Her name was Kim. And I was madly in love with her. I would lay awake in bed at night thinking about her, fruitlessly willing the hours to move faster so that I could see her again. Every love song I heard on the radio was written about her. How could they not have been? She was perfect.
I was in second grade and Kim was “the new girl at school”. She had moved in to the house next door to my friend Jared and I first laid eyes on her while we were jumping our Huffy bicycles off a makeshift ramp in the street in front of his house. She was playing in her yard with another girl we went to school with. I saw her giggling and pointing in our direction. She had straight black hair, brown eyes and was wearing a plaid dress. I was smitten.
“Who’s that?” I asked Jared.
“Oh, that’s the new girl, Kim,” he replied, completely uninterested in anything but our bicycle exploits.
The following day she was introduced to the other kids in our homeroom. Even though I hadn’t spoken to her the previous day, I had had twenty-four hours worth of daydreaming about her to know that we were going to be married someday. It was fairly obvious to me that I was the most eligible bachelor in Miss Young’s second grade class and that she would go weak in the knees if only she were to have a few moments alone with me. I would woo her with my ability to pile a stack of quarters on my elbow and catch them all while swinging my arm in a downward motion. There was the thumb-trick I had learned from my grandfather, where, by bending both my thumbs in such a way, I could make it look like I was pulling my thumb apart. That always grossed the girls out and that would make her notice me, and once she had “noticed” me, it was only a small step to “dating”, and then an even smaller step to “marriage” and “kids” and maybe even a “dog”.
Unfortunately, as much as I hung out at Jared’s and attempted to win her over by showing off my skill at jumping my bike off a ramp, I never got the courage to say more than the most perfunctory greeting every morning before reading class.
My friend Tobias would listen to my pining on the nights we would camp out in a pup tent in my back yard. We would turn on the radio and every time Air Supply or Foreigner would sign about the trials of love I imagined they were talking about Kim and I.
“You should do something for her,” Tobias told me. “Find out when her birthday is, and make her a present.”
Talking to her girlfriends on the playground one afternoon I was able to finagle the information out of them by pretending I was taking a survey for class. At one point, when I asked if they knew Kim’s birthday, one of her friends shouted out, “Dave likes Kim!! You’re in love!” and I quickly had to make up some story about putting together a birthday TREE for all the kids in our class and since Kim was a member of our class it was only natural that I find out when her birthday was. Luckily none of the girls bothered to ask what the hell a “birthday tree” was, because I had no idea what I was talking about. It just came out of my mouth.
Well, to my dismay, Kim’s birthday was not until March and it was only the end of September! I decided that I would at least make her something for Christmas. I had several months of planning, so I knew it was going to be good. If I could just figure out what she wanted…
My aunt had gotten me my first camera around this time (a simple 110 pocket camera) and I brought it to school to take pictures of all my friends, but mainly to snap a picture of my “love”. As I roamed around the playground snapping pics, I saw Kim running by and quickly clicked off a shot. Later when I got the film developed the picture of Kim is just a blurry body skipping by, with two long pigtails trailing behind her. You can’t make out the features, but I would secretly look at that picture and imagine a life with that blur. We’d have blurry little kids and a blurry little house.
At the same time all this romantic longing was taking place I was involved in Cub Scouts and we had our annual Pinewood Derby coming up. My father bought the block of wood and box of wheels, nails, and decals that came with it. We spent a good month carving the block of wood into something aerodynamic and stylish and I painted it red and stuck some lightning-bolt decals on it. I though it was a pretty amazing piece of work and I was proud of it.
When the Derby finally rolled around I entered my car and waited eagerly to win the prize that sat on the table in the corner of our school auditorium. As luck would have it, one of the wheels fell off as it made its run down the track and I was disqualified. I broke into tears. I had spent so long making this block of wood into something resembling a car and it was all in vain.
Or was it?
I kept my Pinewood Derby car on my dresser, not as a reminder of my failure, but as a symbol of my burgeoning woodworking skills. I decided I would build something for Kim for Christmas. I would turn my parents’ garage into my own little Santa’s workshop.
Months went by and I still had not worked on anything, but I had elaborated on my Christmas plan. I would not only make Kim a present with my bare hands, I would personally deliver it to her house on Christmas Eve! I wondered if I should attempt to climb onto the roof of her house and deliver the old-fashioned way—down the chimney—or whether I should leave it on her doorstep?
I spent a few days over at Jared’s house, secretly casing Kim’s house for a discernible way to get onto her roof and down the chimney. This proved unrewarding and I decided that the old doorstep was the best way.
When Christmas Eve rolled around I had still not built anything. That’s the kind of slacker I am. But I decided my plan would not go untried, so I took an old shoe box and carefully wrapped up my Pinewood Derby car. I left a note inside that said, “Merry Christams, Kim. Love, Santa.” I chickened out from using my own name, and figured I could find out at school whether she thought the gift was good or not without running the risk of embarrassment.
After dinner that evening I told my folks I was going over to Tobias’ house for a bit to trade presents with him. I left, Kim’s present tucked under my arm. Tobias met me at the end of my driveway and we walked to Kim’s house. (Since the idea was his to begin with, I talked him into joining me.) It was dusk and had started to snow, so I figured we could sneak up to the door unnoticed. The question was, do we ring-and-run? Or leave it for them to find in the morning?
When we got there the lights in the living room were on and I was hesitant to approach, fearing that the entire family would hear me and open the door together and foil my plan and laugh at me. These are the kinds of irrational fears I had growing up. Tobias gave me a nudge and I eased toward the house. When I got to the porch I carefully placed the box in front of the door. Then I had a vision of Kim’s father walking out of the house the next morning and tripping on the now-ice-coated shoebox and breaking his back. He would be in the hospital for months or maybe dead and the family would all have to take jobs to get by and Kim would have to leave school to sell flowers or do laundry and I would never see my true love again. So I moved the box away from the door, but not out of sight. Then I knocked lightly on the door and tore ass out of there as fast as I could, slipping and sliding in the light dusting of snow on the ground.
When we returned to school a few weeks later I asked Kim what she’d gotten for Christmas. She told me about some dolls and a Hall and Oates record, but no mention of my Pinebox Derby car. I wondered if they had even discovered it or whether it had somehow been overlooked and then thrown away.
Later at lunch I overheard Kim talking about her Christmas presents in more detail to her friends.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “And on Christmas Eve, there was a knock at the door and my dad answered and it was a present from ‘Santa’ and it was some retarded little wooden car! How gay!” And the girls laughed.
