I've decided to stop waiting for this magical date in the future when my new blog will look exactly like I want it to look. Considering I have no web-building skills and I haven't even bothered to do anything about that in months, it's probably better if I just come out with it, work on the content, and worry about the flash at some other point in time. Imagine this the way you would imagine Apple coming out with a device as cool as the iPhone for what it does, but maybe not as cool in terms of how it looks. That's me, now. And this is The Kernel, the new blog - http://enterthekernel.blogspot.com.
FYI, http://thekernel.blogspot.com is a lame ass blog someone started in 2004, posted twice to, and then disappeared, and because of this nonsense I'm supposed to use "enterthekernel" in the address. No matter, I feel like it works on some level, all Matrix-y.
I'll be writing to it for the time being, so at least for now, Ruvym's Rant is without a complaint in site. I know, who would have ever thought this day would come?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
The Sum Up
As I sit at Nina Cafe in Neve Tzedek, a nice little spot with an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows, good iced coffee, and free WiFi, I'm thinking about this latest Israel trip which has spanned 18 days, a tour of the entire country, extensive time in Tel Aviv, and a cough that just won't go away. This was time 5 in Israel, and it started off in a familiarly unfamiliar way - a group trip, as always, but one that I was helping to staff/lead. For a while I had wanted to take my appreciation for this country one step further, and be there to inaugurate new travelers into the riches of the land. Fine, so I couldn't be a tour guide, I couldn't answer most of their questions about this or that relic or monument or site, but I could give thoughts on the politics of the region and background on my own life and journey from cynical Birthright participant during my trip in the Winter of 2004-2005 to proud Israel-lover. A friend, before the trip, expressed a genuine excitement for the opportunity I would get with the "kids" - "wow, you'll be there with them, showing them everything. They'll see it through your eyes. You're going to have an amazing experience."
And it was amazing, and exhausting, and crazy, and a whole bunch of things I both expected and didn't expect. I didn't expect how much I'd become a babysitter, a parent, for people close to my own age. Sure some of them were "kids" in the sense that they were new to college, but several were adults, people I might otherwise be friends with outside of this world of the touring bus and treks through cobbled streets and desert and forest. I didn't expect becoming a disciplinarian and putting myself on a level where I could be friendly with people, they could appreciate me and enjoy my company, but they would only ever remain acquaintances, and any close friendships would have to wait until after the trip. And, perhaps most importantly, I didn't expect how "suspended" my own experience would be. Going into it, I was excited to see all the places I knew we'd go to, even though I'd seen them several times before. But while at those places, I was too busy running around and counting heads and planning for the next portion of the tour that I didn't really have a chance to absorb anything for myself. Standing at the Kottel (Western Wall) during a 30-minute "here, you're at the Kottel, use this time to go pray or walk around or do whatever you feel you need to do in this space" moment, I realized that it had all become boringly familiar, that this incredible site that means so much to so many people, was just another place I'd been to many times before. All that was going through my head was the idea that in 5 minutes, everyone would come streaming back and we'd be moving on and that before we could move on I needed to make sure that 44 people were following me.
On some level I thought it a good thing, the way I have had such great fortune to come to Israel so many times that something like the Kottel could become "ordinary" for me. Someone who lives in the Old City can see the Kottel everyday, and perhaps it's just another big wall for them. But it was also a little disheartening. In this world where I seem to constantly be searching for something to strike me, to elicit an emotional response from me, not being able to rely on something like the Kottel for that was really sobering. If the Kottel can become "another big wall," then what about other things in the world, in your life, even more "ordinary" than the Kottel? What will become of them?
Maybe I was just exasperated, reading too much into it, getting shaky from the heat. That evening, during our Shabbat in Jerusalem, I had a "what the hell" sort of moment. Standing around with my co-staff after midnight, cleaning up the final pieces of a room used by the trip's participants for the post-Shabbat meal snacking and drinking and singing and carousing, I found myself exhausted, fed up, feeling worthless.
"Why am I here?," I wondered. "What does anyone care that I'm here? Have I done anything? Have I helped anybody's experience along or helped them see something they wouldn't otherwise have seen or understood?"
I paused, my voice echoing in the room, my co-staff looking at me and nodding, agreeing with the rhetorical questions. Then I took a deep breath and felt great. At that near-cracking point I finally got that my being on that trip had absolutely nothing to do with me. The idea was liberating, experience altering. On some level, getting to staff a trip is a free ticket to Israel, a chance to go back to all the places you remember and love, for yourself, so that you can see them again and enjoy them while you're helping others have a good experience. But that is such a tiny part of the whole story. What it's really about it putting aside anything that has to do with you, and running around like a mad man so that every single person on your bus can get back on their return flight home, let out a nice, deep, 10-days-in-the-making sigh, and smile. Suddenly I didn't care that I was tired and sticking around to pick up dried fruit purchased from the Machenae Yehuda shuk from the floor, or that some participants were just being straight-up disrespectful and making me feel like an asshole for doing my job. It was all good, every last piece, it was all as it needed to be.
I wiped the sweat from my face and climbed back upstairs to the lobby. I looked over at my co-staff and we had this little moment of understanding. Really, she was the only person who could relate to me and the position. Somewhere in the Caesar Hotel, our participants were probably hanging out in a room, continuing the party that we wouldn't be invited to because we were "in charge." So we hung around a little, had a few swigs of water, and went our separate ways, to sleep for far too little time before we had to do it all over again the next day.
That's why by the evening of Day 10, after 24-hours of people getting sick just as the trip was about to let out and stints at hospitals and in doctor's offices and with Russian-speaking doctors coming to visit us during our activity sessions, I was sad to see everyone split up. We dropped off half the people at a bus station in Tel Aviv so that they could continue on their own journeys, their within-Israel trip extensions. Most of them I knew I'd never see again. The other half, me and my co-staff included, we took back to the airport so they could board the flight home. Some hugs, some waves, only lightly bittersweet farewells, and we watched them streaming towards the check-in counter. The biggest question I had in my head was, "did they like it?" Sure I also wanted to know that my being there played a positive role, that without me it just wouldn't have been the same. But that was ancillary. I admit that I can be a little self-absorbed sometimes, and apologies for that, but this was hands-down the most self-less I've ever been in anything I've ever done. I'm not bashful to admit that. Believe it or not, this ego was put into a holding pen for 10 days, and it ended up feeling pretty damn good.
