Matthew Dale Larson

my busy life

2011-01-18T13:18:00.000-08:00

On Saturday morning, I decided to go downtown with Brigid and see Paul's art in a show. Brigid got ready a little bit before me, as I was still busy surfing the internet. I was grabbing my bag and stuffing any activity books I could think of that I might want to work on while I'm out. I had my jacket on was just about ready, when Brigid, standing in the doorway, says," There is a bus in two minutes."
I stopped what I what doing.
And although I could have quickly stood up and joined her, apparently I cannot be rushed into getting ready.
All my will to get out of the house went through the front door with brigid before I could.
"You go ahead. If I don't make the bus, I'll meet you downtown."
I didn't want to stand up right after saying that and go out to wait for the bus, like I could have. There had to be some buffer room between her leaving and me. So, the next bus would be a fine one to catch. I went back to internet surfing for just a few minutes and also turned on the TV to have in the background. I like the noise.
Six hours and a movie and-a-half later, I still had my coat on, ready to go. Brigid came home and there I was, still ready to go, as if time stood still at home during the time she was gone. And, in reality, it kinda of had because I had not changed at all... Well, maybe the Doritos bag was a bit on a lighter side, but thats it! ...That and one sandwich worth of sandwich stuff, but thats it! Brigid just smiled at me and I think I died just a little inside because of the power of American Classic Television, like Divorce Court.

Pickles and Starbursts

2011-01-06T10:57:00.000-08:00

It was cold. The wind was blowing and I didn't have a warm jacket. The wind blew harder here, it seemed, because of how big this intersection is. As I stood on Randolf and State street in Chicago, facing the intersection, I wondered why torturing myself with the cold was a better idea than staying in the warm tea shop. But then again, asking myself why I do most things I do is a battle I am not prepared to be champion of. A man with long gray hair stood, facing the center of the intersection, held his arms up, as if reaching for heaven, and preached to the everybody. "Repent!" He screamed. No one payed him any attention. I was just glad he wasn't talking to me. I'd seen him before over on Michigan Avenue doing the same thing and actually, wearing the same thing. Which is weird because he was still, now, wearing a big t-shirt and slacks in the dead, freezing winter and he remained untouched by the bitter cold. I stood motionless, facing him, going through everything I had in my pockets, curling up like a caterpillar, trying to stay warm. To my right, a homeless man sat on the ground, leaning against a power box. He is always there and every time I see him I am surprised to see he is actually still alive. He shakes a cup for change. I was still digging my hands in my pockets and noticed a man on my left who kept looking at me as if he needed me to know something. He'd look away and then back at me. His face said he cared about a young, homeless man like me. Either that or, or he was losing a fruitless battle with the cold night. He didn't look at me though, and say, "boy, what a fruitless night, eh?" He turned my way as if to give me some money or words of encouragement the same time the loud preaching man finally took a break, turned around as well and walked towards me. In the same moment both men were coming towards me, I found what I was fumbling for in my pocket for the last few moments. Through all the loose change I always have and my keys, the starburst candy I wanted was finally in my grasp. The preacher was smiling in my direction and coming at me. It only made me unwrap that artificial lemon flavored square of sunshine juice even faster to get out of the pickle I was in. After jumping out of that man-triangle, I shuffled back into the warm tea shop where someone had all the free cookies I could stuff in my face.

It will bite your ass

2010-12-03T19:27:00.000-08:00

For Thanksgiving we ate turkey. It was nothing out of the ordinary and of course it was delicious like an iced soda. As we gathered, my mama asked us all to share something we are grateful for. " People don't count. Neither does this food," she added. Often, I have a hard time expressing serious things like this in front of a group. I would really rather not do activities like this and instead, I can just ponder the things I am grateful for inside my head. Things I like. Since my outer character is more outgoing than my inner, repressed self, the cake goes to being shallow and easy.
My mama went first. She said she is grateful for being able to text, because she feels closer to her kids now that she can do it. I manage to look passed the fact that every text I get from her has an empty attachment included in it. My sister expressed her thankfulness for her baby and her husband. By this point, I figured the rules were out the window since Amy broke them. So, I felt okay about expressing my love for television. I even told the story about having cable in our previous apartment and then, when we had our service transferred over to our new place we got something like a "Premium Excellence Package" that included something like one hundred channels. I watched so much TV that month, knowing I had to take advantage of the time, because I also knew it wouldn't last. Then it did end. The cable company found the "mistake" in their service and quickly fixed the "error." No more "American Chopper" for me. Man, I loved that show!
My brother then opened his heart, flushed my moms rules down the pooper and spoke sweetly about his appreciation for his wife and being able to be a papa. Imagine how I felt for following the rules and feeling "so" grateful for basic cable television. I felt like an idiot! As if I had a booger the the size of Texas was relaxing on my lower lip drinking an iced cola on spring break in Mexico. Or getting a really long pinky nail caught in the dishwasher. Or having a sleepover at a friend of a friend's house and waking up to find you wet their sheets, because we both know you are the the kind of person who brings their own sheets to slumber parties. You know, something like that. It went real quiet and as we listened to him, we all felt close to tears and I know we all shared a whole humble pie thanks to Erik and his rule-breaking giving thanks technique. It was a big pie. I was given an extra large slice of that humbleberry pie and after what I thought was the whole piece, actually turned out not to be. The rest of it grew teeth, an anus, claws, then climbed down my back and bit me in the ass. Why couldn't I have been grateful for the sunshine, doing well in school, or soft and strong toilet paper? No. That would be too easy..
Anyway, I learned a valuable lesson that day- never break rules or you will really get it in the butt. The turkey and everything was so great. -No surprise. I must have eaten me three plates in under fifteen minutes!

"order something"

2010-11-30T15:38:00.000-08:00

I wasn't waiting in line to order a drink, but I was humming the Wicked Witch of Wests' theme music to myself, completely lost in it and I guess I wasn't paying attention. "Are you in line?" a woman asked. "Sorry. I am not in line... Sorry."

"Me'n David"

2010-11-30T15:22:00.000-08:00

16 November 2010.

In a recent letter to my friend...

Dear David Sedaris,
Thanks for meeting with me. Since I don't have much "Formal People-Training" I had to write down what I need to say, otherwise I'd panic, sweat and say something I'd regret. Thanks for writing all your books. I have every single one, except for the new one. Please don't be mad, David, I will get it soon. Your books are the best. If I wasn't so sure it was true, I wouldn't say it. They make me laugh, cry and sometimes for a few minutes, feel better about myself. They inspire me to write and one day, publish a book of "Sedaris-inspired" stories and experiences from my life.
Thank you.
Matthew Larson
Please sign these (books).

Written on notebook paper, folded and hiding in my pocket, it was my notes to keep a straight and clear mind when the time came to actually speak to him. I wasn't sure if I'd actually get to give it to him. In either case, I needed the notes and they would serve me well.
I think I was the most nervous there. -Probably because I was the biggest fan. Everyone else was laughing and telling their own directionless stories about dirty jokes and hearing dirty jokes about camping, puppies and the DMV, as if they were the very celebrity everyone came to see. Seemed they were all having a pretty good time. But I still found space in my anxious mind to not like certain people right away. The man with the microphone, who began giving instructions every ten minutes, said that braking any of David's rules, like picture-taking of any kind, would resulted in the cutting of ones entrance wristband and a firm “goodbye.” Apparently this was hilarious to the over-zealous crowd and they roared with even more laughter every time he'd say, "your wristband will be cut." During the same speech, he'd tell us to read at least a few pages from the new book. Of course I tried to, but with all the commotion going on, I really couldn't do anything but sit there, be quiet and once in a while smile at the air in front of me to try to fit in. Physically, I couldn't been more uncomfortable. I am sure my sweat stains continued down my shirt to the bottom of my ribs. -A steady flow of gutter stink.  Only when he arrived, did I begin to feel better, smile and accept that hating pretty much everyone around me is not so bad.  He was absolutely wonderful and made everyone, including his hired security, laugh hysterically. After which, was the time for books to be signed. To make the signing of countless books go by faster for David, we were instructed to put a sticky tab on the inside title with a name on it so he’d know who to make it out to. If not, he would just sign it. I had brought four books and bought the fifth there because I thought I wouldn't be able to get in without it. Also, everyone had it. That made my total number of books five. At first, all mine had sticky tabs with my name on them. After seeing people have multiple books with multiple names on them, I decided following the crowd was a better, safer choice. I scratched out my name on the new one, put Paul's and immediately felt like I had just donated a million dollars to some Jerry's Kid's Fund. I let the book sit open, waiting for someone to ask, "Well, who is Paul?"
Borders had some waiting-in-line system for everyone in this event. We all wore a certain colored wristband that would allot one into a certain group that would meet him sooner or later. I wear a purple wristband, meaning I was one of about one hundred in the second group to meet him. When the time came to get up and move to our specific waiting locations, a woman wearing a Borders name tag and a big dress, excitedly let her emotions get the best of her as she threw the whole "wristband" system out the window like it was a dragon puppy that needed freedom over captivity. So, we lined up by who was closest to him. I was in the middle of the second row. They moved the podium off the table he spoke from, gave him a comfy chair and a box of cinnamon rolls to pick at while the next few hours slowly rolled by. I stood in line, moving a few feet every few minutes. I could barely breath comfortably and kept looking at the girl next to me to see if she was exhibiting anything near what I felt. How could all these people be so calm, I thought. When the girl in front of me walked up to his table I felt as if someone made stool in my pants. The woman beside him took my books to prep for him to sign just as the girl left his table. I walked up, put my bag down and leaned over the table as if I were interrogating him. Not intentionally, though.

David: Hey! How are you tonight?

Matthew: I'm good. I'm good. I am real nervous, you know?

David: Are you Matthew?

Matthew: Yeah, that's me. I'm real nervous. I am not real good with people. I don't talk much.
(At this time I pulled out my letter/ lines because I knew if I didn't, I would just gush. And I don't think David wanted me or anyone to just gush).

Matthew: (From letter) Thank you for seeing me. I think your books are great.

David: (Who was working on a drawing of a puppy dog for me in the book as part of signing, which I find kind of ironic because that is probably how I seemed to him) Does that?...Oh no. That's a terrible dog. The eye is way to big and in the wrong place...

