Here is what is happening in my world as of late . . .

Tag Archive for: Update

Update #31 [Where is my mind?]

I have to stop and wonder where my mind is sometimes – like – I know that it is usually there for a joke – or at the very least for some ridiculous non sequitur . . . but then there are other times where even I am stupefied with my stupification.

I was at a birthday party with a bunch of people – where (at the time that this happened) I only knew the birthday girl and her better half. I was doing what I seem to do all too frequently . . . I was talking about my dog.

I need to set everyone straight for a second by making sure that you know that out of all of the creatures (people included) in the world – I see my dog (Irving Brown Socks) far more than (probably) everybody else – far – far – depressingly far more.

Anyway – this girl asks me about the dog and I smartly give all of his particulars – “He is a 45 (forty-five) pound – 3 (three) year old – boarder-collie black lab and his name is Irving Brown Socks!”

The wheels fell off of the conversation when she then asked me what he looked like. Now – that is a pretty simple question – I mean I know his birthday – and as much about his embedded collar as I care to . . . I know his quirks – his schedule – the things that he likes to do and the things that he shies away from – bank all of that on top of the fact that – in theory – I lean towards the direction of being a visual person – and the answer should have been a slam dunk.

My mind went totally blank. I started stumbling and mumbling about how he was black with some brown fur and that he wore white socks on his feet . . . but that was just the general information. So I stopped myself and came clean with the party. I couldn’t remember what my dog looked like – and what an odd feeling that was. I said something along the lines of “Let’s just say – for the sake of argument – that in some strange world the police put together a line-up of dogs . . . and that none of those dogs were showing any more love to me than any of the other dogs. I’m not entirely sure that – as we speak – that I would be able to pick my dog out of that line-up.”

As I was saying – I’m not sure what is wrong with me – or my brain. It strikes me as being a bad thing to not even be able to remember what my dog looks like. Sometimes I feel like my brain is like a goose in the rain – with all of the water of the world slipping right off of my back . . . or am I thinking of a duck?!

The end of the story is nice though. I had a nice sit down with the Irving – and we came to a decision that to make up for my very social faux pas . . . I have offered him the position of press secretary for the organization . . . and before anyone even begins to scream about nepotism – bear in mind that for one dull and dark moment in the world – I forgot exactly what my dog looks like and I think that you will understand that middle management in an burgeoning multi-media empire with nothing but glass ceilings is the very least that he deserves . . .

I’m glad that he is able to forgive my brain. I am glad that he is my dog.

SOME QUICKNESS(ES):

  • Yesterday – while waiting in line at Duane Reade , which is the all-the-time-everywhere drug-store/store-store around these parts, I felt overly compelled to tell a mean line cutting woman that she was a horrible person – just after she was mean – and cut in line. It was probably a bit of an over reaction – but seriously – I learned how to wait in line sometime around kindergarten or so.
  • One of my favorite meals (not as much as it used to be) is to have some Mountain Dew and a bag of Spicier Nacho Doritos. Well – imagine my surprise today when at the store there was a new exciting Dorito taste treat. A bag of Doritos Collisions Zesty Taco and Chipotle Ranch. With all of that supposed goodness in one bag – how could I resist?! Well – I suppose that I could have resisted by looking into the future and seeing that neither of the “Collision” victims had ever had a brush with that elusive (for new Dorito’s flavors) tastiness. So – I am done – Unless I run into a “Collision” between Spicier Nacho and Cooler Ranch . . . because that – my friends will cause me to pull over and indulge in some crunchy rubber necking.
  • Last night on the train ride home (the long long long train ride home – where there is a bit of an unwritten law that sound is not a thing to be tolerated) – there was this guy/girl combo who felt the need to scream their (probably really really important) conversation back and forth – louder and louder and louder. I got up and moved to the back of the train – because I am a curmudgeon. Then to my up-most delight – two stops later – a gaggle of 8 (eight) belligerently oblivious teenagers got on and did something that I have never seen. They surrounded the formerly loud couple on all sides – and proceeded to – uhm – “act the fool” as – I believe the kids are saying these days. I reveled at the disgusted look on the girl of the couple’s face – as I inferred the following line from her thoughts “These people are so loud . . . and rude . . . I can’t even hear myself think over their talking.” I chuckled – and then realized that long exposure to the train is likely to make me a bitter person.

Update #30 [Where are we?]

Where am I living these days anyway?! Bloomer Town? Undy-ville?? Panty Lane???

While litterally in life I barely know where my head rests at night . . . this event threw me steadfastly into the I obviously have absolutely no clue anymore anymore anymore at all . . . the other day as I was standing at the kitchen sink washing the freshly walked dog (Irving Brown Socks) off of my hands when something odd caught my eye. [Here – I’ll set the scene for you real quick – like] It was a beautiful sunny day outside – and there were clothes hanging on the line – thinking about whatever it is that clothes think about as they dry off in the breeze . . . and then there were . . . and then there were . . .

