:: My Reality ::

"80% Alternate Universe, 20% Barely Hanging On!"
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:: Friday, October 17, 2003 ::

The backgound music I put on is driving me crazy...Too loud, Makes me jittery, Like a forewarning of disaster. I'm trying to figure out how to put one of my mellow guitar pieces in the background.


Diet time is here: South Beach or Palm Beach, something like that. I'm starving here! Time for some nuts or cheese, or bacon or steak.

Humorous comments about Rush can be found here.
It's Friday afternoon, of course my favorite time of all. Still at work but not working. Sleepy, seeing double as I try not to nod. Just got out of a 2 hr afternoon meeting, long, boring one that put me and a lot of other people to sleep. I kept trying to concetrate by having sexual fantasies about my boss! She's tall, not thin, with vibrations that make me sit up and take notice. But I couldn't keep it going for that long (alas). So now the sleepiness has carried over and I'm hoping I can wake up for the drive home.

SATURDAY UPDATE:

I'm working at the library today, 9:00-2:00. Damn I hope I don't miss any good football. Looking forward to some good movies tonight. Saw The Matrix Reloaded, Monday night. Didn't quite undertstand the ending. Enjoyed the Oracle Program and the Programer's explanation of it all. But how did Neil get hooked up with Judas? What's gonna come of that?! Guess I'll have to wait till Revolution!

:: Tom 9:14 AM [+] ::
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:: Wednesday, October 15, 2003 ::
Wearing: Grey button down with tiny black check pattern.

Listening to: Dido

Munching on: Honey bun w/coffee

I have been enjoying myself for the last week or so. Took several days off from work, did nothing 'cept work around the house. That and play with 'Niff, the big red dog. What a moose-cow the 'Niff is. She sleeps at the end of the bed, but in the morning, when we rise, she crawls up between Deb and I and makes the sweetest of faces! She is such a sweetheart! But still a big moose-cow! We truely love the 'Niff. One day I'll post pix of the big goof.

Saw the good Doctor today. We both agreed, steady as she goes (bell rings twice). No Stella (triflourperazine), No Adderall (amphetamine salts). Which reminds me that for this entire month, no matter how bad I feel, I will still be feeling better than Rush.

Played a Taylor 414 today. That's the concert model of the 400 Series, smaller than the dreadnaught, but with a very rich sound. Just not quite as powerful as the 410 or 415. The 410, as you remember is the one I let slip through my fingers. I have forgiven myself for that misadventure, but still yearn for the days when I owned that beautiful instrument.

I have been having fairly severe carpel tunnel pain in both hands/arms as of late. I use to think it was made worse by my guitar playing, but since my latest addiction is watching TV six hours a night, now I'm thinking the clicker is causing this! Honest, I click away, sometimes watching 2 or 3 shows, movies, football games, whatever, all at the same time, clicking back and forth. Of course this is a male thing. My incessant clicking drives Deb crazy. Sometimes she'll just grab it from me..."Give me the damn thing!"

As you might remember I commented on the 1965 movie Blow-Up in a previous post. It was a showcase for mid-60's Mod culture complete with Mary Quaint fashions, pot and casual sex. Director Michael Antonioni's vision was one of the artist caught up in a soul-less society and his redemption through his craft (photography). Coincidentally, I have happened upon Julio Cortazar's book of short stories containing the original Blow-Up. Cortazar's original is a tale of a photographer peeling away emotional layers of a scene he shoots as if it were the skin of an onion. Each layer, represented by successive enlagements of the photograph, is more painful than the one before. There are lessons of context and point-of-view for the artist and those who view art. What a wonderful experience to reflect on a 40 yr old movie memory and have it freshly retold!


:: Tom 2:51 PM [+] ::
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:: Monday, October 13, 2003 ::
The Twenty Dollar Mango

Frankie was a regular guy, what you might call a stand-up guy. It's just that he had a coupl'a bad habits. He beat one of them, cigarettes. But the other, gambling, proved to be more difficult. Seems there was no patch to help you quit scratch-off tickets. Not that he lost a lot of money...well I guess that would be determined by what you call "a lot." "A lot" for Frankie was $30. $40. $50 or more a day. Which was his usual contribution to the Lottery Education Fund. Yeah, he was hooked.