Matthew: No, I think its great!

David: But that eye...( and he draws another)

Matthew: Well, I think it looks good.

David: (grabs the book for Paul) So, who is Paul?

Matthew: Oh, he is my best buddy and we have known each other since we were three and now we live together and its great!

David: So what do you do Matthew?

Matthew: Oh, I'm in graphic design! ...But I also write..

David: Cool! Where?

Matthew ...Herald Washington?

David: (who is working on a drawing of a turtle in another book)

Matthew: Yeah, I really like to write.

David: What do you write about?

Matthew: Stories and experiences from my life.

David: What’s that? (Pointing to my Idea Journal I had so conveniently placed for him to see and ask about)

Matthew: Oh this? That is my Idea Journal. For writing.

David: What's the last thing you wrote?

Matthew: Oh, just some of my fears. Bunions, getting diarrhea in class and dandruff.

David: (He chuckles) What do you fear about bunions? I have some experience
with bunions, you know.

Matthew: (pointing at him like we are having a best-pals-moment) I know! I remember you writing about that... Ha-ha…?

David:   Yes, I remember. What do you fear about bunions?

Matthew: ...I don’t know. Bumping them? Hurting them, minding them? What do you do?

David: I just ignore them.

Matthew: But...don't you have to be careful?

David: No, Matthew.

Matthew:

David: So you got a joke for me, Matthew?

Matthew: Uh…well, my roommate has this one joke that is kinda. Uh…So, what’s worse than stepping is dog crap?

David: (smiling at me, waiting for the big line that will knock his socks off) I don’t know. What is worse?

Matthew: Waking up in the middle of the night to have someone angrily taking a dump in your mouth.

David: (looking to the helper woman to his right for agreement pity, for me) Wow, that is worse. (Then a breathy, pity laugh).

Matthew: Yeah, my roommate. He is a crazy guy. (Had this actually been a joke of Paul’s, it probably would have been good, have substance and really be a joke, rather than an obvious realization of just a truly bad moment. But, it was mine and I am damn proud of that joke).
We all laughed uncomfortably together, gradually becoming more and more aware of each others nonexistent awareness of social boundaries. -As if someone reputable, like the President, told a hilariously racy joke. What do you do then? Do you laugh? Yes.

David: So, what do you do, Matthew? (For the second time)

Matthew: Oh, I’m in school for graphic design…I write too.

David: How do you make money?

Matthew: I have it saved up. I used to work for…Starbucks. (Which is true. But, also what the everyone wants to hear)

David: Oh. I am defiantly not opposed to going to …Starbucks.

Matthew: …Yeah…

David: Are you poor, Matthew?

Matthew: …No.

David: You know, Matthew, I like this stuff. These (cinnamon rolls) are so good, but you know, you can only eat so many before you feel sick.

I shook my head to show I agreed with him, but inside I knew perfectly well my ability to easily clean up, even a six-pack of sugar buns, cinnamon rolls, silly buns, sticky cinnamon big buns, what have you, was unsurpassed. He then folded the box closed and placed it gently in a clear plastic bag Borders provided. As he slid them across the table, explaining that he wanted me to have them, enjoy them and live, my heart raced liked the victim of a rabid dog. It got really hot all of a sudden and I knew this was my moment to relish this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Matthew: Okay, since you are giving me your big cinnamon sugar buns, I think it would be fair for you take my letter.

I folded it back up and flicked it across the table like a frisbee. He smiled and put it in a little pile with other nick-knacks near the edge of the table. I grabbed the bag, similar to the way a man, sans friends and shelter would if a can of beans rolled in a trashy gutter, where he reined.

At the same time, Matthew: You know, this is so great! Before you, the famous person I met was a weatherman! (Paul Magers for Minneapolis weather and before that, Donny Osmond)

The two of them shared a genuine chuckle I will remember forever. No one can take that from me. I made David Sedaris laugh, probably out of compassion for my bad joke and nervous behavior. Me, who he thinks probably only took his lips off the end of a barrel and climbed out of the dumpster just to take a bus and a train to see him, David Sedaris, famous writer. Celebrity.
As I headed out, walking passed all the eagerly, bushy-beavery waiting semi-fans, I smiled with pride, hating everyone I could see. “Awe, you got David’s cinnamon buns, you lucky duck!”
I accepted their jealousy, smiled and firmly implied, "Goodbye!"

That's Par

2010-11-19T11:49:00.000-08:00

I got on the train the other morning and smelled taco meat.
But I bet there were no tacos or meat.

I thought it quite ironic listening to a homeless man in the subway play and sing Michael Jackson's, "Man in The Mirror," on guitar.
It kind of angered me. It was no justice.

As I entered the train to go home yesterday, a man sitting down by the doors who had on an old black suede jacket, droopingly sat, his head bobbing but awake. On the left breast of his old jacket was a generous proportion of refunded vomit. Looked like oatmeal and carrots poorly blended together with dirty fingernails and maple syrup. I can only assume it was vomit, but if he's the healthy type who makes blended drinks/meals to keep from spending easy money on fast and unhealthy food, more power to him.
But, he probably isn't. And I enjoy assuming.
Thanks Chicago.

Norms

2010-05-08T00:43:00.000-07:00

The other day, I saw a guy being taken out of my school in hand cuffs. He was accompanied by two of Chicago's Finest. Who do these people think they are, thinking they can sport a popped collar and get away with it. Its about time they start getting arrested. I don't even know who reported them. I should have asked the front desk.

Whats the word?

2010-05-01T09:58:00.000-07:00

I was just one of many, surfing the web and wasting time in the full computer lab today. I usually keep an eye on anyone coming in. Someone has got to do it. It is usually a pretty calm, quiet place. The majority of the sounds being cell phones ringing and older people losing patients on computers they don't understand.
From the corner of my eye, I saw someone approaching. An older, Indian woman, who looked to be in her late 40's. She was frustrated and swiftly heading in my direction. I didn't think much of it because I had no idea who she was. But I still wondered why she was looking straight at me and walking towards me. What was even more odd, was that she began to talk to me. She held her books and papers up in the air and was telling how confused she was.
"See, I just don't seem to understand it in the text. I don't feel I can say it. And even though I looked it up, it doesn't seem to make sense to me, still, that he chided them and they still respected him."
She showed me an open book, as if I knew what she was talking about and as if I understood. There was a small black and white photo of something. She went on...
"It says he chided the people. And that confuses me because the people respected him and changed their ways after he chided them. Why would he chide them? You know?"
I just looked at her face. -Looked her in the eyes, making eye contact and waited for the moment she realizes she does not know me, I am not in any of her classes and I haven't seen her before. Because of my own personal weakness of keeping myself together, in a situation as odd as this, I had to turn away because that moment I was waiting for never came. While I was away, I thought I'd humor myself.
"Whats the word?"
"Chided," she said. I typed it in and got a quick answer.
"Chided," I said. "To scold to make better or improve."
"But why would he chide them if they respected him?" she asked, looking me fearfully in the eyes.

" I think, because he wanted to better them. And if they respected they would changed their ways."
-Of course, I had absolutely no idea what the hell I was talking about in reference to what she was saying, but I went along with it anyway because, I had a lot of time to kill. I also felt bad for her because she just didn't know what I knew.
"I really think it works," I told her.
"You really think so?"
"I do. I really do."
She then thanked me generously and disappeared almost as quickly as she came.

Daniel

2010-04-29T20:44:00.000-07:00

As I roamed the great halls of community college today, an elderly Korean man got out of my way so I could get a drink of water. He smiled nicely and presented the fountain to me. I was just bored. It was only a three-second take. I didn't want to kill the whales. Even as I rose to walk away, I could tell he was following me. I stopped at the corner to let him walk past me if I happened to be wrong, but it turned out I wasn't. He stopped right in front of me as if to happily point out an embarrassing booger I had planted on my collar.

Daniel: You study here?
Me: Huh?... Oh, yeah.
Daniel: You like it here?
Me: Yeah, I do.
Daniel: What you like to study?
Me: Graphic design. Art. Web design.
Daniel: Oh, wow. So, what would you like to do?
Me:....What?
Daniel: What do you want to do (leaning in so I could understand).
Me:...Oh, well, Web design mostly. You know, websites. Internet.

He nodded.

And for the next twenty minutes, right there in the middle of the hallway at community college, Daniel preached to me about his conversion from Buddhism to Christianity; the Bible and all its teachings. Through out the session I looked around, to either see who set me up for this, or someone I might know to get me out. But, there was no one. I had too few friends. So, I stayed still and listened, but let my eyes wander like they do at toy stores. Or Wal-Mart. He left me with a couple sheets of Genesis Bible Reading Material. He also asked if he ever sees me again, if he could bother me. I told him he could, only because I was ready to be done. And now I am afraid he is waiting around every corner, ready to attack me guerrilla style, followed by a session of power-preach.

the pits

2010-04-26T19:12:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I already asked Vanessa, who sits next to me in my Art History class, how long she could hold her breath, last week, because she told me I had. I felt like a first-rate dufus for forgetting.

