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!?"
Friday, February 12, 2010
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.
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