And now I'm on the back-end of the 8 extra days I extended after the trip. These 8 days have been relatively underwhelming. I went from high-intensity to doing whatever I wanted, for me and only me. Maybe it's just because I'm somewhat of a workaholic by nature, but the 8 has provided more downtime than I can handle. There's only so many times you can go to the beach, or sit around at a cafe with an iced coffee or two or three, or meet up with people for food and drinks. I know, wha-wha-wha, crying about vacation time. But it's not so much that as it is coming to a better understanding of who I am and where I go from here. Israel is a metaphor, it's something that is so much better shared, even with crazy people that don't let you sleep, than it is on your own. Kind of like, well, everything in life. Oddly enough, that's something I only recently realized. So on the plane heading back I'll be very ready to jump back into the "real world," even with its daily annoyances and frustrations, and to see the people I've been away from for all this time. I'm not too good with the Hebrew but, ani lo yo'deah, I think this was a pretty awesome experience. Ken? Ken.
And it was amazing, and exhausting, and crazy, and a whole bunch of things I both expected and didn't expect. I didn't expect how much I'd become a babysitter, a parent, for people close to my own age. Sure some of them were "kids" in the sense that they were new to college, but several were adults, people I might otherwise be friends with outside of this world of the touring bus and treks through cobbled streets and desert and forest. I didn't expect becoming a disciplinarian and putting myself on a level where I could be friendly with people, they could appreciate me and enjoy my company, but they would only ever remain acquaintances, and any close friendships would have to wait until after the trip. And, perhaps most importantly, I didn't expect how "suspended" my own experience would be. Going into it, I was excited to see all the places I knew we'd go to, even though I'd seen them several times before. But while at those places, I was too busy running around and counting heads and planning for the next portion of the tour that I didn't really have a chance to absorb anything for myself. Standing at the Kottel (Western Wall) during a 30-minute "here, you're at the Kottel, use this time to go pray or walk around or do whatever you feel you need to do in this space" moment, I realized that it had all become boringly familiar, that this incredible site that means so much to so many people, was just another place I'd been to many times before. All that was going through my head was the idea that in 5 minutes, everyone would come streaming back and we'd be moving on and that before we could move on I needed to make sure that 44 people were following me.
On some level I thought it a good thing, the way I have had such great fortune to come to Israel so many times that something like the Kottel could become "ordinary" for me. Someone who lives in the Old City can see the Kottel everyday, and perhaps it's just another big wall for them. But it was also a little disheartening. In this world where I seem to constantly be searching for something to strike me, to elicit an emotional response from me, not being able to rely on something like the Kottel for that was really sobering. If the Kottel can become "another big wall," then what about other things in the world, in your life, even more "ordinary" than the Kottel? What will become of them?
Maybe I was just exasperated, reading too much into it, getting shaky from the heat. That evening, during our Shabbat in Jerusalem, I had a "what the hell" sort of moment. Standing around with my co-staff after midnight, cleaning up the final pieces of a room used by the trip's participants for the post-Shabbat meal snacking and drinking and singing and carousing, I found myself exhausted, fed up, feeling worthless.
"Why am I here?," I wondered. "What does anyone care that I'm here? Have I done anything? Have I helped anybody's experience along or helped them see something they wouldn't otherwise have seen or understood?"
I paused, my voice echoing in the room, my co-staff looking at me and nodding, agreeing with the rhetorical questions. Then I took a deep breath and felt great. At that near-cracking point I finally got that my being on that trip had absolutely nothing to do with me. The idea was liberating, experience altering. On some level, getting to staff a trip is a free ticket to Israel, a chance to go back to all the places you remember and love, for yourself, so that you can see them again and enjoy them while you're helping others have a good experience. But that is such a tiny part of the whole story. What it's really about it putting aside anything that has to do with you, and running around like a mad man so that every single person on your bus can get back on their return flight home, let out a nice, deep, 10-days-in-the-making sigh, and smile. Suddenly I didn't care that I was tired and sticking around to pick up dried fruit purchased from the Machenae Yehuda shuk from the floor, or that some participants were just being straight-up disrespectful and making me feel like an asshole for doing my job. It was all good, every last piece, it was all as it needed to be.
I wiped the sweat from my face and climbed back upstairs to the lobby. I looked over at my co-staff and we had this little moment of understanding. Really, she was the only person who could relate to me and the position. Somewhere in the Caesar Hotel, our participants were probably hanging out in a room, continuing the party that we wouldn't be invited to because we were "in charge." So we hung around a little, had a few swigs of water, and went our separate ways, to sleep for far too little time before we had to do it all over again the next day.
That's why by the evening of Day 10, after 24-hours of people getting sick just as the trip was about to let out and stints at hospitals and in doctor's offices and with Russian-speaking doctors coming to visit us during our activity sessions, I was sad to see everyone split up. We dropped off half the people at a bus station in Tel Aviv so that they could continue on their own journeys, their within-Israel trip extensions. Most of them I knew I'd never see again. The other half, me and my co-staff included, we took back to the airport so they could board the flight home. Some hugs, some waves, only lightly bittersweet farewells, and we watched them streaming towards the check-in counter. The biggest question I had in my head was, "did they like it?" Sure I also wanted to know that my being there played a positive role, that without me it just wouldn't have been the same. But that was ancillary. I admit that I can be a little self-absorbed sometimes, and apologies for that, but this was hands-down the most self-less I've ever been in anything I've ever done. I'm not bashful to admit that. Believe it or not, this ego was put into a holding pen for 10 days, and it ended up feeling pretty damn good.
And now I'm on the back-end of the 8 extra days I extended after the trip. These 8 days have been relatively underwhelming. I went from high-intensity to doing whatever I wanted, for me and only me. Maybe it's just because I'm somewhat of a workaholic by nature, but the 8 has provided more downtime than I can handle. There's only so many times you can go to the beach, or sit around at a cafe with an iced coffee or two or three, or meet up with people for food and drinks. I know, wha-wha-wha, crying about vacation time. But it's not so much that as it is coming to a better understanding of who I am and where I go from here. Israel is a metaphor, it's something that is so much better shared, even with crazy people that don't let you sleep, than it is on your own. Kind of like, well, everything in life. Oddly enough, that's something I only recently realized. So on the plane heading back I'll be very ready to jump back into the "real world," even with its daily annoyances and frustrations, and to see the people I've been away from for all this time. I'm not too good with the Hebrew but, ani lo yo'deah, I think this was a pretty awesome experience. Ken? Ken.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Sherut
As I find myself on a sherut (mini bus that translates pretty directly
as "service"; someone told me this, so I have no idea if this is
right) to Jerusalem, I figured I would take a moment to send a little
note after many many weeks of not writing anything. So here I am,
still on my Israel trip, my fifth Israel trip, and I have 5 more days
to go. The Birthright trip I led ended on Wednesday night and I've
been bumming it ever since, if you consider "bumming" staying with a
friend who has the good fortune of living in an amazing apartment in
Neve Tzedek, the Tel Aviv equivalent of the West Village or Park Slope
or some other trendy NYC spot with small shops and pretty streets. The
current trip to Jerusalem is my effort to stay consistent about seeing
family everytime I come to Israel. I guess I could always eek by
without doing it, but it just don't seem totally right.
