red red wine makes me something something

 "Like skin under a torn off scab" was probably not the best thing to say when describing how people at the office look after a usual day of work, but it felt apt at the time. My lead, the manager of the front of the office, looked me square in the eye and nodded; she got me.  On a regular day, we are eyebrows deep in other people's trauma, she said. And that was the day I decided to move to New York.  I had gotten too used to the grit of it, maybe even almost gotten used to it, and when you are getting used to women begging for money to replace the lock on their door for the third time you do need to have your head examined--or bring that head somewhere else entirely. And New York was were my friends were, so off to NYC it is--was. It made matters easier that after nearly two years my husband still hadn't made a friend and was refusing to try. Maybe it would be easier in New York where we already have friends--my friends, I thought, but they are mostly his friends no...

Daily I do the same three things, such is my penury: I issue cards, I process applications, and I comfort people. Only the names, the numbers, and the stories vary. At times I find myself disassociated, floating above it all, looking down upon my life now, expecting to see the Ghost of Christmas Present there, beside me. I issue cards, I process applications, and I comfort people. Sometimes all of that for one person, sometimes just one or two of those things. Between these moments, if I have one to spare, I read a page of a book or check my phone, disassociating that way instead; I have learned to use my mental Illnesses to my benefit. This is how we succeed in Capitalism, isn't it? I ask myself if I can continue floating down this river Lethe until I retire; the benefits ARE good, after all, and eventually I will have more days off to get away from this, and wouldn't that be enough—having fewer days of this? My answer changes daily, but I do nothing because I am too tired ...

 I mentioned the party that I went to, the one where we thought we had scared a man to death immediately after arriving, but I did not mention my overall state of being at said party or of recent. A moment at that party illustrates my awkward spot; I was there at that party and it was... fine. I was so excited to be there, but the minute I arrived, I was over it already and wondering just how much a Lyft back to our place would be.  I think it is partly the fact that the dress code of so many parties is party pixy or... oversized T and jeans. Which is fine! It's just... one group is saying "Look at ME! I am a straight, cis man but I can wear a pink shirt and fake eyelashes... as long as I have my arm around my girlfriend the whole time!" and the other is saying "Oh, this is a party?" And I hate myself for judging them both for this because... I would love a hypothetical world where people really did just fuck with gender and wear whatever they wanted, but when i...

My coworker, Grace--the one who mimes shooting herself in the head after particularly hard clients, had a bad birthday. I was sitting in my cube, looking at the photos of rich British people's estates that I have taped to the walls and thinking about the weekend--it was Tuesday--when my coworker, Angela, came over to me and stage-whispered, "Is Grace here yet?!" I shook my head. Angela looks a happier, thinner version of Aunt Lydia from Handmaid's Tale and is perpetually concerned about everyone's well-being. Angela says, "Great! I... I baked her gluten free brownies and got them ready to bring in... but I left them at home, on the kitchen table." She looks like she accidentally killed a child, poor thing. I offer to buy something online and have it delivered, and her relief is instantaneous. "Thank you SO much," she says--before rushing off to get started up front.  She is up front, working reception during the quieter morning hours and I am j...

He came at us about 1 minute after we finally got into the party—after one guard had grabbed Jason's hand as he tried to take back his ID, assuming the guard was done with it, and after that guard had proceeded to lecture him about why that was wrong and why he could have kicked him out of the party… if he wanted to "go there," and after the second guard grabbed him as he tried to re-enter the party having just apologized to the first guard. We entered, we talked about how odd it was that both guards had focused on Jason, and then the man in his late 30's, balding and bumbling about drunkenly lurched towards us and then fell backwards, splitting his head on the asphalt. On the ride over, I remember feeling anxious. Her car was old—what I imagine an old Chevy looks like to someone who doesn't know what one looks like. It was red and rusty and the whole back seat was covered in a layer of dust and things. When my husband got into it, running back after closing hi...

 Tater. Tots. The name is everything you need to know about them. Not "potato" but "tater" and not little but "tot." They evoke a simpler time where longer words didn't yet exist... or an aged crowd groping for feelings long lost. Or is that the same thing? In Portland, regardless of what they symbolize, they are everywhere. They are ubiquitous and usually utterly uniform in taste and texture; they have the inner texture of white fish you usually find in a taco or a Fish Stick and the outer texture of diced potatoes browned in butter. The only variation seems to be spice and toppings, ala "spicy tots" or "tots with tartar sauce." Ahh--creativity.  For me, tater tots symbolize this city because they used to be fucking cheap and are now less so--that and they are generally unassuming, regardless of their state of dress. So far I find Portlanders to be like the kids in high school who were vaguely associated with the cool kids but whos...