Moka and Me

2010-04-20T23:28:00.000-07:00

Last semester, in my film studies class, there was a girl in my class who didn't always know what was going on. I'll call her Moka. She seemed nice and I actually felt kind of bad that she was weird and didn't know my language well. I didn't pity her, I just felt she deserved more attention because not being at the same level of understanding must be real tough. One day, I even saved a seat for her, just because it seemed like the right thing to do. She had missed a few classes, and being the nice guy I am, I offered to give her my notes for the upcoming test we were going to have. I even copied them, so the transfer would be smooth and easy. We were going to meet up one day outside my art class, after it ended.
So, a few days later, I was in my computer art class working hard on a project. My back was to the door, so I could not see when someone comes in. I was not even paying attention to people talking because I was really "in the zone" and completely unaware of anything around me. Apparently, someone kept showing up in the doorway, causing the whole class to look, because of the shadow this person cast in our dark room. This person was relentless and my teacher, Jennifer, apparently was yelling at her that we were in class. Who was this mystery person that keeps popping their head in? It was almost as if they didn't understand. I happen to be turned away from my computer, talking to someone, when the disruptor was there. I caught a look. It was Moka. And this time, my teacher demanded what she wanted. "The guy," she said and then quickly disappeared again. I couldn't believe it and I also got Hot-Cheeks. Jennifer, still pissed from being disrupted, angrily looked to the class after Moka booked it. "Who knows this person?" she demanded again. The class was looking at her. It was odd when Jennifer lost her patients with any of us, and so it scared us. Everyone was listening and and looking, but me. I was hiding, playing the fool card. When I did peek around my shoulder, she quickly saw me. "Matthew! Do you know her?!" she asked, pointing her finger to the empty doorway. Holding my shaking hands up as if to plead for my life, I shook my head in most directions, so as to avoid a complete 'yes' or 'no' answer. It was true that I was the one she came for, for help because I pitied her. But there was no way I would admit it. Once everything had calmed down, I went out to visit the water fountain with hopes of running into Moka so I could ask what the hell she was doing and why she wanted to embarrass me so badly. She must have hidden or something, out of fear, because I didn't see her. I still had Hot-Cheeks when I got back to my computer and couldn't make them go away. Shay, who sat next to me, some how knew that Moka had come for me, by the way I too-easily played off not knowing who she was. Also, my Hot-Cheeks probably gave her the hint.
I found her after class and tried to give her the notes without anyone from my class seeing, but was unsuccessful.

Dream 3

2010-04-14T18:13:00.000-07:00

There were tennis courts and people wearing white shirts and white shorts were were playing. Some poor kids, myself included, were hiding under a tent-like thing hanging over a closed, dark tennis court. We watched the people play closely, in the hopes of a thick, cookie disks they were hitting instead of balls, would fall close to the dark net that separated us. We were on edge and very hungry. When one did come by, we'd all run out like a wild pack of hungry hyenas and grab the cookie disk. It would crumble of course, but the chances were good that some of us would get a few chunks of it to eat.
This went on for hours.
Later, we were doing the same thing.
After a while into our wait, a cookie disk finally came. This time, it did not shatter. I could barely contain myself because I was so hungry. As I ran out to grab it, I realized it was not a cookie, but a large high-top shoe made of cookie.
That must be hard to hit around, I thought. As I grabbed it and got back to our saggy tent quickly, it felt warm and somehow I just knew someone had been wearing it. I could smell the sweat from the foot that was once worn by the cookie shoe, formally the cookie disk... I hesitated about the whole situation. -That I would soon be eating "foot" . But hey, its food. When times are tough, you do what you can to survive.
And I tried not to think about it.

Sunny Afternoon Dealing

2010-04-13T23:04:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in the sun today, downtown, just relaxing and listing to music before class started. Then, a guy walked right in front of me and gave the the, "aight'" thing where he dips his head ever so slightly. He walked passed me but stopped ten feet away and turned around. As he came in front of me again, he asked how I was doing...

Guy: How you doing today?
Matthew: Good. I like today. Its so nice out.
Guy: Yeah, its nice. Whats your name?
Matthew: Russ. Whats yours?
Guy: I'm Will. How you doing, Russ?

We did that "Bros" hand shake that good "pals" do, where you grab thumbs, change your grip as you bring it in close, and you never who is doing what, who is leading the cycle and where its going...I kind of went limp for Will, because I wasn't sure how this was going to go down.

Matthew: hhuh?
Guy: you doing good, man?
Matthew: Yeah.
Guy: You live in the area?
Matthew: Huh?
Guy: you live the area? Chicago area?
Matthew: No, not really. -Just for school.
Guy: Well I could give you a number to call if you ever want some weed, and I could get it to you.
Matthew: What?
Guy: If you wanted to buy some weed....
Matthew: Im sorry, what?
Guy: ...Weed. It'd be easy. You could just call.... You smoke this stuff?
Matthew: ...Huh? No. I don't smoke this stuff...

Then it got weird and a bit quiet. Will did not know what to say, because who knows if I'd be able to hear him. We enjoyed the sun.
The awkward silence between the drug dealer and the full-grown school boy who couldn't hear, was probably a lot more than Will had planned on. Seeing this, he panicked badly by doing nothing but hold his ground, look suave in the sunlight and be cool under pressure.

Matthew: Well... I think go to school now... Have a good one, Will.
Guy: Hey, you too, Russ. Have a good day.

The Ass-Biting Passed

2010-04-12T22:30:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I made a new friend at school. I helped her with some art stuff in the computer lab. She is really nice and laughs a lot. I work a lot in the lab quite a bit and run into her often, now. I answer a lot questions about computer stuff she doesn't understand. Tonight, I helped find pictures of doors and buses. Later, we stood outside the school not knowing what to do. She needed to eat and wanted it to be cheap. Her cheap though, was too cheap for me, apparently. We rode the train two stops to where I get on the bus. Once we got out of the subway and once again stood there, she hinted to me to come in and eat with her....But it was McDonalds.
"I am not going in that place with you," I said, pointing. Maybe I was a bit too forward, but she just did not know how much of a passed I have with this establishment.
"I don't feel comfortable. Too many people..." I think I went on about something, but its not entirely clear to me at this time. I was nervous.
"Maybe in another six months. I have a hard time breathing in there."
I saw my bus pulling up, so we said our good-byes. She wished me good luck on my journey.
...It wasn't until I got home and made a sandwich, that I realized I gave up the possibility at a nice evening, with a nice new friend, in a big city, where its hard for a guy like me to find a nice friend, all because I refused to step into a McDonalds for a cheap meal.

Stache' Sporting

2010-04-10T22:59:00.000-07:00

I knew I was going to shave or at least trim my beard for some pictures for my photography class. However, I failed to be prepared for the feelings I got when I cut it it down to a mustache.
"Who is that man in the mirror, now?"
I could not stop laughing as I buzzed off all but the stache'. I looked like a completely different person, like a real man. When I had the beard, my face looked more narrow. Now, it looks littler and rounder. Untrustworthy. I walked out of the bathroom and they both laughed. Possibly out of fear, because maybe I had a gun in my pants or some candy I might use to lure into a garage or van. Paul liked it, and Brigid did not.
"For photographs, its fine, but get rid of it before you go out in the world, okay?" she gently pleaded. Something happened to me as we took those pictures. Some kind of power, like I knew everything in the world, including the cougar-attack facts and how to beat people up with (without even touching them). It scared me.
As I brushed my teeth tonight before bed, I worked on my faces in the mirror. Normally, they are just silly ones that make me laugh and other people ask if I am lost. These faces though, were new and I did not know them well.
They were dirty.
Mysterious. Like a sketchy salesman selling designer jeans out the back of his pick-up truck, behind the high school. Chicks, man.
I didn't trust him.....and yet, something about him, this person who was me, but not, at the same time, opened me up to the possibility of a new world. A new life of fortune and glory. A life full of corner-standing, chick-grabbing, Stache' sporting, adventure. -Something I have never had.
Maybe, when I go out into the world tomorrow, people will fear me, or at least, not ask for spare change. Maybe I will hold my head up high and say,
"I dare you not to look."
Or, "Yeah, my pants are tight, my shades are dark and I have a man-bulge, what of it, jack?"
-All with the eyes, the stach' and the uncontrollable need for babes.

Thursday BMT

2010-04-08T21:49:00.000-07:00

I walked into Subway and right away, they began making my sandwich, even before I could say anything. Its not surprising, because I always get the special.
She put the meat on the bread and I sprawled myself over the glass wall that divided us.
"Umm... I think I will try the BMT."
Of course, she didn't understand because she rarely ever does. Most of our communication lies between the roasted chicken and chipotle mayo. That, and their laughing and talking towards me in their native, Indian tongue, when I walk in.
She just twitched the corner of her lip. She always does that when she doesn't understand. That lip twitches a lot. To her, I must do something right, because she always packs my sandwiches so full, I can barely wrap my lips around the damn thing.

All in all, the meal was a success, but I felt like popping after words, because I was so full.

Later...

As I waited for my Biology class to begin, my science teacher pulled out a bottle of water, juice, what have you. And we all know there are rules in science classrooms: No Food or Drinks.
"Hey... Hey! You can't drink that in here. That's not allowed," I told her and I gave it to her in black and white. We students, all (mostly) follow the rules. I thought it was so silly how she began to make excuses to me, her student, about other people having drinks in class too, as she pointed them out.
"But... other people have drinks too."

According to Pino.

2010-04-05T22:40:00.000-07:00

Monday. Art History. I know it is a class that is all about participation and getting the thoughts of everyone who wants to give their opinion, but sometimes people need to just stop talking. Every class has those people. -The same person that always has something to say. I have that in my art history class. He sits right next to me. I'll call him Pino. The worse part is not that he always has something to say, but what he says sometimes, is just ridiculous. Today we we were talking about how people have been socially taught how to know what art is and isn't. Pino raised his hand and said, "Yeah its just like that girl who really liked to dance. You know her? She was, like, in class and she couldn't stop dancing. You see, some people thought she was autistic, but her parents didn't know what to do...
My teacher, Ivan, just leaned against the white bored, trying desperately to follow and understand. "Yeah..." he said, trailing off, covering his mouth, not quite sure what to say. "Anyways," Ivan continued, "from a very young age we are taught that a tree is green and the trunk is brown. Why? Why can we not change that?"
The whole class was quiet. Then, a hand went up. It was Pino's. "Yeah," he went on. "They found out that that girl loved to dance so much, that they put her in a dance class and she did really well, actually. She has been on broadway and she is, like, really famous now, sometimes." It took the class a moment to realize this guy was serious, and then across the room, someone began to chuckle, then someone else on the other side. It spread like wild fire, but under control. I had to turn my head 180 degrees away from him.
Pino didn't get it. In fact, according to him, we could all learn a few things that only he could share. Famous dancers, doctors that send little girls to Broadway dance camps and urban button factories, are just a few thoughts the world needs to know, According to Pino.

