Hardware

I guess I haven’t been around one in such a long time that I hadn’t thought about it. I called my mom yesterday and told her that I’d discovered I love every minute I spend in the Hardware Store; I don’t even have to buy anything, I just like being there. She sort of nonchalantly stopped my overt enthusiasm with a curt, “But you’ve always loved the hardware store.”

It’s just so goddamned practical. You want a hammer? We have those. You need to mount a picture? We have wire and nails. You need screws? Guess what? That’s our specialty. A toolbox? Of course. When you check out, we’ll give you a paper bag so the screws have a harder time escaping from your plastic bag. See you tomorrow.

Most of the time, they have things that I might not ever need but I think I just like knowing someone somewhere keeps these things in stock. For example, my hardware store sells 5-foot clamps. I have literally no idea what I’d need a 5-foot clamp for, but it’s reassuring to know that if I ever need to glue something, say, two feet thick to something two and a half feet thick, I can.

I also love that they sell sledgehammers. My new lease has a clause that specifically says I cannot renovate and thus, I get the impression that I wouldn’t be able to use my new sledgehammer for over a year. I tell everyone at work that my favorite tool in the entire stockroom is the rubber mallet because it’s the second most used and the most helpful and yet I constantly wish there was a reason to have a sledgehammer at work. It would promptly replace the rubber mallet as my favorite tool and replace the pliers as the most used. Shit, if I only needed it one day at work I would buy my own sledgehammer to bring into work that day. Then I guess I could use it to decorate my tiny apartment: “…and this wall where I keep my larger-than-life Miranda Kerr poster I got from work. As you can see, that corner right under her is where I store my my sledgehammer. It’s not practical or anything–I used it once and now I just pick it up every once in a while to remind myself of the awesome power of my inner Shiva. No, you can’t touch it.”

At any rate, I thoroughly enjoy being able to browse a store that caters to every need I might someday have.

Kinda like the Jeffersons

I done gone and moved all up out of Brooklyn. Here’s a miniature retrospective in list form:

Five things I’ll miss:
1. Street Cred. I can’t count how many times I used to say “I live in Brooklyn” and then watch eyebrows raise. If people knew Brooklyn, the “Crown Heights” specification would engender a “Holy shit, really?” Not only will I miss that but I’ll also miss affordable rent.
2. Bodegas. I haven’t seen any around my new apartment in Manhattan and I get the impression I won’t see any for a while, either. I particularly miss how some of them were open 24 hours. There’s something nice about feeling like you’ve contributed to a family’s livelihood.
3. Local Eateries. Kingston Pizza–an Italian Pizza restaurant run by a bunch of Mexicans. Surprisingly delicious culture mismatch but then again, one of my favorite Italian Restaurants in Manhattan is run by a bunch of Japanese dudes. Mendy’s–the best place to get some kosher food as well as to get cut in line for being a gentile. Seriously–I can’t count how many times I’d go in, get treated as “less than” and then enjoy some unbelievably good falafel. Oddly enough, all the people who cooked were Mexican, too. That Chinese Food Place–whatever it was called. They made some cheap and delicious chinese-style food goods that was, for some reason, not made by Mexicans.
4. How Brooklyn is close to Manhattan. I love the subway. Really, I’m that guy who takes the subway over a cab. I’ll also take the subway over the bus, but that’s just normal, right?
5. Brooklyn Public Library. This behemoth of a public library was like three stops away on the subway and was awesome. The local branch was immeasurably terrible but the central branch was plain old awesome.

