So then I was inspired to go yesterday- and I took this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
Monday, April 01, 2013
Dances with Horses
Taking the advice from a friend I read this article
www.nytimes.com/2013/03/25/
So then I was inspired to go yesterday- and I took this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
So then I was inspired to go yesterday- and I took this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
Saturday, March 09, 2013
Adventures in LockBusting
The lock on my mom's front door started acting weird a few days ago- the knob on the box (what's that thing called? A vertical deadlock (PDF)) just went loose. It still operated but was obviously on last legs. I went to the local maison d'hardware to fetch a replacement but was unable to install it properly- it wasn't an exact match with its predecessor, despite being the same make. The holes that line up with the strike plate weren't in exactly the same place, but moreover, the profile of the new mechanism made it impossible to install it flush against the door.
Anyway I found really glowing reviews of a locksmith online, and he was so good I actually joined yelp to add my own review:
He discovered the hole was drilled on an irregular angle (because the drills used on steel doors 40 years ago were just not that easy to manage). Therefore any new lock would not be flush against the door- and it wasn't anything I did. What that meant for the original mechanism-- was it odd, or filed down to make it work? Dunno. He drilled a straighter hole, moved the thing over about a half inch, and put it to rights. Since I don't have a drill that big, or experience with that kind of heavy labor, it was a huge relief to have a professional do it for me- fast, and expertly.
Anyway this guy was smart, friendly, and obviously passionate about his craft and helping people. I hope he's not retired when I next need a 'smith.
Anyway I found really glowing reviews of a locksmith online, and he was so good I actually joined yelp to add my own review:
He discovered the hole was drilled on an irregular angle (because the drills used on steel doors 40 years ago were just not that easy to manage). Therefore any new lock would not be flush against the door- and it wasn't anything I did. What that meant for the original mechanism-- was it odd, or filed down to make it work? Dunno. He drilled a straighter hole, moved the thing over about a half inch, and put it to rights. Since I don't have a drill that big, or experience with that kind of heavy labor, it was a huge relief to have a professional do it for me- fast, and expertly.
Anyway this guy was smart, friendly, and obviously passionate about his craft and helping people. I hope he's not retired when I next need a 'smith.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
You ARE the ride AND the mobile device
Some days feel like continuously falling, drifting, melting.
Mission: find a cozy niche in the maelstrom.
Sprite overload. too many objects to render on the screen at once and the processor's taking a hit.
Confused, uncomfortable, and out of control, the illusion is from confidence that "reality" could be anything otherwise; the ride will stop spinning and come to a halt; someone will come by and unbuckle the safety belt so you can stand, exit the windswept steel and plastic harness, the intestinal panic subsides as you bumble down the stairs and back out into the sun.
Mission: find a cozy niche in the maelstrom.
Sprite overload. too many objects to render on the screen at once and the processor's taking a hit.
Confused, uncomfortable, and out of control, the illusion is from confidence that "reality" could be anything otherwise; the ride will stop spinning and come to a halt; someone will come by and unbuckle the safety belt so you can stand, exit the windswept steel and plastic harness, the intestinal panic subsides as you bumble down the stairs and back out into the sun.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Sleep No More- interlude
I'm sitting in a corner at the bar at the "McKittrick Hotel" which is a rest area of sorts, supposed to be stuck in the pre-depression era. There's a five-piece doing its best to operate a few big-band tunes and navigating well but still a little out of place. I've been walking and sweating in the dark for awhile, so it seemed de rigeur to get a shot of absinthe and sip, waiting for something else to happen. I tried telling the bartender we're all just ghostly sacks of meat in this absurd theater, but she wasn't buying it... or the drink.
Just before this, back up on the fifth floor, a lady in a red dress was eating some food, found a brass ring in it, wiped it with her napkin, and put it on my finger. She then launched into a lip-synched performance of a song about jaded dissatisfaction ("is this all there is to life/love.") Soon afterwards, I found the stairway back to the red velvet-covered lounge. The tall, slow-talking announcer-host comes up to me, puts his hand on my shoulder (I'm a little startled, was staring at my phone) and asks "how would you like to finish that shot and go on a little adventure?" I pocket my phone, slug the fluid, stand up and replied "absolutely". He leads me to a corner, looks at a porter who nods, and hides behind a curtain to discreetly use a radio headset; he's coordinating. The tall fellow looks at my shirt and says "what's hacky-sack?" Not willing to play a character I said "whatever you want it to be, buddy." He then pulls back a different curtain to reveal an elevator- not the same one I'd used before... and leads me inside.
He opens the door and pushes me out to a hallway, leaving me with another fellow, also tuxedoed; we're in a spotlight, standing aside an ancient wheelchair/gurney. . It's the kind that looks like a cross between a barber's chair, a folding wooden deal, and something from the torture room in "Brazil". There's a light mist of dry ice like everywhere else in this place, and I'm a little clammy. His hand was warm as he took mine and led me into the chair. The music got much louder, the lights went down, he eased back the chair so I was lying on my back, with that hand pressing down on my shoulder. He started to run, rolling the gurney along with at a pace that seemed a little hazardous for pitch black, and the interlude began...