I will never wear sweatpants in public. -Mostly and only because I care about people thinking I don't care. There will always be people who wear these clothes in public and, I'm sorry, we cannot escape them. Paul and I were thinking this the other day as we came across a sweat-suit coat. Like sweat pants and a sweat shirt, but in the form of a suit coat. "Now, those of you who have given up on society can look nice and STILL be comfortable!!" ...Maybe that was their slogan.
After that, I went to class. As soon as I sat down, Pino walked in an sat his stuff down and hung his coat on his chair. He went out for a few minutes and I realized the coat he was wearing was the sweat-suit coat. -The very one Paul and I were looking at a few minutes before. I checked the door to make sure he wasn't there making sure no one would touch it. I grazed it with my hand. It was nice. Soft between my fingers. Part of me was repulsed by it.
...Another piece of me heard the coat calling to me. A feeling that stabbed morality in the heart.
I quickly pushed it away so it couldn't do me anymore harm.

Ferrari Walking

2010-04-04T22:31:00.000-07:00

The weekends in Chicago are busy times for people who own expensive cars to drive them around, showing everyone they own and drive an expensive car. There are Ferraris, Lamborghinis, plenty of Bentleys, BMWs, Fords, Toyotas, and Hondas. Most days these fancy people sit their fancy cars in the garage, waiting desperately for the weekend to come so they can drive around in meaningless circles. Paul and I were in the area, pretty much doing the same thing. You see, we were getting him an application to work at a fancy clothing store for fancy people to shop. Unfortunatly, they were closed. And we had gotten all dressed up to show off that, we too, could be fancy people, could enter a classy, expensive store and act fancy. Too bad. We walked down one street for a while, although we didn't do any loops so other people could take a gander.
Sure, we looked the part from far away but, come close and you could hear us bickering and pounding out ideas on our new business: Guided Tours of downtown Chicago. Provided by, "Best Kingsmen Top Tours."
"Hi, I'm Hooper Shaque and this is my buddy, Piper Colten. We'd like to thank you all for actually signing up to come on this tour. We are just so excited to show the real Chicago; the trades and secrets that make this place the greatest place on earth!... First, we need some coffee. So, lets go sit down, fritter a few hours and just chit-chat like real Chicagoans! Okay everybody, now climb in this here wagon and we'll be on our way!"

Assortment and a 5th Grade Dream

2010-04-03T22:21:00.001-07:00

A bowl of Beef flavored Ramen soup, a piece of pizza I forgot that I didn't finished from about a week ago, six chicken nuggets (with barbecue sauce), an Oatmeal Cream Pie with three-times as much cream in it, and a cellophane wrapped cinnamon roll, I found in the back of the cupboard.This was my dinner tonight. Never have I had such a sad, stupid, stubborn little meal. An overall tone of colors and hues one finds in desert drab, sickened me and called to me at the same time. "Eat me. Eat me, you thumb-bumping, never-good-at-any-sports-ever boy." Maybe it was 5th grade Matthew pushing to be known again. "You'll always get picked last and ignored in gym. You will always lose in four-square. Do not ever play basketball again, seriously. Love is not made of sand and plenty of gravel, Matthew. You cannot spray racism away, Matthew. And Matthew, dumping cola all over the teacher's grade book really was your fault...But, I accept you in my deliciousness of all that in unholy."

chicken legs

2010-04-02T21:26:00.000-07:00

Tonight, we made barbecue chicken legs. It only took us a year to finally put the baby grill together and use it. We waited too long, because it was so good. Too good, probably.
And thanks to Honduras- less food and hungrier people, I am able to eat at a higher velocity. Something like 2:1.
We don't talk much during eat-time. Unless it has to do with how good the meat is, other meat we should get, foods that would compliment the meat, waffle fries, cookouts in parking lots of games, joining the Chicago Community Football League, chicks, big speakers, brass knuckles, recent fights we were in, Fila shoes or Bugaboo Jeans. Anything else and its drowned in the chomping of meat because we are just a couple of guys trying to have a good time.

match, set.

2010-04-02T00:13:00.000-07:00

The nice thing about having the sink so close to the toilet, in the bathroom, is that you can wash your hands while taking care of business, because you just got home after riding public transit and you don't want to wait until you get out to have those 2 oatmeal cream pies.

Lost In Transition

2010-03-30T14:34:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I woke up itchy all over my legs. It was really bad. There might as well have been a homeless man sleeping with me, because I'm sure his situation is not any better. Although, he probably has them all over his body. In his mouth, in between his toes and crawling in and out of his anus hole like ants on parade. However, it was not from a homeless man, because when I checked every morning it was just me.
"Its Bugs!" I'd say the next morning. Convinced I was right, though I rarely was, even though this time was different, I began looking closely at my sheets, daily, with my desk lamp. Any little speck could have been a bug, but upon investigation, most turned out to be just skin, hair, or thread. No bugs, but not good enough. After I vacuumed the mattress all over, under the seams and in the crevices, I felt a little better. I actually thought I'd get a better sleep and not itch and scratch my itchy-ass legs. I woke the next day even worse and did not know what to do. The sheets were still new- only a few months old. "Still itchy," I told Paul and Brigid, walking out of my room late. "I just don't get it." They were already up. I had not slept well. Paul's eyes hardly moved from their steady position of "Steve Wilcos," on TV. " Have you washed them?" Brigid asked, looking up at me. " Yeah, but they are still new. - Only a few months old "
"When was the last time you washed them?" She asked.
"I don't know... like three months ago. I think?" Paul's eyes slowly shifted from Steve to me. They both looked at me like a was holding some kind of wild, jungle lizard.
"Hueso," Brigid began. "You have to wash your sheets every 2 weeks. -Sometimes every week."
"I haven't been doing that," I told them both. "I did not know this."
"Yeah, pal. Thats why you are getting the itchies," Paul finally chimed in.
Feeling better that maybe I had figured it all out, I tore them off the mattress and put them in my dirty clothes pile. Three weeks later we did the laundry and for the first time, I was actually excited to do it. That night, I put my sheets back on, feeling positive. And for the first time in a while, I got a good night sleep.
About a week later, I woke up with something feeling like a bug bite. It felt the same as before. Like bugs. I was itching. Maybe I didn't vacuum well enough, I thought. So, I washed them, yet again, feeling agitated about the whole thing. And it was the same thing.
After a group meeting, we came to the conclusion that the sheets must go. Maybe something in the dye was bothering me. Or maybe, it was that they were made in India. No one knew.
I found some loner sheets of paul's that were too small, packed away in a box and planned to use them through the weekend with plans to buy new ones the next week.
Three months later, I asked Paul to just go with me, because apparently I was having problems deciding on some. We found a home-goods store near to our previous apartment. they had a lot of options. At the time, I had been looking at K-Mart sheets and found some cool zebra-patterned ones I really liked. I hope this place would have them, but also tried not to get my hopes up too high. There were three mini-isles full of different kinds, colors and thread count. I began to aimlessly walk around, which is probably why I never got any before. One of the workers was in the area shelving some products. He was on a knee and grunting as he bent down. He was wearing some big red suspenders that I liked. They held his old jeans up, but boy, I wish I had those suspenders. His hair was long. It was some dirty blond color and unusually shiny. I continued to walk around, feeling the different, dirty samples that hung over the packaged ones. Paul asked me what I thought. "I don't know." Then, a low voice of an elderly man rang out, "can I help you two gentlemen find anything?" It was the person who was bent over grunting. This was no ordinary man, though . His hair was not shiny and dirty blond by the nature of our fellow man. It was fake and plastic. It was a wig. A head of lies. Soon, he stood right in front of us, describing the sheets that are, "really, going like hotcakes."
"Really?" I asked. "You must be kidding. At these prices, how could anyone not need more sheets?"
This was the most lost man-in-transition I have seen in a long time. "You see, the great thing about these sheets, is that they are are really stretchy." He made hand motions of being stretchy and the image of him wearing only a diaper popped in my head... "I guarantee they will fit." I saw his old, wrinkled hands as he mimed stretching sheets. They were too weathered to be working in a home-goods store. They belong on the field, harvesting corn or wheat...something like that. He had to have been in his seventies and trying trying to hide the wrinkles on his face with the hottest pink blush his beautician could find in the back of the boutique. It was blinding and really popped out with the deep blue shade of eye shadow, sloppily colored on above his bright blue eyes. He lathered on, what seemed like hours ago, a different shade of hot pink lipstick that differed not enough to his blush. I tried my hardest to not make any sudden movements and throw off his concentration enough to be found out. The "flub-jiggler" that comes with old age, swung to and fro under his chin with the emphasis of his phrases. That and his clothes, were all he appeared to have as part of being a man. I would like to say I wasn't thinking about the "flub-jiggler," and I would like to say that I was concentrating on his speech. I would like to say that. But, I cannot and I'd be a damn lair if I did say I was concentrating on what he had to say. It would only take two fingers to pinch, squeeze, slap and flap that thing all night. Time would fly, but unfortunately I came to work. I accepted everything he had to say, making the right amount of eye contact with him and panning of the store. "Thanks," I told him. It felt really warm in that store, as I backed up and headed in the isle Paul had abandoned me for, a minute before. "Those ones seem pretty nice," he told me. "Yeah. I just with they were softer. They seem stiff."
"They will soften up when you wash them."
"Are you sure?"
"Well," he said, "go ask her, him. Her...umm...hmm...." He stopped and just pointed. I went back to him and as I was about to ask him if they were the best choice, when a call came on his walkie-talkie. "Shelf help is section D," the voice said. Keep it together, Matthew and we will both get through this, I thought. Grabbing the microphone, I noticed his nails couldn't have been more prettily painted. "Stephanie here, I got it," he said to the voice. "Thanks Stephanie," it replied. "I have to get out of here very soon," I told Paul...and myself. I picked the sheets Stephanie told me to get, mostly because he said they were "going like hotcakes," and I know I like hotcakes and like to talk about them. As we headed toward the register to check out, we both stopped and saw Zebra-patterned sheets. "We will feel them?" I declared. I wanted them. Badly. Paul brought up the point that they were less threat count but same price. "But, they are a novelty. And I like novel things," I said, smiling like an ass-clown. "I know and novelty can cost a lot," he countered.
"Fine." So we walked out with my new sheets. Only took half a year!

