Little Bill

pink paws (and nose)
with a golden mane
bathing in the sun
pauses—
to chirp back at birds
perched outside my window.

What’s it say that three women with whom I’ve been romantically involved in the last twelve months to present have used the names Pretty Polly, Holly Helix, and Molly Mayhem as alter egos?

Probably nothing but I find it amusing.

I also find it amusing that one is a stripper, another is a librarian, and one is an actress.

It’s 3:57 in the morning and I’m still awake. I’m also enjoying the peace and quiet. It allows me to reflect. It’s been nearly a month since the year began and I’m fortunate to have had the first month of 2007 be a good one, aside from the New Years disaster. I’ve had time to mull it over, I’ve even fictionalized the event for a short I’m working on, but I’ve been itching to tell the actual story. After all, I love stories. Especially good ones. And most especially good true ones, which this is.

So I have a girl visit me for New Years. And lets, for the sake of storytelling, call her Natalie. Natalie’s a nice God-fearing southern girl I’d met on a website. She flies out to visit me for New Years because neither of us have better options and it’s better to spend the holiday with someone than no one, right?

Wrong.

Continue Reading…

I’ll be the first person to tell you that I can be a bonehead when it comes to relationships. While I’m not to blame for all of the failures, I wouldn’t hesitate to say that I’d been a contributor to the end to many. Well here I am again, back in the mix of things.

At this point I’m not sure going into details is a good idea; prematurely releasing the details of that-which-is-in-motion can be potentially destructive. However, I have to ask: when is the right time to tell someone you love them? Or, once it’s said, can you retract it without being an ass? What power do these words have over us? How do we know we’re there or not? Do we just… feel it, or is there some quantifier?

I’ve loved and I’ve been loved. More the latter than the former, which does not by any means take away the gravity with which the word — and the feeling — means to me. The one lesson I’ve learned is that everyone loves differently. Some can put the pieces of the puzzle together and voila! Love. Others must feel it. And some others, still, probably have their own ways of determining love.

How do you love? I can’t tell if I’m fishing for feedback or if it’s a rhetorical question.

I can sum this up in one paragraph, perhaps as short as one sentence. The highlights of my visit included buying a new pair of jeans that fit since I’ve lost weight, winning more than four hundred dollars in poker, and having the pleasure of turning down a prostitute. Strangely, I’m ready to go back.

I try hard not to let first impressions skew my judgment of new people or places I encounter. After all, there are many things that can work their way from just outside the periphery and affect my opinion of something and suddenly you’re left with a whole new view upon that which you thought you’d nailed down.

That said, I’m finding it very hard to not judge Las Vegas by what I’ve encountered in my first ten hours here. That I’ve never been here before and I’m already passing judgements leaves me wondering if judging Vegas by the strip is akin to judging all of New York City by Times Square. It’s just that this place seems so . . . fake. Everything that might be real appears to be hidden behind a façade. Whether it’s a fake Sistine Chapel scene painted in the Venetian, or the gravity-defying nipplularly portruding breasts attached to the girl whose body otherwise more closely resembled sticks of vine charcoal than an hourglass, everything feels so superficial here.

And I think this is no better illustrated than with my glass of water sitting beside me. Here at the Mirage I’ve got this lavishly decorated room, and yet when I turn the beautifully crafted and flowery faucet knob in the bathroom to fill my glass with tap water I’m suddenly presented with what might be considered a more accurate portrayal of Las Vegas: dull, bland, flat water.

Yes. I’m comparing Las Vegas to tap water. Don’t ask.

New York City tap water is some of the cleanest in all of New York State. It might be loud, obnoxious, fast-paced, smelly, and the first to be a smear on the face of the globe in a global thermonukular war scenario, but at least it’s real, with the exception of Times Square. And regarding that place, I can point you to three of five New Yorkers — native or otherwise — who will readily admit that they miss the grimy, porn-filled, prostitute-laden Times Square over the Corporate Disney, MTV teen-friendly, Bubba Gump Shrimp Company version simply because it’s not full of shit and the only counter-argument is that the crime really IS lower now.

And that has become a reflection of what I’m seeking in life too. No bullshit. Give me something real, unfiltered, and painfully honest and I’ll be a happy and content person. Now, if I can only get my life to slow back down. I’ve been on the go since Christmas. It’s time to have life return to normal. Perhaps then I’ll be able to breathe.

I should be packing for a business trip to Las Vegas. But I’m not.

There are times when I wonder if I’d be more interesting if I were less sane. Perhaps if I’d been one of those kids who went away to summer camp every year, or if organized religion had gripped me and led me to believe that an all-knowing, all-seeing invisible man in the sky loves the world and yet punishes it, perhaps then I’d be justifiably fucked up. My parents aren’t even divorced, even that would give me stories to tell, or perhaps explain the few times I falter in life.

But I don’t. Not really. Except for this one. It’s a little bit graphic so you might not want to continue.

Continue Reading…

weltschmerz (VELT-shmerts), n.
a feeling of melancholy and world-weariness.
ORIGIN German, from Welt ‘world’ + Schmerz ‘pain’

A preface: I promise this isn’t some lame emo rant brimming with malaise and whining about my life.

One would think that the first post of a new year should involve resolutions and, additionally, how you’re going to keep them this time around. This will be not that kind of entry. If there’s to be anything close to a resolution, it’s to learn from the lessons I’ve lived through and to not make a repeat performance this time around.

After the year that I’ve had I nearly found myself in a brooding state of weltschmerz. However, as a conscious effort, I’ll choose to be optimistic. Really, as things stand at this very moment, I think it’s safe to say that I am free to wipe the slate clean and start anew. I have a new job which I’m looking forward to, and with it a new lifestyle. I find myself single and curious — but not overeager — to see what the new horizon will bring my way.

Only good is coming my way. Anything else can move aside. I’m the man going through.