comes to political ideas; at least not by saying 'this person is right this one is wrong blah blah blah.' It's stupid. It's stupid talk. Especially when a room full of flag-waving dummies chant along with her, "When it comes to health care! Obama's right, McCain's wrong!" Seriously? Seriously, that's what where doing?

Also, I don't know what's good for our country. I don't. More abstractly or fundamentally, however, I don't think simply bringing diametric positions to the table is the best way of solving a problem. In politics, though, It's even worse then that. It's not like Barack Obama and John McCain have opposite ideas; it's not even that 'democrats' and 'republicans' have opposite ideas. In fact, i'm not entirely convinced, after this little shindig, that either have any real ideas at all. Instead, two dudes who probably believe a lot of the same things are encouraged to say silly things by silly people. I think that's where the whole evil part of politics comes from. It's all about winning, but not in healthy american sense, but in the conniving, i'll-say/do-anything kind of way. Like, if a politician was in a western, he/she almost undoubtedly would be a bad guy, a coward, or a wretch.

Jesus this blog is bad. Whatever. I seriously felt a little sick watching that shit. it made me feel a little hopeless and sad for our country. i'm not sure if it was the conspicuous splicing of political rhetoric and MLK themes or what, but it makes me sick that Obama is black. It makes me feel sad a little; like maybe we all feel a little too good about him being black.

Plus, the way people at this convention where talking about how he's going to save us made me hope he fuck it up. Like, fucks everything up: health care, economy, the war. I know this is stupid and maybe not even cool, but part of me wants to see what would happen. i know it wouldn't be tight, but maybe it would be good for us to realize that these fuckin guys are just suits with big, white teeth.

As American As Men's Gymnastics

Unlike many young, indignant Americans, I am extremely proud of my country.

Tonight, i talked with my mom on the phone and watched Men's gymnastics. First, i'm not sure if four year old perceptions are simply too old to say i even truly comprehended anything or if the sport has simply changed a great deal in that time, but there was something incredible about it all. Often times i found myself sitting completely still and holding my breath until whole routines were finished.

After the American Men's team was finished performing or whatever, the feed cut to a young women, Natalie Coughlin, who had just won the 100m backstroke and qualified for the 200m freestyle event. After a congenial interview, there was a replay of the of her standing on a podium with another American and a German, i think, and quietly mouthing the words to The Star-Spangled Banner. Her hair was still wet from her earlier swim and holding a bouquet with shaky hands, she kept back her tears. I looked at her high cheek bones, perfect teeth, and blue eyes (all, to me, undeniably mid-western characteristics) and felt proud and happy. As the song came to an end, and she no longer had any words to quietly recite, she began to cry, wave, and smile, and for a brief moment I felt my throat get tight, and thought that i might cry along with her.

I'm not sure what it was exactly that made me feel so goddamn good about watching this young woman achieve something so great; i'm not sure it needs to be much more than that. I know there was a sense of unity, though; something that made me, and her, and all the athletes that compete under the United States, and every other american, connected. It happened later, too, after the feed cut back to the American Men's gymnastics team celebrating after winning a bronze medal. They all jumped around and hugged each other, and chanted 'U.S.A.' as coaches and teammates ruffled their hair and kissed their heads. In the audience, a young man who evidently couldn't compete, was clapping and intermittently wiping tears from his massive face by nuzzling it into his massive arms.

I'm sure the reasons for my emotional response tonight are complex, but simply, i was proud to be an American. I felt identifiable and good. I am always vaguely proud in this way, but this sensation was so acute and direct that it was altogether overwhelming. Thank God that this feeling was quickly nullified by a member of the men's gymnastics teams repeatedly shouting into the camera, "that's how we role!" Any sentimentality, at this point, was quickly put to rest.

Good Things

- Driving down the coast really fast with the windows down, listening to loud music.
- Spraying out the inside of a cooler with a water hose, and especially listening to the noise it makes.
- Cold, light beers when thirsty/dehydrated.
- Seinfeld.
- Cigarettes.
- The smell of a BBQ.
- Letter's from Alex Roome's mom.
- Letter's from your mom.
- Making fun of Ben B's stink-foot.
- J-books
- Calling C-Note's bluff and asking him if he wants to go 'halfzies' on the first five issues of Orson Scott Card's Iron Man.
- Calling Neil a 'big, fat Jew.'
- Telling Dr. P how sweet 300 was, even though it wasn't that sweet at all.
- Moving into new places with good friends.
- Drinking at the Red.
- Prefacing work related shit-talk with a, "i know we don't want to talk shit about work all night, but..."
- Saying 'fag' in public.

Amateur Barista, Professional Psychologist

By now, all of you are, i'm sure, aware of the fact that i work at a coffee shop. This coffee shop is arguably the best purveyor of espresso drinks in the downtown area. Whether this is the case or not, many people think this, and in thinking this, they are either incline to visit or not. For example, I feel extremely self-conscious when suggesting to my friends that we go to my coffee shop as opposed to any other. I still do make this suggestion, and my friends are good sports about it. All of them will get their coffee and they'll say that it's good, or it sucks, or 'who cares, Dude, you're such a fag;' they are not the kind of people who are drawn to this place.