...Thanks Stephanie.

culterize

2010-03-29T23:29:00.000-07:00

I met a friend from my speech class a few semesters ago, today because we hadn't hung out in while. She is always so busy doing homework and studying and doesn't make enough time for TV. I remembered when we met before, she was not so good at directions once she'd come up from the train. She wouldn't know east from west, north from south. Before we met this time, I was sure to send her easy, phonetic directions:

"its on Washington and Dearborn"
"walk one block west on Washington"
"Walk 1 block on Washington AWAY from Millennium Park"

I was waiting for about 30 minutes before she shuffled in; her hand covering her face. She slumped down in her chair across from me. "Hey buddy, hows it going?" I offered. She did not smile. "I did not know where to go when I got off the train, and I walked over there." she pointed towards Millennium Park. "Well, I sent you easy directions. Why didn't you read them? You got here." She put her hands over her nose and asked me to get her a tissue.

I like to hear about her Chinese culture. She has only been in the states for about 4 years, and is still learning about everything that makes America the Land of Opportunity and the Home of The Brave. She told me about her job in a restaurant, south of Chinatown. It gets pretty shady as you go south of the loop. "Is it dangerous where you work?" I asked, knowing it is not in the safest neighborhood. "Uhh, yeah we are safe. You see, we have these huge walls of glass over the counter that protect us." She turned and motioned a wall with her hands all along the cash register counter of the coffee shop we were at. "So we are safe," she confirmed. "Is there a little metal tray under the thick glass for customers to slide their cash," I asked, motioning sliding cash in a metal tray to match her stride. "Yes," she said, nodding her head. "Well, i'm glad you are safe. I was a fool to think other wise."

As a prepared for bed tonight- brushing my teeth for 2, dentist-ordered, New York minutes, I reboogered myself into a staring contest with the man in mirror. "What have you done?" I asked him. Most people de-booger, you see, probably while they prepare for bed, maybe in the car driving to work. Some people just do not care, I have learned from personal experience, and they find it quite easy to dig for booger buddies on the public transit bus. I tried to re-step my tracks and find the SOB that ended up sliding down the pipe. Luck was not on my side.

time?

2010-03-27T14:35:00.000-07:00

The hardest part of my day before I go to school at noon, is calculating whether I have the time to do 2. On the weekends, it is less of a challenge, But during the week, I need to use my college/adult smarts to keep me out of trouble. For the hell of me, I cannot go at school, at work if I had a job, or even if I am out out of the house altogether. Only when when I am home does it work. And even then, it is sometimes a challenge. I do know I have two minutes once the heater starts and makes its noise... Being an imperfect man is no easy task; especially when you only have two minutes to take care of something so precious.

Dream 2

2010-03-24T21:52:00.000-07:00

Last night in my dream, a friend of mine won a million dollars. I saw her in the street, crossing the interesting with one of those big-ass checks. It was rainy. I thought about it a moment, then I realized that I almost won a million dollars also. "Oh, ankle burgers!" I thought. "I better do something about that." On TV, there are always people winning "The Jackpot" or "The Lottery" or "Winnings Town USA" ...what have you, and then the people who won are always having people come to them and ask for money. I thought of this, you see. So, just as precaution, we (me, Paul, Brigid and my sister Amy), moved into the trashiest, shadiest, falling-downiest, apartment in Chicago, to hinder any thoughts anybody might have ever, about asking me for money...all because I almost won a million dollars. Walking through the halls to our new home, huge pieces of gray paint chips lay on the floor below bigger ones hanging off the walls. There was a gun shot. It was quite surprising to find a somewhat nice apartment room once out of the halls and community space. -Nice hard wood floors. Although unfurnished, remnants of past tenants lay scattered throughout the entire place. There were baby dolls stacked in a huge pile in the closet. In that room, hanging on black poles, were black, leather, baby-sized masochist vests. "Whatever," I thought. "This floor is great for sliding on," as I ran and slide a few feet on my chest. As I was still on my chest, I heard police sirens and Amy ran in the room, scared with throw-up in her mouth, claiming the police are coming for us. "They keep panning the window," she said, worried. I saw more throw-up in her mouth as I stood up and I thought it looked like old milk or something like that. It began to drip out. "Okay Amy," I said, "lets get you out of here."

Dream

2010-03-22T09:11:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamed my mom and I were going to Honduras. Along the way, we stopped at a gas station for something to eat. I got a Margarita meat wrap/sandwich/roll and a soda. When we got up to the dirty, candy-filled counter to pay, the woman behind the register was very nice. If this little meal was going to set us back in spending, I could feel better because she has a knock-out smile. When our little bill came to about 29 dollars for two items, my mom sighed loudly. She hung her head and we waited there in front of the counter. Was she waiting for the woman to changer mind? Does my mom not know that its not up to her how much we pay, because she just works there? I looked around and found no one to be waiting in line behind us. There was no one yet. I reached into my pocket and fished out my wallet while my mom, still hanging her head, was looking at the counter as if her life was in the hands of this poor gas station attendant. Yet, neither woman budged. The women, cheerful as ever, happily kept telling us the price we owed and even told went into her spiel about other yummy products we might be interested in. -Like hell that would ever happen. I took out my debit card and handed it to the women, crossing the tension filled counter that lay between the women. My mom didn't say anything, but just turned and headed towards the door. In a fit of rage I was not quite sure how to explain, mom angrily grabbed one of the plastic-wrapped cups stacked in a pyramid on display, for sale. She tore the wrapping off it faster than I had ever seen. I looked around to see what commotion she was making, but on one was there. By the time I looked back at her and realized she was a thief, she was filling her new cup with ice and soda. Back on the road, I was really nervous at any moment, I would see red and blue police lights in the rear-view mirror. Although, it did not happen. However, The Bond family from many years ago showed up. All ten or so, of them. No sooner did it seem odd that they were actually running along side our car with the grace of a brisk walk, that I found they could turn into house cats at any moment they desired. And they did along the way. They wrestled and played and still kept up with us. "How the hell are they doing that," I thought. Then, I began thinking about how we would actually get to our destination of the little town of "La Villa de San Antonio," and I worried no one would pick us up from the airport when we arrived. It did not occur to me in that moment that we were driving the whole way. I do not know the streets of our arrival city, Tegucigalpa. What if we get shot driving through? That won't help us at all.
...And so we just kept driving and driving. The Bonds just kept turning into cats. My mom tried to enjoy herself but could not because of that damn woman behind the counter and I began drinking from her stolen cup on accident. When I drank it all, only leaving the ice, I looked at my mom. She looked straight ahead as if hypnotized by the oncoming road. "She's gonna be mad at me," I thought.

todays

2010-03-18T20:03:00.000-07:00

Thursdays are really long for me because I go to bed really late almost every night. I have class at 9:30 AM until 1 Pm. That means I have to get up really early...like 7. Most nights I just cant fall asleep due to me racing mind. ....But last night, I went to bed earlier and actually felt tired. I was happy enough to be feeling tired, that I couldn't relax. But soon I was drifting
...I woke up at 2:30 AM because I threw up a little bit in my mouth. I guess I can't be that lucky. I mean, It felt like bees in my throat. Good thing I had that water bottle by my bed.

person notes

2010-03-16T23:41:00.000-07:00

March 3, 2010
Personal notes, recommendations and ideas for the day:

with an emphasis as a light question, and geared towards (but not limited to) strangers or people I do not know so well...
Start more sentences with...

But,
Anyways,
Clearly,
But, you know...
Mark my words...
Actually...
Chiefly...
Yeah,
Because...

Scenarios:

A teacher asks if anyone has any questions or comments on the upcoming exam. Raise your hand and say something like, "No, I don't think so. I think we are all pretty ready."

"Hey Matt, how are you?"
" Actually, I got foot fungus athletes foot, what have you
...you believe that? ...Itches like Hell right now, right between the toes."

"Do you have any spare change, sir?" says the homeless man.
"Because, this bread dough Ain't gonna bake itself!"

thanks Marshalls

2010-03-16T23:18:00.001-07:00

I often think about the time I left Art History class and headed down the escalator to leave. I had not gotten far before Audra, a girl in my class who sits on the other side of the room, caught up to me and told me I smelled good. She asked what I was wearing. Feeling as if I had to justify myself for reasons unconscious to me, I quickly told her it was called "Curve," and that I got it at Marshalls for only fourteen dollars. I went blank after that. She might have smiled and she may have walked on, going about her day just as any other. On the other hand, she may have stayed and continued to ask me questions about myself, my classes, or possibly lunch at Subway. But I happen to blank for five floors. It was not until I got to the bottom floor that it all came flooding back like a slap in the face. Only then did I realized that a simple, "Curve" and "thank you," would have been just fine.

hungry hungry

2009-10-11T13:22:00.000-07:00

After I had been lost downtown for about four hours, I wandered into an alley.
Standing in between the big garbage dumpsters,
I watched the people walk by on the main avenue.
I felt like a cub scout struggling with his wolf badge.
Just then, things began to look up as I spotted something on the ground.
A sandwich. Sweet. Awesome.
This was gonna the the greatest night ever.
Perfect timing too because I am starving.

nineteen ninety something..

2009-09-16T11:33:00.001-07:00

I remember I was in 5th grade when my dad came home with our first computer. Along with it came a whole bunch of free programs on CD's. One them was "Encarta"....'95 or something like that. It was some Encyclipedia with photos and brief explanations of all matter. When I found out about it I was pretty excited to learn. I was also intrigued to find an idea or object that Encarta didn't know about. I wanted to out-smart it.
After a few days, my 5th grade mind was as flushed out of ideas as it could be. I was impressed to say the least. I went to school and was excited to share the news. During snack break, I went up to my friend Jake and asked him if he ever needed any information on anything like F-14 Tomcats, or cougars, Robots, hard mazes or Leonardo DeVinci, to let me know, because I had just gotten "Encarta '95". He looked at me and said he was fine. He also said that he had "Encarta '97, and that he would use his own. He walked away, leaving me stranding there with my pride soaking into the carpet of the classroom.

subway

2009-05-13T13:22:00.000-07:00

I go to subway quite often for a cheap lunch. As time goes on, I find they people who work there are getting to know me...to an extent. They know, somehow, that I hate the meatball sub. I try to avoid tuesdays. When I go in and ask what the special is, they always tell me its meatball. Some days, they say, "bacon," which I throw right back at them because, how great would it be if there really was a bacon sub? In any case, they are nice to me and always put a smile on my face. When I don't belong at school, I can seek refuge and peace at Subway.
Its interesting how quick they are with all the subway ingredients and up-selling. The whole time, usually they are yelling and laughing at each other in Indian. They laugh at me every time I come in...not sure why.
One day, I came in and all but one of tables and seats were taken. One of the workers just walked out for lunch and sat at the last available spot. This brings back uncomfortable, bad memories of high school. Where the hell was I supposed to sit? "I am not going to sit outside with the homeless people," I told myself. As I looked all around, I finally came to the one person I informally knew- the worker. She saw me and smiled. I awkwardly looked around more...then she pulled her food and wrappers closer to her, telling me she was offering her seat across from her. I went and sat down. Everyone behind the counter was laughing at us. Her eyes were glued to her food and chips.

