with b-side: swing + miss
aw, damn, i missed joel.
my wu-tang style is avoidance. i can define a problem in simple words, come up with solutions, and find ways not to complete the tasks. though not such a big fan of people, i know the best way to avoid the mundane is to immerse in conversation, slipping from group to group to place to place, deft in ducking and shirking--
for example, this weekend. i missed out on classmate ana's downtown party and studied a little. that is the rare case of unavoidance, bucking the trend... for about 40 minutes.
the next morning when i should have been searching for work i was packaging my old mp3 player for sale, telling lana-p about the violence of sin city, and still made myself late. the rice-a-homie was angry to have missed the previews. i'd seen them already, it seems, and they were not that interesting. in fact, they were long, especially the movie about the dogtown skateboarders. sin city was bomb ass.
i dipped uptown, stopped by the post office that saturday afternoon, with the wind bowing my umbrella out and bending a line of the frame 70 degrees. midtown was filled with siren sounds, and people leaving ringling brothers circus. they left slowly and they leapt in my way.
then over to the east side for 20 minutes of basketball with mjunior and nicky brooklyn and their friend kurt/ martha/ [i forget] in a dark bar, waitress hovering over us like she had OCD.
7.15: i faced the height of avoidance. a few days previously i promised to attend an engagement dinner/ celebration for a high school mate named jen. i should have been home working. or going to events held by starla or schnapp or classmate nenee or simply watching basketball. and i thought about not going, getting back to what's important for me, versus what might annoy others--
all of that warbling is to say i had a great time. and i will hire zoco as my personal cook if that whole pharma marketing thing doesn't work out.
though she is already married to her army man, the engaged jen has not had the ceremony. so our mutual friend zoco decided to toss a surprise dinner/ reunion. myself, elle-marie, two mothers, and jen r who has blossomed into a very hot swan. not that she was a duckling but she looks all adult. still makes bad star trek jokes, though, still sweet and goofy.
but the avoidance--
i met up with mjunior downtown, and sat in odessa with him/ countess ruby/ and nicky brooklyn. they were in a strange mood. but i remembered why i like them. the sharp towel whip-snap of the countess, the hard-to-read laughter of nicky b.
of course i ended up in queens, playing mvp baseball. because i am addicted. stayed to watch the baseball game. yes, that was sunday night and i arrived saturday. as long as no one smells me, i'm straight.
one issue to bring up-- mjunior and the wondertwin love a place on queens blvd called eats. solid food, little cafe/ restaurant that has a mix of families and made-up queens women, gold's gym enthusiasts, and young folks who have discovered the secret sunnyside of queens. solid little place. except for the coffee.
i am not always the most perceptive person. so it took until the second or third cup of coffee at eats to realize that i was drinking perhaps the worst coffee i have ever had. a little burnt, and just... not good. not a single taste, but lightly bitter. milk didn't help and sugar made it taste worse. now i am aching a little, the feeling i remember from drinking starbucks' coffee, but then i wanted to drink it all, take my refills, and keep talking about the wondertwin's brilliant television idea. which will involve your favorite ex-television and movie stars. some of them even getting shot.
not for real, you sick bastards.
quit volunteering to pull the trigger.
you can't do that, that's illegal--
just read on--
there is a dark wood-paneled bar on the upper east side, where even new york's rich and famous, cultural and athletic elite, can find a place to stay under the radar, and get their drink on. some afternoons, after isiah thomas stops taking shots of cognac, stumbles off the chair, and starts calling rival basketball General Managers with ridiculous trades, george steinbrenner walks in.
and the a rotund bald man shuffles in, shades drawn in case the ny post reporters or the guy who beat his ass in the upper east side diner should recognize him. some money exchanges hands for a job well-- or poorly done-- by a man named wells.
think about it. wells got slapped around last night like he was auditioning for pimps up, ho's down. the balk? way to gift wrap one, pal. and why else would he hit giambi twice? who would want to hit giambi but the yankees, the team angry and trying to find a way to cut giambi, for the steroids as he was suspected to have done.
just a thought. the boys building mate sara was very sweet too.
p.s. next week, ray-ray will be in town to do up her birthday in the style that only syracuse and high-end hookers know well.