February 2010 Archives

How to steps:

1-3. Lose extra baggage, self glorified BF, and all self respect.

(This might take a while especially in accordance to NYC housing laws but the no-trans-fat one helps)

4. Grab your camera and take a sleazy picture of yourself.

5. Resize said picture, crop it just enough to activate the imagination, and post it on Facebook.

(Cutting and pasting Brad Pitt's torso to yours, although cunning is not allowed)

6. Wait.

7. Nonchalantly, thank the first few comments on your FB thread, sound humble even though by posted-implication you are not.

8. Wait.

9. Disregard the first wave of complementary emails, as this is the thirst-patrol, testing the waters.

10. Once an email written in perfect Ebonics prose with either or a combination of any of the following terms is received, you know you have a winner:

• Yo! What's good? (waz gud, what the dealy, wat up, etc. etc)


• Damn. Boo!


• I seended you before but...


• Yo son, holla at ya boy.


• My digits 212-555-5555


• Your stats?


• You get down?


• U on the DL? (He does not mean a game of limbo, or the Southern Hemisphere)

11. Stop here and refer to tomorrows how-to or repeat steps 1-10 until therapy, penicillin or antibiotics are required.

Disclaimer: Not limited to these terms, Ebonics dialects may be different depending on public housing facility, state, or generation, Ebonics are subject to change, immigrant Ebonics are even trickier, third-world Ebonics are also included, Ebonics are not necessarily indicative of economical status or educational level just plain old stupidity or a misguided machista homoerotic philia which subjectifies the lower class and minimizes them to objects of desire.

picture credit:

I left the house this morning at 10:20am in order to catch the Flushing bound bus for my 11:30am appointment with the account. I was looking forward to seeing her because God only knows how much that tax rebate was going to help in terms of getting me back on my feet.

Little did I know that the NYC Q66 bus was in fact bound for Asian Hell.

I got to the accountants office at exactly 11:20am and found myself surrounded by a stampede of low income families clawing and fighting their way to the counter to be attended by the little waif that sat opposite us sporting a fake ass smile and glasses that I would at some later point imagine getting slapped of her face by a Kung-Fu savvy customer who shared my sentiments.

This of all days would have been a day in which the universe offered me an opportunity to practice patience but I think that my inner Buddha was on vacation somewhere in Maui.

Let's begin by the fact that once I finally made it to the counter and explained that I had an 11:30 appointment, my paperwork was nowhere to be found. The waif and her husky side kick, with the stereotypical new generation Asian flip haircut, then proceeded to explain that they would be unable to help me unless I was able to conjure up my appointment slip. I directed their lazy asses to the appointment book in front of them and pointed out my name. This was not well received because it now required them to actually search for my file amongst the several hundreds which were jammed packed into cardboard boxes.

At last, they found it and Husky said: "I found, you one day late", and pointed to the erroneous appointment date written on my file. I again pointed to the appointment book and replied: No, your one day wrong. He didn't respond and little miss chopstick told me to sit down that it would be an hour.

Really? An hour wait for my 10min-ago appointment? Sure, I thought no sweat.

The tax return will be worth it.

Two and a half hours later, I was starting to lose my composure and confound public space was no where for me to be.

Besides, I was apparently going no where fast and the tummy wanted something yummy.

I should have kept my hungry ass on that chair.

Burger King wanted an extra 69 cents for a Whopper Jr. No thank you. I don't eat that shit anyway and they cost a buck everywhere else. I crossed the street and went to Joes Burgers which was always an economic favorite, but they have minimized portions and quadrupled prices since my last visit. No thank you.

I went into Duane Reade and waited behind every Chinese individual with a cough and no sense to cover their mouth in a 10 mile radius. When I get to the counter, I learn that they offer no cash back. ARGH!

I then walk down to my bank and find a line of approximately 9 people waiting in front of me for one of three ATMs all of which are occupied with technologically challenged individuals. There's a family of Mexicans discussing finances in front of their teller for 6 minutes rather then stepping aside and figuring it out. At last, their machine spit out a single crisp 20 dollar bill.

The guy behind me with the brat of a son was by far my favorite. He kept leaning up on me as if pushing me forward would help speed the ordeal. His kid was equally annoying and was suckling on red candied gluten balls on a stick which he was liable to take his eye with at any moment. Dad kept yelling at him and with his shoulder pushing me forward. When the guy before me got his turn, the father in a pissy loud voice gestured in front of me and said, MOVE!

Holy Mother of Mercy! I wanted to elbow his teeth in. I gave him the kind of look that would have vaporized him had I had laser beam eyeball super powers. He caught the sign of rage and quickly added an insincere, "please".

At last I got a twenty and went to the Chinese bakery for some sweet pork buns. I was the only customer there but it took me ten minutes to get my pork bun because the lady and the man behind the counter where having some kind of marital or indentured servant-master argument. In between riffs she would ask me again for my order. The third time was a charm, until I pulled out the twenty and she developed an attitude.