as "service"; someone told me this, so I have no idea if this is
right) to Jerusalem, I figured I would take a moment to send a little
note after many many weeks of not writing anything. So here I am,
still on my Israel trip, my fifth Israel trip, and I have 5 more days
to go. The Birthright trip I led ended on Wednesday night and I've
been bumming it ever since, if you consider "bumming" staying with a
friend who has the good fortune of living in an amazing apartment in
Neve Tzedek, the Tel Aviv equivalent of the West Village or Park Slope
or some other trendy NYC spot with small shops and pretty streets. The
current trip to Jerusalem is my effort to stay consistent about seeing
family everytime I come to Israel. I guess I could always eek by
without doing it, but it just don't seem totally right.
I have a lot of things floating around in my head right now, and a lot
about this latest experience has been very unexpected, the way I
managed the responsibilities of staffing the Birthright trip and the
opportunities I had for self-reflection during it, the feeling of
transitioning into being away from all my "campers" and trying to fill
the time with my own things, the intruding thoughts I keep getting now
that I'm more on my own here. I think I need to get back home, back
into my life and routines in order to understand it all better. Plus I
also have those 5 remaining days before I head back to NY, so its way
too early to close the book on this latest journey.
Let me leave you with 2 thoughts:
1) After seeing how little I've written to the blog in the last few
months, I've come to understand that it's probably time for me to move
on from it. So this is an initial announcement that soon I'll stop
writing to this blog that has been my life companion since October
2004. I'll have a lot more to say about that after I get back and make
all the arrangements I need to make as I transition into a new blog
space and format that I think will fit me better. This is not the end,
just an adaptation.
2) I went to a bar/club last night that rests on the rocks of the Tel
Aviv shore directly attached to what was once the Dolphinarium - the
site of a deadly terrosit attack from several years ago. It was,
literally, the one space I wanted to avoid completely for the duration
of my trip, but, of course, its exactly where I got invited by a
friend who was there celebrating her friend's birthday. I changed
quickly, ran there from where I was staying, and after 15 minutes of
superficial analysis by the unattractive female promoters, was finally
asked for ID and allowed in. I didnt last more than half an hour.
Whether it was the continued exhaustion from the previous evening's
Shabbaton experience in a warm apartment in Kevar Sava, the continued
exhaustion of not yet having caught up on my sleep after a crazy
Birthright trip, or just a controlling desire to be in a space where I
could speak with people and enjoy their company without loud music and
drunken fist pumping, I had to apologize to the birthday girl and my
friend and walk out the metallic revolving gate. Or maybe it wasnt any
of those things. Maybe, instead, it was the sadness I felt moments
earlier as I stood off to the side, away from the crowds, staring at
the melodramatic cliche of water smashing against the rocks at the
base of the beach. I dont really know what was going through my mind,
what I was thinking about, but I knew that I couldn't stay there, that
something just didn't feel right for me. And now as this sherut
lurches back and forth, I know that I'm almost where I need to be and
that I will write more at another time.
Monday, June 22, 2009
A Better Flush
I'm by no means a handyman. I'm kind of the opposite actually. For a while though, I've felt as if I needed to be a little more "guyish." You know, go camping, fix things around the house, act more emotionally distant with the people in my life, the basic sort of things you can expect from a guy, stereotypes welcome. I mean, you take me from college and I was just this Metrosexual dude who really got into the style of the early 2000s, complete with unnecessarily tight shirts, gelled hair with a little touch of Sun-In, and yes, even H&M capri shorts "for men," which, in my defense, were totally acceptable as a European transplant for a good 3 months in the Summer of 2000. In any case, I've been working on getting a little rougher around the edges. You understand what I'm trying to say.
I don't approach this with any particular direction or even with any particular intent. Rather it's just sort of a feeling I've gotten, that I want to do more of these guy things that, for whatever reason, I wasn't really exposed to growing up. Like with the camping, honestly, I'd never slept outside before my Birthright trip in the Winter of 2004-2005, and even then it was a faux-Bedouin campsite with a relatively clean and functional outdoor facility. Then came a couple more Bedoiun camp experiences on other trips, followed by my first "real" camping experience with my own campsite and my own (rented) tent in October of last year. And of course you know about my latest camping trip which was the first time I "roughed" it for two consecutive nights and had the awesome fortune of sleeping outside in the middle of a crazy thunderstorm.
I have to be honest - I loved it, and I had no idea what I was missing.
Now comes the other part of this thing - being able to fix stuff around the house. A couple of months back, for the first time ever (laugh if you want), I changed the light switch in my kitchen. Maybe to the average do-it-yourself raised-on-Bob-Vila sort of guy, this is a joke, but for me it was kind of a big deal. We're talking turning the power off, hands shaking as I removed the light switch box, wondering if there was some latent current that was going to ignite my hair. Somehow I did everything right and, lo and behold, the freaking light in my kitchen works again, and all without needing to call the super and waiting a few weeks.
Fine, so when I had to have my massive 10,000 BTU AC installed, I did call the super, but that was only because the thing weighed like 80 lbs. and the last thing I needed was to have my nice new AC fall out the window. If I had some help, I might have even handled that on my own, but we can move past thing.
But the thing I'm most proud of now is this weekend's toilet adventure. You see, a couple of weeks back, trusty old toilet tank decided to keep the water running indefinitely. And sure, I can just close my bathroom door and I won't hear it (just like I do to ignore the dripping from my shower), but this time I said to myself, "hell no. We're going to take care of this problem." That's right people, I took action into my own hands. Off to Home Depot I went to buy the "Total Toilet Kit" which has everything you need to make your toilet tank better. That kit stood in my bathroom for over a week before a chance delay this weekend - "sorry dude, I have to take care of some chores and can't run until later. Can you give me an extra hour?" - let me break open the box and get some fixing going.