Her: want some chips?
Me: No...I better not. I didn't pay for them.

A few awkward minutes go by as we eat in silence.

Me: Do you feel awkward?
Her without skipping a beat: -Yes.
Me: Its ok. We can feel uncomfortable together.
...So how long have you been working here?
Her: About, since 11 this morning.
Me: No, how long have you been working here for?
Her: Oh, I work Monday to Friday. Not Saturday or Sunday.
Me:...right.

The next few minutes we ate in more silence and I realized a few things. They sure have their Subway lingo down. But when we are on the same side of the counter, the whole situation changes. We were not having an easy time understanding each other. She asked me my name and I told her. She also told me her name, but there is no chance in Hell that I would remember it.

Me: ...So...you know any good jokes?
Her: Yeah.
Me: ......Well, lets have it...
Her: Yeah.

She finished her sandwich and said, "bye."
"Okay, bye," I replied.

The seat at my table, being the only one open, was taken by some chef-to-be. That was weird. But I understand. She needed a spot to sit down and eat. She told me about how the wokers sneeze and make sandwiches. I didn't know what to say. Although, Id consider them my amigos or pals and was ready to stand up for them. This Chef-to-be also had man hands, and I couldn't not look.

Birthday

2009-05-13T13:20:00.000-07:00

Paul came up with a great idea for my birthday...
On the invitations its going to say,
"Your presence is not presents enough."

The Real South

2009-04-09T16:12:00.000-07:00

The only Experience I had in The South is when my family goes to Florida for a vacation. Its kind of different there though, from the image of The South I have in my head. Lots of Over-Alls, banjos, fried chicken paired with biscuits and gravy. That is what I imagine everyone eats. When we go down there as a family, its mostly old people wearing white shoes, white pants and driving around in white golf carts. But they don't have white golf gear in the back. They aren't even wearing white, knuckle-less gloves! Most of my prior ideas or thoughts were shattered and I have been a wreak for too long
All that changed a few days ago when I got a chance to see The Real South. I was in Atlanta and having the time-of-my-life experiencing true Southern Life as I was in connection to a Baltimore flight. It was't the way I thought or expected it to be. It wasnt even over average. Fried chicken was not offered to me as I stepped off the plane, and I do love fried chicken, people were not yelling all-the-time, making judements and demands. I felt fine beyond all expectations!
So if anyone wants to expereince The Real South, don't go to Georgia because there is absolutly nothing in anyway, or form there that represents The True Southern Life.

super powers

2009-03-31T12:02:00.000-07:00

If anybody knows and medicine I can take for powers like running fast, please let me know.

if your looking on Google, don't try these because I already did:
"Medicine for super powers"
"Medicine to make you run really fast"
"Medicine that lets you run at incredible rates"
"magic pills"
"magic pills, magic hero medicine"
"Go the extra mile in less time- Pills to make you run faster than anyone"
"medicine, mutant, awesome"

It would just be nice to get to the train faster or not have to wait for the bus. please let me know asap (as soon as possible:)

Change is good

2009-03-31T11:32:00.000-07:00

The other day I found out that I can record stuff on my phone and then use that recording as my ring. I decided to bring back a classic and record myself saying,"Hueso. Hueso. Hueso." thats what the kids called me in Honduras. It translates to "Bone." I listened to it and it sounded like Kings (Good). I was really excited to hear it.

Days went by and no one called me. I got all depressed.

I changed it to something else and then the calls just rolled in like rich peoples money.

getting going

2009-03-27T14:17:00.000-07:00

I had to watch Jerry Springer today.
Even though I was late for tudor help, I was hooked.
I sat and watched an hours' worth of it with my jacket and backpack on. Each time I got up to leave I saw the title, "I used to be a man," and "Jerry Springer Wedding."
And that was it. There was nothing I could do.
This is so typical of me.

JOBS AND INTERVIEWS

2009-03-26T10:17:00.001-07:00

I was looking for a job when I starting writing this. Thanksgiving was last week so seasonal jobs are getting taken up on quickly. I turned down two Borders jobs because I thought I would be visiting home this Christmas. But that is not going to happen. If I want to work I have to be available to work the holidays. I have been to a few interviews. And it only took a few times to realize how terribly awful interviewee I am. I just had an interview at Old Navy. I never thought I would work there, but now, as no other job has come up, I have to be willing to take anything I can get. Like a humble, homeless man. Something you don’t see in Chicago often enough. Normally I would try to convince myself that I am modestly confident. It’s always easier with a woman interviewer for some reason. These are the moments in our lives when we can be anyone we want. Those first impressions are the ones that sell, right? So, when it’s one-on-one, the interviewer and me, I smile, make eye contact and am relatively a great guy. They ask me to tell them about myself. This is where I really shine and smother on my experience in Honduras. Its smooth sailing from here until they get to questions like, “What do expect from your supervisor?” “How do you sell a product?” “Why do you want to work for us?” “Tell me about a time when you gave great customer service.” At this point I usually look out the window and rub my sweaty palms together. When there are no windows I notice how warm it is in the room because I feel the beads of sweat running down my under-arm. I may look at the posters on the wall. After stumbling with words I reply, “…well, I want a supervisor who…respects me. Someone who respects the way I interact with customers…” she looks at me, nodding her head, saying, “hmmmm.” If I look passed her dark eyes I can see her real reaction- what the hell are you talking about?
“…Well…Ummm, to sell a product, I say hey, have you tried our new Mojo Mocha? We can make it with non-fat milk or sugar-free syrup... Or we could just go all out and make it so chocolaty that your head would blow up. And hey, did you hear we got our new sixty-four oz. cups in. So now you’ll have enough to last until Hell freezes over.”
Why do I want to work for you? Back at home I knew this answer. Before I left, I knew this answer. At least, I knew the right answer. Something they would want to hear. Unfortunately, for all of us, the only response that keeps on repeating itself in my head is, “I just need a job.” And that’s not exactly what employers want to hear. It seems when these questions come up, my mind remembers what “worked” before. So, now all I hear is “I just need a job.” I don’t know what stopped me from saying that, but I didn’t say it. Instead, I answer with something “much better” like, “Seems like a fun environment”, “I like the clothes” and “You guys are on top.” After one of those responses they give me a smile. The kind you get from genuine pity. In the moment you feel great about it. But later when you leave and think about it and remember what he looked like as you said it, you stop walking and say to yourself, son-of-a-bitch! I have given great customer service in all my years of being employed. Working at Starbucks, your whole life is revolved around making customers happy. I couldn’t think of one particular time when I gave great customer service, so I usually come up with some rendition of “selling a product.” At Starbucks when a new drink is out they sample it to everyone for free. So, its hard to feel what these clothes retailers want from me when I can’t give a free pair of pants to the people, just so they could try them. Also, I use the phrases, “mix’n match, non-fat, and “happy smiles all around,” hoping this would put me up a few notches.
In my Old Navy interview I was pretty proud of myself to show up fifteen minutes early. After I was told to “go talk to So’n so," twice, I was told to wait in the break room for about twelve minutes. There I was, at a circular table, alone. I was one of about five others, with other people coming and going the whole time. But they were the ones who were actually working and on a break. Who was I? I was nobody. No one made eye contact with me. After ten minutes I couldn’t take it any longer. I left the break room to find this “Jason” guy or whoever it was that was going to interview me. When someone saw me hanging around outside his office they asked what I was doing. Bringing me inside the office, there was a red, comfy chair and I was instructed to sit in it. And wait. There were, at least, posters on the walls in this room, so I had something to look at. Soon, “Jason” popped his head in and said, “We’re going to go to another room if that’s okay. Sorry about the musical rooms we’re playing here with you.” That’s when I realize it- its not just Jason and me. Its Me, Jason, and two other girls. What kind of mind games is Jason playing with me now? We walk inside a new room with a big red table in the middle. Its another break room. To the far right, as you walk in, is a counter with a sink. There are plastic plates and dirty, crumpled napkins scattered around the counter. On the end is a round plate of cookies. That is not going to help. I love cookies. Jason tells us to all sit on one side and he on the other. In that moment he throws us a curve-ball and leaves the room for five minutes. Neither one of us said one thing to anyone ever. The tension became increasingly thick. Like getting mammoth muffin at Perkins and thinking you get all the free ones you want after the first the purchase…until you confront the waitress only to find out that its not true. I was about to burst into one of those, “WELL!…” comments just to break the awkwardness, but was relieved to see Jason pop back in. First thing he said, as he sat down, was that he didn’t have my application. I was off to a good start. He was a big guy. A bit round, like his associates could have just rolled him in the room similar to the way the Oompa-Loompas rolled away the big blueberry of a girl. His head was about the shape and size of your Olympic approved basketball and when he turned to look and talk to each one of us, his face jiggled like there was cake mix inside. Second thing he said was that he wanted to go around and have us just tell him about ourselves. Of course, with this question, I was about as worried as any drunken man could be as he wanders in a restaurant for flap-jacks at 3 AM. It started with me. I said, “Well, I’m from Minnesota. I moved here about four years ago. I have been out of the country- working in Honduras, at an orphanage. I am working on a promotional video/ documentary/ movie for the orphanage right now to help raise money and awareness. But, now I’m back and going to school in January. And that’s me in thirty second nutshell.” Jason just looks blankly at me but I don’t realize it. Feeling pretty proud of my answer, I put on a smile that says I know I look good and turn to my left for the next girl’s story. With a bright smile and eyes that seem to actually be buried in her face, Anisha-Angel begins her story. She jumps right in with being a single mom then shifts over to her eight years experience working at Wal-Mart and all the positions she held there. “…And I’d like to work at Old Navy because I love working with customers and making everyone’s shopping experience one that makes them come back. I think I would be a great addition to this company because I know and understand this kind of environment. From my past experience I know how to work with customers and help them find what they need…” Inside, I am screaming at myself. Caught off guard, I look at her and loose my smart-ass-of-a-smile. What was I thinking, talking about myself? How is going to Honduras and working with kids going to get me this job? Its not and I had to learn that the hard way. In most of the job interviews I have had, employers usually eat up all the Honduras stuff. Going into this one I naturally thought the same. I have never had a group interview, but learned that it’s really a competition, a battle to work at a cash register for eight hours a day. A battle to say, “how many?” in the fitting rooms. No. This is no battle. It’s war. And if I had any experience in this kind of combat, maybe I would have a chance. Unfortunately, I have none and the best my silver tongue struck out was asking what kind of activities they do if the workers have to stay late. It was a little comment, probably in everyone’s mind, but in this head it was big. It sounded great until it came out. Anisha-Angel finished her explanation under five minutes and looked to the other girl on her left. Rackel began telling about her experiences working in a few, smaller clothing stores. I look down at my lap. I am scratching my stomach under my sweater, maybe to put a hole there. It feels warm and red like a hot pad. There is a lot of noise in my head. Shouting. I think it’s my voice. Beyond that, I can hear the faint hum of Rackel, convincing them she would be a great candidate for the job. I should have taken my jacket off. Its so hot in here, I think to myself. I’m trying to act normal. As if nothing could be against me. The right answers and physical mannerisms become hard to concentrate on. I keep looking over at the plate of cookies and garbage on the counter to my right. There is no way they don’t notice. I have to completely turn away from everyone in the room. Jason isn’t even asking me anything anyway. This is all a process. He asks us all, one at a time the questions he has on his clip bored. But at this point its like he just skipped me to move on to the girls. They have so much more to say. All I can ramble about is all the combinations of flavor and espresso you can mix together. I begin to take more notice of my environment. There are Old Navy posters on each wall. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be paying attention. Maybe if I switch my sitting position, something will happen. Maybe Jason will talk to me. I shift and turn my body to be facing Anisha-Angel. With my elbow on the table, too, I hope something will change. I’m not surprised when it doesn’t. It just gets hotter. Everyone always says to make eye contact. I do, do that. But I always remember it at the wrong times. I think I do it in spurts. So I may be looking at a table or a crumb from a brownie one minute. The next I could be in a trance of staring eye contact. If I want the attention, this is definitely one option. Though, in this case, it may not be the best option. I found myself with my fingers folded together, placed in front of my mouth. From Jason’s point of view, I could have been the man in the windowless van that sits across the street from the park wearing sunglasses. This is just my luck. I always make people feel uncomfortable with the way I look at them. Its always too late when I find out I’ve been doing it. This isn’t going well at all. I was never good at competition. This is a perfect example. What a relief I felt when Jason stood up and began thanking us for taking the time to come in. He said if one of us gets hired on, then we would get a call confirming it. If not, then we would get a letter in the mail saying, “sorry, this just isn’t going to work out. Maybe if you hadn’t made Jason, your interview, feel he would be in physical danger when he left the store, we might have thought about welcoming you on our team. Thanks for playing."
I don’t expect to be hired there.

