Ever have one of those days where there's an endless string of to-do's; you attend to one thing only to uncover you must do something else, at which point you realize a third thing must be done...
I've had one of those summers. I'm disoriented and my life has been a whirlwind of tasks and topics, many of which I'm not thrilled about.
I took a late afternoon nap today; the kind where you sink right into the bed and the glow of the late afternoon sun seeps through your window in a thin sliver on your ankle. The color of the sun is pleasant and tired at the same time; soothing to the point where it will soon nap just as you are. While lying there, I closed my eyes and each time I began drifting into sleep, I thought of pending matters; items on my 'to-do' list just creeping into my subconscious. I vowed to let them go-for then-not altogether. But I needed just a quick rest; a reprieve and a silent and thoughtless reverie where the problems and all "close the loop" issues just didn't exist for a minute.
I couldn't do it. I kept thinking of these things as I drifted away and my heart started beating faster. It seemed these tasks were looming over me; their memory somehow penetrating me even in my subconscious mind as if a door was left ajar.
I decided to envision a room. A big, empty room-no furniture, no nothing-that was entirely blue. This hue was pacifying and helped me, if only for a minute, to forget my problems. It helped me "lock" them outside the door ensuring that however long I'd like to stay in this room, they were sure not to cross that door.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Dear NYPD Dept. of Parking Violations...
I must respectfully plead "not guilty" to the charges brought forth and offer a rebuttle, as I see this as only fair.
My new job requires me to have a post office box - which I obtained through "Mailboxes Etc." on Lexington Ave between 69/70th streets. On the morning of Friday, June 18, I parked streetside, with all 4 flashing lights blinking (thus indicating I did not plan to stay). I will honestly admit I knew this was a "no parking" zone, but again, as I am a field sales rep for a job that requires me to not only have a car but also pick up materials (often very heavy, so a car pickup is preferable), I decided to run in quickly and grab a package.
Without exaggeration, I was in the store for 10 SECONDS (if that), all the while keeping a watch on the car out of the corner of my eye; much to my chagrin, the instant I turned to sign for the package, an officer showed up. I literally dropped the package and ran outside only to be told since she already "scanned" my car, there was no turning back (which I'm not sure I believe). Nevertheless, officer Salgado was friendly and courteous as I pleaded with her (I even offered to buy her dinner - I swear - ask her!) she would not void the ticket, although I could tell she wanted to...
Listen, I understand traffic cops are just doing their jobs, and maybe there's even a quota they must fill per month, but a ticket for $115.00 for a 10 SECOND run-in!? I am sorry, but I just don't feel responsible for that. I am good citizen - not to mention a good human being - I pick up litter, smile as people walk by, and volunteer for social and/or non-profit causes all the time. In addition, I treat people with respect and am generally benevolent and kind when it comes to my fellow man (and fellow New Yorker). Hell, I've never never even slept with someone and not at least once called them back! (if that's not a gentleman in today's world, I don't know what is).
So, in conclusion, I am not asking for a medal, nor am I trying to put down officer Salgado or the NYPD at large - I'm just asking asking for your sympathy as I know if you place yourself in my shoes, this all seems slightly ridiculous (maybe ridiculous is too strong a word - silly, there, that's better).
Last but not least, the city of NY has recently become very rich from my parking violations (5 or so "seemingly innocent" in the last few months) so, PLEASE - just waive this one and I will be eternally grateful.
Sincerely yours,
Josepg DeGrandis
My new job requires me to have a post office box - which I obtained through "Mailboxes Etc." on Lexington Ave between 69/70th streets. On the morning of Friday, June 18, I parked streetside, with all 4 flashing lights blinking (thus indicating I did not plan to stay). I will honestly admit I knew this was a "no parking" zone, but again, as I am a field sales rep for a job that requires me to not only have a car but also pick up materials (often very heavy, so a car pickup is preferable), I decided to run in quickly and grab a package.
Without exaggeration, I was in the store for 10 SECONDS (if that), all the while keeping a watch on the car out of the corner of my eye; much to my chagrin, the instant I turned to sign for the package, an officer showed up. I literally dropped the package and ran outside only to be told since she already "scanned" my car, there was no turning back (which I'm not sure I believe). Nevertheless, officer Salgado was friendly and courteous as I pleaded with her (I even offered to buy her dinner - I swear - ask her!) she would not void the ticket, although I could tell she wanted to...