Here I was thinking that I could take care of everything within that hour I had, but oh shit, I was wrong. The freaking toilet tank in this place probably hadn't been touched since the last Iranian Revolution. Inside was all rust and oldness and I made the mistake of deciding I didn't need to wear any gloves. By some miracle, I also happened to have all the tools I needed, save for an emergency trek back to Home Depot for a handsaw because sometimes things don't want to come apart the way they're supposed to. That's right, I now own a handsaw and that little period of time when I had it in my backpack on the way back from Home Depot I admit to contemplating what it could do to someone if they tried to attack me in midtown Manhattan in broad daylight. I had the fire in the eyes. I sat there on the F train, looking down at my greasy nails and feeling the numbness in fingertips and wondered if the people around understood what was going on with me - I was busy, I was fixing something.
Back at my place, after the two hours of work that preceded the trip to Home Depot for the handsaw, I thought that maybe the remainder would fly by. But instead I was met with more resistance from the tank, now detached and sliding around in my bathtub where, I decided, it would be less messy since I could just wash all the excess rust and dirt down the drain. More ripped skin on my hands, a nearly-crushed finger, sweat, tears, yells of frustration that I apologize to my neighbors for, and then, a total of four hours after the saga began, it came to an end. Holding my breath, I pressed down on the newly-installed plastic chrome lever and was met with the sound of flushing water followed by a filling tank and topped off with my triumph - the sweet silence of no leakage. I know that sounds weird, but you get it.
That night I went out and drank myself silly. I was on some crazy high from the whole experience. So I wondered - what about it made me feel so good despite the torture of the whole ordeal? More than anything- and this is going to sound cheesy but it's totally true - it was empowering. I maybe have a little bit of a problem with relying on people, with allowing myself to be helped. I guess that can be a bad thing sometimes, like when people really want to help you, where helping you allows them to show you that they care about you, and your rejection of that help is interpreted - wrongly - as a sign that you don't value them as much. But when it comes to stuff like this, it's kind of nice to know that I'm not totally useless with a wrench and a screwdriver.
There are already a couple of new items piling up on agenda: 1) fix the shower radio :-( and 2) hang those damn shelves that have been sitting on my dresser for 5 months.
I don't approach this with any particular direction or even with any particular intent. Rather it's just sort of a feeling I've gotten, that I want to do more of these guy things that, for whatever reason, I wasn't really exposed to growing up. Like with the camping, honestly, I'd never slept outside before my Birthright trip in the Winter of 2004-2005, and even then it was a faux-Bedouin campsite with a relatively clean and functional outdoor facility. Then came a couple more Bedoiun camp experiences on other trips, followed by my first "real" camping experience with my own campsite and my own (rented) tent in October of last year. And of course you know about my latest camping trip which was the first time I "roughed" it for two consecutive nights and had the awesome fortune of sleeping outside in the middle of a crazy thunderstorm.
I have to be honest - I loved it, and I had no idea what I was missing.
Now comes the other part of this thing - being able to fix stuff around the house. A couple of months back, for the first time ever (laugh if you want), I changed the light switch in my kitchen. Maybe to the average do-it-yourself raised-on-Bob-Vila sort of guy, this is a joke, but for me it was kind of a big deal. We're talking turning the power off, hands shaking as I removed the light switch box, wondering if there was some latent current that was going to ignite my hair. Somehow I did everything right and, lo and behold, the freaking light in my kitchen works again, and all without needing to call the super and waiting a few weeks.
Fine, so when I had to have my massive 10,000 BTU AC installed, I did call the super, but that was only because the thing weighed like 80 lbs. and the last thing I needed was to have my nice new AC fall out the window. If I had some help, I might have even handled that on my own, but we can move past thing.
But the thing I'm most proud of now is this weekend's toilet adventure. You see, a couple of weeks back, trusty old toilet tank decided to keep the water running indefinitely. And sure, I can just close my bathroom door and I won't hear it (just like I do to ignore the dripping from my shower), but this time I said to myself, "hell no. We're going to take care of this problem." That's right people, I took action into my own hands. Off to Home Depot I went to buy the "Total Toilet Kit" which has everything you need to make your toilet tank better. That kit stood in my bathroom for over a week before a chance delay this weekend - "sorry dude, I have to take care of some chores and can't run until later. Can you give me an extra hour?" - let me break open the box and get some fixing going.
Here I was thinking that I could take care of everything within that hour I had, but oh shit, I was wrong. The freaking toilet tank in this place probably hadn't been touched since the last Iranian Revolution. Inside was all rust and oldness and I made the mistake of deciding I didn't need to wear any gloves. By some miracle, I also happened to have all the tools I needed, save for an emergency trek back to Home Depot for a handsaw because sometimes things don't want to come apart the way they're supposed to. That's right, I now own a handsaw and that little period of time when I had it in my backpack on the way back from Home Depot I admit to contemplating what it could do to someone if they tried to attack me in midtown Manhattan in broad daylight. I had the fire in the eyes. I sat there on the F train, looking down at my greasy nails and feeling the numbness in fingertips and wondered if the people around understood what was going on with me - I was busy, I was fixing something.
Back at my place, after the two hours of work that preceded the trip to Home Depot for the handsaw, I thought that maybe the remainder would fly by. But instead I was met with more resistance from the tank, now detached and sliding around in my bathtub where, I decided, it would be less messy since I could just wash all the excess rust and dirt down the drain. More ripped skin on my hands, a nearly-crushed finger, sweat, tears, yells of frustration that I apologize to my neighbors for, and then, a total of four hours after the saga began, it came to an end. Holding my breath, I pressed down on the newly-installed plastic chrome lever and was met with the sound of flushing water followed by a filling tank and topped off with my triumph - the sweet silence of no leakage. I know that sounds weird, but you get it.
That night I went out and drank myself silly. I was on some crazy high from the whole experience. So I wondered - what about it made me feel so good despite the torture of the whole ordeal? More than anything- and this is going to sound cheesy but it's totally true - it was empowering. I maybe have a little bit of a problem with relying on people, with allowing myself to be helped. I guess that can be a bad thing sometimes, like when people really want to help you, where helping you allows them to show you that they care about you, and your rejection of that help is interpreted - wrongly - as a sign that you don't value them as much. But when it comes to stuff like this, it's kind of nice to know that I'm not totally useless with a wrench and a screwdriver.