Standing up for My Rights

2009-03-23T15:45:00.000-07:00

KINDERGARTEN
I remember early back in my life. I don’t know why. But I don’t question it. It is funny for me to recall what I was like as a kid. When I do look back I usually have a good laugh because of how awkward I was. The things I did. The things I thought but didn’t say and what I really panicked about- all the things that make me who I am today. It all adds up. I am the way I am supposed to be, judging by my past.
I began my first year of kindergarten like any other kid. My cubby was full of crayons, my scissors were sharp, and I was in line to turn in my box of Kleenex. I was a bit scared of Ms. Statem. Maybe it was her curly hair that formed that sort of 90’s fro- A phase that all women seemed to go through. I was nervous around her. And as much as I wanted to be comfortable in her presents, I never was. I don’t know why. And Things just didn’t go right, right from the start it seemed like. I wasn’t happy. Who would think that a 5 year old could be so unhappy in kindergarten? But now when I look back I figure it wasn’t the big things. It was just the little things that added up. Ms. Statem had the biggest puzzle any kid could imagine in a classroom, with pieces the size of party pizzas. And the best part about this puzzle was not putting it together, but the reward you receive when you finished. Statem had a gold colored tin box on her desk chalked-full of random assortments of candy. That was all the motivation one needed. When a kid completes “the big floor puzzle” he or she earns one piece of candy. Unfortunately it wouldn’t be until 40 or so years later that these kids would realize that the real reward was not the sweet treat, but really the fond memory of the journey it is to put it together. At this point in life if there wasn’t a reward of candy, what motivation was there? The only real reason they did it was for the candy. It was always about the candy. That’s the way it is with kids. If there’s candy involved, there’s no question. Later in my life, when Halloween rolls around, my friend Paul and I prepare our plan of attack so we can get as much candy as our pillow cases could hold. We always grabbed the biggest one we could each find. Even though when we got out to collect, our sacs rarely filled much passed half way. But this only encouraged us to work harder. By the end of the night I was never disappointed and I treated my candy like gold. I had to save it. Only eat it a few pieces at a time. I don’t know if this was the greatest idea as I had candy for months after Halloween. Most years I was left with just the “Almond Joy,” “Mounds,” and then all the international treats I was not accustomed to.
I finish that big puzzle and I was ready for my prize, so I went to tell Statem that I had done it. And after she saw the proof, I had permission to partake from the tin. When I opened it, only to find it was barren, I looked around to see who playing this sick, sick joke on me. But no one noticed. I felt sick to my stomach as I told Statem the bad news and she said that she would get some for me later. Some how I decided that that was ok, which was wrong, because that’s all I got from her- a rein check. I was betrayed. And this was not the end. Not even close. That same year on Halloween I was superman- a classic move. But some how I thought that the superman outfit I had- pajamas, would work famously. How wrong I was. I think it may have only been a superman top at most and being short the bottoms I improvised a bit and used red sweatpants. Superman has blue tights, by the way. And since I was using the opposite of what the pants should be, I had to substitute the outer red underwear for my actual blue underwear complimented with yellow trim. The cape looked nothing more than a red dishrag with two squares of Velcro on the corners and on the shoulders of my shirt. I don’t know why it didn’t bother me then, but later I realized that a cape that only goes to the top of you ass is a sin. This was probably the biggest mistake that I let my older brother and my mother talk me into. I bet he doesn’t even remember it now, but I’m sure he had a good, cheap laugh at the cost of a child’s self confidence that will have stunted him for the rest of his life. I don’t know why I agreed to this but I did, actually, wear this to Statem’s class and Halloween party. It was too late to turn back for me when a neighboring classroom came through ours to show their costumes and one boy had a spandex-like superman outfit with a cape that went all the way to his ankles. My jealousy for this boy, who I didn’t even know, was deep. And it didn’t end. One of my own classmates, Dustin, who lived in my own neighborhood, and rode my bus, and was a cowboy that day, made sure the whole class knew that I had it all wrong. Dancing around, pretending to shoot his toy gun, he was out of control. The whole class laughed so hard because of him. I felt like a fool and I was not laughing. They believed him. They followed him. He was crazy and I was the only one who knew it. Ridding home on the bus, I looked back on the day and felt I had been emotionally crucified by my whole class. I recall no support from Statem, who should have been at my side telling me that the workmanship and creativity that went into my outfit was superior to those of my classmates. But, I suppose she may have felt a little awkward around me that day. She was outnumbered. I mean, if a kid is being harassed to the point of tears by everyone, you may want to help them, but the chances of making a difference are pretty slim. And if you can’t beat a gang of angry kindergarteners, join them.
My mother pulled me out of school around December, setting me back a year. But this was the right thing to do because of the way I was treated. The way Statem treated me. The injustice. So I turned in my cubby and sold all my crayons. I took back my Kleenex and booked it out of there. Boy, this was a great day. I didn’t have to go to school and everything just seemed too good to be true. In the following years growing up, I told all my friends that I was removed because Statem was a bad teacher. It wasn’t until I was in my 20’s that my mother told me that the real reason I was pulled out was because of my underdeveloped motor skills. It was quite a surprise to find out that I was a bit slow. But that’s the way it is with me. It’s always been a challenge to keep up with the other students my age. I started my second year of kindergarten pretty confidently. I watched the new kids come in. Scared. Knowing nothing. Not knowing where the closest bathroom was if there was an emergency. Or confused about what hall it is to the drinking fountain. But I knew. If a kid didn’t know- Bam! There I was. I had Mrs. Morris that year. She was wonderful. I felt as if I could have been her very child. As if she could be my very own mother. The second round of kindergarten for me seemed to just be more packed with fun. They must have made many additions to the class rooms to make them more kid-friendly. Like a welcome mat. We went to the library to read books, but never, never to check them out. When winter came Mrs. Morris and a few volunteer parents took us outside to make home-made ice cream. We all couldn’t help at the same time so we did it in shifts. And in between these shifts we were allowed to just play in the snow. I remember the taste of the ice cream when we got back to the class. Vanilla. So smooth and creamy. Delicate, yet more complex than a five year old could ever imagine. How does ice cream come from a little wooden bucket full of snow? But it did. When spring rolled around we had a “choir concert” to match the delight in our hearts of the coming season. This was held in the small gymnasium of our school. Looking out and seeing my mom and Mrs. Morris, and a packed gym, I became pretty uneasy. I knew my mother was looking at me because she is my mom, and now that I think about it, I think Mrs. Morris was looking at me too. Not just because I think she liked me best, but because I was yawning the entire time. All those hours of practicing back in the classroom and it all came down to this. Since I hadn’t figured out how to suppress me edgy nerves, a nice display of yawns contributed more or less to our ensemble. Maybe she was laughing at me because I was trying so hard to stay with it. Even though I was older and much more mature, I still lacked quite a bit in this performance: Singing technique, Posture and definitely composure. I don’t remember singing one word at our little concert. Having all these new situational experiences, I had more confidence this year for sure. I didn’t show off a lot. I was never that type. But I spoke up more. I saw kids fight all the time, like kids do. It was usually something small, like a toy, or paints, or who gets to be the person on register in our little “play store.” Everyone wanted to be that person. Especially me. But back then I rarely had it my way due to shyness-something that always lingered with me. At this age, if your arguing with anyone, all you need to do, is drop the “I-am-older-than-you,” bomb, and there is nothing they could do to win. So I always had that in my back pocket, ready to go. And I did use it a lot because I was older. When a birthday comes to pass, so do the rights to this phrase. Those once-a-year days come along, and it is so vital to be invited to the parties. You have got to be someone. If you are not invited to Brian’s 5th birthday party kiss your kindergarten social life goodbye. Sarah was a girl who lived in my neighborhood. Her birthday was coming up and I was getting keyed up for it. My mother helped me wrap a Barbie doll for her. Now all I needed was to wait for that invitation in the mail or our front door. But it didn’t come. It was the day of the party and she never invited me. I could hear the fun they were having at her house across the street. I was so hurt. So angry. I screamed that I hated them and I didn’t want to go to their stupid party. My mother didn’t realized how much this meant to me, of course, and it hurt her to see me so distressed. So she proceeded to make a call, pulled a few strings and before I new it, the gift was under my arm, she was walking me over and I was wiping my tears away. All of a sudden this party was important again. It was not stupid anymore because I was invited. It all felt good until I walked in the door and it hit me. That feeling where you want something so badly, but when you finally have it, your not so sure this was the best option for you. I felt like “that guy” at the party. Everyone knows him. The one that is never invited but shows up anyway. No one really talked to me at Sarah’s party anyway. She probably told everyone about me. So I dropped off my present for her and grabbed some cake for the trek home. Some party.
One day, while I was playing in the sandbox that was in our classroom, I went into a little daydream and began to unconsciously write with purple marker on the Air Conditioner that happen to be directly behind the sandbox. I don’t recall what I was writing. That didn’t matter. What did matter was that there were rules in these places and I was breaking them. These rules were made for us to follow and keep us safe. This is what must have gone through Jeff’s mind when he saw me treat them like un-played-with garbage. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. I look at him then back at what I’ve done. Then back at him again. My heart began to race as hundreds of excuses fly in and out my mind. “Oh, please don’t tell Mrs. Morris,” I beg. “I’m going to tell Mrs. Morris,” he tosses back at me. I think of the disappointment in her eyes if she were to ever find out what I’ve done. I couldn’t bear to experience it. “Please don’t!” I plead. “Your going to be in so much trouble.” “Pa-leaze!” I begged. “NO!” He snapped back. We must have gone back and forth like that for about five minutes before I came to my last option. “I’ll invite you to my birthday party if you promise you wont tell on me…because I know how important these things are.” He thinks for a moment…and then I saw some acceptance in his eyes. I saw a peace agreement. “Ok, fine,” he replays, after what seems like a thousand kid years. When In reality, it just took all of free-time. I’d like to think the mark I made would still be there if I went back today, but probably not. I don’t think I told anyone. Not even my girlfriend at the time, Alison. At least that’s what I thought. I’m sure she was just a playmate. Maybe I wanted more in the relationship. I liked her a lot. In elementary school I’m pretty sure its unwritten code that the birthday kid brings treats for the whole class. Its not something you learn but something you just know. Of course I did this because I go with the crowd. It wouldn’t before I was 15 years before I would take a step “into my own”. I brought fun-size ‘3 musketeers’ for my class. They sat in a circle and I walked around in the middle dropping a candy bar into each and everyone of their little hands. I could see Alison was coming up, and coming fast. What should I do? She is my girlfriend, I thought. Then I thought I would maybe, accidentally drop two candy bars in her hand. When she came around I was too nervous the class would be angrily confused with me as to why I gave her two and not anyone else. This wasn’t a risk I couldn’t afford to take. I had also just gotten off the hook with Jeff and didn’t want to fall deeper into debt. I only had one birthday this year and I’m sure she would have felt a bit awkward too, being treated like a high-class kindergarten girl. Alison had been in a more of my classes growing up all the way to high school. She was in my 3rd grade class with Mr. Williams. Even at this point, when I gathered up the courage to ask her if she remembered me, the response was always a disappointing, flat “No.” I wanted her to remember and couldn’t understand why she didn’t. One day, while she was with her best-friend-for-the–year, Daira, I told her that I had a question for her. I was then, as I am now, an eternally curious boy. She was still nice to me… She allowed me. I was grateful for that. But I think she was turned off a bit more to our friendship when I asked her if she had hairy armpits. The first thing she did was look me in my eyes and burn them with disgust for my curious question. And that followed with running to her best-friend-for-the-year, Daira. As soon as she turned to leave me, I was, once again left alone, very aware that I was alone, and that I definitely didn’t know how to impress a girl. I try to imagine the response I would get had I told her of our true relationship all those years back in kindergarten. Probably perfect denial, coupled with laughter. Our friendship was on the skids so I layed low for the next ten years. I felt relieved when in 11th grade she didn’t remember me, once again. Maybe this was an act on her part. Maybe she knew it all. But I went along with it. Every time I saw her in later years, all I really thought about our first time together. How I thought that this was the beginning foundation to a really great relationship. But that was just kindergarten.

