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Friday night, Fizzy and I went to a party with her college friend Karen. The party, celebrating Karen’s friend Garth’s birthday, was in Brooklyn’s Crown Heights district, and but a scant few blocks from the notoriously dangerous Bedford-Stuyvesant district. Fortunately, out there, a mere block or two can mean the difference between being in Brooklyn or Crooklyn, and we stayed safe. While at the party, I met the notorious Grendel:

We had a blast, Grendel and I. We took turns reciting Beowulf to one another in the original Middle English. As you may have noticed, Grendel is in fact a sock puppet. Here is another photograph of him, this time with his creator and puppeteer Seth in the frame:

That isn’t a terribly flattering shot of Seth, as he has been caught in mid-Grendel-growl. He’s far more dashing in person; Seth that is. Grendel is pretty much what you see. I only just met Seth (he’s Garth’s roommate), but he seems like an interesting fellow. At the very least he gets credit for properly pronouncing my tricky-to-say surname. It turns out he has heard of my older brother, a well-known poet, and that’s how he knew the name. That happens to me from time to time, and it is always a bit strange, but I roll with it.

Tonight (tho ’tis now Sunday morning, at least in New York) we met up with Karen again, as well as another of Sue’s college friends, Richard, and some other people (including a friend of Karen’s, who recognized me as DJ Greg! from the Berkeley party days) and attended a free concert at Columbia University. Columbia is celebrating its 250th anniversary; the school is older then the United States of America!

Speaking of Columbia, the other day, while sauntering up Broadway, near Tom’s Diner, whom do I run into but my friend Raj a.k.a. DJ Entropy. It seems that after finishing his EECS degree at Berkeley, he realized engineering wasn’t for him, and he is now at Columbia earning a Ph.D in Economics. How random to encounter him on a New York sidewalk! Not only that, but it turns out that he lives across the street from Richard (whom he does not know) who lives across the street from Karen, who doesn’t even go to Columbia. Out of all of Manhattan, three people I know randomly chose dwellings within two doors of each other… but I have seriously digressed. The free concert was really great. Wyclef Jean performed. Here he is now:

He put on a fantastic show. If he is to be believed, he came straight from being treated at a hospital to Columbia to peform. Erykah Badu was scheduled to perform too, but could not make it due to an unspecified illness.” Wyclef called her out while freestyling, asking if he was in the hospital that day and was still able to make it, “what the fuck sickness does Erykah Badu have?” His set lasted more than two hours, and he kept forcing the promoters and security to let him continue, as he was only supposed to play about an hour. His show was as fun and eclectic, running the gamut from the expected rap, reggae, and R & B, to a cappella gospel, and even ’50s era boogie woogie rock & roll.

After the show, five of us went to the Meat Packing District to eat dinner. Isn’t that a great name for a part of town? We had great French food at Pastis, including a bowl of raw steak, and then waited in a far-too-long line at Magnolia’s Bakery for what are reported to be the best cupcakes in the world. Here is a crappy picture of the joint:

You can’t tell how long, or how slow-moving, the line is from that picture, but trust me it was both. The cupcakes? In all honesty, I found them no better or worse then any other cupcake I’ve ever eaten. To be fair, it is the frosting that is supposed to make them especially wonderful, and I’m not a fan of frosting, so don’t take my word as gospel. There was certainly a large crowd clamoring for them, especially considering it was nearly midnight, so clearly a great many people adore them.

We ate said cupcakes at a park across the street. New York is great for having tons of small parks with benches and tables. This one also had literally hundreds of small mice frolicking about. They were awfully cute, like Stuart Littles everywhere.

This final picture is of a really neat chair I saw while walking away from Magnolia’s. Isn’t great how the zebra’s tail and mane were lined up and incorporated in the chair? Boy do I want that. It would look perfect in my living room, which is already full of leopard and tiger print.

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For a few years now I have been using mp3 files when DJ’ing, but as the process of converting a song from vinyl to mp3 is a somewhat slow and painstaking one, I’ve been running a hybrid vinyl/digital system. Gradually, however, I’m working through my vast record collection and digitizing the files, and the eventual goal of DJ’ing straight from a computer is slowly becoming a reality. Lately I’ve been working through stacks of old rap records from the ’80s, and this afternoon I came across this song:

Currently Playing: Salt N’ Pepa – Tramp

Salt N’ Pepa repurpose a sample from the soul classic of the same name into their song, and in doing so incorporate the down home, country roots of the term tramp with its present-day meaning. While to modern ears a tramp is a female who is promiscuous, either in act or dress, the older meaning of the word was more akin to a hobo. In Salt N’ Pepa’s world, a tramp is a shabby, wannabe player, not much different from what TLC dubbed a scrub a few years back.