There are already a couple of new items piling up on agenda: 1) fix the shower radio :-( and 2) hang those damn shelves that have been sitting on my dresser for 5 months.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Woodsman
I was out of town this weekend, engaging in some "camping" in upstate NY. There I was going around telling everyone about my weekend plans and over 50% of the people I mentioned them to corrected me - "That's not really camping, that's, like hanging out outside." Easy for you to say, but for this kid, who grew up in the sheltered confines of a Flushing apartment complex with a crack house across the street and dear old dad carrying a steel baton whenever we went outside after dark to play around in the snow, "camping" is kind of a big deal.
Put this into further context - the first time I ever slept outside (i.e. in a tent) was during my first Israel trip back in 2004. That's right, the good 'ol Bedouin tent experience. It was then that I learned the importance of having earplugs for outdoor sleeping arrangements. Besides one or two other subsequent Bedouin tent opportunities, the first time I camped in the States was last fall when I went with "the guys" to a site up near Woodstock. Sure it was tame in the sense that the site was government regulated and we had a nice stone fire pit/grill and access to decent park bathrooms, but it was still a step outside my element to say that I actually put up a tent and used lanterns to cook outside in the dark and slept on hard ground.
This time it was a jump to a two-night stay, but still in the sort of "camp" setting that people gave me crap for. I considered this a step-up in terms of my daring. And I have to be honest, that all-night lightening storm and torrential downpour that we had was pretty sweet. I woke up at 7:30 feeling all damp. I haven't peed myself in a really long time, so I looked for other explanations. Sure enough, I was sleeping in the part of the tent that was at the bottom of the site's slope and there was a nice little pool of water directly under my bag. Now that's hardcore bitches. You trying sleeping 6 hours in a pool of water. Rawr.
And heck, I didn't shower for like 60 hours, even after that quarter-day hike we went on and I got soaked during. Attacked by mosquitoes and gnats and having to contend with one toilet for an entire camp ground filled with douchie frat-types, I think I managed pretty freaking well.
So sure, I wasn't on the Appalachian trail and I didn't knife a mountain lion or drink my own urine, but baby steps. Give a brother a break. I'm feeling like next time I might be ready to go on a more thorough sort of trip where I carry all my supplies (yet to be purchased) in my massive hiking backpack (yet to be purchased) and make my way through the forest, stopping and camping out at random points. I had a friend out there with me who just got back from several months in South America and he was telling us about one of the 8-day hikes he went on, lugging around all of his stuff during 8-10 hour daily hikes. That's bad ass, to be trekking through Patagonia with 60 lbs. on your back for that long. One day. Who knows.
Also, today is Memorial Day, and so I need to acknowledge all our soldiers because one of my pet peevs is people taking this country for granted. I'm not going to get into it here or now, but I wanted to put it out there. I'm also proud, on this Memorial Day, to be the owner of a brand new passport. Thank you State Department. Major ups to you. Only shitty part is the pic I ended up submitting which will now represent me in all foreign locals for the next 10 years. I went into the photo shop all psyched, ready to take a good pic, feeling confident that this one would be way better than the 17 year-old me with the fuzzy mustache that I've had to carry around for the last decade. I did everything they tell you to do - wear a bland colored shirt, not smile, and have a kick-ass hair day. All factors gearing me up for a great shot, except that when it came out it looked like I had a lazy eye. I went around for like 3 days asking people whether I actually did have a lazy eye until I finally realized that it's a photographic effect caused by the guy's off-centered flash reflecting off of my retina (or at least that's what I came to tell myself was the problem). In either case, I've replaced what I had with a pic that makes me look like a Russian criminal. Well done.
Last thing, regarding Memorial Day, as our group was passing through the little town around our campgrounds looking for some nice pancake house, there were a few veterans standing around collecting money for their local veteran's association. I stopped to give the guy a $3 donation and then he proceeded to give me back two of my dollars, saying that one was enough. I didn't necessarily get this but I took the money and repocketed it. Then he looks down at the shirt I'm wearing, which happens to be an Israeli Navy shirt because I own several pieces of Israeli military apparel (and yes, I know no one in Israel would be caught dead wearing one of these, and yes I realize that on some level it's played out and cheesy, but I think you'll manage just fine knowing that I still wear mine). I see him thinking about it for a second, and then he goes, "Israeli Navy!? Why not!?" Just made me smile.
Put this into further context - the first time I ever slept outside (i.e. in a tent) was during my first Israel trip back in 2004. That's right, the good 'ol Bedouin tent experience. It was then that I learned the importance of having earplugs for outdoor sleeping arrangements. Besides one or two other subsequent Bedouin tent opportunities, the first time I camped in the States was last fall when I went with "the guys" to a site up near Woodstock. Sure it was tame in the sense that the site was government regulated and we had a nice stone fire pit/grill and access to decent park bathrooms, but it was still a step outside my element to say that I actually put up a tent and used lanterns to cook outside in the dark and slept on hard ground.
This time it was a jump to a two-night stay, but still in the sort of "camp" setting that people gave me crap for. I considered this a step-up in terms of my daring. And I have to be honest, that all-night lightening storm and torrential downpour that we had was pretty sweet. I woke up at 7:30 feeling all damp. I haven't peed myself in a really long time, so I looked for other explanations. Sure enough, I was sleeping in the part of the tent that was at the bottom of the site's slope and there was a nice little pool of water directly under my bag. Now that's hardcore bitches. You trying sleeping 6 hours in a pool of water. Rawr.
And heck, I didn't shower for like 60 hours, even after that quarter-day hike we went on and I got soaked during. Attacked by mosquitoes and gnats and having to contend with one toilet for an entire camp ground filled with douchie frat-types, I think I managed pretty freaking well.
So sure, I wasn't on the Appalachian trail and I didn't knife a mountain lion or drink my own urine, but baby steps. Give a brother a break. I'm feeling like next time I might be ready to go on a more thorough sort of trip where I carry all my supplies (yet to be purchased) in my massive hiking backpack (yet to be purchased) and make my way through the forest, stopping and camping out at random points. I had a friend out there with me who just got back from several months in South America and he was telling us about one of the 8-day hikes he went on, lugging around all of his stuff during 8-10 hour daily hikes. That's bad ass, to be trekking through Patagonia with 60 lbs. on your back for that long. One day. Who knows.