The cost of the buns were $2.25, she returned $7.75. I waited. She then gave me a head shake that I figured meant, "you got what you wanted, now go."

"You owe ten more dollars", I explained. She sucked her teeth, scrunched her face, pulled a small wad of bills from her bra, making her cup size go from B to A flat minus, and gave me two fives which I was very hesitant to take.

On to Dunkin Doughnuts next door which, by the way, is the smallest one in all the five boroughs?

There was a line of ten people waiting for their cup-of-joe as the obese family in front ordered everything in sight, plus 4 egg white flatbreads because (get this) the others were too fattening. Then habibi steps out with the smelliest of bacteria infested mops and starts mopping. There apparently is an unwritten rule, which states that one must mop in a 4x4 space when there are these many customers in line.

My blood pressure was now much higher then before and all I can think on is the irony of being surround by business establishments called Happy this and Joy and Luck that and everything is adorned in red because culturally it's a lucky color.

What color is hellfire again?

I get back to the accountants and am greeted by the same miserable faces, and the staff's smiles which are faker then the designer goods draping them. Everyone by me is apparently wearing the newest perfume, Eau de Deep-fried. Except for the Indian women next to me which had the slight scent of curry which was welcoming compared to the guy next to me with a passion for incessantly yawning with his trap wide open, whose breath smelled of gingivitis and yak poo.

The guy in front of me coughed up a mixture of green phlegm and brown stuff and decided the potted plant in the office would benefit from his bodily toxins.

I was blessed to see it slime its way down the trunk of the plant at the slowest of glacier paces.

By the way folks, MSG is a universal ADD trigger for children. Do not feed it to them. EVER! Unless you want to get back at your parents in law and are dropping them off.

It is now three hours past my scheduled appointment time and I felt like the unfortunate red-ear sliders lining the shop windows outside, frantically scratching at their made in Hong Kong plastic prisons to no avail, trapped in an incessant desperate desire for escape.

I wanted to be anywhere but here!

Getting crucified in the outskirts of San Antonio was a welcoming thought. ; )

I don't know how many Pater Nosters & Ave Marias I recited but Jesus was not answering calls.

I got up, walked up to the counter waif and opened my eyes very wide at her. She said, "Yes can I help you." I said, "yeah, I been waiting 3 hours for that one hour wait you mentioned."

She replied, "Oh so sorry, she working on it now".

Finally after 3.5 hours, I get to sit with the accountant.

I handed her an $80 check for her services and learn that I owe, my adoptive uncle, Sam, $600.00.

:sigh:

I imagine my self an explorer, hacking away at an unforgiving jungle while in search of the fabled lost city of Soul-Mate.

Here and there, I found a few places to camp along the way. Some offered more comforts than others but as of yet, none worth settling, calling home, or that beckon and reverberate with that past life intensity of familiarity which lifetime after lifetime I find comfort and safety in when I lay my head and dream.

I'd like to imagine I am safe there now, dreaming this surreal existence, about to wake at any moment, know that I am in a better place and never having to relive that dream again.

So, no one is official family at my Columbia University office until they have made it on this wall. The wall requires that a famous person be identified who best resembles you in features and or personality.

After many weeks of deliberations, the jury has come to a final decision, and I inducted unto the wall...LMAO

Yes, I know...He's 3 feet tall, wears glasses and is a know-it-all.

Appropriate? Perhaps...

Cute? Definitely.

This morning I got caught up with a Facebook link which directed me to what I thought would be a fun little pastime. After 10 or so questions, I was never provided with an IQ but rather this final test of stupidity surrounded by the
finest of text with all sorts of terms and conditions...

In actuality this turned out to be a test for my threshold for annoyance.
My threshold was: 10 questions, no answers, and an oh-so-tricky attempted to charge me $9.99 on a monthly basis.

Visibility was low and my eyes ached due to the wind and the pummeling of torrential tiny bits of ice which mercilessly fell from the heavens.

My glasses fogged when I opened the front door and a wave of heat greeted me.

I carelessly took them off, set them aside and forgetfully sought the affection of my now long gone dog, or rather the dog I lost in my previous separation. This was a forgetful mishap which only furthered my already blurred state by watering my eyes and adding saltine droplets to those already running down my face.

I gained clarity on how much love I have for her and what an important role she played in my life the previous year. She was my best friend and a constant source of love, solace and comfort in a more often than not gloomy experience. I miss her overwhelmed excitement when I entered, her enthusiasm for my affection, my naps and walks with her and burring my face in her coat when I rather have hid it from the world. Her absence causes a great void in my heart which I pretend not to be there and act blind to.

Yet, she alone is not to blame for my failed clarity. My eyes are so tired as of late. A steady stream of sleepless, nightmare ridden nights, stress, sorrow, and computer screens alike have all aided in the burdening of these so called windows to the soul.

