Sunday, April 29, 2012

end of line

Friday, January 21, 2011


Sunday, September 27, 2009

A Brief Interlude: Paul's Bar

What a day. He had made it through a long one and was now attempting to relax with his second beer nearly finished and an unsettling premonition that the Red Sox were in for a bad night of baseball by having their asses handed to them by the Kansas City Royals. Yeah, the Royals. He looked gloomily at the score before commercial break and rolled his eyes towards the back of his head. Paul looked over as a truck commercial began with a smile wider than Texas and began pouring what would no doubt be Brian's third beer of the evening. This may turn into a longer night than expected he thought to himself as Paul placed the newly foaming beer in front of Brian's welcoming hands. The smell of glue graced his nostrils as he lifted the pint glass towards his mouth. Brain had washed his hands at least three times before he left and the smell was still there dammit. A couple of very small cuts adorned his fingers and the cold beer against them brought him a little relief from the heat of the slightly inflamed areas. It had been a very bad day. Brian began to think seriously about the consequences and whether or not he wanted to go to work in the morning when a young women walked up to the bar. She stuffed her hand into her jeans and pulled out a twenty and asked Paul for a Midori Sour, a Sam Adams, and a Brooklyn Lager. Who the hell drinks Midori Sours anymore Brian thought to himself as he looked the young lady up and down like any man in a bar would. It would be unnatural for him not to. As he did however, he saw that she was watching what he was doing and he looked away and started to turn a little red. She chuckled a little bit and held out her hand, "Hi, my name's Sam, and you are?" "Brian, sorry I uh..." he trailed off, cursing at himself for drinking that third beer far too quickly and suddenly feeling a rush of alcohol beginning to impede his ability to do ...anything. She was good looking and four maybe five years his junior. "It's nice to meet you, my friends and I have been talking about how you look really familiar" she started to say as a knowing look came across her face. That "Aha, now I've got you" look. Shit, thought Brian. It wouldn't be much longer before his blissful anonymity would be gone. Gone forever. A secret he had kept from everyone since he had moved to Syracuse. He knew that it really was only a matter of time. A name change and age were never going to really hide him for that long. Actually, he was surprised that it took nearly a full year for this moment to happen not counting that one incident at the airport in Buffalo and of course the Phish concert debacle. "uh...oh really?" "Has anyone ever told you that you look like that kid from that television show?" she said as she leaned forward. "Mister Belvedere?...yeah I get that a lot," said Brian grimacing. "Ha know the one I'm talking about, it's written all over your face," she said. Dammit Dammit Dammit, you had to go straight to having beer you idiot with no food, and now this girl, woman, is going to out you in front of all of your stupid drinking buddies. Brian was in a small state of panic. If his drinking buddies and Paul found out about this there would be no end to the harassment. Every week it would be something new. Clippings from Teen Beat plastered all over the bar and Paul would put the goddamn CD in the jukebox. Brian didn't want to have to find another bar. He liked this one. He liked the regulars, he liked all the bartenders, he liked the atmosphere and he especially liked the fact that the place didn't get to damn busy on a Friday night. "I fucking hate this commercial," said Sam, "you're not going to have an adventure because you're wearing a pair of fucking Levi's." "I would tend to think you have more adventures without any pants," said Paul and with that the last of Brian's beer came through his nose as he could not contain his laughter. Paul had been waiting to use that line since the commercial started airing two weeks ago and it worked as Sam giggled. Perhaps though she was giggling at Brian's unavoidable faux paux but Paul didn't seem to notice. "I'll be right back, can you watch my drink for me?" said Sam as she grabbed the two pints of beer and walked towards a back table where her friends were sitting. One of them, a guy, was wearing a bright orange 'Cuse shirt, shorts and beach sandals, the other, a girl was wearing an "I bleed orange" T-shirt and jeans that made her look really uncomfortable. Sam had dropped off the drinks and motioned toward Brian, who gave a weak smile and the two of them raised their glasses towards him. Great a fucking toast to me. Whoop dee fucking doo. Sam started back towards Brian's spot at the bar while Paul place another pint in front of him.
"So Midori Sour huh? I didn't think anyone drank those anymore. Frankly I'm surprised Paul even has a bottle of that stuff"
"I've got a bit of a sweet tooth I guess and a low you're him right?
"What do you mean?"
"You're were on that show"
"I'm still not sure what it is that you are implying?" (one last chance perhaps??)
"You spent six years in my living room, I think I know who you are....the sad part is that we've actually met before."
Brian's heart sank to the lowest of the low.