Listen, I understand traffic cops are just doing their jobs, and maybe there's even a quota they must fill per month, but a ticket for $115.00 for a 10 SECOND run-in!? I am sorry, but I just don't feel responsible for that. I am good citizen - not to mention a good human being - I pick up litter, smile as people walk by, and volunteer for social and/or non-profit causes all the time. In addition, I treat people with respect and am generally benevolent and kind when it comes to my fellow man (and fellow New Yorker). Hell, I've never never even slept with someone and not at least once called them back! (if that's not a gentleman in today's world, I don't know what is).
So, in conclusion, I am not asking for a medal, nor am I trying to put down officer Salgado or the NYPD at large - I'm just asking asking for your sympathy as I know if you place yourself in my shoes, this all seems slightly ridiculous (maybe ridiculous is too strong a word - silly, there, that's better).
Last but not least, the city of NY has recently become very rich from my parking violations (5 or so "seemingly innocent" in the last few months) so, PLEASE - just waive this one and I will be eternally grateful.
Sincerely yours,
Josepg DeGrandis
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Cup of Joe #3
New York has so many stories; so many people all walking around "faux-hand holding," some with a purpose or a clear destination in mind, and others, like me, sort of wandering aimlessly without a concrete idea of where they'll end up. I love watching people on a sunny day in the park, trying to figure out their story, or at least where they came from to arrive at this very moment in time. On the subway this is always an interesting phenomenon; glancing around at all those bodies, "smooshed" together in 'urban oneness,' I often wonder where they began their day. Did that man just come from a brutal argument with his wife, and now, sits smoldering inside? That woman probably just had sex; a "lady in the street but a freak..."(you know the rest).
How would you be able to tell if, god forbid, someone had just committed a crime? That man grabbing onto the pole in the corner, getting off at 59th street just like you and I, is a murderer. But you'd never know in a city like this - so many layers - so much possibility for things to happen, good or bad. In one city block alone, people are working out, having sex, cooking dinner, practicing the art of "self love," studying, watching 'Seinfeld' reruns, and much, much more.
To clarify what I mean by faux hand holding: this essentially means those couples that hold hands because they feel they should, not because they really 'feel' it. Maybe, the girl is really into him but he's a "faux hand holder," or vice versa. I personally played the role of faux HH, and it feels kinda cool, like you have this power to deceive the masses, but then you realize people are hip to your game and probably glare at you with those "I know you're fakin it" eyes.
So we inevitably realize we never know the stories of New York; the stories, for that matter, of every individual on the planet with who we co-exist. This is why I find it hard to really judge someone temperamental on the train or on the street; you never REALLY know what their day has been like up until that very moment of confrontation. Sure it's annoying at first, and instinct makes us very angry and put off: "What an @asshole!" But, just like you, they have bad days, and whereas you might be floating on a cloud, they might be lower than low.
How would you be able to tell if, god forbid, someone had just committed a crime? That man grabbing onto the pole in the corner, getting off at 59th street just like you and I, is a murderer. But you'd never know in a city like this - so many layers - so much possibility for things to happen, good or bad. In one city block alone, people are working out, having sex, cooking dinner, practicing the art of "self love," studying, watching 'Seinfeld' reruns, and much, much more.
To clarify what I mean by faux hand holding: this essentially means those couples that hold hands because they feel they should, not because they really 'feel' it. Maybe, the girl is really into him but he's a "faux hand holder," or vice versa. I personally played the role of faux HH, and it feels kinda cool, like you have this power to deceive the masses, but then you realize people are hip to your game and probably glare at you with those "I know you're fakin it" eyes.
So we inevitably realize we never know the stories of New York; the stories, for that matter, of every individual on the planet with who we co-exist. This is why I find it hard to really judge someone temperamental on the train or on the street; you never REALLY know what their day has been like up until that very moment of confrontation. Sure it's annoying at first, and instinct makes us very angry and put off: "What an @asshole!" But, just like you, they have bad days, and whereas you might be floating on a cloud, they might be lower than low.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Cup of Joe #3
Most people view themselves as "good," right? Well, sometimes, you're the asshole. You don't mean it, but you're just in a position where what you say and do is far douchier than the other people involved.