Oh well, I thought, next time I’ll leave a Hall and Oates record. At least now I knew what she liked.
I continued to pine after Kim until sixth grade, never making the move to ask her out or talk to her about anything more than what our homework assignments were.
Towards the end of sixth grade, Kim’s father died. Not from slipping on an ice-covered package on his doorstep, but from cancer. And the family moved away and I never saw her again. But I still think about all the years I spent thinking about her and wanting to be with her. And I still have that blurry picture of her in second grade in a shoebox of old pictures at my parents’ house.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
All The Girls I've Ever Loved Are Married Now
"I'm worried about you," she said.
"Why?"
"You seem content with loneliness. You've given up. Stopped looking for someone to be with."
"Didn't you tell me once that you usually find what you're looking for when you stop searching?"
"Yes. But you're not supposed to REALLY stop. Just pretend stop."
"Now you tell me."
"Why?"
"You seem content with loneliness. You've given up. Stopped looking for someone to be with."
"Didn't you tell me once that you usually find what you're looking for when you stop searching?"
"Yes. But you're not supposed to REALLY stop. Just pretend stop."
"Now you tell me."
Monday, October 24, 2005
Their words were measured
They looked at each othe for a long time without saying anything. After a few moments he looked down and picked up his beer. She never broke her gaze and waited patiently for his answer. He looked her in the eye.
"Dating me is kinda like communism," he said, taking a swig of his beer. "It's a great idea in theory, but when put into practice, it's just a mess."
"Dating me is kinda like communism," he said, taking a swig of his beer. "It's a great idea in theory, but when put into practice, it's just a mess."
Monday, October 17, 2005
Would You Like A Fresh Towel?
I sweat.
A lot.
I suffer from what is now known as hyperhidrosis.
All my life I’ve been plagued with uncontrollably sweaty hands. It’s made life a little tough. No one wants to shake hands with you, or really be touched by you. Anytime my hands have brushed someone or I’ve shaken hands or slapped someone “five”, I’ve gotten some variation of the following comment: “Ew! What have you been doing, jerking off/taking a piss/wiping your ass/washing a midget?” It gets tiresome. Over the years I’ve tried to avoid physical contact as best I can.
This has obviously hindered my dating life. I’ve read that touch is an important part in relationships, and that often people flirt with each other by touching.
I would have no idea.
I’m the guy in the corner of the room with his hands tightly folded across his chest, hoping to God that no one wants to shake his hand or be social.
A few years ago I decided to take action. I wanted to have dry hands. I had been hanging out with a girl named Amanda, and she liked to hold hands, which as I’ve stated is a big problem. She was at first put off by my swampy hands, but tried the best she could to tough it out. I wanted to remedy this nuisance and so I started researching what could be done.
I discovered that it is indeed a documented medical condition affecting a small portion of the population. (About 1%, which explains why not much has been done to cure it.)
As I read up about hyperhidrosis, I found that there were several surgeries and medications I could look into. Unfortunately, I had neither the money, nor the health insurance to afford either alternative.
But as I browsed further I came across a contraption that would electronically ZAP the problem away. And it was cheap. Only $139.95.
Needless to say, I plunked down the cash and ordered it online.
A week later, my salvation arrived. I quickly tore open the box, like a kid on Christmas morning. There were two blue plastic pieces with batteries and two sponges. I read the instructions and learned that it would take at least 20 sessions before I saw any results and that each “session” lasted an hour.
Did I have that kind of time? I thought to myself. If it means being able to hold a girl’s hand when I walk down the street with her, I had all the time in the world!
A “session” consisted of filling each blue plastic piece with a little bit of water, then placing your hand half-in and half-out of the water, so that your palm rested on one of the sponges which was situated above a metal plate which was connected to the battery. This is where the electrical shocks were distributed to the rest of your hand.
I wasted no time and immediately began the procedure.
I filled the two blue plastic pieces with the required amounts of water, set my hands in them and, like a crippled child waiting to be touched by a divine healer at a pentacostal church, braced for my redemption.
The shock that was delivered to my hands was much like the shock one gets when licking a nine-volt battery and it didn’t bother me at first. But imagine continually licking that battery for an hour and you’ll understand how much it started to bug me.
Five minutes or so into my therapy, the phone rang.
And I with both hands submerged in water being electrocuted.
I let it ring. I’ve got an answering machine, I reasoned, and I can’t be disturbed! When the machine picked up, it was Amanda. She called to ask if I would like to hang out on the Friday coming up and go to a concert with her. Oh boy, would I! And with dry hands if this all works out. I thought about calling in sick to work for the next several days and just get my 20 sessions done with immediately. I would just plop myself in front of the TV, take half hour breaks to feed myself or change the channel, and be done with this sweaty hand problem once and for all!
About 45 minutes into the treatment my hands started to become sore, and I realized I would have to take more time out between sessions in order to rejuvenate the fried nerve cells in my hands. While it might be unpleasant to hold hands with a damp sponge of a mitt, it’s probably even less charming to grip a swollen, inoperative paw.
I did two sessions that night before going to bed, confident that my days of flood-ravaged palms would soon be behind me.
The next day, after work I came home and stuck my hands back in the charged water. And for another hour I sat, unable to do anything. I started to get bored. If only I had remembered to stop by Blockbuster on the way home I could watch a movie. Instead I sat, staring at the screen saver on my computer. Every so often I would lean forward and bump the mouse with my nose so I could at least check the time when the desktop returned to life.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. And I remembered that I was supposed to have dinner with my cute next-door neighbor Michelle.
Michelle was a beautiful, petite, blond girl who was studying psychology and worked with autistic patients at a health clinic. She had originally moved in next door with her boyfriend, but he’d left a few months prior and she and I had been hanging out more and more. She had great taste in music and we traded CDs quite often. One night she was over, browsing through my collection and discovered a CD entitled “Pull My Finger”, which was a collection of genuine fart sounds. I was ready to explain that I had bought the CD to use for sound effects for a short film I had been working, but all she said was, “Put it on.” I did and we both sat there listening to various farting noises and she collapsed in my lap in fits of laughter. She then asked me to copy it for her. I was head over heels in love with her at that point.
My brother had come to visit one week and the three of us spent a night getting drunk in her apartment. Afterwards, my brother pointed out that he thought I definitely had a chance but that I should act on it within the next week or I would find myself stranded in Friendsville.
Needless to say, I should listen to my brother more.
