Note: From time to time, I post entries from a diary I kept sometime ago. I'm in the midst of editing it and putting it out in book form. It's about a life in the US and the struggle for a piece of the American Dream in post 9-11 NYC. I usually post stuff with a more sports' bent. This one has small bits of it but deals more with random thoughts that would pepper my mind and consciousness. I removed some parts from it. I have a lot of videos that I'd post but if I do, it will be in the11-11pages.
September 2004
Fall was here. In my faux macho cool, I thought that maybe I could still not go around with a heavy jacket. The moment I stepped out of the house and on to the porch, I felt the winter chill rattle my bones. I went back inside and got my jacket and beanie. Now I'm off.
I've got this crazy fear of heights. But the $20 seats are the ones I can afford. I choose to sit high up there in case of a foul ball, I'll see it coming and catch it. I once saw this girl in the seats behind first base and she got her jaw broken when a foul ball messed up her face . I sure as hell didn't want that to happen to me. So between the heights and a broken jaw, I figured the heights was something I could deal with. Just don't look down, Rick.
But what -- I must be like 70 feet high up? Who knows? All I know is that I can see the brownstone apartments outside the park and Muhammad Ali on this huge billboard. And I feel that this is one game that is going to extra innings and late into the night. I think about the hassle of going back to Jersey. The 99S bus will be moving to the higher platforms past 1130. And if the game ends real late then we'll have to move to the basement of the Port Authority. There are human clerks anymore at this time so I have to purchase a ticket from those vendo machines that are so old that it's almost impossible to read. You have to be commuting for ages to know which ones to press. The Path Train is out so I'll have to make do.
The crowd has thinned out probably hating the September cold or they figure they'll finish the game on TV. I think about it but instead I stay to finish the game that ends at 11:15. I join what's left of the pinstriped crush to hurry to the subway and back to midtown. Some yawn, a few chat about the game. Why I bothered is born out of a desire to watch every Yankees game I can and make up for lost time. It isn't practical but my answer is, "You only live once." There it is. In case you want to know, I never did keep the streak going. Economics, see? And later on, gimmicks.
I'm the only one into baseball as most of my friends are into basketball and football (soccer). So I'm alone again.
Call it escape if you want. I'm exiled in the Big Apple. I enjoy her myriad delights but there's a tug in my heart and in my soul knowing that it isn't nowhere within the vicinity of complete joy because I'm alone.
I tug at my jacket's collar and pull the beanie down low. Sometimes I think I'd never get bothered about it, but it does rankle me.
The funny thing about this time of the night is that all the illegal sidewalk vendors are out. Hawkers display pirated DVDs in the platform. If you notice it well, they're all atop a blanket. All the better for them to make their quick escape.
There's this -- I'm not sure if they're a brother and sister of bf/gf -- combo that I follow in the subway. The girl plays a violin while the dude strums and acoustic guitar. I once saw them underneath the Bethesda Terrace in Central Park where I took a video of them. They were playing an unbelievable version of Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons" during a beautiful summer day. And if you're not in the mood for love then you're probably dead .
I think about that. My boss's favorite album is Rod Stewart's The Great American Songbook Volume II. He plays it like several times a day and if you don't like it you will by day's end.
I stay awhile to watch then I figure now I'm late and I'll have to go to the basement of Port Authority. With the long lines, I'll probably have to wait another hour for the next bus. It's past 12 by the time I alight onto Times Square. It's humming with people. I think of Shibuya in Tokyo and Kimberly/Carnarvon Road in Tsim Sha Tsui. Night spots and neon. Alcohol, coffee, and a nicotine fix.
I plug into my ipod and load the soundtrack of Lost In Translation. Squarepusher's "Tommib" drones in the back of my head. If I smoked cancer sticks I'd light up one right now. The soundtrack is strangely disaffecting. Music for late night lounge lizards and lonely people. Yep, that's me. In the City That Never Sleeps yet I'm rushing home when I know I won't get any sleep. At best, what -- four hours? I wake up early anyhow then I'm prepping for work.
I'll need my rest and strength. It's only recently that I learned to skate. Once I learned how, I began to play hockey. Yes, play. I can play only I am not even good. I'm stiff and slow like an arthritic old codger. It doesn't come naturally. But I can play defense and stick 'em some.
Don't I feel like Jim Carrey in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind always talking to myself and thinking aloud? Plain thinking all the time. And Coldplay's Parachutes is now playing. Swell.