Five things I won’t miss about Brooklyn:
1. Shitty Grocery Stores. The store was like three blocks away, the chicken constantly smelled funny and there were like four aisles. Now there are two grocery stores that aren’t even a block away. Both even sell beer. Eff Fine Fare, I’m going to Gristedes or Western Beef now.
2. How Brooklyn isn’t really that close to Manhattan. I mean, compared to living in Texas, Brooklyn is close to Manhattan. Try to get your friends from Manhattan to come visit you. Free food and liqour can only entice them once or maybe twice if they really like you. Apparently, not everyone else likes the subway as much as I do.
3. My inflatable bed. I used it when visitors came over but the downstairs neighbors moved in a month ago and asked to borrow it three weeks ago. I made just about no effort to get to know them and moved out without bothering to ask for it back. I have a chair-bed for visitors now. Kind of more adult-like, right?
4. How just about everything is far away. You name it, it’s far away. Trader Joe’s. The (good branch of the) library. Museums (The ones people want to see. The Brooklyn Museum, apparently, is not one of those). Concerts. My friends. Bars. Work. Only exceptions: the park, the Brooklyn Children’s Museum and the local elementary school. All were across the street, but guess how much I went to any of them.
5. How Street Cred is directly linked with survival. I made it out and now my street cred is nil. I mean, I’m still the white guy at work and people I work with still say things like, “I keep forgetting you’re white,” but now I no longer worry about stupid things like break-ins or stepping on shoes. In the old apartment, something like 4/8 apartments were hit. I don’t know, I think someone got robbed, too, but I know for sure one apartment lost all their laptops. My list of things I can’t survive without (beyond food, I guess) follows thusly: 1. a computer w/internet access 2. some means of playing and listening to music 3. access to books. How am I supposed to survive if all the most important things I own are either stolen or if I have borderline anxiety that it will be stolen? I miss my street cred but I’m not sure I miss the street.

Pancakes

This recipe took about a week of shitty tries and really gross clean-ups to finally get right. And I have to say, I think I did a damn fine job.

Combine these:
Cup of Flour
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon Baking Powder
1/4 teaspoon Baking Soda

Combine these in a different bowl:
Cup of Milk
1 Egg, whisked
2 Tablespoons Melted Butter
1 teaspoon Vanilla Extract *Secret Ingredient Alert*

Once you’ve got those mixed together, slowly mix the liquids into the solids. I usually melt the butter in the skillet and add it last so the skillet’s greased. This recipe makes four large pancakes (or 8 dollar pancakes) that should be flipped pretty much the second the edges start to look dry. That is, the pancakes should be bubbling for a short while (20-30 seconds) before you flip them.

Also, don’t ever—ever—put in more than a teaspoon of salt. That was a terrible, terrible day.

Let Down

After extended aisle pacing and deliberation I finally bought my first box of Cookie Crisp back on Friday. When I was a kid, there was just so much hype on TV and yet so much restriction. The commercials made it sound like it was perfectly okay to live on the wild side and eat an entire bowl of cookies for breakfast. But then even eying a box of cereal in the grocery store that was touching a box of Cookie Crisp induced strong rebukes from my Mother. Somehow, Reese’s Puffs were okay but Cookie Crisps were an unforgivable sin in a house that never attended church unless it was a holiday.

So I figured, I haven’t even really been eating cereal much lately, I’m going to buy this and enjoy bachelorhood at its finest. And then I found out it doesn’t even really taste like cookies. I went in expecting a bowl full of chocolate chip cookies but I didn’t expect they would be tiny, stale chocolate chip corn meal things. When I got to the end of the bowl I even found out I preferred the milk to the cereal. I guess I was just really thirsty.

Maybe my mom knew all along it tasted gross.

New Favorite Christmas Movie

Trading Places.

Dan Aykroyd and Eddie Murphy? Done. Jamie Lee Curtis’ boobies unnecessarily shown half of the scenes she’s in? Yes, please. Al Franken high? Sold. Jim Belushi as a monkey? Acceptable. Paul Gleeson as a huge dick? Typcasting but necessary typecasting.

All told…fantastic.