Also, today is Memorial Day, and so I need to acknowledge all our soldiers because one of my pet peevs is people taking this country for granted. I'm not going to get into it here or now, but I wanted to put it out there. I'm also proud, on this Memorial Day, to be the owner of a brand new passport. Thank you State Department. Major ups to you. Only shitty part is the pic I ended up submitting which will now represent me in all foreign locals for the next 10 years. I went into the photo shop all psyched, ready to take a good pic, feeling confident that this one would be way better than the 17 year-old me with the fuzzy mustache that I've had to carry around for the last decade. I did everything they tell you to do - wear a bland colored shirt, not smile, and have a kick-ass hair day. All factors gearing me up for a great shot, except that when it came out it looked like I had a lazy eye. I went around for like 3 days asking people whether I actually did have a lazy eye until I finally realized that it's a photographic effect caused by the guy's off-centered flash reflecting off of my retina (or at least that's what I came to tell myself was the problem). In either case, I've replaced what I had with a pic that makes me look like a Russian criminal. Well done.
Last thing, regarding Memorial Day, as our group was passing through the little town around our campgrounds looking for some nice pancake house, there were a few veterans standing around collecting money for their local veteran's association. I stopped to give the guy a $3 donation and then he proceeded to give me back two of my dollars, saying that one was enough. I didn't necessarily get this but I took the money and repocketed it. Then he looks down at the shirt I'm wearing, which happens to be an Israeli Navy shirt because I own several pieces of Israeli military apparel (and yes, I know no one in Israel would be caught dead wearing one of these, and yes I realize that on some level it's played out and cheesy, but I think you'll manage just fine knowing that I still wear mine). I see him thinking about it for a second, and then he goes, "Israeli Navy!? Why not!?" Just made me smile.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Joe
"Damn, this is fucking brilliant." He's already eating the cookie as he's sitting down across from me, maneuvering himself into the steel chair across from me, on the other side of the round yellow table.
"Since when do you say 'brilliant?'"
"What? Brilliant. Who cares? They say it in commercials."
I'm watching the crumbs collecting all around, but not inside, his plate. The cookie is 3/4 of the way eaten before he offers it to me. "Dude. Try this. Vegan molasses. I can't believe it's vegan." He holds it up towards me in a way that suggests he knows I'm not going to take him up on his offer.
"I'm OK."
"Suit yourself." The cookie disappears.
"So how has it been?" I ask, absent-mindedly swirling the coffee with my straw.
"Meaning?" He plays coy on purpose.
"The job stuff."
"What about it?"
"Have you been doing OK?"
"How else would I be doing?" He uses the tip of his finger to pick up some of the crumbs on the table and brings it to his lips. "It's not the end of the world."
"I know, but, I mean, I guess it can't be easy."
"Nah, whatever. It's kind of a good thing, helps you reprioritize what's important and what's not. Trim the fat, you know?"
"I guess."
"Yeah." he looks away, towards the windows, where the first hints of summer highlight girls finally walking around in skirts and dresses after a long and dreary absence of legs.
"So is there a plan?"
"Huh?" He refocusses his attention on me. "What?"
"Is there a plan? Are you, like, approaching this in a certain way?"
"Am I approaching this in a certain way? Yeah, I cash my unemployment checks, get a whole shitload of singles, and blow it all at strip clubs. That's how I'm approaching it."
I laugh, "funny thing is you're probably telling me the truth."
"Funny thing is that I'm not." He starts looking around again, then leans in and whispers, but loud enough that I know the people in the tables next to us can hear. "Dude, there are so many hot girls here."
"What did you expect, it's the West Village."
He pushes himself back again, throwing his body against the chair so that it tilts a little and he has a moment where he shuffles to regain his balance. "Shit, these things are death traps."
"Try not to be so animated and I think you'll be OK."
"Seriously though, it's crazy. All day I walk around and I'm staring at everyone. Everyone is hot! I think I need a girl. But first, I need a job. You know, it's not easy meeting women when you don't have a job."
"I can see that. But maybe it's the new black, you know? Like it's 'in' now. All those unemployed bankers. Maybe it's a little more acceptable than it would have been a few months ago."
"Give me a fucking break."
I laugh, "Fine, maybe not."
"You're such a douchebag."
"Chill. I'm just trying to lighten the mood." And really, I am, but now I feel like I've inadvertently offended him.
"There's a time and a place for your dark humor, and this is neither the time nor the place." His gaze is fixed on me, his finger pointed right at my face. Then he dips that same finger back towards the crumbs and brings some fresh ones to his mouth. "Why is it that all our conversations go back to women?"
"It's kind of a fascinating subject."
"It is." He delivers an impassioned nod.
"And we're in our 20s."
"We are."
"And male."
"Keep it coming with the worthless details. Lets do this." He closes his eyes and spreads a Cheshire Cat grin across his face.
"And you desperately need to find your better half because this half is lagging the fuck behind."
"Dude, no more unemployment jokes. It's getting old."
"You read into that one. I was talking about your weight."
"You find me an extra $60/month and I'll sign up for the damn gym." He grabs at the side of his stomach and pinches. "I don't think this used to be here."
"Honestly, you've looked the same for like the last 10 years." I feel bad that maybe he might be taking more of this personally than I thought.
"So you're saying that 10 years ago I was hotter?"
"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Can we change the subject? Isn't there something else we can talk about?" His attention wanes again. "That waitress is cute," he says, tilting his head towards her with an intent to be all inconspicuous-like, but in short, tense movements that makes it look like he has a nervous tic. "Is she always here?"
"Pretty much."
"This place totally raises my spirits. I just need to be around hot women and I feel better. Anxious and bothered and love-lorn, but better." He sits for a moment, motionless, contemplating something. "Ah!"
"What!?"
"Let's change the subject, this is driving me nuts."
"Fine. We can always talk about Swine Flu."
"Um, don't you mean H1N1?"
"You're an asshole."
"Thank you Dr. Sanjay Gupta."
"Since when do you say 'brilliant?'"
"What? Brilliant. Who cares? They say it in commercials."
I'm watching the crumbs collecting all around, but not inside, his plate. The cookie is 3/4 of the way eaten before he offers it to me. "Dude. Try this. Vegan molasses. I can't believe it's vegan." He holds it up towards me in a way that suggests he knows I'm not going to take him up on his offer.
"I'm OK."
"Suit yourself." The cookie disappears.
"So how has it been?" I ask, absent-mindedly swirling the coffee with my straw.
"Meaning?" He plays coy on purpose.
"The job stuff."
"What about it?"
"Have you been doing OK?"
"How else would I be doing?" He uses the tip of his finger to pick up some of the crumbs on the table and brings it to his lips. "It's not the end of the world."
"I know, but, I mean, I guess it can't be easy."
"Nah, whatever. It's kind of a good thing, helps you reprioritize what's important and what's not. Trim the fat, you know?"
"I guess."