One night I heard Michelle get home from a night of drinking. There was a lot of banging around and I figured she was real drunk. Being a man of no common sense, I figured it was a perfect time to ask her if she wanted to go to the Degas exhibit at the museum the next day. (We had talked about this several times, so I wasn’t just springing it on her)
She answered the door, rip-roaring drunk and laughed.
“Oh, hey Dave,” she said, genuinely happy to see me.
Unfortunately, standing not a few feet behind her was a 6’2” guy who looked like he just got off The Stokes’ tour bus. And he looked at me with a leering smile that said, “Sorry pal, I’m hittin’ this tonight.” Michelle introduced us and neither one of us could give a shit if we ever saw one another again, knowing full well that we never would. I apologized for interrupting, then retreated to my apartment and tried to go to sleep. At one point, yes, I had to put on my headphones to drown out the thumping of the sex happening next door.
Now that I was a resident of Friendsville, we seemed to hang out more often, and so we had made plans to go have dinner at a new Sushi place that had opened downtown.
And now she was ringing my doorbell at the designated time.
While I had my hands soaking in cheap blue plastic bins, completely unprepared to go out.
Here was the dilemma: Do I stop my procedure and go have dinner with my good friend Michelle (and she was a good friend, polite and generous and loving, and I still liked her despite the fact that I would never be intimate with her)? Or do I feign an illness and continue the electro-shock so that I may hold hands with Amanda (who wasn’t really any more of an option besides the fact that she would actually walk down the street hand in hand with me and occasionally throw me a bone and kiss me)?
In hind sight, I guess either way I was a loser. But that’s not the point.
The point is that I discontinued my treatment, hurriedly got dressed for the evening and went out to eat with Michelle.
At the sushi bar I realized how painful it was to hold the chopsticks. I didn’t want this thing to completely deaden my nerve endings just so I wouldn’t sweat. Hell, I had dealt with sweaty hands for the last 28 years, and I was perfectly comfortable folding my arms in defiance when someone reached out to shake my hand. Perhaps I could play it off as a phobia and be considered a “quirky genius”. I’m not sure where the genius part comes in, but never you mind! I had made a decision.
That evening when I returned home from my dinner with Michelle, I retired the blue plastic contraptions to a rarely-ventured-into corner of my closet.
Amanda and I never really hit it off and she eventually stopped wanting to hold my hand.
When I moved from that apartment I had box of things I was going to take to the Salvation Army. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a car, so the box sat in a back room of my apartment until moving day.
Michelle stopped by to help me clean up. She discovered the box and offered to take them to the Salvation Army for me after I’d left. I thanked her and we carried the box to her apartment.
She looked inside and pulled out the two blue plastic boxes.
“What are these?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “A misguided attempt to stop my hands from sweating.”
“Really?” She smiled as we set down the box.
“I’ve always liked your sweaty hands,” she said. “It’s one of the things that makes you so unique.”
A lot.
I suffer from what is now known as hyperhidrosis.
All my life I’ve been plagued with uncontrollably sweaty hands. It’s made life a little tough. No one wants to shake hands with you, or really be touched by you. Anytime my hands have brushed someone or I’ve shaken hands or slapped someone “five”, I’ve gotten some variation of the following comment: “Ew! What have you been doing, jerking off/taking a piss/wiping your ass/washing a midget?” It gets tiresome. Over the years I’ve tried to avoid physical contact as best I can.
This has obviously hindered my dating life. I’ve read that touch is an important part in relationships, and that often people flirt with each other by touching.
I would have no idea.
I’m the guy in the corner of the room with his hands tightly folded across his chest, hoping to God that no one wants to shake his hand or be social.
A few years ago I decided to take action. I wanted to have dry hands. I had been hanging out with a girl named Amanda, and she liked to hold hands, which as I’ve stated is a big problem. She was at first put off by my swampy hands, but tried the best she could to tough it out. I wanted to remedy this nuisance and so I started researching what could be done.
I discovered that it is indeed a documented medical condition affecting a small portion of the population. (About 1%, which explains why not much has been done to cure it.)
As I read up about hyperhidrosis, I found that there were several surgeries and medications I could look into. Unfortunately, I had neither the money, nor the health insurance to afford either alternative.
But as I browsed further I came across a contraption that would electronically ZAP the problem away. And it was cheap. Only $139.95.
Needless to say, I plunked down the cash and ordered it online.
A week later, my salvation arrived. I quickly tore open the box, like a kid on Christmas morning. There were two blue plastic pieces with batteries and two sponges. I read the instructions and learned that it would take at least 20 sessions before I saw any results and that each “session” lasted an hour.
Did I have that kind of time? I thought to myself. If it means being able to hold a girl’s hand when I walk down the street with her, I had all the time in the world!
A “session” consisted of filling each blue plastic piece with a little bit of water, then placing your hand half-in and half-out of the water, so that your palm rested on one of the sponges which was situated above a metal plate which was connected to the battery. This is where the electrical shocks were distributed to the rest of your hand.
I wasted no time and immediately began the procedure.
I filled the two blue plastic pieces with the required amounts of water, set my hands in them and, like a crippled child waiting to be touched by a divine healer at a pentacostal church, braced for my redemption.
The shock that was delivered to my hands was much like the shock one gets when licking a nine-volt battery and it didn’t bother me at first. But imagine continually licking that battery for an hour and you’ll understand how much it started to bug me.
Five minutes or so into my therapy, the phone rang.
And I with both hands submerged in water being electrocuted.
I let it ring. I’ve got an answering machine, I reasoned, and I can’t be disturbed! When the machine picked up, it was Amanda. She called to ask if I would like to hang out on the Friday coming up and go to a concert with her. Oh boy, would I! And with dry hands if this all works out. I thought about calling in sick to work for the next several days and just get my 20 sessions done with immediately. I would just plop myself in front of the TV, take half hour breaks to feed myself or change the channel, and be done with this sweaty hand problem once and for all!
About 45 minutes into the treatment my hands started to become sore, and I realized I would have to take more time out between sessions in order to rejuvenate the fried nerve cells in my hands. While it might be unpleasant to hold hands with a damp sponge of a mitt, it’s probably even less charming to grip a swollen, inoperative paw.
I did two sessions that night before going to bed, confident that my days of flood-ravaged palms would soon be behind me.
The next day, after work I came home and stuck my hands back in the charged water. And for another hour I sat, unable to do anything. I started to get bored. If only I had remembered to stop by Blockbuster on the way home I could watch a movie. Instead I sat, staring at the screen saver on my computer. Every so often I would lean forward and bump the mouse with my nose so I could at least check the time when the desktop returned to life.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. And I remembered that I was supposed to have dinner with my cute next-door neighbor Michelle.
