I had a nightmare the other night. I was at a blogger’s convention at the Jacob Javits Center. And while suddenly finding myself adrift amongst a sea of self-important, techno-hipster shut-ins – all simultaneously holding the belief that you and I should devote our Saturday nights to reading their stream of consciousness thoughts off a computer screen to be self-evident – would normally have far exceeded the minimum requirement for me to awake screaming and sweat drenched, the worst was yet to come. For, from within this sea of faceless self-promoters, materialized some of Fork & Salt Shaker’s most devoted readers.
What ensued was a guilt trip of epic proportions. Questions were posed:
“What happened to F&SS?â€
“Are you guys retired?â€
“Have you given up?â€
“You disgust me!†Well, that one wasn’t a question.
“Etc., etc., etc.†That probably shouldn’t be in quotes…
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It was close to midnight on Monday when I noticed the little green envelope that represents an as-yet-unheard message on my cell phone. For about as long as I can remember now, I only receive bad news in voicemail form but I felt the winds of change whistling through the…well…garbage outside my apartment and I was seized by an unusual bout of optimism. The speed with which this optimism consumed my better judgement could be rivaled only by the sheer force of reality reclaiming its proper place, the pillars of hope collapsing and pessimism regaining the upper hand. I recognized immediately the broken English:
“Mike, I make pointment wif plumbers. I vaant you vait for dem in morning.†Click.
This is just a small sample – a taste, if you will – of some of the engaging and intellectually stimulating banter I enjoy with my Russian landlady, Olga. For Olga, eloquence, in any language, is – apparently – not a priority. As such, more often than not, it finds itself in the backseat for the benefit of deadly – and often misguided – efficiency.
Background: A leak has been festering in my apartment, dripping on and off for three months. It is a shy leak. Shy in that, whenever I invite someone over to take a look at my leak, the leak stays away, usually returning after the visitor has gone. I believe this is an attempt on the leak’s part to turn Olga and I against each other. So far, this seems to be working. Most recently the leak has been on vacation – probably skiing upstate – for about a week.
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Have you ever met a person that enjoys the rigmarole associated with an airport? I certainly haven’t. Nor am I one of them. I mean, don’t get me wrong… I love the long lines and the rude staff; I love waiting on an even longer line so an incompetent security guard can treat me like a criminal, complete with the cavity search; I love the flight delays, and layovers, and running to make a connection — ok, so I’m using the term “love” loosely. All of that, though heinous in its right, pales in comparison to the single most annoying aspect of flying. Of course, I’m referring to lost luggage. If you’ve ever felt even the slightest frustration with an airport, please, dear reader, read attentively as I recount the tale of “The Cursed Bag”.
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We’ve all slept in many beds throughout our lives. These beds come in various levels of comfort. We’ve all experienced firm beds, soft beds, tall beds, short beds, beds that may as well be rocks, and beds that feel like lumpy oatmeal. Yes, there are all kinds of beds out there. And for those of you that lived in a dorm room, you will probably agree that those are the most uncomfortable beds in existence. Disagree if you wish, but in my opinion, a plastic mattress on a wooden bunk does not a bed make. As a result of that egregious bed experience, I set out to construct the perfect bed.
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Wondering where I found the time to get to all those national parks to take pictures? Well, after I wrote the “Haiku of the Short Timer”, I spent some time at the beach. After I tired of the beach, I embarked on a six-month roadtrip around the United States. This was such a stupendous trip, it required its very own website. Please have a look.
The Roadtrip
Note: Unfortunately, this wonderous undertaking required all of my money and all of my credt. Upon my return I needed to start working immediately. Really, I had nothing to my name, except debt…had plenty of debt. As such, the website remains slightly unfinished. I’ll get around to it eventually.
My sister lives overseas. For those of you that like to travel, you, as I did, recognize it as the perfect excuse to take a trip. As with any foreign place, there are always some subtle differences in day-to-day life and the sundries one can purchase. Realizing this, I asked my darling sister, “Is there anything you would like me to bring you from ‘the States’?”
Much to my complete and utter chagrin, she replies, “If you bring nothing else, please, for the love of god, bring tampons! They are like gold.”
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Well friends, it has happened at last. After nearly eight years of living in this city and having clocked time in Queens, behind Port Authority and in the West Village I was beginning to wonder, “What’s wrong with me? Am I so undesirable?â€. And while the jury is still out, as they say, on those two questions, I can sleep a little easier at night now, for I have finally been approached by a prostitute.
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A street sign I once saw. I’m just going to go ahead and let this one stand on its own. Take from it what you will…
Sadly, friends, tonight I ceased to be a thinking beast. It would seem that whenever one learns something by rote they have a tendency to continue doing whatever it is they learned by rote, by rote. Soon the very human element of allowing a conscious thought process to govern our routine tasks slips away. This is what happened to me tonight. A coworker asked me if I were in fact a robot. Well…no, I’m not. However, sometimes I think things might be a great deal easier if I happened to be a robot.
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My move to New York was not the most expeditious of ventures. It took FOREVER. So when the keys finally graced my hot little hands, I moved in instantly. Now, I say “moved in”, but that’s not actually the case. Moving in implies that you have something to actually move (ie. furniture, clothing, books, silverware, a box of rocks, etc.). I had nothing of the sort.
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