I'm sitting by my window sill. The pane is shut and I place my hand on the window. It leaves the print of my palm with some frost. God, it's cold. It's 2am and I can't sleep.
Fall was here. In my faux macho cool, I thought that maybe I could still not go around with a heavy jacket. The moment I stepped out of the house and on to the porch, I felt the winter chill rattle my bones. I went back inside and got my jacket and beanie. Now I'm off.
I've got this crazy fear of heights. But the $20 seats are the ones I can afford. I choose to sit high up there in case of a foul ball, I'll see it coming and catch it. I once saw this girl in the seats behind first base and she got her jaw broken when a foul ball messed up her face . I sure as hell didn't want that to happen to me. So between the heights and a broken jaw, I figured the heights was something I could deal with. Just don't look down, Rick.
But what -- I must be like 70 feet high up? Who knows? All I know is that I can see the brownstone apartments outside the park and Muhammad Ali on this huge billboard. And I feel that this is one game that is going to extra innings and late into the night. I think about the hassle of going back to Jersey. The 99S bus will be moving to the higher platforms past 1130. And if the game ends real late then we'll have to move to the basement of the Port Authority. There are human clerks anymore at this time so I have to purchase a ticket from those vendo machines that are so old that it's almost impossible to read. You have to be commuting for ages to know which ones to press. The Path Train is out so I'll have to make do.
The crowd has thinned out probably hating the September cold or they figure they'll finish the game on TV. I think about it but instead I stay to finish the game that ends at 11:15. I join what's left of the pinstriped crush to hurry to the subway and back to midtown. Some yawn, a few chat about the game. Why I bothered is born out of a desire to watch every Yankees game I can and make up for lost time. It isn't practical but my answer is, "You only live once." There it is. In case you want to know, I never did keep the streak going. Economics, see? And later on, gimmicks.
I'm the only one into baseball as most of my friends are into basketball and football (soccer). So I'm alone again.
Call it escape if you want. I'm exiled in the Big Apple. I enjoy her myriad delights but there's a tug in my heart and in my soul knowing that it isn't nowhere within the vicinity of complete joy because I'm alone.
I tug at my jacket's collar and pull the beanie down low. Sometimes I think I'd never get bothered about it, but it does rankle me.
The funny thing about this time of the night is that all the illegal sidewalk vendors are out. Hawkers display pirated DVDs in the platform. If you notice it well, they're all atop a blanket. All the better for them to make their quick escape.
There's this -- I'm not sure if they're a brother and sister of bf/gf -- combo that I follow in the subway. The girl plays a violin while the dude strums and acoustic guitar. I once saw them underneath the Bethesda Terrace in Central Park where I took a video of them. They were playing an unbelievable version of Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons" during a beautiful summer day. And if you're not in the mood for love then you're probably dead .I think about that. My boss's favorite album is Rod Stewart's The Great American Songbook Volume II. He plays it like several times a day and if you don't like it you will by day's end.
I stay awhile to watch then I figure now I'm late and I'll have to go to the basement of Port Authority. With the long lines, I'll probably have to wait another hour for the next bus. It's past 12 by the time I alight onto Times Square. It's humming with people. I think of Shibuya in Tokyo and Kimberly/Carnarvon Road in Tsim Sha Tsui. Night spots and neon. Alcohol, coffee, and a nicotine fix.
I plug into my ipod and load the soundtrack of Lost In Translation. Squarepusher's "Tommib" drones in the back of my head. If I smoked cancer sticks I'd light up one right now. The soundtrack is strangely disaffecting. Music for late night lounge lizards and lonely people. Yep, that's me. In the City That Never Sleeps yet I'm rushing home when I know I won't get any sleep. At best, what -- four hours? I wake up early anyhow then I'm prepping for work.
I'll need my rest and strength. It's only recently that I learned to skate. Once I learned how, I began to play hockey. Yes, play. I can play only I am not even good. I'm stiff and slow like an arthritic old codger. It doesn't come naturally. But I can play defense and stick 'em some.
Don't I feel like Jim Carrey in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind always talking to myself and thinking aloud? Plain thinking all the time. And Coldplay's Parachutes is now playing. Swell.
I'm sitting by my window sill. The pane is shut and I place my hand on the window. It leaves the print of my palm with some frost. God, it's cold. It's 2am and I can't sleep.
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