Michelle was a beautiful, petite, blond girl who was studying psychology and worked with autistic patients at a health clinic. She had originally moved in next door with her boyfriend, but he’d left a few months prior and she and I had been hanging out more and more. She had great taste in music and we traded CDs quite often. One night she was over, browsing through my collection and discovered a CD entitled “Pull My Finger”, which was a collection of genuine fart sounds. I was ready to explain that I had bought the CD to use for sound effects for a short film I had been working, but all she said was, “Put it on.” I did and we both sat there listening to various farting noises and she collapsed in my lap in fits of laughter. She then asked me to copy it for her. I was head over heels in love with her at that point.
My brother had come to visit one week and the three of us spent a night getting drunk in her apartment. Afterwards, my brother pointed out that he thought I definitely had a chance but that I should act on it within the next week or I would find myself stranded in Friendsville.
Needless to say, I should listen to my brother more.
One night I heard Michelle get home from a night of drinking. There was a lot of banging around and I figured she was real drunk. Being a man of no common sense, I figured it was a perfect time to ask her if she wanted to go to the Degas exhibit at the museum the next day. (We had talked about this several times, so I wasn’t just springing it on her)
She answered the door, rip-roaring drunk and laughed.
“Oh, hey Dave,” she said, genuinely happy to see me.
Unfortunately, standing not a few feet behind her was a 6’2” guy who looked like he just got off The Stokes’ tour bus. And he looked at me with a leering smile that said, “Sorry pal, I’m hittin’ this tonight.” Michelle introduced us and neither one of us could give a shit if we ever saw one another again, knowing full well that we never would. I apologized for interrupting, then retreated to my apartment and tried to go to sleep. At one point, yes, I had to put on my headphones to drown out the thumping of the sex happening next door.
Now that I was a resident of Friendsville, we seemed to hang out more often, and so we had made plans to go have dinner at a new Sushi place that had opened downtown.
And now she was ringing my doorbell at the designated time.
While I had my hands soaking in cheap blue plastic bins, completely unprepared to go out.
Here was the dilemma: Do I stop my procedure and go have dinner with my good friend Michelle (and she was a good friend, polite and generous and loving, and I still liked her despite the fact that I would never be intimate with her)? Or do I feign an illness and continue the electro-shock so that I may hold hands with Amanda (who wasn’t really any more of an option besides the fact that she would actually walk down the street hand in hand with me and occasionally throw me a bone and kiss me)?
In hind sight, I guess either way I was a loser. But that’s not the point.
The point is that I discontinued my treatment, hurriedly got dressed for the evening and went out to eat with Michelle.
At the sushi bar I realized how painful it was to hold the chopsticks. I didn’t want this thing to completely deaden my nerve endings just so I wouldn’t sweat. Hell, I had dealt with sweaty hands for the last 28 years, and I was perfectly comfortable folding my arms in defiance when someone reached out to shake my hand. Perhaps I could play it off as a phobia and be considered a “quirky genius”. I’m not sure where the genius part comes in, but never you mind! I had made a decision.
That evening when I returned home from my dinner with Michelle, I retired the blue plastic contraptions to a rarely-ventured-into corner of my closet.
Amanda and I never really hit it off and she eventually stopped wanting to hold my hand.
When I moved from that apartment I had box of things I was going to take to the Salvation Army. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a car, so the box sat in a back room of my apartment until moving day.
Michelle stopped by to help me clean up. She discovered the box and offered to take them to the Salvation Army for me after I’d left. I thanked her and we carried the box to her apartment.
She looked inside and pulled out the two blue plastic boxes.
“What are these?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “A misguided attempt to stop my hands from sweating.”
“Really?” She smiled as we set down the box.
“I’ve always liked your sweaty hands,” she said. “It’s one of the things that makes you so unique.”
Saturday, October 15, 2005
LIST-O-MANIA, not to be confused with the Ken Russell Film Lisztomania, featuring Roger Daltry as Franz Liszt and Ringo Starr as The Pope.
O.k. I'm finally getting around to the lists I was commissioned to do.
Sorry this took so long to come up with. It really was difficult to find fifty things that make me happy. I guess because I tend to focus on the things that don't make me happy. It was a more daunting task than I imagined. I definitely couldn't have done the original hundred that were requested of me.
1. Bar-B-Q Shrimp at Deanies’ seafood shack in New Orleans. I may never get to have this again, so I put it at the top.
2. Finding a great album in a used record/cd bin.
3. A good gangster movie.
4. Getting strong laughter at a joke you’ve made.
5. Receiving a random phone call or email from a girl who wants to see how you are doing. This is especially good when it is unprovoked by emails or phone calls you may have made to them.
6. Watching a really engrossing film by yourself in a nearly-empty movie theater, with a large Coke and a bag of Sour Patch Kids.
7. The train ride over the Manhattan Bridge into Manhattan from Brooklyn on a cool, sunny day, looking out at the Brooklyn Bridge and the city.
8. Large, looming architecture.
9. Sex in the rain.
10. Deep sea fishing. In fact, the fishing is not even necessary, but being out on a boat in the ocean with no land in sight and the rocking waves is nice.
11. Hiking in the woods. I like to find a nice rock structure or cave and take a nap against the cool rock.
12. I have a huge book collection. Sometimes I just like standing in front of the shelves and browsing through the titles trying to find a book to read. I also like doing this at other people’s houses and seeing what sort of stuff they like to read.
13. My brother got my dad into drinking microbrews. He used to be a Miller High Life/Genny Cream Ale kind of guy when we were growing up. Now I love coming home for visits and having my dad excitedly tell me about a new beer he discovered. And then, of course, trying a few he has in the fridge.
14. Philly Soul music, particularly The Spinners.
15. Driving down an open stretch of road in the late spring/early summer with the windows down and “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake blasting on the radio. Fist-pumping during the chorus required.
16. El Rincon Familiar in Brooklyn (5th Ave. and 19th Street) The best Tex Mex food I’ve had. Better than places I’ve eaten at in Texas. If you’re in or around Park Slope and you want Tex Mex, there’s only one place to go! I drag anyone who visits me to this restaurant.
17. A memorable first kiss. I’ve had a few that stick out in my memory, and whether the relationship that did or did not follow said kiss was worth remembering it’s nice to think about the promise and potential of that first lip-lock.
18. Seeing Ween live.
19. A person telling you that something you did, wrote, performed, or created inspired them in some way. (Hell isn’t that why we create? To share the joys and sorrows of life with others, to reach out to one another, to feel less alone?)