There are whole handfuls of people, however, that love this shop. They should, I guess. It's a good coffee shop. It looks really nice and the people are nice too. There is one couple who comes in everyday, before or after their run (they go jogging together!), and order huge lattes with condensed milk or caramel, and tons of whipped cream, but fuck it, we love them. Everyone loves them. They're great.

One of the things that is great about them is that they accept the relationship between service person and customer. They are the customer, etc. There are some, however, that reject or misunderstand this relationship. These are the people that when asked how they are doing, respond, "terrible today, my dog is dying." I understand that that shit is tragic, it hurts, but i'm a fucking coffee guy. I care, i've been through it, but it's none of my business what your dog is doing. Even if i asked it still isn't my business. Mostly, these people don't play that nice little game that lends itself to my sanity; that game where i pretend i'm not hung-over and you pretend you're emotionally stable. These people encourage me to pursue lines of questioning, hoping upon hope that i will nibble on a juicy piece of gossip that might lead to stories of drug addiction, sex, death, whatever. Anyway, it's just really fucking weird. It's kinda sad. It also kinda makes me feel like we're all sliding down some weird, unforgiving slope, where once at the bottom, we will find ourselves subtly begging our service men and women to ask about our day so that we can answer them honestly, hook them with our feelers, and suck their life-force.

So fuck that. I'm moving to New York to seek my fortune and when i'm rich, or we're all rich, or we're all poor and alex is rich, we will find a city, a house, and a barbeque near one another and live like kings.

Wine Talk

Wine talk is bullshit. It is complete bullshit. I'm twenty three years old. I'm allowed to think this way.

Talk of wine, like many things, is a tool; it is a tool that allows the individuals who wield it to raise themselves up from the hordes and their popular springs of knowledge. There are many such tools. Swear words and sex acts, too, have had their moments in style and fame. Indeed, the third-grader who gracefully wields the 'fuck' word and seems to possess the arcane knowledge of 'blowjobs,' is a man amongst children. However, looking back, this charming, nostalgic notion shines with a brilliance that only pure bullshit can provide; namely, no child has a conversational comfort with 'fuck' words, just as no child truly understands sex acts. As adults, and agents, we accept these quirks, just as our forebears accepted them of us. "They're just kids," we often say. We understand that children are capable of childish things. This is fine and natural.

However, the child's desire to raise himself/herself up from the masses by cursing, or speaking of 'blow jobs,' is not representative of strictly childhood behavior; instead, it is a behavioural characteristic that any person can possess. We know this principle well. "Stop being a child," we might say when chastising a friend. This is simply to say that children behave in ways that are not acceptable for adults. Even more broadly: we expect different things from people our own age. We expect a friend to conduct him/herself within certain parameters, just as we expect the child to. For the adult, acting as a child is well outside the acceptable parameters of behavior.

It seems that i may have gotten ahead of myself. We are talking about wine, after all. I said earlier that talk of wine is a tool; a tool that young adults use to superficially improve themselves. This premise, however, seems to beg the question. So let us address this matter.

As a man in my early twenties, my proficiencies are many, and yet, relative to the average living age, few. My knowledge and abilities in regards to breathing in and out have been, over my twenty three years and some odd days of living, finely honed. My understanding of, say, men's fashion accessories on the other hand, continues to be deficient. In regards to the latter, this may very well be the case for all reasonable men my age. Obviously, there are things that simply continue to elude us young men. At twenty three, despite nearly three years of bar room activity and consistent beer drinking in between, I can only begin to tell you what sort of beer i enjoy. Indeed, this may be a purely subjective deficiency of my own; a deficiency of my palate, perhaps. Still, it seems fair to say that given only three years training, experts in any field would be few and far between. After all, these things take time.

Avoiding the possibility that my recent and cursory understanding of beers and beer flavor is due to retarded taste and olfactory senses, let us move to wine. Wine is something that ought to be enjoyed. Indeed, wine has a myriad of wonderful things to offer. Even indirectly, the 'lush' can be seen as a great contribution. And yet, there is an aura surrounding wine that is far from savory. This pernicious aura is one that surrounds and consequently vitiates many things, which are, in its absence, enjoyable. The enjoyment of spirits, cheese, and even coffee, are fine examples. These things, which are good, have been soiled by a foul dust which has settled upon them. Of these examples, nothing has gotten it quite so bad, so to speak, as wine as gotten it.

This aura, this dust that i speak of, is one that exists solely in the presence of people. It brings from them something for which I have an unaffected scorn: wine talk. This talk is the worst sort of talk. It comes from people regularly. We have all done it, i'm sure, as children or otherwise. Regardless of age, however, we can look upon it with shame and humility, knowing full well that we all have sinned. As youths, we have spoken of sex act with the plagiarized confidence of adults, just as we have cursed and swore like sailors. We have all been seduced by the desire to have claimed new wellsprings of knowledge for our own, and consequently we have desired to be apart from the masses, looking back, laughing. Do not get me wrong. I am not saying, "do not explore!" By all means, learn, experience, hone your craft, read thick volumes of wine talk, and labor tirelessly for your love. Speak to me of finishes, highs and lows, and flavor profiles. However, if your talk has that nice, familiar stink to it, I will not be accepting, and, by God, you will receive no quarter.