"Yeah." he looks away, towards the windows, where the first hints of summer highlight girls finally walking around in skirts and dresses after a long and dreary absence of legs.
"So is there a plan?"
"Huh?" He refocusses his attention on me. "What?"
"Is there a plan? Are you, like, approaching this in a certain way?"
"Am I approaching this in a certain way? Yeah, I cash my unemployment checks, get a whole shitload of singles, and blow it all at strip clubs. That's how I'm approaching it."
I laugh, "funny thing is you're probably telling me the truth."
"Funny thing is that I'm not." He starts looking around again, then leans in and whispers, but loud enough that I know the people in the tables next to us can hear. "Dude, there are so many hot girls here."
"What did you expect, it's the West Village."
He pushes himself back again, throwing his body against the chair so that it tilts a little and he has a moment where he shuffles to regain his balance. "Shit, these things are death traps."
"Try not to be so animated and I think you'll be OK."
"Seriously though, it's crazy. All day I walk around and I'm staring at everyone. Everyone is hot! I think I need a girl. But first, I need a job. You know, it's not easy meeting women when you don't have a job."
"I can see that. But maybe it's the new black, you know? Like it's 'in' now. All those unemployed bankers. Maybe it's a little more acceptable than it would have been a few months ago."
"Give me a fucking break."
I laugh, "Fine, maybe not."
"You're such a douchebag."
"Chill. I'm just trying to lighten the mood." And really, I am, but now I feel like I've inadvertently offended him.
"There's a time and a place for your dark humor, and this is neither the time nor the place." His gaze is fixed on me, his finger pointed right at my face. Then he dips that same finger back towards the crumbs and brings some fresh ones to his mouth. "Why is it that all our conversations go back to women?"
"It's kind of a fascinating subject."
"It is." He delivers an impassioned nod.
"And we're in our 20s."
"We are."
"And male."
"Keep it coming with the worthless details. Lets do this." He closes his eyes and spreads a Cheshire Cat grin across his face.
"And you desperately need to find your better half because this half is lagging the fuck behind."
"Dude, no more unemployment jokes. It's getting old."
"You read into that one. I was talking about your weight."
"You find me an extra $60/month and I'll sign up for the damn gym." He grabs at the side of his stomach and pinches. "I don't think this used to be here."
"Honestly, you've looked the same for like the last 10 years." I feel bad that maybe he might be taking more of this personally than I thought.
"So you're saying that 10 years ago I was hotter?"
"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Can we change the subject? Isn't there something else we can talk about?" His attention wanes again. "That waitress is cute," he says, tilting his head towards her with an intent to be all inconspicuous-like, but in short, tense movements that makes it look like he has a nervous tic. "Is she always here?"
"Pretty much."
"This place totally raises my spirits. I just need to be around hot women and I feel better. Anxious and bothered and love-lorn, but better." He sits for a moment, motionless, contemplating something. "Ah!"
"What!?"
"Let's change the subject, this is driving me nuts."
"Fine. We can always talk about Swine Flu."
"Um, don't you mean H1N1?"
"You're an asshole."
"Thank you Dr. Sanjay Gupta."
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Cigarettes
"Shit." She lifted her purse up to her face and stuck her head inside.
"Hold this," she said, handing me her coffee and tossing in the liberated arm in an effort to fish something from the bottom. The deli clerk looked on curiously.
Out came her cell phone, a packet of tissues, the case for her sunglasses, a rolled up issue of US Weekly, the pages of which unfurled as she populated the plastic counter with the "if you were born after this date in 1991, we won't sell you tobacco products" sticker.
"Don't judge," she said without looking at me, still trying to see to the bottom of the purse.
I smiled, "whatever. I know you're just taking a break from 'The Economist.'"
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We can't all be as intellectual as you."
"We're so fucking old."
"What?"
I pointed to the sticker. "1991? Damn."
She didn't answer, choosing instead to focus on her task. A hand finally emerged with a fistful of change that she spread out. Among the dimes and nickles, the copper gleam of the pennies made her face glow triumphant. Her fingers began pulling apart the coins, counting up to the $1.52 that she still owed for her packet of cigarettes. The rest of the change clanged against objects as swiped it back into her purse and let it sink back down to the bottom.
"You should consider getting a little change thingy."
The clerk huffed in annoyance as he recounted everything and rang it up, passing the Marlboro Lights over to her.
"Thanks!" she said in her sprightly way, and ran out of the deli. I grabbed the other items that she left on the counter.
"Hey, you might want these."
"Yeah. Good call." She let me throw everything back inside the bag as it hung from her shoulder, using her free hands to light the cigarette that was already fixed between her lips. After a few self-congratulatory drags, she pulled her sunglasses down over the eyes still puffy from the previous night's binge drinking, and turned to look at me.
"So."
"So."
"I'd offer you a cigarette but you don't smoke. Gum?"
"No, thanks. And I do smoke, every now and then, while I'm out sometimes. But I don't think I've ever had one up in the middle of the afternoon."
"Judgy judgy." Her voice squeaked in a way that indicated she was in the process of losing it.
"I'm not being judgmental. I'm just saying."
"It was your tone."
"Hey, if you read into my tone, that's your own thing. Don't blame me for your insecurity."
"We can do this all day. Every time we meet up we end up sparing."
"I'm sorry." I threw up my hands in a highly excited manner and grabbed her shoulders playfully. "I'm so sorry!"
She pushed me away, "OK, OK. Stop. Thank you. OK."
I laughed. "Why so serious? With your monster bee glasses. Those things are like eye parasols. You're scaring me."
"My eyes are very sensitive to the sun. And they were only closed for 4 hours last night. I showed, didn't I? Even though I went out last night."
"Well sure, you'd be lame if you flaked out on our once-every-6-months coffee because you decided to go out. I don't see how this is you doing me a favor..."
"God, you don't stop do you?" She finally began walking towards the subway.
"Whatever, you like it." I followed alongside.
"Clearly enough that we only hang out twice a year."
"Yeah, why is that?"
"Busy. Life. Responsibilities. You being annoying."
"It would probably just be weird if we actually saw each other more than that. Like what would we talk about? I feel like we have the sort of relationship where stuff needs to build up for a few months in order for us to be able to have anything to say."
"That's sort of sad, isn't it?" She took another puff and blew out a cloud of smoke that misted transparent as we walked through it.
"I don't know. I don't think so." I looked ahead, down the street, squinting from the light.
"Well," she tilted her head towards me and took my arm, "then I will cherish these next few moments that we have."