End Of Part One.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

New interlude coming this weekend. Stay Tuned...

Monday, August 03, 2009

A Brief Interlude Part 1

His face was flush as little beads of sweat slowly evaporated down the sides of his head. He knew that he would be sore in a few different places tomorrow. Perhaps he had had one to many beers he thought to himself as he slowly crouched over the ball return fan, twiddling his fingers as though he were a magician. He always liked the feeling of the cooling fan that sat between the twisted rods of metal and multicolored bowling balls. It was almost time for the glow in the dark bowling to begin. This was the third game of the night. Everyone was tired but he wanted to keep going. He was sure some of his friends did too. Others were bored, but he didn't care, he knew that his two closest friends were still having fun and that's all that mattered to him. That and the fact that he would win all three games if he managed to pull off a miracle in these last three frames. The ten spot frame. Sometimes you got two rolls, sometimes you got three. He needed all three and that meant a strike or a spare to lead off. Could it happen. He reached over to grab his ball. James had always tried to pick a ball that nobody else would use. It was a really strange sort of OCD thing. It didn't bother him that hundreds of people before him had shoved their sweaty, dirty, booger picking fingers into those three slots, it mattered right then and there that he be the only one to use the ball. One of his compatriots had insisted on using his ball throughout the third game despite it being an obvious mismatch. James glowered at him with a deathly intent each time Marcus picked up his ball. When this occurred James also became really tense with the irrational fear that the ball would somehow never come back, that his game would somehow be off. If he lost this game surely it would be Marcus' fault. He walked forward slightly, leaned over and with both hands turned the ball over so that he could place his hand and fingers in the proper position. The ball wasn't particularly heavy this time around, only ten pounds. The middle finger fit well, but the index finger was loose and the thumb was a little tight. It made for a few unusual rolls that led to his falling behind in the game. That and the beer. Beer always made the game more interesting, but while more pints seemed to improve the games of his friends, James' game always suffered. There was a very distinct beer to bad frames ratio such that the number of bad frames increased exponentially for each beer that he had. He stood at the back line with his feet close together and a slight bend at the knees. His torso flexed slightly forward and his shoulders were elevated. He pulled the ball up towards eye level and gazed down the lane at the ten white pins. He noticed the slight bumps and grooves that ran in random patterns down the lane. He stood there for a few more seconds taking in everything that was going on around him. The DJ was in an eighties kind of mood throwing out one hit wonders like an LA radio station lunch hour. He could feel his friend's eyes on his back with their light chattering slowly reaching his ears. The groups bowling on either side of him were much more rambunctious. Lots of high fives and grunts from one gorilla to another and drunk girls who would no doubt have their friends holding their hair over a toilet later that night. He laughed to himself, took a deep breath and began his motion forward pulling the ball behind him and launching it forward down lane just off of the middle. The lights went off, the pins lit up in the arriving black light. The rest of the night had begun.

Thursday, September 04, 2008


Two weeks in. First Block quiz done. Block exam in a week and a half....

love hitting the books......

Entered a biathlon in central park 2mi run, 12mi bike, 2mi run....should be fun...

alright back to the books...oh wait Mccain speech in 10 minutes....awesome....

in the interest of fairness I am watching...

"What....are you out of your fucking mind??"

Monday, August 18, 2008

Day One...over.....several hundred more days to go.....