God bless coffee and alcohol for their powers. If only work did not have a stranglehold on my mind, I might have half an essay to develop here. Maybe I could do something with my synapses…ya know, instead of running them through their paces in service of some obtuse letters that won’t survive the apocalypse. I mean, really? Typing up audit letters? This is how I’m using the degree I’ll be paying off until the Tea Party wins a national election and dissolves the United States Gov’t? Eff the degree, actually. My father didn’t spend the limited time he had on this planet to raise a son that would fall in line with the careerism fascists. We all do what we do, that’s the way we get by; but I’m done with Straight A’s supplanting daydreams. 401(k)s, you’re on my shitlist, too. I’m pretty sure people got ahead and made a future before the numbers were tweaked by over/under-educated mid-level managers in Brooks Brothers suits (just because you know a tailor in the Garment District, it don’t make it high end).

I know what gets me out of bed in the morning (actually, that’s kind of a sad joke…I hate getting out of bed) and I think I know a few things that keep me animated until my body starts screaming in protest. Can I sustain myself on these while I determine the locus of my passions (or quite possibly the loci)? Thanks to someone who finally cared, the word “can’t” has begun to descend into obscurity. “I don’t know” might stick around, but I’ll try is now along for the ride.

Time for a song? Eh, why the hell not: The Weakerthans – Aside | buy Amazon | buy iTunes

p.s., Happy 60th Dad

we all need some cash
on us sometimes for
the street vendor or a cab
or the open tab at the bar

Down the heavy-rutted wagon trails,
I followed the boisterous and the busy,
convincing myself I was content,
I saw oaks and maples
but no birches where I went

One among the willows,
looking from a hidden
stream-side,
saw me buried among the weeds
not liking any tree enough to climb

She led me to her branches,
they looked comfortable and
bowed from longing,
inviting me up, I took her hand
and whiled away the morning

We played around her shelter
it was all
beauty and mirth
though I sensed, in the long
and tender roots, pain and hurt

She encouraged me
to plant some birches,
so I might swing again,
Willows were not for swinging
sun moon snow or rain

We needed to venture out,
away from the stream’s side,
to say hello and play our roles,
But I never remembered the way
no matter the times told

She brushed off the weeds
and the dusty dirt paths,
But for me she could not
always wait to find
the way to her spot

Lost in love but not trying,
again and again I asked
for help and guidance,
But this is just the way
to end a good romance

On a lonely patch of ground
I finally found some birches,
I’m not sure if they’re the ones to swing,
I’ve collected their seeds
and search for the willow path and Spring

The woods are lonely, dark and deep
but I have birches to sow,
Oh widow of willows
don’t disappear, don’t go to weep

via McSweeney’s Internet Tendency

I presume lil’ Bush isn’t quite up-to-date on the idea of “friends-with-benefits,” or we might have already witnessed a speech in which he confused the term with some sort of solution to HillaryCare II…

I’m a huge fan of Harper’s “Readings” section in the beginning of each issue. The magazine reprints excerpts and full-length selections of various writings, from interviews to journal publications to novels. While someone adamant about the degradation of human attention span might be critical of the jumpy, hodge-podge nature of it (note: I think ADD/ADHD is way over-diagnosed), I think the breadth of selections is more informative and educational than detrimental. While I generally don’t make an effort to learn more about all the passages and the people/events involved, I do pursue a few, opening my mind to many things that were never on my radar.

I read a lot. Online. Offline. On subway platforms and in subway cars, in regular cars, at Starbucks and at nicer coffee shops, lounging in Central Park, Prospect Park, and McCarren Park, or just sitting in my rather dark apartment (the last being my least favorite). I haven’t been reading enough novels lately, though I am trying to change that. However, one of the drawbacks of reading – as opposed to watching TV like the rest of the population – is that there are few people I know with whom I can discuss any of it (this is one of the reasons I miss taking classes, despite all the work). I’m completely out of touch with American Idol and Gossip Girls, but I know about Ann Patchet and her invitation to speak at Clemson University, and the controversy that ensued (I don’t yet have an Atlantic Monthly subscription, so I can’t share this particular article).

While this website isn’t really getting any hits right now, I’d like to use it to share some of what I have been reading lately. The unfortunate fact is that plenty of what I want to share would likely run afoul of copyright laws (despite the fact that I could hand out my copy of the magazine to whomever I wish and that I wouldn’t be giving away whole copies of the magazine online). I will probably have to make links semi-permanent and hope that my little website is obscure enough that I don’t piss off the wrong people.

There’s too much good information out there to keep everyone in the dark, transfixed by the glow of the boob-tube…or youtube for that matter…

seriously, wtf? obviously I prefer Royal Crown…

For whatever reason, during high school and most of college, I was under the impression that a guy should really just have one pair of “shit kickers,” a single pair of shoes that served day-in-and-day-out, went with whatever t-shirt/jeans combo (picked out of the laundry basket or off the floor) happened to be worn that day. It’s not that I renounce that aesthetic now; however, I’ve come to realize that, given the constraints (others would call them “freedoms”) of my middled-class American existence, a single pair of shoes for everything doesn’t work once you start varying your wardrobe a little (as is easily done in NYC). I also discovered that not only does one pair of shoes (ab)used like that have a significantly shorter max-life, they often create a positive feedback loop in terms of foot odor – it develops whether or not your feet are particularly bad and makes them worse without any further environmental or biological influence.

Anyway…since my overall aesthetic towards clothes (amongst many other things) has consciously and unconsciously changed in the year I have lived in Brooklyn, I found myself in ShoeMania @ Union Square last week looking at a pair of red, white, and Ol’ Dirty Bastard-teeth-shade of gold style Asics. I’ve long been a fan of Asics trainers and spikes, but I hadn’t quite given into the retro-sneak’s trend. I’m not sure I can explain why, but the vague sense emanating from my unconscious was nudging me to say yes. I didn’t need these shoes, but hell, it would be fun to have them.

Well I bought them – and lo-and-behold they were on sale for $40 less than what the above link advertises – and I wore them to work to break them in.

It might be the first and only time my footwear has or ever will be described as “pimpin”.

If only pimpin’ still held onto it’s denotation, I guess I’d be ok…but since it is essentially all connotation now, I feel these shoes need to get dirty ASAP.