20. Staying in a bar long enough to hear the songs you put on the jukebox. You are usually pretty wasted by that point and yell out to everyone, “Wait! Wait! These are my songs!” and close your eyes and bob your head enthusiastically to the beat. In your head no one thinks you’re a dork and everyone is just a little better off for hearing the particular songs you chose. Maybe you open your eyes and smile at someone else in the bar, your eyes silently telling them, “Yeah, this is MY song.”
21. Rollercoasters. Freefalls. Pirate Ships. Basically any ride at an amusement park that makes you feel like your balls have shot up into your abdomen and the pre-orgasmic, tingly sensation that goes along with that.
22. Those creepy, twisted religious comics from Chick Publications that various churches hand out.
23. Nonsequitors. Particularly in bathroom graffiti. Recent discovery in Rochester, NY stall (courtesy of Adam): “Bob Newhart Co-ed Naked Pussyfart”.
24. Swimming in streams or rivers. Oh, and tubing. (Yeah, that’s my rural Pennsylvania upbringing talking.)
25. I love dogs. I had an argument with a girl I knew over this. She preferred cats. She said, “Cats are better. They do their own thing. Are you so insecure that you need some goofy dog to greet you at the door when you get home and slobber all over you and be affectionate?” I said, “Exactly! Constant Public Displays of Affection just because I feed him! What’s more awesome than that? Cats just ignore you and act aloof. That’s what girls are for. Why would I need a cat?”
26. Receiving an apology for something ten years after the fact. It really did affect my life for the last ten years and prevent me from relating to other people properly. Your apology brought closure and I feel I can move on now. Thank you.
27. Making mixes (mix tapes/cds) for people who, in turn, actually listen to and appreciate the mixes. People who have the same musical tastes. It’s even better when they make mixes for you!
28. Nicknames.
29. Harold Night at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater.
30. Laughing at misfortune. Mostly my own. It’s easier when it’s yours. I appreciate someone who can crack a good joke about me when I tell them something bad that happened.
31. Tree houses. As a kid I built lots of tree houses in my back yard. I loved the Swiss Family Robinson tree house at Disney World. When I lived in Asheville, North Carolina I lived in a cabin, but the first “apartment” I checked out was in a tree house colony. I was pretty excited about it, too: there were walkways throughout the trees that connected all the smaller “apartments”. It was like the Ewok village. But when I showed my girlfriend my find she was not as impressed as I was and told me to keep looking.
32. 1994. The happiest time in my life. I was 20 years old and there were so many wonderful things about that time that I can’t single anything out. Good friends, good times. I may never experience happiness like I felt that year, but I am grateful for having a glimpse of what it’s like.
33. Quentin Tarantino. There’s just something about his flicks that appeals to the film geek in me. A kindred spirit.
34. Back rubs. Back rubs are awesome. The older I get the more my back hurts and the more I need a good one. But unfortunately, I’ve had fewer and fewer as the years have passed. Seriously, if you gave me a good back rub, I’d probably sleep with you. Regardless of age, attractiveness, gender, or species. I’m just saying...
35. The Onion.
36. DVD. I remember being thrilled when DVDs first came out. I never got into the laserdiscs, but always wanted to see films at home in their original aspect ratio. DVD offered this. And with Bonus Features too! Commentaries and analysis of the film. It was like being back in film school.
37. The Internet. What a wonderful invention. The Information Superhighway. The idea of being able to connect and interact with people and thoughts from around the world. I spent a lot of time at the library when I was a kid. I liked being surrounded by information. But there was a process you went through to get that information. Now everything is at your fingertips. I can pull up information in seconds, where in the past, I would have to spend hours sifting through encyclopedias and other volumes in order to learn about something.
38. The Marx Brothers. If you can watch “Duck Soup” and not laugh once, I certainly don’t want to know you.
39. Tabloid journalism. Why would I sing the praises of something that is destroying true journalism? It seems like everything is tabloid journalism these days. There is no objectivity and no real research into the stories that are being reported. We get sound bites and clips of stories. I agree it is bad and the news should be more in depth and provide a more objective view, but there’s something to be said for the ridiculous headlines of The New York Post and The Daily News. Sometimes I want to get away from the real news from around the world and focus on the fact that there were severed human lips found in a dumpster over the weekend, with a cynical headline like “TRASH-TALKING ON THE UPPER EAST SIDE!”
40. Cheesy pop songs. Any time period.
41. A well-cooked meal. I love eating. And whether it’s a home-cooked meal from someone’s mother (an ex’s mom used to make rosemary chicken every other night and fried catfish and beans and rice the rest of the week and I gained about thirty pounds in a month just from her home-cooking) or a selection at a nice restaurant, I’m all about stuffing myself with food.
42. People arguing. I don’t know why, but I always laugh to myself when people are passionately arguing about something. When I would get yelled at as a kid I couldn’t help cracking a smile and giggling and that would anger my parents further.
43. Finding good books in a box on the street on trash day.
44. Sleeping in. There’s nothing better than wasting an entire day in bed because you have nothing to do.
45. Watching the rain. I remember my father used to stand in the garage watching the rain when there was a thunderstorm. We lived on a hill and you could look out on the valley and see lightning striking in the distance. It was soothing and peaceful.
46. The thrill of meeting someone new. The excitement and confusion of a budding romance. Months or years later you may rue the day you met them but it’s a great feeling at the start.
47. Making films and videos. I love being on set with friends, orchestrating shots. If I am directing something of my own I have more energy than ever. On one film I did in college I didn’t sleep for three days during the shoot and wasn’t tired the whole time. Something else takes over.
48. Driving around with my friend Tom, talking about movies, coming up with ideas, writing films in our heads.
49. Improv. For someone like myself, who is not musically talented at all, this is a chance to “jam” with other people and create things in front of an audience. It’s a real high when things fall into place in a scene and the audience is responsive.
50. A cigarette after a good meal or good conversation. I saw Kurt Vonnegut interviewed and they asked how he maintained a sense of humor if he thought the world was so doomed and full of depressing things. He answered, “Smoking.”
And the 7 Things lists:
7 things I want to do before I die:
1. Direct a major feature film.
2. Publish a novel or two.
3. Get a pilot’s license and fly a DeHavilliand Tiger Moth biplane for barnstorming purposes.
4. Travel outside the United States. It’s been 31 years and I haven’t even gone to Canada or Mexico! I’d like to tool around Europe for a while but I’ll settle for any place that requires a passport at this point.
