I Am a Hug Addict with a Hug-Addled Mind

July 8th, 2009Blog3 comments

So Rick and his wife picked up the pup. As a farewell gesture he destroyed one of my Apple remotes. Most people would’ve just said goodbye, so that was nice of him.

Having someone there to constantly pester me made me realize how much concentration writing requires. I get into a lucid state where I go into my own head. If I’m working out an outline, I’m problem-solving. If I’m actually writing, I’m nailing things down in rapid fire. And both of these things are tricky to do when someone keeps resting his head on your knee or when he grabs one of your running shoes and makes off with it.

“I’m trying to think here, pup!” I would say. The pup would look at me, his eyes sharp, his own mind turning around a few thoughts as well: How can I bite this guy?

Ghostboxes: When Circuit City or Linens N’ Things closes down, all you’re left with is an empty shell.

But this here is the American spirit in action: When life gives you ghostboxes, turn them into Spam Museums. The Spam Museum used to be a big-box Kmart, and now it is an emporium for the holiest of meats. I love this country!

Obligatory Michael Jackson Post: A couple of weeks ago I was walking around Manhattan and saw on my phone’s newsfeed that Michael Jackson had been taken to the hospital; a few hours later they were playing his songs on every block, and I knew then that he had passed away.

He was a sweet, strange guy — the words “tragic” and “weird” usually don’t go together, but he was definitely tragically weird. I watched this documentary/interview thing with MJ and Martin Bashir again the other day — Bashir systematically illustrates the origins of Michael Jackson’s weirdness. It’s all very simple, really: We did it to him. Ass beatings from Joe Jackson, then the sudden fame, adulation and stardom, and finally the love that you and me gave him — and then took away. We made him who he was in every sense of the phrase.

Shit just got real.

A Small, Furry Tornado Keeps Landing Here

July 4th, 2009Blog1 comment

I left my place yesterday for thirty minutes. In jest, I told him not to “destroy the place while I was gone, ha ha.”

When I came back I found one of my flip flops extruded into hundreds of pieces on the floor. I thought we had a verbal agreement.

That’s the thing with this dog — he doesn’t listen to reason. I make very good, strong cases for my position but he completely ignores them.

It’s like living with a junkie — he’s a great guy for the most part, but every now and then he takes a stroll into madness. But instead of selling your iPod to buy drugs, he’ll just eat it. Also, he’ll try to bury his drugs in your couch. Which is what some junkies do too, I suppose.

I have to find things for this guy to do. Things to keep him busy. It’s like being a cruise director for a shark.

Happy Fourth! Say what you will about America, but at least we don’t have to make sure our chicken eggs are real. U-S-A! U-S-A!

I Ran Eight Miles With This Dog and He Isn’t Even Tired

July 3rd, 2009Blog0 comments

How can this be? Just now he grabbed one of my socks and is running around my place trying to get me to chase him.

In the first five minutes of his arrival yesterday, he:

- Ran into my bedroom and turned on the DVD player

- Chewed up a corner of my rug

- Knocked over his water dish, then smiled at me

- Ate part of one of my plants

- Shredded one of my winter gloves

This dog is no joke. He generates more energy than he consumes, like a small nuclear furnace.

Okay, now he’s beginning to tucker out. He’s lying at my feet getting the sleepies. But how long will this last?

I Am Dog Sitting a Small, Mischievous Horse

July 2nd, 2009Blog1 comment

Our friend Rick called. I was away from my phone and got the voice mail. He wanted to ask for a favor, and from the tone of his voice it sounded like he needed a kidney.

I called him back. “You don’t have to do this, and I totally understand if you don’t want to,” Rick said, “But… Would you mind dog sitting Pepe this weekend?”

Pepe is less than a year old — thus probably five years old in dog years. He behaves just like a five year old boy that has just eaten a pound of Skittles. He is mid-sized and muscular like a small horse or like Verne Troyer if he worked out a lot. He knows how to open doors. He is very friendly, and likes to hug people a lot. But for him, hugging consists of jumping onto someone and trying to give them a handshake with his mouth.

“Yeah, I’ll take him,” I said.

Very Short Stories About New York City

July 1st, 2009Blog0 comments

My favorite thing about this ‘burg is that there are a lot of parks in which one can sit and just write for a while. Whenever I’m in New York City I’m always rushing around from appointment to appointment, but often I have an hour or two to take a breather. That’s when I roll up to Union Square, Bryant Park, or Washington Square Park, take a seat with a Diet Coke and my notebook, and just work for a while.

Just working with an open notebook brings me a lot of peace. I feel like I’m working things through. Solving problems, figuring things out. And it’s kinda great to do that surrounded by trees and traffic and people that are also trying to do figure out similar things.

New York fatigue kicks in easily for me — running from meeting to meeting, getting irritated at people for walking so goddamned slow. Pausing in doorways and at the tops of escalators, conspiring as a system to make me late.

Coming from driving-centric LA you feel like you’re giving up a lot of control. You’re suddenly waiting for trains, you’re being held up by other people. You’re constantly moving and feel like you’re forced to constantly be moving.

But one of the things you can control is to choose when to stop. Take a break, rest, write.

I finally got a chance to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I had been trying to go for years but I kept bouncing off of the massive crowds.

This time I went on a Wednesday morning. Still busy, but far fewer people than usual.

I spent the majority of my visit walking through the Egyptian wing of the museum, and this was easily one of the most amazing museum visits I’ve ever enjoyed.

The ancient Egyptian Temple of Dendur. Transported to NYC block-by-block, a gift from the Egyptian government. What’s neat/sad is that 19th century European hooligans carved their own graffiti into the temple walls in 1820. Tagging has been around for centuries.

There was a very attractive lady docent giving a tour of the Egyptian wing to about a hundred young children. It was really charming how she kept wrangling their attention: “Can you help me find the Monster in this gallery?” She had a thick Japanese accent that was simultaneously working for and against her.

There was a small boy with dinosaurs on his yarmulke. I looked around online and apparently you can get yarmulkes with all sorts of things: Fire engines, robots, etc.. This is incredibly cool to me.

Some ladies came up to me with a map, apparently needing directions.

“Do you speak English?” they asked.

“No,” I said, “I’m sorry, I wish I did. Maybe you should try that guy over there.”

I barely scratched the surface before I had to leave the museum to make it to another meeting. I’m coming back to NYC in September and will continue my tour then.

New York City: I like you a lot. I even [heart] you sometimes. I will see you again this fall. RESPECT!