However, other more degrading culprits are also to blame for this blurred perception that is mine to own.

Pride for one is a gossamer veil that often gets in the way. It is a double edge sword of sorts, with neither edge in actuality aiding me. One edge hides truth and emotions from others. The other prevents me from grasping the "genuine freedom and liberation [which] can only be achieved [once] our fundamental ignorance, our habitual misapprehension of the nature of reality, is totally overcome", as the Dali Lama so eloquently was stated.

Also great cataracts to my reality are pain and its companion loneliness. They often blind me of the blessings I posses and of a world which surrounds me perhaps looking towards me for guidance, fraternity, inspiration, solace or that of a simple welcoming smile which bids good morning.

I often find my self in a crowded room, perhaps with many who might desire my attention and affections, and yet, feel completely distraught and alone. I see in faces the wanton needs of similarly broken souls seeking to self-medicate their pain of mortal coil via the lustful short lived alleviations of carnal toil.

I see self motivated guile, interest, subjectification, objectification, pretentious antics, false fraternization, and other ills. Alas, judgment too dazzles the eyes from baring witness to the elevated states of tolerance, compassion and seeing past the potential false notions of reality.

Time burdens the orbits. Life however, disillusions, creates doubt, and teaches lessons we never grasp the full lessons of and hence we in turn build walls which we pretend to be fortresses.

We place stone after stone around us, tightly, with mortar barely visible, displaying the exactitude and precision of Aztec or Egyptian masons and then find ourselves confided to the nearsightedness of these walls.

They become myopic prisons of our own making for fortresses are intended to protect but incidentally also divide.

Noticing these truths however do not make one blind, it makes them clearer. It helps them grow, helps them see not just themselves but the reflections of self in others.

And so, twenty-one days from now I get laser surgery on my eyes and will in fact be rendered sightless for a day or two and have no idea who will hold my hand and escort me home or how it is that someone of my self assumed qualities could find themselves in said predicament.

It seems that despite my blurred and failing vision, life in fact gets ever clearer, but even in the impeding promise of 20/20 sight; I realize that clarity and vision are not one in the same.

"Herro? Hi. Do you have internet I can borrow? I pay you".

What?

"I can please borrow your internet? Is emergency. Please, two week only"...


So that was the extent of the Korean Bandwidth Thief's supplication about four and a half months ago.

She and her posse live up stairs and after considering the torture that I and the guy who used to live here perhaps put them through with our then incessant PlayStaion's Call of Duty 24 hour war rackets, I thought why not help the poor immigrant girl stay connected for a few weeks.

And so, I gave her my wireless router's network password.

Four and a half months then went by with the slowest of internet download times imaginable. I kept getting kicked out of game lobbies, youtube was a slurred disaster, facebook developed Parkinson's, and google went cuckoo.

I must have called the cable company a good 3 or 4 times asking for signal boosts to no avail.

I considered every possible hypothesis my little overactive brain would offer. This included everything from the local crack heads climbing telephone poles and stealing the cables in hopes of finding copper wiring for their glass stems, that Time Warner's Roadrunner had gone lame, snow, rain, and wind.

BUT never, did I question that sweet girl upstairs, who shyly fluttered her wispy dark lashes from above thick black Woody Allen like frames which rested lazily on the end of her pimply oily nose, was to blame for the megabyte theft spree that was occuring..

So, after months of frustration and bandwidth confusion, my friend and I decided to log on to my Linksys router's homepage and check it's log history.

Wouldn't you know that poor immigrant girl who with the half bowed head and lowered glanced who was so willing to pay during her "two week only" emergency, had passed out my password to every single one of her Korean posse up stairs surfing the net on my bandwidth.

To my surprise and there was not one, not two, not three, but four freaking PC's enjoying the merits of my bandwidth, monthly payments and suckering me out of quality internet streaming!

The red-handed proof:

Geez! I mean come on cuntzillas! Kim Jong-il has better ethics than this!

I put a stop to their little party at my expense with the utmost quickness.

The minuet I pulled the plug the scurry of frantic disconnected footsteps running around the apartment had the building's foundation shaking harder then Michael J. Fox telling tongue twisters in thong at Wasilla, Alaska in January.

I would love nothing more than to go up there and give them a piece of my mind but I won't. Internet café's I assume will be enough torture at $3.00 per 10min session.

BUT, if she should come down here again with some woe-to-me story, she is going to get to see the side of me that comes out to play when the carotid swells.

She'll then wish she were instead facing a fucking North Korean tribunal.

There is no character flaw more lamentable that a man could posses, than that of lacking substance.

I lucked out with five tickets and am going to see the very funny Mrs. Kathy Griffin tonight at the Madison Square Garden Theater with friends and a very hot date, who I guarantee is going to be late for the pre-show dinner because he has historically always had a fucked up concept of time...

Anyway, I am excited. I get to play dress up & plan on going out for drinks after.