Today’s entry is therefore dedicated to all my female readers. Consider it a poeticized how-to for playa-hatin’ all those would-be mack daddies and self-styled pimps, set to a grinding 4/4 beat. After all, don’t think I haven’t I noticed that a preponderance of my readership, or at least those readers who comment on my posts, is female. I suppose this makes sense– boys and girls do like to interact with one another. Just don’t get your hopes up, ladies; this pea is spoken for.

Today’s Question: Do you run into a lot of tramps?

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Blogging is a funny thing. You post your thoughts, ideas, and sometimes even personal feelings, and bare your soul to the world. Strangers surf in at random, and in some small way they become a part of your life.

Realistically, none of us knows much about any of the people whose journals we read regularly, though we learn little details here and there, and in some ways bond with one another.

Many people use their blog as an outlet for heartbreak. I am currently blessed with a wonderful relationship, one that I feel confident will last a lifetime, but I can still relate, and even empathize, with the sorrow of others. It’s an awful feeling when someone you care about is gone. I’ve never been through a bad break-up, but I have had my share of heartbreaks, not to mention heavy crushes that didn’t pan out. It can take a long time for the pain to subside, and some of it never really goes away; rather, it becomes a part of who you are. You take it with you, and learn from it, and in time you’re a more complete person with a much better idea of who you really are, and what you really want. With luck, one day you find the right person, and suddenly it was all worthwhile.

So if you’re in the middle of something new and difficult, it may be the end of the familiar, but it’s also the beginning of something unknown. The past is comforting, but it’s the future we live to see. Just don’t be afraid to cry in the meantime.

Today’s Question: Who or what last made you cry?

I last cried when my father passed away. I no longer cry, though I miss him no less than before.

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Another summer, another vacation is over
It’s September now with the sun and the smell of the clover
Down by the gate we sit and we watch all our friends go by
And pretend we don’t hear the bell that rings through the summer sky

I’m not in the mood for paragraphs and such, so instead you are getting a bullet point recap of my trip. I may not even pay attention to punctuation or verb tense, so steel yourself as I let my grammar slop over.

Drove to Los Angeles, El Segundo to be precise, with Mom.
On the way we stopped for dinner with my Aunt & Uncle in Thousand Oaks, a town I like to call T.O.
Missed Fizzy.
Drinks and a beautiful night on Newport Beach with my friend Janet.
Mom’s High School Reunion.
Caught up with various friends.
Drinks with Pessi and Sweetpea at Good Luck Bar, Pessi’s new hangout, and met Doorboy, her new crush.
Lunch and games with Mom’s high school friends Dorothy and Marci, way down in Oceanside.
Took an aimless but fun drive through Hawthorne, Lawndale, Inglewood and Torrance.
More missing of the Fizzy
Lunch at Southern California’s best deli, Giuliani’s in Gardena.
The long drive North.
Dropped Mom off at her house in Sebastopol.
Home at last. Fizzy!
It was all that and a bag of chips. Hawthorne is nicer then it was when we moved away (not that it could have grown any worse), and overall a good time was had by all. But sleep? Hardly. Maybe 16 hours total over a four night span. I caught up on some of that last night, but am about to go hibernate.

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It’s very early Tuesday morning right now, which means technically we are well into a new week, but I feel like it’s Sunday night and I’m winding down from a weekend. Let’s call it a weekend-plus. Why did my weekend extend itself into Tuesday? Because Pessi came to visit. I’ll spare you the details and focus on a few highlights.

Saturday night our friend Gorman played his first DJ set in a proper night club. Before this point it had been all house parties and such, but you couldn’t tell by watching him that he was a virgin to a club set. He spun at Fuse on Broadway, and he did really well. Lots of us came out to show our support, not to mention dance to his tracks. Fizzy, Pessi, and I were joined by Sunny, MaiTaiBoy, MaiTaiGirl, Hair-Alex, Mallgirl, Kaveh, Bellybutton, and several others. Then most of us went to eat Korean food afterwards. That was after a pre-club dinner at Blake’s in Berkeley, with Q and her high school pal Teresa. Two dinners in one night? I’m for it!

Sunday I made pancakes for the three of us, and we watched lots of movies on television. We saw the last half of Die Hard, and some awful Mandy Moore movie called A Walk to Remember. Then the three of us went to Sunnyvale to Palace BBQ Buffet. I’d been raving about it to them for years about the all-you-can-eat Korean restaurant, and even if we’d had Korean food the night before we opted to have more. Though skeptical at first, both Fizzy and Pessi soon shared my sentiment of “mmmmm.” In fact, Pessi ate so much she barfed up a jellyfish on the way to the cinema, for rals. At said cinema we saw 28 Days Later. I can only describe it as an art-house zombie film, and tell you that it is worth watching.

