until dawn

she hailed from california.  she had the same name as the girl that kiedis was crazy about.  i'm always particular about the names of people i meet.  it's just one of those things.  "what's in a name?" people ask.  everything, my friend, everything is in a name.

so i asked for her last name.  she laughed and demurred.  then thoughtfully added, "california.  i think it's appropriate."

"just like the title of that chili peppers' song," i said.  she laughed again.  i wondered if she was indeed a lover baby and a fighter.  i guess i'd never see it coming until it got a little brighter.

we met up in the darkness of a bar in the meatpacking district.  dark venues are the scourges of propriety; for darkness is the environment in which the scandalous and salacious thrive.  as a place to meet someone i had a vague impression of what they looked like, it presents a logistical impossibility. 

my eyes adjusted to the darkness as i made a round trying to scout out this self-described "group of asian girls".  the attempt was unsuccessful despite scouting several possibilities.  so i sent a baiting text message to narrow the selection.

receiving my text, she got up to meet me and i made my approach. 

she looked slightly different from her pictures, yet cute with her hair cut in a bob.  she had spunk.  i liked that.  and freckles.  tiny freckles gingerly dusted across her face like mocha sprinkles on caramel cupcakes.  i gave her a hug upon meeting.  it was uncharacteristic of me, but it felt like the natural thing to do.

i introduced myself to her friends and found out that we had intersections within our social venn diagrams – another affirmation of the small-world network theorem. 

she accompanied me to the bar so i could grab a drink.  i ordered a macallan as we ran through the usual gamut of "getting to know you" questions.  i was humored.

we reconvened with her group and headed to other venues around the area.  after unsuccessfully finding a home to park our dancing shoes in for our night out on the town, we continued our search up in chelsea.  we settled upon Home.

a playful dalliance grew increasingly with the inhibitions we lost in the elixirs served by the resident mixologists.  shot after shot, drink after drink, restraint gradually sublimated into the ambiance of our surroundings.  the pulsing crowd imbibed to lose all purposeful rationality as fast as they could lose themselves in the moment.  fighting broke out.  lovers made out.  it was easy to be caught in the moment. 

we were caught in a moment.  it was easy to become lost.  but moments are to be lived in, not thought over.

as the night wore on, the girls wore out.  so consensus was made to call it a night that thursday.  the misfortunate, including myself, had to work in the morning.  but the night's festivities worked up an appetite and she wanted to grab a bite to eat.

i obliged. 

we headed to west 32nd for some wholesome seoul food as a twilight snack.  i can't recall what we spoke about, but the inebriated banter felt as satiating as our meal. after settling our bill, we got her shoes back on her feet and headed out.

i stepped out into the quiet chill of the night and bundled up.  she took my hand again.  i asked if she wanted to take a cab.  she wanted to walk.  so i put our hands into my jacket pocket to conserve warmth, and together we set off beneath the towering gaze of weary buildings draped in blue-grey desolation.

the streets of new york are loneliest during the weekday twilight.  the alcoholic revelers have turned in and a haunting quiet innundates the city in the way it is known by the street cleaners, the nightwatchers, the graveshift workers, the denizens of the night.  these are the hours in which final chapters are written.  in isolation, they can be unusually cold and brutally harsh.  but we had the company of the playful banter between our voices.

"gentlemen should always walk on the outside," she explained as she pontificated on the finer points of fundamental street chivalry.  i laughed, but obliged anyway.  the lady is always right.  usually.

she didn't know that i always used to walk on the outside.  but when i found myself circling around those i escorted, the practice seemed as outmoded as throwing one's jacket over puddles.  it makes sense when you walk down a street for long stretches.  but in the city, when you're zig-zagging from block to block, it becomes a tad gauche.  throw in a slung handbag and, at times, an umbrella, and you've got yourself a chivalrous logistical debacle.  so, i've always opted for being smooth.

if i had a choice between being smooth or chivalrous, i'd choose being smooth time after time.  being smooth encompasses chivalry.  chivalry takes added effort, but smoothness comes naturally.  smoothness is a way of life.  it is imbued by a proper upbringing, a level of class and civility, and years of beatings over the head with unabridged volumes on etiquette.  it's doing things the right way because that's the only way you know. 

she began shivering.  i asked her if she wanted to take a cab.  she maintained her disposition as a pedestrian, so i slung my jacket and my arm around her to conserve warmth.  we continued to walk.

"you don't need to impress me," i said.  she said she liked to walk.

i like to walk too, but i'm also wearing comfortable shoes.  i knew her feet had to be killing her.  yet, she was adamant.  and i was willing to take her as far as she was willing to go.

and so we continued to walk, accompanied only by the pitter-pattering echos of our footsteps down the long granite canyons, lingering until dawn.

 

more clintonian idiocy

mark my words:  i will vote for john mccain before i vote for hillary clinton.  i don't get upset easily, but this pisses me off completely.

listen senator clinton, i know you feel the need to prove that you are "manly" enough for the job.  and i'll agree that in many cases that sentiment may even be warranted.  but what we don't need is more bloviating warmongering.  that is juvenile, irresponsible, and uncharacteristic of the pragmatic diplomacy that should be policy for this country.  yes, iran is "provocative and irresponsible."  but that doesn't mean we should sink to their level.  i mean, really now, we would "totally obliterate" them?  are you suggesting nuclear holocaust?  hiroshima/nagasaki part ii?  you obviously know nothing about just war theory and the principle of proportionality.  do we not learn from history?