Walking home the other night, I stopped as I noticed a man who could barely walk he was so drunk. Swaying this way and that, and eventually hitting a walk and slouching back against it, I hailed a cab to make sure he got home safely. The cabbie told me he wouldn't take him; I promptly ignored him, shoved the man into the backseat, and asked for his address. The cabbie refused again, this time, more adamantly. I yelled at the cabbie, "You're gonna leave him here like this! How could you do that, don't be a prick!" I became so upset that he wouldn't help his fellow (extremely wasted) man. We've all been there. It ended with the cab driver agreeing, but each of us uttering curse words at each other and basically parting on the worst possible terms. It was like a real life "Curb Your Enthusiasm" moment, and I was definitely Larry.
I had exchanged E-mails with a "Jesse" about a client meeting happening in a few weeks. "Jesse" is a girl, right? SHE works in PR. SHE has blue font in HER E-mails. So there I am at Porter Novelli in the lobby, and I notice a young man, about my age, looking around. "Joe?" he asks, and proceeds to shake my hand as I say, "Oh hi, Jesse!?" Not even a second went by and I said, "I thought you were a girl!" He looked sort of emberassed, and just laughed awkwardly. I then felt bad and slightly awkward, so I did what I always do - which is the worst thing for the situation - I talked more. "Oh, well...Jesse was the name of a girl I knew in high school! Jesse Fishman! Isn't that funny!?"
Walking home the other night, I stopped as I noticed a man who could barely walk he was so drunk. Swaying this way and that, and eventually hitting a walk and slouching back against it, I hailed a cab to make sure he got home safely. The cabbie told me he wouldn't take him; I promptly ignored him, shoved the man into the backseat, and asked for his address. The cabbie refused again, this time, more adamantly. I yelled at the cabbie, "You're gonna leave him here like this! How could you do that, don't be a prick!" I became so upset that he wouldn't help his fellow (extremely wasted) man. We've all been there. It ended with the cab driver agreeing, but each of us uttering curse words at each other and basically parting on the worst possible terms. It was like a real life "Curb Your Enthusiasm" moment, and I was definitely Larry.
I had exchanged E-mails with a "Jesse" about a client meeting happening in a few weeks. "Jesse" is a girl, right? SHE works in PR. SHE has blue font in HER E-mails. So there I am at Porter Novelli in the lobby, and I notice a young man, about my age, looking around. "Joe?" he asks, and proceeds to shake my hand as I say, "Oh hi, Jesse!?" Not even a second went by and I said, "I thought you were a girl!" He looked sort of emberassed, and just laughed awkwardly. I then felt bad and slightly awkward, so I did what I always do - which is the worst thing for the situation - I talked more. "Oh, well...Jesse was the name of a girl I knew in high school! Jesse Fishman! Isn't that funny!?"
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Cup of Joe #2
It all happened so fast. The bright light and explosion. The suddent rapidity of things, action, AND extreme change that the brain cannot process quickly enough. I remember it like yesterday as I lie in this hospital bed, not sure if I'll live or die.
The 93rd street gym buzzed with activity as I ran on the treadmill. The president was on CNN on the television screen before me. Beads of sweat emitted from our pores; if each signaled melodies or a tune, we'd have a glorious symphony of sound. Indeed, there was a glorious symphony of sound as machines whirred, sneakers screeched, weights clanked, and bodies pulsated to the rhythm of it all.
Then it happened. As I was staring at the screen, watching the endless stream of political rhetoric in silence, I noticed something in the backround outside on the street; from behind the flurry of cabs and people traffic, a flash on the horizon, followed by a ball of fire and flame emerging from the 93rd street corridor. The mass was quickly engufling everything around it, growing larger, creeping nearer, and increasingly louder as it boomed up to the window of our gym and the glass shattered.
As if on cue with the glass, shrill shrieks began to erupt from all around me as I went down, slipping a bit as I hit the treadmil below and rolled off.