Its a Junkyard in there- a Nutshell

2009-03-23T12:23:00.000-07:00

Perhaps most peoples’ brains generally work the same way. We see something and our brain tells us what it is. When we touch something, how ever it feels, it gets sent rather quickly to our brain and we feel that its hot, cold, rough, soft, or whatever. We see and experience so many things every minute of every day, but most people easily can filter out what is important or worth and what is not. If everyone were to remember every single thing emotion and sensation they experienced every minute of everyday, boy I don’t know what to tell you, then. I don’t think much would get done because we’d all by pretty distracted by something that probably doesn’t even matter. When I think about brains, that scene in the end of “Raiders of The Lost Arch” pops up in my head; the room with all those wood crates where they eventually store the Arch. That room reminds me of a brain in that everything inside it is all we know. Everything we have seen and all that we have experienced is located inside. Its all organized in different crates of different sizes and importance; each one assigned a barcode for our brain- a robot, to scan, recognize, open and bring out for use. This robot, that finds what we need, is very fast and usually knows what’s going to be needed and puts what’s needed first and foremost, closest to the door, where you are waiting for it.
In my brain, most of these crates are open. The majority of them are used and then not put back in the correct place. They are scattered around the floor, opened and are constantly mixing together, meshing memories. Nothing is filtered. Everything is a first priority. My helper robot, who is to recover items I need, is not a robot at all, but nothing more than an over-excited dog, ready to play fetch. Of course, he can talk because we need to communicate, but he’s not as reliable as most. When I am in math class trying to remember what formula I use to find the hypotenuse, I say, “Go get me math, Robo!” and he runs off, lost in the chaos of the crates. He comes back quickly and says, “Here’s a cheeseburger,” holding it out to me. “No, Robo. Math. I need math.” He looks me in the eyes and then down at the cheeseburger. “Here’s a Cheeseburger, buddy,” he says with a friendly smile. By this time, a hankering for a cheeseburger has most likely built up within me and I take it from him, looking forward to an enjoyable snack. In doing so, I forget about the formula, a hypotenuse, and that I’m even in a math class because as far as I know, I’m in Crate World, exploring and pondering life while eating lunch. It’s like a junkyard in there. You can always find something interesting in any direction that you look. I try to get out of there, but when I turn and head towards the door, something catches my eye. For example, it could be a mustache, corn chips, opening up a restaurant called, “Flap Jack Sunday.” One night I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about finding bat eggs under my pillow and freaking out about it. The fact that I like just about every movie I see, including all the Batman movies, though I’d never admit it. Recently, I was on a flight back to Chicago and they were showing Batman And Robin. I got goose bumps through out it and was embarrassed for letting it happen. Someone cut in front me once in the meat line when I was eating at Old Country Buffet, but I let him have it. He was old, heavy and I figured those few hours of fine dining were all he had to look forward to per week. So, I let him have his dignity. I often think about fried chicken and I associate it with homeless people. I get Hankerings. I think about Garbage, Coffee, Not having a job, and reading brail. I think about losing my cool and taking a dump on the bus every time I go Number Two. Being socially awkward. Whatever it is, I have to check it out because I cannot pass it by. Through out my time spent in the junkyard and seeing everything that is my life, I have come to the understanding that I have the ability of memory; more like super memory, I think. Most might say, “Hey, that’s pretty cool,” with a knockout smile. And I say, “Yeah, I guess it is,” trying to balance out the enthusiasm. With this kind of power though, it is often a challenge to think straight and concentrate when I really need to. In class, I often “check out” before we are dismissed due to daydreaming. In English right now we are working on argumentation and will soon be writing papers on in. The professor asked us for an example of something that is obvious and that you don’t need to argue with it because there is no point. Without thinking twice, I think of tacos. And then burritos. I love Chipotle. I don’t see how anyone cannot like good tacos or burritos. And anyone that does disagree is just stupid. If I said that, though, professor would claim that what I attempted to do was persuade, and not to argue. Before I know it, I have a hankering for tacos. My mouth begins to salivate and anyone who may have noticed would observe slight to adequate uneasiness. Something, obviously, is missing. Paul recently got a breakfast burrito while out all night. As he enjoyed it the next morning, I watched with envy and wish I too, had a breakfast burrito. Instead, I did my best to benefit from Store Brand Apple and Cinnamon Toasty Round’s. By this time, I realized I “checked out,” and missed some of the lecture.
These are just examples of distractions that happen everyday. They are my worst enemy. In situations where someone (me) has to be vigilant, I would notice anything and everything with an alert conscience, but it would be that, which comes from within me that pulls me away from my duty. I get lost, exploring the junkyard.