5. Learn to juggle.
6. Make a living without having to work a soul-sucking job I have no interest in.
7. Find someone to have a healthy, meaningful relationship with.
7 things I cannot do:
1. Any sport. Just can’t do it. I’m physical inept. I can’t even play golf!
2. Make small talk with people. I get bored very easily and can’t find it in me to pretend I’m interested. This hinders me when meeting new people because unless they fascinate me from the get-go I’m not going to probe them with questions and feign excitement at whatever is said.
3. Walk down the street without staring at my feet.
4. Play an instrument. I’ve dabbled, but I really have no musical ability.
5. Make grilled cheese. There’s always one side that gets a bit burned.
6. Dance. This relates to my awkwardness, fucked-up equilibrium, and inability to play sports
7. Get over my insecurities.
7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. Someone who is attracted to me. This is first and foremost. It’s really the only criteria I have these days and I will abandon all other wanted traits if someone fits this one.
2. Sense of humor. I joke a lot. I like it when people get the jokes and aren’t offended.
3. Long legs.
4. Intelligence.
5. Stylish taste in clothes.
6. Glasses. Not always necessary, but definitely a sexy accoutrement.
7. Nice feet.
7 things that I say most often:
1. What the fuck?!
2. Seriously, what the fuck?!
3. So it goes.
4. Reminds me of this one time…
5. …And whatnot. (In an improv class I did a monologue and talked about getting jumped and said I was “in a coma and whatnot”. In the following scene, my friend Chris picked up on that and played a doctor who diagnosed a patient as having “cancer and whatnot.”)
6. That’s cool.
7. Excuse me, sorry.
7 celebrity crushes:
(O.K. I don’t really have any celebrity crushes. It’s bad enough having crushes on certain people who are actually in my life, why would I want to deal with the futility of crushing on someone I will most likely never meet? That said, I will do my best…)
1. Cate Blanchett. (I think she’s incredibly beautiful in an otherworldly way.)
2. Naomi Watts. (For some reason I can’t concentrate on anything when she’s on screen. It actually frustrates me, because she’s been in some really good movies, but I find myself just staring at her and losing track of the story.)
3. Amy Sedaris. (Adorable and funny, even when playing grotesque characters.)
4. Scarlett Johansson. (I basically say this because a guy at work has a picture of her pinned to the wall, so I see her everyday. And I think she’s alluring.)
5. Johnny Depp. (He’s handsome and cool and everything I wish I was.)
6. New York City. (Can a city count as a celebrity? It’s been in a lot of movies…)
7 people I want to do this:
1. Anyone I
2. Want
3. To do this
4. Already has
5. Or
7. Won’t.
Sorry this took so long to come up with. It really was difficult to find fifty things that make me happy. I guess because I tend to focus on the things that don't make me happy. It was a more daunting task than I imagined. I definitely couldn't have done the original hundred that were requested of me.
1. Bar-B-Q Shrimp at Deanies’ seafood shack in New Orleans. I may never get to have this again, so I put it at the top.
2. Finding a great album in a used record/cd bin.
3. A good gangster movie.
4. Getting strong laughter at a joke you’ve made.
5. Receiving a random phone call or email from a girl who wants to see how you are doing. This is especially good when it is unprovoked by emails or phone calls you may have made to them.
6. Watching a really engrossing film by yourself in a nearly-empty movie theater, with a large Coke and a bag of Sour Patch Kids.
7. The train ride over the Manhattan Bridge into Manhattan from Brooklyn on a cool, sunny day, looking out at the Brooklyn Bridge and the city.
8. Large, looming architecture.
9. Sex in the rain.
10. Deep sea fishing. In fact, the fishing is not even necessary, but being out on a boat in the ocean with no land in sight and the rocking waves is nice.
11. Hiking in the woods. I like to find a nice rock structure or cave and take a nap against the cool rock.
12. I have a huge book collection. Sometimes I just like standing in front of the shelves and browsing through the titles trying to find a book to read. I also like doing this at other people’s houses and seeing what sort of stuff they like to read.
13. My brother got my dad into drinking microbrews. He used to be a Miller High Life/Genny Cream Ale kind of guy when we were growing up. Now I love coming home for visits and having my dad excitedly tell me about a new beer he discovered. And then, of course, trying a few he has in the fridge.
14. Philly Soul music, particularly The Spinners.
15. Driving down an open stretch of road in the late spring/early summer with the windows down and “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake blasting on the radio. Fist-pumping during the chorus required.
16. El Rincon Familiar in Brooklyn (5th Ave. and 19th Street) The best Tex Mex food I’ve had. Better than places I’ve eaten at in Texas. If you’re in or around Park Slope and you want Tex Mex, there’s only one place to go! I drag anyone who visits me to this restaurant.
17. A memorable first kiss. I’ve had a few that stick out in my memory, and whether the relationship that did or did not follow said kiss was worth remembering it’s nice to think about the promise and potential of that first lip-lock.
18. Seeing Ween live.
19. A person telling you that something you did, wrote, performed, or created inspired them in some way. (Hell isn’t that why we create? To share the joys and sorrows of life with others, to reach out to one another, to feel less alone?)
20. Staying in a bar long enough to hear the songs you put on the jukebox. You are usually pretty wasted by that point and yell out to everyone, “Wait! Wait! These are my songs!” and close your eyes and bob your head enthusiastically to the beat. In your head no one thinks you’re a dork and everyone is just a little better off for hearing the particular songs you chose. Maybe you open your eyes and smile at someone else in the bar, your eyes silently telling them, “Yeah, this is MY song.”
21. Rollercoasters. Freefalls. Pirate Ships. Basically any ride at an amusement park that makes you feel like your balls have shot up into your abdomen and the pre-orgasmic, tingly sensation that goes along with that.
22. Those creepy, twisted religious comics from Chick Publications that various churches hand out.
23. Nonsequitors. Particularly in bathroom graffiti. Recent discovery in Rochester, NY stall (courtesy of Adam): “Bob Newhart Co-ed Naked Pussyfart”.
24. Swimming in streams or rivers. Oh, and tubing. (Yeah, that’s my rural Pennsylvania upbringing talking.)
25. I love dogs. I had an argument with a girl I knew over this. She preferred cats. She said, “Cats are better. They do their own thing. Are you so insecure that you need some goofy dog to greet you at the door when you get home and slobber all over you and be affectionate?” I said, “Exactly! Constant Public Displays of Affection just because I feed him! What’s more awesome than that? Cats just ignore you and act aloof. That’s what girls are for. Why would I need a cat?”