Somehow after all that food, we decided to go to Denny’s at 1:00 am. We played Monopoly there until after 4; Pessi won. I held out for a long time, surprisingly since I had only the 3 red properties and the 2 utilities. After she bankrupted Fizzy, Pessi had EVERYTHING else and I knew I was doomed. We got back to Berkeley at close to 5:00 am, and still had the energy to toss a football around Bancroft Way for a while. Pessi made the best “catch” when she ducked and covered her head with her arms as the ball sailed past her.

Monday turned out to be more eating. In fact, looking back I realize that about all we did the entire time was eat. It was lunch at Barney’s on Piedmont, followed by a walk to Fenton’s for our afters. Local television variety show Evening Magazine was there to film a segment to be shown this coming Thursday (July 3rd) on channel 5 (KPIX). Who did they pick out of the entire restaurant to enjoy a free banana split and be interviewed for their show? Us! We’d already finished our sundaes, but tucked into the new one with reckless relish. Too much ice cream!

There was more eating later, and then Taco Bell just a few minutes ago, and THEN Happy Donuts. I think I’m ready to barf up a few jellyfish at this point myself. That makes me wonder…do you sense Today’s Question coming? Here it is: If you barfed right now, what would come out? That’s gross. Answer it!

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Desmond Dekkar’s “Shanty Town” is playing as I write, the strains of which remind me of my college days and all the ska shows I used to attend with my friends. College was not that long ago, yet I’ve lost touch with pretty much everyone in my social group at that time. Dave, Rudy, Anna, Sumi, Rusty, Coco, Justine, Justine’s Sister whose name I can’t recall, Andrew, Townson, Bobby, Julia… I have no idea where any of those folks are now. I guess that’s the hazard of staying in your college town after graduation; everyone else moves away. Eventually something will appear on the internet to reconnect everyone, right? I mean, there is porn galore, sports everywhere, and every imaginable object for sale or auction, why not a find-your-old-friends web page?

There isn’t much more to today’s post than a reminiscence of old friends. Not to mention that it’s Father’s Day. Most likely I can track down my missing friends if I try hard enough, but there’s no way to see my dad again.

Today’s Question: Who do you miss the most, and why are you no longer in touch with him or her?

I *am* going to see my mom today. Fizzy and I are about to head to ye olde homestead to pick cherries from her tree. There is a rumor of peaches as well; I hope it’s a true rumor! You see, mommy has a plethora of fruit and vegetable plants and trees of all sorts, so peaches seems very possible.

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Well, Pessi got moved. She is now back in Los Angeles, and Fizzy and I are without our social coordinator. Now it’s up to us to figure out how to have fun on a Friday night. The move went well. It was nice to meet the Fizzies, and they seemed genuinely happy to have me in their home. Fizzy, Pessi, and I spent much of the time playing Chinese Poker, a variation of poker that I’d have to explain in person if you don’t know it. It’s easy to learn, quick to play, fun, and addictive.

I visited my Aunt and Uncle while I was down south. I always marvel at their place; the absolute definition of neat, orderly, tasteful decor. Every square inch of that house is exactly as it should be, always. Aunt Mary is unparalleled in the universe when it comes to house-keeping. Meanwhile, my Uncle Jack, though nearing 80 (Egad!) is the most precise and talented carpenter I’ve ever known. He builds amazing things.

He also served in World War II, and for the first time he shared some tales with me. He was in Europe on D-Day plus 5, initially as an engineer setting up bridges and such as the troops moved, but was soon thrown into the infantry. He marched into Germany with the rest of the liberating Allied Forces. The stories he told, and the entire endeavor, were utterly unfathomable to my modern mind.

This is turning into one of those journal-style posts of which I disapprove. At least some of the other diary blogs I’ve read are filled with heartbreak and despair; I lack the angst I see in so many other posts. Is my life really that much peachier then everyone else’s? I’m certainly happy. My life seems to have all it needs at this point, and regardless, I enjoy the bad as much as the good. Time is short on this earth. Heck, some day I’ll probably wish I could go back and relive even the worst of times, as even those will be better then what’s coming. That was probably the most uplifting thought about pending death ever written. But it’s way true. When I’m 90 and having my heart attack or whatever, won’t I wish I was 20 and stubbing my toe or 25 and barfing sick or whatever. It’s that philosophy that helps me appreciate every second of life, even seconds spent in dentist’s chairs or smacking thumbs with hammers.

I should wrap up soon…don’t want to bore and alienate my readership (all three of you?). I’ve set a precedent of asking a question, a precedent I am questioning, by the way, and so I’ll come up with one. Ideally, the question would relate to the above blog, but bear with me. I’m still semi-new to this medium.