Why last week sucked

Monday:
7:30AM—8:45AM:     Shower, Breakfast
8:45AM—10AM:        Commute
10AM—5PM              Internship
5PM—6:15PM            Commute
6:15PM—7:30PM       Run, Shower, Dinner
7:30PM—8PM            Commute
8PM—12AM              Floorset at The Secret

Tuesday:
12AM—12:30AM       Floorset at The Secret
12:30AM—1:30AM    Bodega Breakfast
1:30AM—6:30AM      Floorset at The Secret
6:30AM—7AM           Commute
7AM—2PM                Sleep
2PM—4PM                 Shower, Dinner (?), Lounge
4PM—4:30PM            Commute
4:30PM—12AM         Victoria’s Secret

Wednesday:
12AM—1AM              Victoria’s Secret
1AM—1:30AM           Commute
2AM—7:30AM           Sleep
7:30AM—8:45AM      Shower, Breakfast
8:45AM—10AM         Commute
10AM—10:30AM       Interview With Editorial Assistant
10:30AM—11AM       Interview With Executive Editor*
11AM—11:15AM       Phone Call with Mom
11:15AM—12PM       Commute
12PM—4:15PM          Internship
4:15PM—5PM            Commute
5PM—12AM              Victoria’s Secret

Thursday:
12AM—12:30AM       Victoria’s Secret
12:30AM—1AM         Commute
2AM—7:30AM           Sleep
7:30AM—8:45AM      Shower, Breakfast
8:45AM—10AM         Commute
10AM—7PM              Internship
7PM—8:15PM            Commute
8:15PM—12AM         Relax

Friday:
12AM-7:30AM           Sleep
7:30AM—8:45AM      Shower, Breakfast
8:45AM—10AM         Commute
10AM—3PM              Internship
3PM—4PM                 Commute
4PM—12AM              Victoria’s Secret

Saturday:
12AM—2AM              Victoria’s Secret

*I probably talked with my mom about this for longer. I was completely broadsided in this interview. I mean, I shot for the stars and all but when I got there I think I caught fire. The lady ended the interview with a line about talking to her husband (a fellow alum) about law enforcement. I sat there and thought… “You think I should do what? I thought we both understood I came in because I’m pretty good at reading.”

STATS:

Between 8PM Monday and 8PM Tuesday I spent 12.5 hours working at Victoria’s Secret. Lame sauce

During the 5 days that normally constitutes a work week, I used three trains (3, 4 and 7) and 14 swipes on my MetroCard. I love the 30 Day Unlimited so much.

Pages read in James Joyce’s Ulysses while commuting for those same five days: 112.

Pages I had to start over because I didn’t know what was going on: 7.

Total times I listened to The Afghan Whigs’ 1965 all the way through: 6.

Eggs eaten: 9.

Times people reminded me (without me asking) where the coffee machine was at the internship: 4.

Times my mind got blowed clear into quarters: 2 (during the interview, talking with mom about how badly I did in my interview).

On Repeat

I’ve been listening the shit out of The Afghan Whigs‘ 1965. As I told my Dad, it’s just a plain old beautiful, filthy, epic album that reeks of the city they recorded it in (New Orleans) and the year they named it after. It may just be the year that Dulli (vocalist, rhythm guitarist, lyricist, producer, etc) was born but I see it more of their way of tipping their hats off to the heyday of people like The Beatles (sampled on “Omerta”), Marvin Gaye (name checked and sampled on “John the Baptist”), The Supremes, Otis Redding or Freda Payne.

They broke up like three years after making it due to “geographic distance between members” but I’m pretty sure they listened back over this album and collectively murmured, “Oh shit. This is the best we’ll ever do.” I mean, they made an alternative rock album inspired by soul music. There are horns featured prominently throughout. It sounds crazy, but there’s even a saxophone solo on “John the Baptist.” Just a classic album and a lost art.

And thus, only their legend remains alive to this day; those kids sure could wow critics and get shat on in the sales dept.

Esoteric Example 1

I listened in on a Skype call between my mother and sister the other day and was profoundly bored by and astonished at how they could talk each other in circles about things to do in France. I think they went into it pretending that my sister neither has the same tour book my mother has nor the Internet. All told I had an hour and 20 minutes with them—they lost me around the 20 minute mark. While I was playing a game of Connect the Dots with Wikipedia I discovered something called the “Supreme Alphabet” and then got my mind blowed clear in half.

Apparently, GZA invented the Five Percent Nation’s ABC’s on his last album (you know, compared to the children’s rhyme we all learned: ABCDEFG/ HIJKLMNOP/ QRSTUV/ WXY and Z/ Now I know my ABCs). I’ve found only one link so far that comes close how I’d transcribe the chorus on GZA’s “Alphabets.” Luckily, I found it right after I transcribed it myself.