He was vibrating with anger. He paced as one might do in the privacy of their own home--not in a waiting room surrounded by strangers, and surely not back and forth in front of the reception area full of people sad and hungry and eager to be anywhere else. Periodically, a loud "WHACK" would split the silence of the room as he took one of his meaty fists and slammed it into the palm of the other. I was alone at the front desk. One does not want to be at the front desk when a large man with furious eyes is darting around the office--one especially does not want to be ALONE at this time. He had buzzcut blonde hair which was tufting slightly longer around his head like a medieval monk and his face was a soft pink. His eyes were a watery blue. His eyes darted to mine as he talked about what a FUCKING mess it was that he was FUCKING screwed by the system again because no one FUCKING cared and he would show them, those FUCKING assholes.  Was I such an asshole? I finished helping a 6...

He had needles in his pockets. To be more precise, he had syringes, handfuls of them, in his pockets. From where I was seated, I couldn't see them, but my coworker sent me a message saying as much. So, being me, I got up and walked over to Check The Printer. "Oh looks like the printer is working again!" I pantomime and then I try to be discreet as I turn absurdly slowly like I am about to run towards the man I have just realized is my true love instead of just to check the bulging pockets of a man with patches of pink skin and brown scabs up and down his arms and neck, which is all I can see as I shuffle past my coworker. He is not doing well.  The security guard, always aware of what is going on somehow, has appeared suddenly behind him just as I am about to finish slinking past, eyeballs rolling wildly to take it all in. She leans simultaneously away (smell) while leaning her face towards him (discretion), "Sir." She waits till he looks at her out of the side ...

 It has been about eight years since I wrote here last. In that time, I have moved across the world two times, gotten married, and changed careers. I feel more stable, but it is less a "ahh the boat isn't rocking as much, phew" and more like gravity is heavier and I am being held here in place by that downwards force. Does that sound as sad to you as it sounds to me? It isn't as if this stability is all bad--like I mentioned, there is some relaxation that has come with all the rocking about--but with getting older a feeling of "this is my life now.." has overcome me. I used to assume that I could do anything--and I moved, switched jobs, refused to get too serious romantically--all assuming as much. It was wild. Now, however, I am realizing that each move cost me a year or two of savings and an unknowable loss in friendship and connections. In other words, if I ever really want to have a community and, you know, maybe RETIRE, I would was going to have to star...

He closed his eyes as the plane lifted it's nose then it's ass off the ground. The plane, above frost-bitten weeds and snow, rushed on towards New York, his home of sorts.  The girl sitting to his right sneaked a glance; he could feel it. Perhaps she was curious as to his clutching hand on their shared armrest, or maybe she was just looking, as people do.  He leaned forward to close the shade, as they said to do, but it would not budge an inch and he struggled before accepting it. It would be a few more hours till his feet touched down and his life began again. How long had he been gone? A week. Had anything changed? Probably not.  He worried a lot--the sorts of worries an older woman, long widowed, might have: would he be alone when he died and would they find him, his eyes gone raisiny and his mouth agape...  He looked out the window.  One green field was there, just then, those trees they use for Christmas trees and he only knew as that, as "...

The following are a sampling of random, mostly incomplete and unedited, musings inspired mainly by people watching on subway platforms.  Pity the woman  Who walks lock kneed Across the floor  For her eyes never rise Her head heavy  With the crown Each thorn a frustration  Self chosen  She shuffles towards  A simple future Fetered, with blinders, Helped along by men Who only desire her Couldn't imagine Respecting her  And she will only sit  upon that one thing Another job  She will blossom  only in retirement  A desiccated rose ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The man who sleeps across the sidewalk, under a wooden roof installed by the construction workers to protect those who walk under it from any debris falling off the new luxury high rise, sleeps in a blue sleeping bag lat...

the coffee stirrer i'm holding has the words "you think too much" printed on it and i'm staring at those words, silently, across from the man who told me just five minutes before that he "[doesn't] like sex." i feel like crying. yet, it is amazing how fast you can get out of bed, get your clothes on and get a cup of coffee after hearing something like that. he's 30. he's japanese. he's typical of the gay japanese men that i've met in that he's neither "out" nor even "sure" of his own sexuality. he's that sort of fledgling gay, the kind who requires a few drinks to be happy about it. right after disclosing the fact that he doesn't enjoy sex he told me that he wanted to be with me, to "date" me... just... without sex, at least at first. "maybe i could learn to like it..." this whole conversation just a week after the first time we had sex and he told me, "for me--'no'...

i teach. it's what i do for money. i teach a right wing spiritualist cram school owner, three gay men, five young women and a host of high school students. each of them has taught me something about the Japanese people: the right wing spiritualist nut believes that the emperor is descended from god and that the Japanese people are "different" from the people everywhere else, the three lonely, closeted gay men studying english as a form of escape or in ORDER to escape... someday... maybe, the five young women enjoying their jobs but finding them difficult and also finding it difficult to advance WHILE trying really hard to be pretty, and my high school students who know that all that matters now is the tests they'll take when the graduate--the tests that will determine their university which will determine their job which will determine the rest of their life. what else will i learn...