Holy moly! Those are my unmentionables hanging out there on the line – for the entire town to see . . . 2 (two) pair of my boxers – for reasons completely unknown to me – had made the treck from the washing machine to the great/grand out-of-doors to hang in all of their should-maybe-have-just-gone-in-the-dryer glory. There may as well have been big spotlights on my mostest inner-mostestitudes . . . a billboard of my measly thoughts that I think all of the time . . . a guy in a sandwich-board advertising stuff about me that could possibly end up on a sandwich-board . . .

My world flashed in front of me for a couple of more seconds – and then I washed my hands of the whole situation and moved on to my next ridiculous thing to sweat bullets about – and then forget about almost immediately.

And if you need to reach me – I’ll be in Boxer Station in Boxer Station in Boxer Station – huzzah!

Update #29 [Who has ‘em?!]

Well – I do of course!

The other day I went to the dentist – it had been something like 5 (five) years since I had darkened the toothy doorstep of anyone who leaned into the more – ah – dental areas of –uhm – practical medicinery-ism – and I was moderately nervous.

The worst part of going into any kind of office is the clip-board full of paperwork that I have to fill out . . . and – honestly – this may be tied to something slightly more broken in my brain – because I just can’t fill in the miserable little blanks on the forms with any coherent thing that makes any sense – this is a pleasant “condition” that also happened all during school . . . put a test in front of me – and I start trying to figure out what the angle is – what exactly question number 10 (ten) is even getting at – and how it applies to the malarkey that question 27 (twenty-seven) is screaming over there anyway – anyway – anyway . . .

Well – some – of those blanks got filled in (I know my name!) – and then the dentistry really got cracking in earnest. There was scraping and polishing and sucking and – most importantly – a dentist’s assistant that decided to (through a plastic shield – and all of the noise of power tools in my head) have a complete conversation. It was all very pleasant.

The best part came when the actual dentist flew into the room, shook my hand (as he was already looking at some charts) and proclaimed that I had perfect teeth – and that I should take extra special care of them. The assistant concurred. They both ran out of the room and I was left – basically – sitting on top of tooth-mountain – the king of all teeth.

Some of the joy evaporated when the assistant came back into the room to give me an old song and dance routine (minus the singing and dancing) called “How to Brush Your Teeth!” – which included – for the record – a technique that is much easier to manage when holding a set of plastic teeth out in the air . . . I happen to have gums – and a cheek. Next up – was a demonstration of how to floss where she – no joke – tied a knot in the floss and yanked it (multiple times) through all of my back teeth . . . all while gleefully saying “Oh! That bleeding will go away soon enough!”

Then I (old bloody gums) was told that I had more paperwork to fill out . . . and the day was done.

(An Update Of) A Food Review

Okay – maybe I said a harsh word or two in my (semi) recent review of the meal that I had over at Ressie Mae’s Soul Food [for the quick record – the meal consisted of candied yams, green beans and the mac & cheese . . . for a longer record of the events go here to read the review – which for no record other than mine was linked to from midtown lunch – a nice and nifty food blog].

But now look who has a proverbial slathering of Soul Food eggs (if such a thing even exists) on his face . . . I’ll give you one quick guess . . . it’s me.

Ressis Mae’s is all gone . . . and I will never darken it’s doorstep again – more importantly – I will never get the chance to try their (from what I’ve heard) so – so good fried chicken (and waffles). It has taken me a couple of bits to get around to writing this eulogy – mostly because I didn’t want to come across as crass – in a “Your restraunt closed – and I had a bad experience there and blah – blah – blah!” type of way – and I also didn’t want to come across (completely) in an emotional wreck “I work in an odd and (semi) food-desolate area – and what will I ever ever do . . . there is nothing for me to eat . . . anywhere . . . I’m just going to go to Duane Reade and suffer.” kind of way (whatever kind of way that even is – I’m not so sure).

But what I will say is that it is unfortunate that a restaurant right around the corner from my building is gone – leaving in it’s wake half-a-dozen of those cookie cutter “upscale bodegas” with soups/cookies/sandwiches/stir fry/pasta types of places – that just have so so much of that – uhm – individuality – right?!

So – now I venture out – towards 9th avenue – where I can only hope some form of yummy food lives . . . and when I say “lives” – I more probably mean “hides in the shadowy wilderness of the cities canyons” – just waiting for me to begin the hunt – so mount up – cow pokes – because it is certainly “get some vittles time!”

Yee-Haw!

Etymology for the word Vittles:

Victuals
c.1303, vitaylle (singular), from Anglo-Fr. and O.Fr. vitaille, from L.L. victualia “provisions,” noun use of plural of victualis “of nourishment,” from victus “livelihood, food, sustenance,” from base of vivere “to live” (see vital). Spelling altered 1523 to conform with L., but pronunciation remains “vittles.”