I glanced down at her. "You're always looking for an excuse to have physical contact with me."
"I guess I can't help myself," she said sarcastically. "It's just that you have such shapely arms." She pulled herself away abruptly and threw the finish cigarette to the ground without stepping on it. "It was good seeing you though."
"Yeah. Definitely. I'd say we should do this more often but, well, you know."
"Probably wouldn't work out anyway."
"Probably not."
"You taking the F?" She asked, pointing to the station we had arrived at.
"Brooklyn."
"You and Brooklyn. I never would have guessed. It seems like its becoming serious."
"What can I say? She's after my own heart."
"And we know how picky you are."
There was that accenting moment of silence that always crawled into the conclusion of our conversations, reminding that we wouldn't see each other again for a long while. It was always those pauses that I recalled whenever I thought back to our previous meet-ups.
"And so," I finally started, "you're doing well? You're happy?" I wanted to leave with a highly simplified image of her in my mind, ignore the complexities that had dominated the last three hours of our time.
"I am," she said, smiling at me from behind the glasses that made it impossible to tell where she was looking. "Everything is really good."
I pulled her towards me to give her a hug, the stubble from my cheek grabbing at her hair as it brushed past. Her arms wrapped around me mechanically, politely. In the middle of the hold, she suddenly squeezed me tight for a second, relaxed, and then squeezed tight again for a moment longer.
"Well," her voice was squeaky again as she released me and moved away backwards on her heels, her flip-flops smacking against the pavement, "enjoy your ridiculously long commute."
I waved to her. "You don't have to worry about me."
She smiled as she turned to continue down the street, "I never do."
"Hold this," she said, handing me her coffee and tossing in the liberated arm in an effort to fish something from the bottom. The deli clerk looked on curiously.
Out came her cell phone, a packet of tissues, the case for her sunglasses, a rolled up issue of US Weekly, the pages of which unfurled as she populated the plastic counter with the "if you were born after this date in 1991, we won't sell you tobacco products" sticker.
"Don't judge," she said without looking at me, still trying to see to the bottom of the purse.
I smiled, "whatever. I know you're just taking a break from 'The Economist.'"
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We can't all be as intellectual as you."
"We're so fucking old."
"What?"
I pointed to the sticker. "1991? Damn."
She didn't answer, choosing instead to focus on her task. A hand finally emerged with a fistful of change that she spread out. Among the dimes and nickles, the copper gleam of the pennies made her face glow triumphant. Her fingers began pulling apart the coins, counting up to the $1.52 that she still owed for her packet of cigarettes. The rest of the change clanged against objects as swiped it back into her purse and let it sink back down to the bottom.
"You should consider getting a little change thingy."
The clerk huffed in annoyance as he recounted everything and rang it up, passing the Marlboro Lights over to her.
"Thanks!" she said in her sprightly way, and ran out of the deli. I grabbed the other items that she left on the counter.
"Hey, you might want these."
"Yeah. Good call." She let me throw everything back inside the bag as it hung from her shoulder, using her free hands to light the cigarette that was already fixed between her lips. After a few self-congratulatory drags, she pulled her sunglasses down over the eyes still puffy from the previous night's binge drinking, and turned to look at me.
"So."
"So."
"I'd offer you a cigarette but you don't smoke. Gum?"
"No, thanks. And I do smoke, every now and then, while I'm out sometimes. But I don't think I've ever had one up in the middle of the afternoon."
"Judgy judgy." Her voice squeaked in a way that indicated she was in the process of losing it.
"I'm not being judgmental. I'm just saying."
"It was your tone."
"Hey, if you read into my tone, that's your own thing. Don't blame me for your insecurity."
"We can do this all day. Every time we meet up we end up sparing."
"I'm sorry." I threw up my hands in a highly excited manner and grabbed her shoulders playfully. "I'm so sorry!"
She pushed me away, "OK, OK. Stop. Thank you. OK."
I laughed. "Why so serious? With your monster bee glasses. Those things are like eye parasols. You're scaring me."
"My eyes are very sensitive to the sun. And they were only closed for 4 hours last night. I showed, didn't I? Even though I went out last night."
"Well sure, you'd be lame if you flaked out on our once-every-6-months coffee because you decided to go out. I don't see how this is you doing me a favor..."
"God, you don't stop do you?" She finally began walking towards the subway.
"Whatever, you like it." I followed alongside.
"Clearly enough that we only hang out twice a year."
"Yeah, why is that?"
"Busy. Life. Responsibilities. You being annoying."
"It would probably just be weird if we actually saw each other more than that. Like what would we talk about? I feel like we have the sort of relationship where stuff needs to build up for a few months in order for us to be able to have anything to say."
"That's sort of sad, isn't it?" She took another puff and blew out a cloud of smoke that misted transparent as we walked through it.
"I don't know. I don't think so." I looked ahead, down the street, squinting from the light.
"Well," she tilted her head towards me and took my arm, "then I will cherish these next few moments that we have."
I glanced down at her. "You're always looking for an excuse to have physical contact with me."
"I guess I can't help myself," she said sarcastically. "It's just that you have such shapely arms." She pulled herself away abruptly and threw the finish cigarette to the ground without stepping on it. "It was good seeing you though."
"Yeah. Definitely. I'd say we should do this more often but, well, you know."
"Probably wouldn't work out anyway."
"Probably not."
"You taking the F?" She asked, pointing to the station we had arrived at.
"Brooklyn."
"You and Brooklyn. I never would have guessed. It seems like its becoming serious."
"What can I say? She's after my own heart."
"And we know how picky you are."
There was that accenting moment of silence that always crawled into the conclusion of our conversations, reminding that we wouldn't see each other again for a long while. It was always those pauses that I recalled whenever I thought back to our previous meet-ups.
"And so," I finally started, "you're doing well? You're happy?" I wanted to leave with a highly simplified image of her in my mind, ignore the complexities that had dominated the last three hours of our time.
"I am," she said, smiling at me from behind the glasses that made it impossible to tell where she was looking. "Everything is really good."
I pulled her towards me to give her a hug, the stubble from my cheek grabbing at her hair as it brushed past. Her arms wrapped around me mechanically, politely. In the middle of the hold, she suddenly squeezed me tight for a second, relaxed, and then squeezed tight again for a moment longer.
"Well," her voice was squeaky again as she released me and moved away backwards on her heels, her flip-flops smacking against the pavement, "enjoy your ridiculously long commute."
I waved to her. "You don't have to worry about me."
She smiled as she turned to continue down the street, "I never do."
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