Allah, Be or Born, See, Divine, Equality,
Father then after that, it’s the G-O-D
He or Her, I/Islam, then Justice
King or Kingdom, Love Hell or Right, We still exist.
Master, Now-End, Cipher, Power, the Queen
Rule or Ruler, Self or Savior, Truth or Square the same
Universe, Victory, Wisdom, Unknown
Why, Zig-Zag-Zig, and now I’m back home

I mean, I knew he was good, but I had no idea he was that good.

Inept

I feel like there’s someone out at the end of the universe who thought, “Hmm. That ‘Celibacy’ post worked out pretty well. Maybe the kid deserves another shot.” Then that night, “Wait, he did what? I give him another chance and this shithead did what?”

Let me set the mood for you a little: Fresh off a victorious post, it’s Saturday night and I’m at a friend’s apartment for a celebration. I’ve come prepared with my game face: there are three women I’m attracted to—two redheads and a blonde—and I promptly make moves on none of them. I move like a flower to a bee; rumor is, according to my Mom, I’m pretty awesome, so I’ll let them come to me.

Long story short, one of the redheads and I are flirting with a green pen much later that night. That is, we’re drawing on each other. All of a sudden she goes all out dotting my arms and my face. I finally reclaim the pen and attempt to get her back. I realize if I use my he-man-woman-hater-strength to write on her face, I’ll probably end up poking her in the eye.

I tell her that she wins and that I’ve got to wash my face. She says she’ll wash up, too. I go into the bathroom and pretend block her entrance. She uses her she-woman-man-hater-strength to enter. I wash and she blocks the exit. This is the kind of fantasy I’ve had since I discovered fantasies and what do I do? I stand there for somewhere between three and five seconds and quite literally think “I know what I’m supposed to do” and then don’t do it. I just walked out.

And now every night I can’t sleep; my brain delights in torturing me with all of the things I could and should have done. All I can say is, never again. Never again.

Celibacy

Dear [Your Name Here],

First and foremost, you need to know this isn’t your fault.

Some of my favorite people in the world are my mother, grandmother and sister. Well, maybe not in that order (flip the last two?), but it’s pretty close. Some of my friends say I need to stop treating women so nicely in order to get women but the three favorite people in my life have done nothing but show me otherwise.

This has nothing to do with who you are—all girls are raised this way—and I know it. I’ve dated or made an attempt at dating something between 20 and 25 girls—which isn’t to say you’re another notch on my bedpost (hardly), just that you’re a part of a learning process that won’t quite sink in.

I know you’ve been trained to be wary of guys who are too eager and guess what I’ve gone and done again? It’s true, it’s kind of how I roll; I’m the guy who wants to cook for you before we’ve even been out on a first date. There’s no logical explanation (and oddly enough, logical explanations are something I thrive on) but I’m the guy who wants to do all the stupid shit your other boyfriends have never wanted to do for you even before you say, “A movie? That’d be cool.”

And of course that’s what throws you off. What guy likes chick flicks, listening to (your) stories, laughing constantly, cooking, massages or going to museums? [Right index finger arcs away from letter “j” and taps chest in heart area] That’s right, men who’re trying too hard or who’re just gay. Obviously though, you’re a cute young thing and I’ve asked you out so I can’t be all that gay.

I guess then, on behalf of the next nice guy you meet, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we have no idea what we’re doing or how we can’t control ourselves. I’m sorry things we want to do spurt out of our mouths or how we talk to our mothers and closest friends about these things. I’m sorry we confide in them and how we forget to do the most important things for a relationship like…asking for your phone number. Just know we’re working on it.

In the mean time, all I can ask of you is that 20 or 30 years down the road when you think to yourself, “Damn, my boyfriend’s jambalaya is only mediocre,” you don’t think back and remember my name. Sure, maybe my face, my friends or how I was far better at writing you a letter than actually saying things to you—but not my name.

Miss you,

_____  ______