inconsequential miscommunication

None of the usual clichés
For me today
stars and brackets
I’m so often haunted
By things unkind or unknown
stars and brackets
Days with visions of the world
Without me beyond me forgotten me
stars and brackets
The look in her eyes
As she tells me
stars and brackets
The future crashing
As I wonder how emptiness can be so loud
stars and brackets
All so calm
Almost pleasant
To stars and brackets in a book.

mcd memory #1

When I worked at McDonald's, there was a dog named Buttons who was a drivethru regular. His lady would pull up to the speaker and Buttons would bark. We would hear it back in the grill area, and immediately start cooking what we called a Buttons Burger...a plain burger on a bun. His lady always emphasised that there couldn't be anything on it at all. Since it was a special order, if anyone came behind them, they would get parked and we would have to run it out to them when it was done. When you brought the burger out and started to hand it through their window, Buttons would try to attack you. Attack in a very spoiled, get his own burger, small, annoying dog, snarly kinda way. Everyone hated Buttons. I remember guys cooking Buttons' burger for the entire 2 minutes and 15 seconds underneath a three inch pile of salt and then scraping it all off before throwing it on the bun. Nobody liked that dog.

There was a Japanese Jehovah's Witness who worked with us. He was working there before I started and was still there after I quit. He was our attempted moral conscience. He tried to prevent all sorts of deviations from Standard Policy, including the horrendous things which befell Buttons' burger. He had run the order out to the car many times and was always met with the same snarl and yet never expressed any dislike toward that nasty creature. And then our Jehovah's Witness got bit. No one had ever been actually bit before. All those burgers didn't help Buttons' speed and agility and the window was never opened very wide.

Our manager drove him to the hospital and I think he got a couple of stitches. That particular burger was cooked in the juice that was skimmed out of the pickle bucket. Our conscience still spoke of Standard Policy afterwards, perhaps with more zeal than before even...but it wasn't to be. Back in the storeroom that evening, a group of the regular grillmen, night crew of course, officially swore off of all policy.

the madness that calls now

The Free States' Refrain says, "I Will Kill for the Good of the Fight for the Right to be Right."

I am not sure that I would. I am not sure I wouldn't either.

On Yom Yerushalayim, 5753, a friend and I turned mean. And I think many would agree you would be hard pressed to find two less mean fellows. If the answer to mob mentality unchecked inyourface aggression is turning the other cheek, then we failed that day. It's not lost on me that if there had been also been a mob that day of neo-hippie pacificts like us, we would of gotten bloody. The Good of the Fight. Yesterday, my dad was talking about the time he got in a bar fight in Berlin in the mid-50's. I asked how it ranked, on a scale of 1-10, as far as bar fights go. He said it was a one. My mom asked how it compared to the incident a few weeks ago when he was ready to pummel a guy who jumped in front of him at the Costco gas pump.

One day my kid will ask me how it ranks...as far as altercations with religious fanatic nutjobs on pseudo-holidays go.

I am not a fighter, yet I secretly hope for the opportunity to show that I am.

park slope to central park and back

There is a lot I can say about this weekend. It involved death and also food cramming. I love that little food crammer.

A long time ago I said I would one day ride my bicycle around Manhattan. I said it to my bicycle.

It is an '89 Cannondale R300. It is really the only precious thing I have left from those glorious days at UCSB. It is quite dented and says Cannordale. I converted it to a single speed a little while back, which greatly renewed my love fot it.

I started to write some sentimental stuff about how I will probably sell it soon for whatever it can fetch on ebay. About how it will be difficult to do it. But nevermind that. We booked down 5th Avenue together today. Sometimes on the right side, sometimes on the left and even a few moments right down the middle, passing cars slowed by turning busses.

Watching a one year old laugh and cry and cram an entire meal into his cheeks and listen to him sing to himself when he is all alone in his room...the emotions it brings out in me are closely related to my feelings I have for my bike. I don't want to belittle an I-You with an association to an I-It. It isn't like that. As my new Jungian New England friends would tell me if this was a dream...the bike represents me. Perhaps so.

I enjoyed the company of my friends this weekend. And more and more, I enjoy thinking about having our own family and hoping it will be soon. I enjoyed myself this weekend.

a random incident in a parking lot

A man walks through the parking lot of a strip mall. There is a grocery store, a video store, a karate studio, a coffeeshop, an Asian restaraunt, a laundrymat. He walks among the parked cars on the way to his. He is Korean. He has two VHS tapes in a bag. Just before reaching his 1997 Toyota Corolla, he notices that the door to the gas tank of a neighboring Mecury Mountaineer is open. He closes it.

The owner of the Mountaineer returns from the karate studio where he has dropped off his son. He is still thinking of this evening's mail. His wife's doctor had recommended that she get something, some sort of brace, that she ended up never using. It was forgotten until tonight. An explanation of benefits from the insurance company stated that this item was not covered. Also, there was bill from the doctor. The owner of the Mountaineer suspects collusion.

He saw a small, Asian man fiddling near the back of his car. He ran over screaming, "Get the fuck away from my car!" The Korean, taken aback, instinctively stepped away from the car and the oncoming man while stuttering about how he was just closing the little door. At this point, however, any notion of Good Samaratanism was unable to penetrate. The entire altercation lasted less than half a minute. There was a shove, much deflated by the active retreat of the Korean.

At the same moment, a women walks out of the grocery store over the curb towards her car. The scuffle was far away from her, but the screaming and energy created a slight, distant buzz in the air which was felt. It was just enough of a distraction to cause her to look off in that general direction. In doing so, the rear wheels of her grocery cart leave the curb at small amount off of 180 degrees. The left rear wheel left the curb first, the front wheels turned drastically, the cart lurched clockwise and tipped. The right edge of the cart's handle hit the women's ankle, and she fell to the ground among her groceries.

Things could be worse, but they could also be better. Some people try to make things better, some don't. I want to make it better.

if a tree falls on will riker in the forest, will anyone know what i am talking about?

We recently saw an episode of Star Trek, The Next Generation in which Will Riker wasn't sleeping at all. He would finally drop off after tossing and turning and then suddenly it would be time to wake up. He was looking increasing rough. At one point, he looks at himself in the mirror and pulls down on the the bag under one of his eyes with his finger. My wife immediately yelled, "Hey! You do that!" And it's true. I do that every morning. So my question to the wide world is: why? Do all of you do this or know someone who does? Did I pick it up from Will Riker many years ago when I first saw the episode? Is it some sort of international symbol for not getting enough sleep?

mission accomplished

My mother was a caffeine addict. I watched her breakdown on several occasions. I remember her balling on the streets of Jerusalem in front of our tour group and hundreds of other strange folk, pleading with our guide to find her some coffee.

At the King and Prince Hotel in Sea Island, Ga, while waiting for my mom to get the amount of coffee she needed, a man approached my dad and I and said, "You gotta watch this lady...she is a machine." There may have even be some pride mixed with the embarrassment that day.

I never liked coffee. Not coffee ice cream. Not tiramisu. When asked why I didn't drink coffee I would explain that I didn't like it and that my mom kinda traumatized me with her addiction.

My wife loves coffee. On our honeymoon in Italy, she drank as much as she could take while I stood and waited. My wife can dance and I cannot. One day I will fix that. I tried to learn to dance once and it was a painful failure. I knew that sharing in caffeine would be wonderful for us. So, despite my dislike of the taste and my crazy mother, I set out to become an addict.

I could say that I did it out of love, which is true, but that doesn't matter now. All that matters is that I have some coffee