Frankie did most of his wagering (always on Scratch-off tickets) at lunch time. He always visited his friend Tony who ran a cramped but sunny liquor store in a strip mall not far from Frankie's day job. Frankie stopped by almost every day to buy scratch offs. In doing so, he became true friends with Tony, a Lebanesae immigrant who had owned the store for 10 years. They talked about each other's kids, ex wives (Tony's ex tragically died of pulmanary hypertension the summer before). Tony talked about once being an engineer constructing dams in Tunis, and on around Morrocco down the west coast of Africa. He talked of picking cashews off the trees (poisonous untill roasted), of wild mango groves he had helped clear with machette's.

A cast of eccentric characters wandered in and out of Tony's liquor store. Homeless alcoholics stopped bv for a pint of Mr. Boston Vodka with money they had gathered from the kindness of drivers at Interstate exit ramps. Others were lottery players using systems they had derived from the hymnal page numbers posted on Sundays worship schedule. Assorted young people came in to cash payroll checks (Tony charged 2.5%) Store owners came in asking for $5.00 in quarters to help them get through their noon day rush. All had one thing in common: They all thought the world of Tony.

Frankie didn't have many friends. He worked alone, not part of the usual team/project scenario so prevalent in offices. Frankie's boss didn't really understand what Frankie did and didn't really want to. It got so Frankie could pretty much come and go as he pleased. Tony became one of Frankies' real friends. Frankie would run by the grocery store and buy bread and fruit and cheese and together, Frankie and Tony would have lunch at the counter of the liquor store. Other customers were always welcome to share a chunk of french bread or section of grapefruit or maybe a section of mango which Tony would deftly slice with a knife. Frankie had never seen a mango cut and served in this manner. A section was cut, skin still attached. And then Tony would press on the back of the slice and the juicy golden fruit would fan out from the skin and stand invitingly for eating. This became their ritual. Bread, maybe some fresh sliced turkey from the grocery deli, swiss cheese. And of course, the mango which rang up at a dollar a piece off season and two for a dollar in season. Tony always asked how much the mangos costs on a given day. He harkened back to the days in Africa when they were $2.00 a dozen.

Frankie looked forward to lunch time each day. Gambling took a back seat to conversations with Tony. And yet he couldn't give up his addiction. He would just get that part out of the way, not paying much attentiion. He usually lost. Then he would start with some topic, sometimes politics, and Tony would add his international two cents.
This was the way it would play out most days. One particular day, Frankie had brought the usual mango, and Tony was busy applying his patented slice, fan and serve technique. The knife he used was an enourmous butcher knife. Frankie was not paying much attention to what was going on around him; He was scratching away on a "Lucky Seven" ticket, trying to line up three sevens. Then a very loud voice beside said "Hey old man! Give my all your money!" Frankie jumped, his hair on end, and looked to his left. Here was a slender black man, in his 20's with a gun. He was nervous, waving the gun back and forth. "C'mon man, open up the register!" Then, in one swift move, Tony lunged accross the counter with the butcher knife and plunged it deep into the throat of the would be robber. Immediately blood spurted. It streamed out of the sliced artery onto the counter, onto the mango. the young man, still standing, staggering, tried to scream but only gurgled and spit blood. He spit blood into Frankie's face. Frankie vomited.
Tony still held the knife in position in the robbers throat. Breathless, eyes wide, Tony was talking in arabic, it sounded like praying. He pulled the knife back the perpetrator fell to the floor, bloody and lifeless. For a silent moment, a moment which seemed to last longer than it really did, Tony and Frankie stood and stared in horror. "Somebody call 911," Frankie said at last. Tony called and in a mixture of English and Arabic told the address to the operator. The police arrived in minutes.

Aftermath
Frankie stayed away from the liquor store for a few days. When he came back, the counter area had been cleaned up, Tony said he had a cleaning service come in. Frankie didn't have much to say to Tony that day. He didn't even want to gamble. His visits became few. His gambling habit died. Later that year, Tony sold the liquor store to a younger man. He retired. Frankie dropped by the store a few times out of curiosity but didn't like the new owner.

About a year later, Frankie was at the airport to meet his daughter who was flying back from Europe. He made his way to the international section, a separate waiting area from the rest of the terminal. He was in the back of a large group when he saw Tony! He made his way to the front of the group and embraced his old friend. "Frankie, Frankie, Frankie, I miss my old friend." "Me too, Tony. I miss you too." Tony was there to greet his older brother from Syria. They talked a while, caught up on kids and ex wives, and left it at that, not mentioning that terrible day. Frankie introduced his daughter to Tony when she came off the plane. They said their good byes and Frankie walked his daughter down the corridor, looking back once and waving to Tony who waved back.

:: Tom 6:01 PM [+] ::
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