Schooled.

Friend tells me about how it’s going with recent breakup. I can draw direct comparisons with one of my own exs. Can’t go into detail when he know who I’m talking about, and she’s basically in the next room.
I had this really vivid dream last night. At one point, I was in school, about to take a test on things I knew nothing about. The teacher threw a student out of the class for no good reason. I was going to use the test to write a note to the teacher about how she was there for us. We were paying her to teach us, while she was acting like we were there for her to earn a paycheck. (It was a concept a wild and provocative high school math teacher named Bruce Allan taught me. Learned a lot from him. Sometimes it was about math.) I never got to take the test. Then I was in a room full of people in some sort of prayer meeting. I went off to a smaller room to the side, and found my old friend Marc. (Marc has sorta been missing for years. An email will pop up from him now and then.) A middle aged black woman with glasses looked in on us, and I motioned toward Marc to let her know I was helping a friend, and that’s why I wasn’t in the meeting. She nodded an approval. Marc needed a few drugs injected into him, so a nurse appeared. Then the nurse went out into the crowded room, and we lost her. She was soon found lying on a couch in the middle of the room. Marc was behind the couch, and the nurse stabbed him in the arm with a syringe. I could see that the needle was shorter when she pulled it out than when it went in. I left out the early stuff about finding a classroom and scheduling.

March.

I just found out, a little late, that March is Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month. It is the second leading cause of cancer-related deaths in this country.

Last chance.

The snow tonight is not pretty. I didn’t walk around in the not pretty snow after work. I was hoping for one last quiet night before spring. I don’t know if the snow muffles the sounds of the city, or the activity level of noisy machinery goes down, but sitting in my apartment, I can hear if it’s snowing from the silence. The snow is a little pretty out here, but still has a layer of slush underneath. Didn't call anyone. Shared a cab home. Maybe tomorrow

Next time, I’ll pick you up first.

Warning.

I just sorta ate a tomato with a sticker that read, “TRICAR GOLD HYDROPONIC.” It just didn’t taste right.

Art therapy.

Felt kinda lousy after work, but it wasn’t too cold, so I decided to walk a bit. I have some chronic health problems, and I don’t always feel that great. Pulling out a camera and taking some pictures usually helps me feel better. Maybe that’s not exactly right. It takes my mind off my health, so the end result is the same. Also takes my mind off of some non-physical problems, and when it involves walking around late on a winter weeknight, often those problems fall into place, below more important things. Perspective.
The signs in Chinatown step forward at night. Signs that sell things I can’t read for $28 and up. Signs for second floor hotels. For food. There are all kinds of dark alleys that I headed into without fear, for I noticed a man keep an eye on his car when I came into his view. I was led around by signs until I turned toward the wind, and started to lose feeling in my hands.
Feeling much better, and colder, I walked back past a couple of bridges to say hi to Becca. The gates were down, well before the 2am closing time stated on the window. I could peek through a narrow gap in the drawn shades, and witness my friend nodding in agreement with a statement I couldn’t hear, then sip from a white paper cup through a straw. A few feet away, but completely out of reach. I didn’t want to cause trouble by banging on a door or window. There’s no way to calmly and discretely bang on the window of a bar that has its gates down. I didn’t see her car as I made my way home.

Press.

Press about the show at: www.newpartisan.com

Teeth. Dream.

I’ve heard my boss on the radio twice this week. I think he’s losing the PR battle.
Woke up earlier than usual to pick up Arwen at the oral surgeon. She had two wisdom teeth pulled. All morning, I wondered why we have wisdom teeth. I thought it was one of those evolutionary traits that would have died out if it wasn’t for modern medicine. All the people genetically predisposed to have problem wisdom teeth would die early deaths due to infection or malnutrition or some other related complication, and that genetic trait wouldn’t be passed on to the next generation. I brought up my puzzlement with Arwen in the cab on the way back to our neighborhood. She wasn’t under any sedation like we had figured she’d be. Wide awake through the whole deal. Mouth stuffed with gauze, she scribbled the explanation I needed on the back of her “instructions for care after tooth extraction” hand-out. It never occurred to me, but before dentists could handle problem wisdom teeth, we humans would lose teeth more often. Then, the wisdom teeth not only had room to grow in, but were a welcome addition to the mouth. Modern dentistry has made the wisdom tooth an unnecessary burden. I guess my hypothesis couldn’t have been more wrong.
It smells like spraypaint in here.
I had a really crazy dream this afternoon that involved a crime scene investigation in my dad’s house, a cross-dressing murderer, a bunch of little kids, my late cat, and a body buried in the back yard. Something loud happened on my street that woke me up before we could dig her up.

Today, and some things I learned.

Hilly sounded good on the radio. Mentioned the art opening. People actually seemed to like my pictures. Not just people who know me. Apparently, I sold one. Megan works her ass off. I left her a small gift. Lydiaemily is sweet. Godlis is a really nice guy, and can take a damn good picture. (Though I don’t know how he knew who I was.) Billy Name is a good sport. (Pierre joked, “hey, you were great in ZZ Top!”) A very nice woman interviewed me, but I would have liked to hear more about her September 11th volunteer experience. Dear friend Burton quit smoking, and got to meet my mom. Kristen was a calming presence, and got to meet my mom. Arwen found a brother, but almost lost another to a motorcycle accident. I’m hearing new rumors about CBGB from LA. C. Gibbs is quite an entertainer, and has a large circle of talented and friendly band members. I’m a little worried about K. Since I quit drinkin’, I can get home after a long day and night of bars and stars and guitars, and feel up for anything.
Good night.

Art Show.

BACK TO THE BOWERY
featuring:
JOHN SANTANELLO
BILLY NAME
WALTER STEDING
FERNANDO CARPANEDA
ROBERTA BAYLEY
MARK SWEENEY
JOSH WERTHEIMER
MICK ROCK
ANTON PERICH
ELAINE MAYES
SHARON SMITH
GODLIS
plus
music and free wine!

Opening is Wednesday March 9th, 2005.
CB’s Gallery, 313 Bowery.
From 6PM on.
(212) 677-0455

http://cbgb.com/gallery/030905.htm

Tired.

So tired. Can’t write. Here’s a picture from my window.

Gifts.

I was just thinking about a book I gave to a girlfriend, and wondering if she still had it. If a relationship ends badly, do you keep the things the other person gave you? What about things that weren’t given to you, but just left behind? A friend just broke up with his girlfriend by putting all her belongings out in the hallway of their building. There’s always the stereotypical cleansing ritual where you do something symbolic like burn everything. I’ve never gone that far, but I threw a ring out my sixth story window once. I’ve tossed stuff in the trash, but to be honest, if it’s something cool, I’ll keep it. Getting rid of crap makes me feel better, but keeping stuff doesn’t make me feel bad. It’s sort of like confronting your fears. Or problems. Or reminders of what not to do in the future. Like, “that statue reminds me to never tell a girlfriend that a friend of hers is hot.” Something like that. So long as I, while giving her a gift, don’t wonder about where this gift will end up after we’re over, I’ll be okay. Or maybe I’ll say, “take this gift as a future reminder of what not to do in a relationship.” If she’s the woman who would understand completely, without further explanation, then somehow she’s the one for me.