26. Receiving an apology for something ten years after the fact. It really did affect my life for the last ten years and prevent me from relating to other people properly. Your apology brought closure and I feel I can move on now. Thank you.
27. Making mixes (mix tapes/cds) for people who, in turn, actually listen to and appreciate the mixes. People who have the same musical tastes. It’s even better when they make mixes for you!
28. Nicknames.
29. Harold Night at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater.
30. Laughing at misfortune. Mostly my own. It’s easier when it’s yours. I appreciate someone who can crack a good joke about me when I tell them something bad that happened.
31. Tree houses. As a kid I built lots of tree houses in my back yard. I loved the Swiss Family Robinson tree house at Disney World. When I lived in Asheville, North Carolina I lived in a cabin, but the first “apartment” I checked out was in a tree house colony. I was pretty excited about it, too: there were walkways throughout the trees that connected all the smaller “apartments”. It was like the Ewok village. But when I showed my girlfriend my find she was not as impressed as I was and told me to keep looking.
32. 1994. The happiest time in my life. I was 20 years old and there were so many wonderful things about that time that I can’t single anything out. Good friends, good times. I may never experience happiness like I felt that year, but I am grateful for having a glimpse of what it’s like.
33. Quentin Tarantino. There’s just something about his flicks that appeals to the film geek in me. A kindred spirit.
34. Back rubs. Back rubs are awesome. The older I get the more my back hurts and the more I need a good one. But unfortunately, I’ve had fewer and fewer as the years have passed. Seriously, if you gave me a good back rub, I’d probably sleep with you. Regardless of age, attractiveness, gender, or species. I’m just saying...
35. The Onion.
36. DVD. I remember being thrilled when DVDs first came out. I never got into the laserdiscs, but always wanted to see films at home in their original aspect ratio. DVD offered this. And with Bonus Features too! Commentaries and analysis of the film. It was like being back in film school.
37. The Internet. What a wonderful invention. The Information Superhighway. The idea of being able to connect and interact with people and thoughts from around the world. I spent a lot of time at the library when I was a kid. I liked being surrounded by information. But there was a process you went through to get that information. Now everything is at your fingertips. I can pull up information in seconds, where in the past, I would have to spend hours sifting through encyclopedias and other volumes in order to learn about something.
38. The Marx Brothers. If you can watch “Duck Soup” and not laugh once, I certainly don’t want to know you.
39. Tabloid journalism. Why would I sing the praises of something that is destroying true journalism? It seems like everything is tabloid journalism these days. There is no objectivity and no real research into the stories that are being reported. We get sound bites and clips of stories. I agree it is bad and the news should be more in depth and provide a more objective view, but there’s something to be said for the ridiculous headlines of The New York Post and The Daily News. Sometimes I want to get away from the real news from around the world and focus on the fact that there were severed human lips found in a dumpster over the weekend, with a cynical headline like “TRASH-TALKING ON THE UPPER EAST SIDE!”
40. Cheesy pop songs. Any time period.
41. A well-cooked meal. I love eating. And whether it’s a home-cooked meal from someone’s mother (an ex’s mom used to make rosemary chicken every other night and fried catfish and beans and rice the rest of the week and I gained about thirty pounds in a month just from her home-cooking) or a selection at a nice restaurant, I’m all about stuffing myself with food.
42. People arguing. I don’t know why, but I always laugh to myself when people are passionately arguing about something. When I would get yelled at as a kid I couldn’t help cracking a smile and giggling and that would anger my parents further.
43. Finding good books in a box on the street on trash day.
44. Sleeping in. There’s nothing better than wasting an entire day in bed because you have nothing to do.
45. Watching the rain. I remember my father used to stand in the garage watching the rain when there was a thunderstorm. We lived on a hill and you could look out on the valley and see lightning striking in the distance. It was soothing and peaceful.
46. The thrill of meeting someone new. The excitement and confusion of a budding romance. Months or years later you may rue the day you met them but it’s a great feeling at the start.
47. Making films and videos. I love being on set with friends, orchestrating shots. If I am directing something of my own I have more energy than ever. On one film I did in college I didn’t sleep for three days during the shoot and wasn’t tired the whole time. Something else takes over.
48. Driving around with my friend Tom, talking about movies, coming up with ideas, writing films in our heads.
49. Improv. For someone like myself, who is not musically talented at all, this is a chance to “jam” with other people and create things in front of an audience. It’s a real high when things fall into place in a scene and the audience is responsive.
50. A cigarette after a good meal or good conversation. I saw Kurt Vonnegut interviewed and they asked how he maintained a sense of humor if he thought the world was so doomed and full of depressing things. He answered, “Smoking.”
And the 7 Things lists:
7 things I want to do before I die:
1. Direct a major feature film.
2. Publish a novel or two.
3. Get a pilot’s license and fly a DeHavilliand Tiger Moth biplane for barnstorming purposes.
4. Travel outside the United States. It’s been 31 years and I haven’t even gone to Canada or Mexico! I’d like to tool around Europe for a while but I’ll settle for any place that requires a passport at this point.
5. Learn to juggle.
6. Make a living without having to work a soul-sucking job I have no interest in.
7. Find someone to have a healthy, meaningful relationship with.
7 things I cannot do:
1. Any sport. Just can’t do it. I’m physical inept. I can’t even play golf!
2. Make small talk with people. I get bored very easily and can’t find it in me to pretend I’m interested. This hinders me when meeting new people because unless they fascinate me from the get-go I’m not going to probe them with questions and feign excitement at whatever is said.
3. Walk down the street without staring at my feet.
4. Play an instrument. I’ve dabbled, but I really have no musical ability.
5. Make grilled cheese. There’s always one side that gets a bit burned.
6. Dance. This relates to my awkwardness, fucked-up equilibrium, and inability to play sports
7. Get over my insecurities.
7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. Someone who is attracted to me. This is first and foremost. It’s really the only criteria I have these days and I will abandon all other wanted traits if someone fits this one.
2. Sense of humor. I joke a lot. I like it when people get the jokes and aren’t offended.
3. Long legs.
4. Intelligence.
5. Stylish taste in clothes.
6. Glasses. Not always necessary, but definitely a sexy accoutrement.
7. Nice feet.
7 things that I say most often:
1. What the fuck?!
2. Seriously, what the fuck?!
3. So it goes.
4. Reminds me of this one time…
5. …And whatnot. (In an improv class I did a monologue and talked about getting jumped and said I was “in a coma and whatnot”. In the following scene, my friend Chris picked up on that and played a doctor who diagnosed a patient as having “cancer and whatnot.”)