BLACK.
I remember meeting a Serbian man as I opened my eyes, and slid out from under the treadmill on top of me. Sparks all around as the rubble of the building smoldered. I began to walk but fell instantly, and became aware of a pain so sharp it tore through my whole body. My leg was broken for sure.
BLACK.
Here I sit in this hospital bed watching yet another TV; more of the president, but with a smaller picture in the background of the now decimated Manhattan skyline. The caption reads, "NEW YORK DESTROYED IN FREAK NUCLEAR EXPLOSION ACCIDENT."
BLACK.
The 93rd street gym buzzed with activity as I ran on the treadmill. The president was on CNN on the television screen before me. Beads of sweat emitted from our pores; if each signaled melodies or a tune, we'd have a glorious symphony of sound. Indeed, there was a glorious symphony of sound as machines whirred, sneakers screeched, weights clanked, and bodies pulsated to the rhythm of it all.
Then it happened. As I was staring at the screen, watching the endless stream of political rhetoric in silence, I noticed something in the backround outside on the street; from behind the flurry of cabs and people traffic, a flash on the horizon, followed by a ball of fire and flame emerging from the 93rd street corridor. The mass was quickly engufling everything around it, growing larger, creeping nearer, and increasingly louder as it boomed up to the window of our gym and the glass shattered.
As if on cue with the glass, shrill shrieks began to erupt from all around me as I went down, slipping a bit as I hit the treadmil below and rolled off.
BLACK.
I remember meeting a Serbian man as I opened my eyes, and slid out from under the treadmill on top of me. Sparks all around as the rubble of the building smoldered. I began to walk but fell instantly, and became aware of a pain so sharp it tore through my whole body. My leg was broken for sure.
BLACK.
Here I sit in this hospital bed watching yet another TV; more of the president, but with a smaller picture in the background of the now decimated Manhattan skyline. The caption reads, "NEW YORK DESTROYED IN FREAK NUCLEAR EXPLOSION ACCIDENT."
BLACK.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Cup of Joe #1
FUCK YOU, David.
It's a sad life for he who does not know food.
These two phrases were uttered today; the former under my breath and the latter to the heavens.
Here I sit, faking smiles and cares about this job. There was a time I was really "here;" now my co-worker and I, although feet apart, are in different offices. She actually gives a crap, and I don't. So I search the net, call people, and try my best to secure new employment. Meanwhile, boss David just sits and his office and laughs, knowing what I'm up to but like a lover who senses as affair, chooses to keep it all inside...
At lunch, Tiny Thai offers an awesome special - appetizers and an entree for $7 (!!??) In New York, sometimes bottles of water alone are $7 :) It is the cheap asian restaurant lunch specials without which I could live. As I'm eating this tangy and flavorful Pad Thai I'm having multiple foodgasms, feeling sorry for all those who are a) unborn and won't get to try this dish for awhile, b) all those who are deceased and who will never get to try it again, and c) for all those sans taste buds.
My thoughts about David and the job, harsh and crippling as they were, were non-existent as I enjoyed the savory goodness of the shrimp dumplings and chicken noodle dish.
It's a sad life for he who does not know food.
These two phrases were uttered today; the former under my breath and the latter to the heavens.
Here I sit, faking smiles and cares about this job. There was a time I was really "here;" now my co-worker and I, although feet apart, are in different offices. She actually gives a crap, and I don't. So I search the net, call people, and try my best to secure new employment. Meanwhile, boss David just sits and his office and laughs, knowing what I'm up to but like a lover who senses as affair, chooses to keep it all inside...
At lunch, Tiny Thai offers an awesome special - appetizers and an entree for $7 (!!??) In New York, sometimes bottles of water alone are $7 :) It is the cheap asian restaurant lunch specials without which I could live. As I'm eating this tangy and flavorful Pad Thai I'm having multiple foodgasms, feeling sorry for all those who are a) unborn and won't get to try this dish for awhile, b) all those who are deceased and who will never get to try it again, and c) for all those sans taste buds.
My thoughts about David and the job, harsh and crippling as they were, were non-existent as I enjoyed the savory goodness of the shrimp dumplings and chicken noodle dish.
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