I watched dumb

I watched,
as my heart walked out the door.

Tawny blondish hair falls
in wavy curls down her back, to her
tweed coat,
plaid skirt,
brown knee high leather boots, over
porcelain skin .
As the door closed slowly, she turned,
her blue eyes struck me, her lips parted into a smile of
She said not one word, but her sad eyes spoke volumes.
I knew, just then, I'd never see her again.

Through a small slit in the door,
which now stood closed,
was threaded the only
tie I'd ever have to her.

A short piece of brown and green flannel,
once a scarf that was our token,
taken from a dream
of what could never be.


It's been a long time

I haven't been here in a while.  A lot of things have changed for me.  I'm getting divorced.  I'm back in Richmond.  I'm back at Famous Dave's.  I'm now enrolled at VCU.  And while none of these things really make me very happy, I'm trying to make the best of it.  So here I am.  I'm trying to write more, and I'm trying to get my shit together, so there's a solid chance that I won't be back here very often, but I'll try to make it interesting when I do come around.  Even though I'm pretty sure no one ever checks back here any more. But, in case you happen to stumble across this sometime soon, I encourage you to check out the co-bloggy efforts of my friends and me during our trip to Europe.


Blame it on Scooby Doo

I'm probably one of your more cynical, take it with a grain of salt, kinda guys you'll have met in a while. I have a simple theory as to why. Scooby Doo. Think about it. Whenever there was a supernatural phenomenon, a small group of teenagers, and their dog, would find some reasonable, scientific explanation for why this thing occurred. One could argue that this may have been a reflection of popular culture, mirroring the faith in science arising in that generation. Reflection this may be, but it invariably was passed from one generation to the next. I, as most of you know, am an atheist. I believe that science can, or will, explain those things that we cannot. But it goes beyond science and theology. Scooby taught me to question what my senses told me. Rather than to believe, naively, as Shaggy and Scooby, I was taught that Fred, Velma, and Daphne were the logical, sensible part of the team. Well, maybe not Daphne, she was just there to entertain Fred, but hey, maybe that's where my attraction to red-heads came from (smart AND sexy! how can I lose?). Scooby Doo taught me that looking at things critically meant that you were not the stupid stoner character in this cartoon of life. I think too, that it taught me not to get taken in by clever disguises and cheap rhetoric. These two lessons are the most important of anyone's life, and quite frankly, I'm thankful for it. So to all of you who snub your noses at Saturday morning cartoons, just remember the little life lessons embedded in all of those shows your kids are watching. Thanks Scoob, you deserve a Scooby Snack.


I Didn't Know You Could Major in Douchebaggery

So today I begin my New York college career. I attended a transfer student advising and registration seminar at my new school today. Blah, blah, pretty boring. We went over how the credits get evaluated, how to register, where to find the bursar's office and the registration office, your advisor, how to officially declare your major, etc. All in all, the lecture portion was only about an hour and fifteen minutes. We arrive at room 246, which is a lecture hall with about 80 seats, get checked in, and assigned numbers that will determine how soon we get seen by an advisor. Once everyone gets settled in, there's about 60 students in this room. Our speaker dims the lights, turns on the power point and begins. "Ladies and Gentlemen, good morning and welcome! Do me a favor and turn off your cell phones, or put them on ring or vibrate. I get distracted easily and none of us want this to take any longer than necessary." At which point she pauses to allow those that hadn't already done so, to make all the racket that comes along with shutting down your phone. That done, she launches into her talk.

So of course, about half way through the seminar the cell phone belonging to the guy directly behind me begins to ring. Not your standard phone ring, but that lovely bass and electronica sound of house techno. Everyone in the vicinity bristles immediately, pursing lips and furrowing eyebrows. Myself included. And the speaker. A quick glance, and he seemed embarrassed, as he was quickly digging through his pocket to quiet his device, and the lecture continued. At which point he quietly ANSWERS HIS PHONE!!! "Hello, [and then words in a language I don't recognize]..." Everyone nearby turns around to glare at this blatantly rude person, in his blue popped collar and khakis, and yes, loafers too. Ordinarily, being a southern gentleman, I would let such an offense slide, saying later something along the lines of "Lawd, did ya see that uncultyahd gentleman ansah his phone earliah? How rude of him." But, my budding inner New Yorker was not about to let this event pass without comment. I turned to him, looked him right in the face and said, "Really? You're on your phone?" His conversation ceased immediately while his jaw dropped, and after the pause, quietly added "i gotta go" and hung up. Everyone else seemed satisfied with that and resumed their attentive poses.

Boy, did he ever give me the stank eye when he left.


I'm Moving to Brooklyn and Opening a Bike Shop

Things in NYC really are different from those in the RVA. I've spent hours walking through the LES and parts of Brooklyn, not to mention all those shops in Astoria and LIC, countless hours on the train to and from those places, plus lots of time looking on-line for places that might sell me some damn cheap used bicycle parts (a la Re-Cycles). Even the places that offer used bikes don't offer used parts. I can buy a used bike, but all parts are sold new, and not very cheap. Every bike shop I've been to has told me the same thing; "used parts?! I don't know anybody that does that", all the while looking at me as if I've uncannily sprouted an additional appendage. Even this place was of no use in my quest for parts, and I've arrived at the conclusion that I need someone from Richmond to show these guys how it's done. I do believe Richmond Re-Cycles has the plan, and I think that would go over really well here. So, who wants to open a bike shop with me? Can't promise lots of loot, but it'll be fun and probably pretty ridiculous.


I did man stuff

So over what I'll call my weekend, which is to say that I had two days off in a row, I did things. I hung our new, roll-up, bamboo shades in the bedroom. I sorted all of our clean clothes and we went through them and decided what to keep and what to give away. AND, I procured some wood and used a circular (read power) saw to cut it to length, to be used as a support for our new AIR CONDITIONER! (Which I also installed, with some help from the missus.) We got it just in time. Cause as you know, it's freakin' hot.

Also, I got the word that I've been accepted to Queens College for the fall semester.


N train at 11

The doors of the trains all opened on the wrong side today
but the people kept walking out anyway
I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen
and one after another fell to their demise
In piles the bodies stacked outside the cars

and the train just moved on

to the next stop where the doors opened on the wrong side of the train
and it was my stop so
I pushed past all the people going the wrong way
to the doors that wouldn't open
and i screamed and clawed and threw myself against them

and the train just moved on

to the end of the line where the doors opened into nothing
and still they got off and i was all alone
with no one and the hiss of the brakes and one woman mopping
passing from car to car just to step off to nowhere
and as the doors closed behind her

the train just moved on