6. That’s cool.
7. Excuse me, sorry.
7 celebrity crushes:
(O.K. I don’t really have any celebrity crushes. It’s bad enough having crushes on certain people who are actually in my life, why would I want to deal with the futility of crushing on someone I will most likely never meet? That said, I will do my best…)
1. Cate Blanchett. (I think she’s incredibly beautiful in an otherworldly way.)
2. Naomi Watts. (For some reason I can’t concentrate on anything when she’s on screen. It actually frustrates me, because she’s been in some really good movies, but I find myself just staring at her and losing track of the story.)
3. Amy Sedaris. (Adorable and funny, even when playing grotesque characters.)
4. Scarlett Johansson. (I basically say this because a guy at work has a picture of her pinned to the wall, so I see her everyday. And I think she’s alluring.)
5. Johnny Depp. (He’s handsome and cool and everything I wish I was.)
6. New York City. (Can a city count as a celebrity? It’s been in a lot of movies…)
7 people I want to do this:
1. Anyone I
2. Want
3. To do this
4. Already has
5. Or
7. Won’t.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Alright, ya happy?
Here's me with a mustache. A whole month with this puppy, even though no one else decided to participate in the fun. In fact, they all told me to get rid of it, but I held out for a full thirty days.
Actually, I kinda miss it. In fact, a girl at work was mad that I shaved it off, saying, "Man, you were starting to look cool. Now you're just you." Hah!
I was thinking that in a few months it should be "rat-tail" month and I'll be the only one to grow a rat-tail like the kids used to wear when I was in sixth grade.
Actually, I kinda miss it. In fact, a girl at work was mad that I shaved it off, saying, "Man, you were starting to look cool. Now you're just you." Hah!
I was thinking that in a few months it should be "rat-tail" month and I'll be the only one to grow a rat-tail like the kids used to wear when I was in sixth grade.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
25 Things I Need
This is a little game going around the "blogosphere". I've seen it a couple of times. What you do is type in "(your name) needs" in quotes in Google and let the fun begin.
I've discovered just what it is I need at the moment, and that's good to know...
1.Dave needs Firefox and BugMeNot.
2.Dave needs some advice. Dave told Carmen that he really likes her, but Carmen doesn't want a new boy-friend. Dave's mate Diego suggests to make Carmen jealous.
3.Dave needs plywood.
4.I think Dave needs a vacation. Dave is upset again, and this time with his (former?) buddy Adam Curry. The reason is that Dave thinks Adam has stolen the credit from him for inventing podcasting, and for writing the first iPodder.
5.Big Dave needs a kidney.
6.Dave needs to share from his own experience, not point an accusing finger at Scott.
7.DAVE NEEDS VACATION FROM CARRYING HIS FIANCEE'S BAGS.
8.I think Dave needs to work one of these into his live appearances.
9.Dave needs to promote his blog, not his buddy's. Guys just have to
unzip and whip it out.
10.Dave needs to be kept abreast of any ... (I tried to follow up this link to see what I should be kept abreast of, but the link was invalid. I need to be kept abreast of these problems!)
11.All Dave needs is time A briefcase coloured lime Techno lime green
12.If Dave needs that letter, i say go for it and good luck for Monday.
13.Dave needs to do due diligence on the dashes ‘-’ in the column.
14.Dave needs to get back into form and get his hair cut like Bill Maher.
15.DAVE NEEDS YOUR BEST WISHES & PRAYERS
16.Dave needs to review the press release that Heather submitted.
17.Dave needs to understand the seriousness of his position and how it affects not just his department, but the candidate and the reputation of the University, as well.
18.Right now Dave needs sponsors.
19.Dave needs support too!
20.dave needs 30 buttons.
21.Dave needs additional visits to achieve his goals,
22.I think Dave needs new glasses *g*.
23.Dave needs to find replacements for Reiter, Pause, Caballero, Marsh and Armas.
24.holy crap, dave needs to eat.
25.Dave needs an excuse to "LOL" every five minutes, that's why... LOL!
Well, damn. I need a lot, don't I? I'm most concerned about the buttons.
I've discovered just what it is I need at the moment, and that's good to know...
1.Dave needs Firefox and BugMeNot.
2.Dave needs some advice. Dave told Carmen that he really likes her, but Carmen doesn't want a new boy-friend. Dave's mate Diego suggests to make Carmen jealous.
3.Dave needs plywood.
4.I think Dave needs a vacation. Dave is upset again, and this time with his (former?) buddy Adam Curry. The reason is that Dave thinks Adam has stolen the credit from him for inventing podcasting, and for writing the first iPodder.
5.Big Dave needs a kidney.
6.Dave needs to share from his own experience, not point an accusing finger at Scott.
7.DAVE NEEDS VACATION FROM CARRYING HIS FIANCEE'S BAGS.
8.I think Dave needs to work one of these into his live appearances.
9.Dave needs to promote his blog, not his buddy's. Guys just have to
unzip and whip it out.
10.Dave needs to be kept abreast of any ... (I tried to follow up this link to see what I should be kept abreast of, but the link was invalid. I need to be kept abreast of these problems!)
11.All Dave needs is time A briefcase coloured lime Techno lime green
12.If Dave needs that letter, i say go for it and good luck for Monday.
13.Dave needs to do due diligence on the dashes ‘-’ in the column.
14.Dave needs to get back into form and get his hair cut like Bill Maher.
15.DAVE NEEDS YOUR BEST WISHES & PRAYERS
16.Dave needs to review the press release that Heather submitted.
17.Dave needs to understand the seriousness of his position and how it affects not just his department, but the candidate and the reputation of the University, as well.
18.Right now Dave needs sponsors.
19.Dave needs support too!
20.dave needs 30 buttons.
21.Dave needs additional visits to achieve his goals,
22.I think Dave needs new glasses *g*.
23.Dave needs to find replacements for Reiter, Pause, Caballero, Marsh and Armas.
24.holy crap, dave needs to eat.
25.Dave needs an excuse to "LOL" every five minutes, that's why... LOL!
Well, damn. I need a lot, don't I? I'm most concerned about the buttons.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Other Writings
Since I still don't have any internet connection I've decided to fill the gap with some links to some other things I've written that are floating out there in cyberspace somewhere.
Stories, poems and other trivialities:
chucklehound stuff
a real shit story
longing
striving
Stories, poems and other trivialities:
chucklehound stuff
a real shit story
longing
striving
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