So then, I was talking earlier with Fizzy about something kinda’ fun. Today’s Question: Based on the types of characters they normally play, if a film was made of YOUR life, what actor/actress would play you? I call dibs on Cary Grant, though my reasoning is maybe a bit backward. When I was a child I spent an inordinate amount of time alone, or with my Mom, watching old films. Cary Grant was always my favorite, to the extent that when adults asked me “what do you want to be when you grow up, little man?” my response was always, “Cary Grant.”

As to whether or not I in fact grew into a modern-day incarnation of Mr. Grant I cannot say. If pressed, I’d go with “punk rock Cary Grant for the new century.” Or maybe I flatter myself, and I’m actually a hillbilly Ralph Bellamy?

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Technically it is now Sunday, but for me it is Saturday night. I’m again resorting to blogging about my recent exploits, for I can think of nothing else about which I care to write. Muse, where are you? Sing to me!

After lunch at Pho Hoa in Berkeley, I rode the BART into San Francisco and roamed Union Square for a couple hours. I’m not a big shopper, but I do like looking at the pretty window displays, and people watching, so I was content. Pessi was going to meet me, but she was busy dropping Boy with Lisa Simpson Hair’s stuff off, and hanging out with him, so I was on my own.

I ended up walking all the way down Market Street, and into Hayes Valley, where I ate at Powell’s Place. Mmmm…really good soul food. Pessi was to meet me there, but she was still lagging. I ate some chicken, worked today’s crossword puzzle, and left. With more time to kill, I found a drank a bottle (yes a real-live bottle) of Grape Crush. By this time, boredom had truly set in. When Pessi finally arrived, I was eating blueberry muffin and watching a televised basketball match with the guys who run a market on Hayes Street. If you know me, you know how bored I have to be before I watch basketball. Pessi and I had drinks at Absinthe before making our way back to Berkeley to find Fizzy.

This is not at all exciting reading, is it? Don’t you wish I were extolling the virtues of raw milk cheese or chastising those of you who irrationally fear MSG? Of course, my big assumption here is that anyone reads this at all. I do have about five subscribers (why?), and I get perhaps one comment per post, but I’m still unconvinced that people read my blog. So let’s do a little test. Instead of something clever, let’s make Today’s Question: who among my subscribers is actually reading this? Hit me up with a comment if you made it this far.

That’s it for today. I’m off to Los Angeles for the next few days. Maybe I’ll find the time to post while I’m there.

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Tomorrow, Pessi moves back to Los Angeles. I’m going to miss her! We’ve become very close friends since she moved to the Bay Area. Not to mention the fact that she seems to forever be going out and having fun, and always knows what bars or parties are worth visiting. Fizzy and I are the stay-at-home types, so it’s very helpful to have a Pessimista around to take us out every now and then. One must occasionally see how the other half lives, after all.

Fizzy and I are renting a van and helping her move. I actually own a cargo van, which we call Big Blue, but we aren’t sure the decrepit vehicle can make the trip to L.A.

We’ll be spending a few days getting Pessi settled in the thriving metropolis that is Canyon Country. I lie. It is suburban hell. Poor Pessi; I’d never survive.

While in the L.A. area, we will be staying at Casa de la Fizzy (that’s fancy talk for her folks’ house), which means that in addition to moving Pessi, I will finally meet Bunni, the eldest sister, in person. I’ve seen her from a distance, but she was busy slamming her head into a wall and pulling out tufts of her fur, and I didn’t want to impose. After all the tales I’ve heard, I can hardly wait.

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Let’s see if I can craft something that goes beyond a standard “what I did with my day” post, and is worth reading.

Last night my buddy Lolo Mak called me up. He was king of the world a few years ago, but now he’s down and out, so I tried to hook him back up. I hope it takes; he’s a great guy.

I’m just now back from playing basketball at People’s Park. That park is hardly a Mecca for basketball talent, as one must navigate street people and shopping carts whilst bringing the ball up court, but all the courts at the gym where I typically play were reserved for intramural games. I tried to get clever and sneak into the Harmon Gym, oh excuse me, Haas Pavilion, but I was summarily dismissed from center court by an overeager security guard. When one feels the need to throw a ball through a hoop, one takes what one can get.

After bounding about the basketball court, I dined with Fizzy and her college chum Richard tonight. Mmmmmm Everett & Jones BBQ. Can’t beat that with a bat.

It turns out today wasn’t a blog-worthy day after all, but I felt like posting, and so there it is. I promise you that I am still scheming ways to elevate this blogging medium from the mundane to an art form.

Here is something to knock it back a few squares:

You’re the smirk,a frown-smile hybrid that’s a
little bit cocky and usually associated with
evil or arrogant,but attractive people.You
probably just don’t give a damn,but it’s
everyone else’s fault if you don’t because
you’re too awesome to have any real faults.

What Kind of Smile are You?