LOS ANGELES, CA-

I don’t know if you noticed, but a few years ago Johnnie turned around. He used to be walking left; now he’s going right.

When pressed, the Johnnie Walker company explained that leftward leads to the past, while to the right lies the land of the future. And if there’s anything Johnnie stands for, it’s the future.

I found this fascinating, though I couldn’t say that I liked it. Johnnie looked wrong. Too happy, too forward-thinking. He looked like he was about to leave us all behind.

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LAS VEGAS, NV-

The Girls of Bromidrosis

The first night I arrived in Vegas I ate fried-chicken and drank beer. Under normal circumstances this is not a good combination. Hell, it doesn’t even sound good. Fried-chicken and beer. But these weren’t normal circumstances. I had just arrived home after living over three years in the South where nothing - and hardly anyone - made sense to me.

So, I wasn’t looking for harmony. I was looking to gorge myself and get drunk.

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CHESTERTOWN, MD-

As she leans forward, soft and tanned flesh appears between the off white buttons of her shirt.  A long lock of dark hair nestles on her outstretched arm.  The ice gently tinkles against the side of the glass as she fills it, unaware that her curved flesh is making the human heart race.

 The amydgala is activated. 

 FMRI’s (functional magnetic resonance imaging) produce evidence that blood flow is increased by heightened levels of neural firing.

 The thalamus works in conjunction with the amydgala to regulate and focus attention.

 An involuntary thickening of the throat prompts an immediate grab for the freshly poured water.

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MADRID, SPAIN-

She is standing on the sidewalk, three floors below me, holding a plastic bucket over her head. We use the bucket for the mop—we clean, sometimes. No cleaning now. I sit out on the balcony, three floors above her, smoking, shaking hands, laughing nervously at a joke in Spanish I don’t understand. They tell the joke in English, I understand even less. Some joke about a priest. I look over the balcony and try to aim the best I can—don’t want any wine to spill on her, or miss the bucket. I upend the glasses of wine over the edge of the balcony to the awaiting girl and the awaiting bucket below. He sure drinks a lot of wine, they’re saying. And I do. For every glass I empty, some going in the bucket, some going on the street, much going on her head, I drink one. “This is one really special night. Hector is going to really shine at Stanford. Thanks to you,” they say. “No, no. He did it all on his own. He’s a smart kid—really. I have to go soon. This is one hell of an apartment.”

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SAN FRANCISCO, CA-

“But I don’t even like tennis. I hate it.”

I was adamant. I was honest. Watching little green balls sail backwards and forwards has never been my idea of a jolly time. Until Venus and Serena happened upon the scene I was convinced that there was nothing whiter and more elitist than a game of tennis, and I’ve always been righteously determined to maintain my sniffy stance.

But despite my protestations the smiling face across the wide wooden table continued to expound upon the merits of tennis coaching. Within five minutes I had promised him that I would not only take lessons, but that I would purchase a racket.

Another five minutes after that and I’d been coerced into tango lessons. The strange grinning person was hella persuasive.

Shit, thought I, I’d better leave this cafe before I get roped into learning Swahili. I don’t think my poor little model brain has room for Swahili.

“Are you ready to be this validated and this happy?” asked the still-smiling face of my newest cafe acquaintance. I nodded, unsure. “Yeah? Then welcome to San Francisco!”

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LOS ANGELES-

I heard a great story the other night involving alcohol, feces, guilt, innocence, and a bathtub. My wife and I were out to dinner with some friends. Our friend Betty was the one who told the story. (And yes, she waited until after the meal to unleash it upon us.) Betty, just so you know, is a complete riot. She claps when she laughs. Always. I find this charming. She’s a tiny little thing, cute and petite. And she’s an easy laugher, a big laugher, really loves to laugh. And as soon as Betty starts laughing, she starts applauding. A matter of reflex. I find this tremendously enjoyable.

Betty was born and raised in the Middle West, in small town Illinois. Went to college in the Middle West, at Wisconsin. On holidays, as a college student, she would return home to visit family and old friends from childhood. These return trips were always festive. Betty and her buddies from the Land of Lincoln were at the height of their Bacchanalian collegiate excess. Anything went. It was youth. And it was a reunion.