Just before this, back up on the fifth floor, a lady in a red dress was eating some food, found a brass ring in it, wiped it with her napkin, and put it on my finger. She then launched into a lip-synched performance of a song about jaded dissatisfaction ("is this all there is to life/love.") Soon afterwards, I found the stairway back to the red velvet-covered lounge. The tall, slow-talking announcer-host comes up to me, puts his hand on my shoulder (I'm a little startled, was staring at my phone) and asks "how would you like to finish that shot and go on a little adventure?" I pocket my phone, slug the fluid, stand up and replied "absolutely". He leads me to a corner, looks at a porter who nods, and hides behind a curtain to discreetly use a radio headset; he's coordinating. The tall fellow looks at my shirt and says "what's hacky-sack?" Not willing to play a character I said "whatever you want it to be, buddy." He then pulls back a different curtain to reveal an elevator- not the same one I'd used before... and leads me inside.
He opens the door and pushes me out to a hallway, leaving me with another fellow, also tuxedoed; we're in a spotlight, standing aside an ancient wheelchair/gurney. . It's the kind that looks like a cross between a barber's chair, a folding wooden deal, and something from the torture room in "Brazil". There's a light mist of dry ice like everywhere else in this place, and I'm a little clammy. His hand was warm as he took mine and led me into the chair. The music got much louder, the lights went down, he eased back the chair so I was lying on my back, with that hand pressing down on my shoulder. He started to run, rolling the gurney along with at a pace that seemed a little hazardous for pitch black, and the interlude began...
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Today's commute
I commuted today wearing a clown nose.
Every time I started laughing I imagined my co-workers in Hawaiian shirts and a Brazilian wax.
It's under a half hour, door-to-door, and somehow I heard less than three audible laughs. One of those was from the homeless fella sleeping next to the metrocard machine while I was waiting in line. WTH?
Now I want to bring a dozen clown noses and another dozen Hawaiian shirts to family holiday parties. Not my family, mind you.
Monday, February 13, 2012
warmup, 2 : anxiety, 1
housewarming party.
good times. plenty of friends, nobody had a bad time (or said so). Plenty of food- we even forgot to put out a huge bowl of sweet potato black bean salad. No problem- it will suffice for snacks and some meals over the next few days.
I was up at 6am cleaning, shopping, cooking got all anxious about it in all sorts of weird ways. Yelling, worried about there being enough food, or enough fun, or if everyone had enough to do. I wished we could have had a grab bag, like when I was a kid. HONEY? DID YOU SALT THE LAST BATCH OF COOKIES?!?! The cookies were irresistible. Salted butterscotch oatmeal: http://agirlamarketameal.blogspot.com/2011/03/salted-oatmeal-butterscotch-cookies-yes.html
I made: http://www.eatliverun.com/the-only-guacamole-recipe-youll-ever-need/
I spent a lot more money than I thought I'd have to. Bought a big bottle of whiskey, because I forgot I already had one.
The cheese knife finally made an appearance and the booze multiplied.
The first arrivals brought an amazing chocolate cake. I pushed it all night and now we have half of it left.
It wasn't an AMAZING, OVER THE TOP party- we didn't need one- just good fun. The sugar-coated frosting side of me kinda wanted it. but I didn't think of it until yesterday afternoon. the frosted mini-wheats side of me wishes we passed out ex instead of cookies.
adult parties are really kinda boring so I guess the stress is about being okay that- having an adult, boring party. I don't know that I am. Nobody yelled or got hit, nothing got broken, and there were no belly laughs. Definitely not enough laughing. It was all just ok. We didn't have enough time or space or energy to invite all the people I wanted to. That is to say, we had to start from the point of inviting a small number of people. I had to pass over some very close friends I feel VERY badly about not having involved. VERY.
All the same we were pooped at the end. polished off a bottle of wine and passed right out afterwards. I woke up at 6 again and just started rinsing out beer bottles. There was a certain "passing the test" feeling though. Like we really could clean up this dump and throw everything in the closets for 24 hours if we have to. Nobody got made fun of. Hooray for normal. What the hell am I celebrating for?
Monday, February 06, 2012
Jaded shit today
Truth be known I really hate growing up. Mature decisions and consequences, work and relationships, other people's drama and current events and politics aren't easier just more complex. And what a bunch of bullshit all that turned out to be! Health, fucking money, sex and exercise, music, movies, books, it's all shit. My creativity is shot and motivation more so. Prospects and options are dwindling- body sure ain't holding up. Brain isn't doing right by me. And all for what? Some self determined happiness that I was supposed to figure out how to chase down somewhere along the line? When was that exactly?
When did everything go from a big deal to 'big fuckin deal?' somewhere in between, unbelievable went to incomprehensible, then overrated flipped over and got fucked into worthless.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)