the year 2008 was, for me, a rather intense year; looking back neither 2006 nor 2007 were as intense... but maybe that's just time, dulling the TRUE impact of those years. i was poor for a good portion of the year, but my relative poverty was a result of my moving to Tokyo and, well, living a good life.  i am sure that my family (read: mother) would say that I'd spent too much money on the frivolous, but I think I can safely say that my biggest expense, after rent and taxes, was... vegetables.  Now, in a year when many people have lost their jobs, i guess my winge-ing on about veggies might irk some, but i mention it just to say that i'm not totally crazy.  my next biggest expense after vegetables, you ask? alcohol.  Okay, slightly insane. this year was also a year relatively devoid of art; i may have danced a lot, talked about interesting things a lot... but I created little other than new relationships.  in Tokyo, my new home, i've made many new friends... the great i...

hate the hirarchy of cool that exists in club culture...those ephemeral lines that seperate guest list from the purgatory of the discount list and that list from the scum that...everyone else is. had a beer while waitimg for a friend..thus missing chance 1,2,3,4,5,6 and 78910 to get in and now ive gotta wait between the normals and the kids that talk about music while in line... it is...not great. is karen o so great? i know that truly rocking women are rare but... is this worth the wait. more to come

the band is awful-the wind instruments rush to finish their parts and everyones either sharp or flat and the whole thing makes Auld Lang Syne sound like a Merry-go-round playing funeral durges... The gym is ringed with red and white striped paper, a japanese flag and a fujisawa flag and a school flag adorn the stage...flowers line the steps...and the teachers of the graduating students wear either a kimono, if they happen to be female, or a white tie. the graduating students enter amidst the clamoring noise and take their seats at the front. they are bigger than the other students in height as well. they swagger or walk resolutely... a few seem to flow to their seats,their bodies limp and their faces blank. the ceremony begins with bows of different lengths and depth-everyone bows on their way to and from the stage and while on stage if their is someone to bow to. there are speeches from the new president of the student council and from the graduating one, from the principal and vice p...

people still drink zima MEN drink zima PEOPLE drink zima... maybe im just giving hnto hype but...isnt it against some sort of immutable code of masculinity for any man totouch it? ah... i am so american-i have such rigid, unnatural rules about what makes a man... im at some sort of techno event in fujisawa... we're high in the building, looking out on the beach and im alone, earlier than my other foreign friends. the music is a little too loud...the definition of a good dj is a knowledge of both good timing and good taste, this dj lacks one. the boys and girls are in horizontal rows, like rings in tree... tshirts around me: "fuck off fuck off fuck off" and "i sleep and eat and f***k and..." with a picture of a pig with its eyes crossed out and a man whose shirt says "gentilitat." my friends arrive finally, there's a commution and i turn and see them waving...the staff here is less japanese and more western im approach to their work...they obvio...

saturday morning was hard. up dancing till 2(a-trak was awful for he first ten minutes...then slowly he and the crowd warmed to eachother and it was good) and then trouble sleeping due to back pain and incline related sleeping issues... at lily allen now (when i wrote that) and people false started again... i think they just dont know what the acts look like and so stagehand after stagehand is greeted with applause and cheering. lily was cute up there smoking a fag in her 50s popstar dress... and her songs sounded great live... i left during her blondie cover to head for feist... a good thirty minute walk, beautiful but unwelcome when your trying to get somewhere fast. i got there in time and found aonly slightly too formal spot in front of the stage. feist was fantastic, she has that immortal sort of weight...by "formal" i mean to say that, when i saw her i had a feeling i was seeing one of those Artists... one that will last. saw !!!, the Beastie Boys, Iggy & the Stoog...

woke several times in the night...my neighbors are all happy drinking people...finally ventured forth at eight for juice and the bathroom...but there was a ten minute wait... i met kouji and sayakaback at the camp site and we left for the onsen. the showers at the camp are cold water only, frigid mountain water cold. the onsen is 500 yen and its a japanese tradition. it was my first time. it didnt make me a bit uncomfortable, being naked there with koji but i wonder if he felt the same. next: water (300 yen for 2 L@grocery) and indian food (700 for 3 samosas and bean curry). then we just walked... the stages are arranged in a row... the furthest is a good 30 minute walk and the rest lie between. we are taking a break now before going to see jarvis cocker at 3:50. more to come. p.s. dancing was good fun but the headlining dj last night played 4 Justice songs....

I like how it says I am a contributor here yet I have not contributed anything. Well here is something I recently wrote. I'll try to contribute more...I guess. The Blind Leading the Blind I haven't ever really had to share a room with my brother. When I was younger I had bunk beds that my brother inherited from me at birth and, being the scaredy-cat kid that I was (just hearing the theme from Unsolved Mysteries would have me diving for the covers) I tended more often than not to occupy the top bunk, although I possessed my own separate room. I was so afraid, that for years I would take a running start for my bed and leap into it. This was of course to avoid having my ankles exposed to any attacks from under the bed. Since junior high school I've pretty much stuck to my own room, but for the last five weeks I've had to share not only my room but also my bed with my brother. Before you start getting any West Virginian thoughts let me note that my bed consists of t...