so here's what i'm tired of.  i'm tired of politicians with no military experience speaking without consequence.  i'm tired of provocative bloviating by people who have never even been in a street fight.  you are a politician, a leader of a free nation.  it's time you start to act like one.  own your words and think of the consequences that your words may have on the international stage.  why not plainly state that any attack on israel will be met with swift, decisive action from the united states?

at any rate, if clinton is the democratic nominee, i'm voting for mccain.  besides, everyone knows that he's a closet liberal anyway - perhaps even more liberal than clinton.

lessons from sean bell

 

 

it doesn't surprise me.  i remember expressing outrage after the amadou diallo acquittals to my roommate, an african-american guy from mississippi who grew up running from redneck hicks who tried to lynch him.  i laughed increduously at the time and figured he was simply embellishing for the purpose of telling an entertaining story.  certainly, racism like that didn't occur in this country anymore.  after a long discussion on race-relations and his experiences, he had me marginally convinced.

fast forward 8 years and none of this surprises me anymore.  history repeats itself.  "progress" is a fleeting myth.  i've become jaded and dispassioned.

patrick lynch, president of the New York Police Patrolmen's Benevolent Association, said "there's no winners, there's no losers" in this case.  patrick lynch isn't a far cry from the village idiot.  there are too many losers to count in this case.  you can start from the bell family and continue with every unarmed citizen in this so-called "free" society we live in.

at any rate, this serves as a reminder that we all need to watch our actions around these supposed enforcers of the "law".  no more mouthing off, no more standing up for yourself, no more running from "clear and present danger" when plain-clothed men brandishing firearms accost you.   simply concede and submit.  concede and submit.  you'll lose a bit of your dignity, but at least you won't lose your life.  because if you do perish in a bloody hail of fire, there will be no justice served.

 

 

george the banker works a few floors above me in the posh investment banking area.  on his floor, the walls are dusted with diamonds and angels herald every major financing deal with joyful trumpeting on golden french horns.  it's a stark contrast to my floor.  on my floor, there are deeper trenches in the furrowing of brows than on the battlefield during german blitzkrieg.  everyone dons a pale fluorescent tan bestowed by the radiance of multiple screens and monitors.  george the banker descends to the floor almost every other day and asks if i want to grab lunch with him.  we usually head to zeytuna on maiden - a gourmet deli/market that is an epicurean delight.  god, i love zeytuna.  the only time i turn him down is if activity is unusually high that day.  volatile markets are good for my diet.  george the banker is not.

been hit with a bout of depression lately.  i realize this when i'm inundated with more self-destructive thoughts than usual and my living space becomes like the shambles that are my life.  doc once said that it was due to sleep-deprivation and poor nutrition.  when depressed, i internalize it, prefer to be alone, and regress into a hormonal pregnant woman.  i've been watching moody soap operas and binging on every type of junk food i can get my hands on.  a few days ago, i killed an entire pint of maggie moo's strawberry cheesecake and oreos ice cream, ate about 4 dan tats (egg custards), and had a major craving for chocolate (i hate chocolate).   the good news is i've also been sleeping a lot more (almost 7 hrs a night).  you tend to think less (and eat less) when your mind is asleep.  sleeping is good for my diet.  depression is not.

 

a birthday postcard

 

 

"i can see us not speaking to each other," she portended, a few days after we first met.  she laughed at the time, but she admitted that she was a little scared.  she hadn't felt this way in a while.  it made her pause - like the way mariah did when she heard bobby womack's line in that song:

"wait a minute... this is too deep, too deep."

it began on the eve of our birthdays - hers a day before mine.  perhaps we were predestined to meet.  i've always felt an affinity towards people born in the same month.  perhaps fortuitous events led to propitious circumstances.  she had just gotten out of a long relationship and i had just ended one a few months prior.  perhaps we saw something in each other that we desired dearly in our previous relationships.  or perhaps we used each other to escape from our daily routines in life.  whatever the reason, the connection, the attraction, the kinship were real.  these things were tangible, palpable, and all too comfortable.  they were all there, at the time.

we had chanced upon each other on previous occasions.  it was night when we finally met formally.  she was with friends outside an east village hookah bar.  her friends were waiting on her, but she didn't want the night to end.  i told her to go back to her friends, but she asked to meet me back at her place.  i obliged.  we spent that night chatting on a twilight stroll along the waterfront behind her battery park apartment. 

and so it began.  we spent nights together, lying on her bed, sharing epiphanies, insights, and our views on anything and everything in life, chatting until the sun came up.  we were our own distraction. 

it was only a few days since we met, but we joked about being soul mates.  if they do indeed exist, it didn't get better than this.  or so we said. 

but we always met after sunset.  despite the enchantment of the night, the time we spent together would always end upon sunrise, when the light of reality would beckon once again.  we'd opine on life over emails and texts throughout the day, but there was never any physical or vocal contact.  it was in one of those emails where she admitted that she feared we'd no longer speak.  i assured her that i wouldn't disappear, at least not without sending the occasional postcard.   she said she liked that.  it reminded her of something in one of auster's books.  she said she would love to disappear, trek across the globe, sending postcards without a return address.  her friends would wonder what part of the world she was in.

despite my offer of a pact, no covenant was made.  her words were portentous.  and our time together would dissipate as surely as the sun would rise. 

i'm reminded of her when i'm in the theater, when the norah jones as elizabeth would send postcards without return addresses to the jude laws as jeremy.  i'm reminded of our "blueberry" nights.

i'm reminded of her every time i hear that song:  in the gym, in my room, on the television, on the radio...

"And then I hear Babyface...  I only think of you..."

in a way, she kept her end of the bargain in these metaphysical postcards which hold no physical address to return.  i can't help but wonder where she is these days.

and so, this is my end of the bargain...

happy birthday, c....