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SARASOTA, FL-

Sometimes I wonder. I wonder a lot. “Why?” is almost always a futile question, with one answer contradicting another, if any knowable possibilities exist. And in this case, I’m not sure they do exist. I used to wonder about the “Why?” of my own failed ambition. Then I realized where publication had gone and how it could only descend into an even worse abyss. “I was addicted to cocaine” must be the first line of a thousand memoirs. (more…)

GLENSIDE, PA-

My old roommate first pointed it out to me about seven years ago.

“Look!” he said, jabbing a finger at the TV screen. “There she is- WHEEL ASS!”

He took a tug from his Busch pounder and slammed it on the coffee table.

“See…the one on the left. WHEEL ASS!”

“Wheel ass?” I repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know? Listen. Every Wheel of Fortune episode has one hot girl…or sort of hot girl on it. EVERY EPISODE! One hot contestant. It’s like written in the show’s contract or something.”

“Noooo,” I said. “No way! What about episodes with just three old ladies?”

“Never happens.”

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SARASOTA, FL-

The global economy, like it or not, doesn’t like you. If you’ve acquired a job in a third world country, congratulations: You’re one step shy of a slave. If you’re an American, you can work, live and die at Walmart, which will soon offer funeral services next to the produce department. Are there, you Americans ask, no careers vouchsafed from the global suck? It depends. Do you possess sticktoitiveness and a can-do attitude? Are you a no-getter? Are you willing to take personal responsibility where you have none? Then the answer is, “Yes!.” Jobs await you, some already available, others waiting in the wings of hell. Love it or leave it, except you can’t afford to leave: Trust me, I tried. Here, then, is the future, and your opportunities within it. I have randomly numbered these jobs, for none are better than the others, though some are worse.

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MILTON, FL-

1. Why We Went

A couple of Fridays ago when I got home from work, my husband Kelly said, “Matt wants us to go tubing with him tomorrow.”

Matt is Kelly’s coworker. They’ve become friends

Until Matt, I’d never seen Kelly make a new friend before. I used to think it was because he was shy, or didn’t want new friends.

Now I realize it’s because he felt like crap pretty much the whole time we lived in Utah.

Kelly was never hot on living there. And after his son Kody moved out of state, he expressed his desire to leave regularly and emphatically. I was the one who insisted we stay so long.

Now I feel sort of guilty about that.

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GULF BREEZE, FL-

In honor of my recent move to Florida, I thought I’d tell a Florida story from when I lived here previously, in 1989-92.

Once when I was living in Gainesville, Florida, I developed a crush on a guy. We’ll call him Terence.

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MIAMI, FL-

Hello boys.

Does this post even need words????

Personally I don’t think so, but that doesn’t mean I won’t add some. Stringing words together is a compulsion of mine, and when they occasionally make sense I go bananas with joy.

Let’s try.

Nudity- n, (noo-di-tee, nyoo-)

1. the state or fact of being nude; nakedness.

2. something nude or naked

Hold on a minute, dictionary.com!! Nudity is not just a state of undress, dudes, it’s a frame of mind.

Being naked is freedom, a release, an abandonment of insecurity and self-consciousness.

In a world gone mad with prudish behavior and political correctness, a world where bare breasts are taboo but dressing like a slut is permitted for eleven year olds, I propose a new way, a fresh perspective… a return to a more natural state.

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LOS ANGELES, CA-

In 1995, I was a junior in college, a film student at the University of Colorado.

I took a documentary film class. I believe it was a documentary film class.

One kid, I remember, was from Pacific Palisades.

His class project?

A faux interview with Kurt Russell.

He was interviewing Kurt Russell, and all of a sudden he started asking him if Goldie Hawn was good in bed, if she was a screamer, and so on. (more…)

THE QUEEN CITY, NC-

My neighbors like to party. They just moved in around a month ago. I saw their house being built. My dog used to shit where their house now stands. So did a few other dogs. There was nothing but woods. Tons of trees. Hawks and croaking frogs. Deer and raccoon tracks pressed in the dirt.

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The Queen City, NC-

I like Christmas. I like to see Christmas lights wrapped around houses. I like the cool air of winter. I like the good vibes people throw around, the smiles. It’s a childhood thing, I guess. A memory thing.

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