Throw Back Entries

For my weekend entries, I'm posting up two throwbacks from an old blog which I used to write in about six years ago. Funny to see how my writing style has changed!
Enjoy!

--------------------
Friday, July 02, 2004

These last few days I realized just how important and useful this phone is to me. While most people chronicle their everyday lives with their digital cameras, I use the keypad on this phone to store memories of the now past present. I choose to draw forth those thousand or more words that comprise a picture, keep them in a log on my phone, and transmit them to an older version of me. I write as I walk.

I will remember having written of a time I left early in the morning to check up on my tuberculosis shot and bring in a sample of my urine. I will have remembered walking to the police station to file a police report for having lost important numbers of my father. I will have remembered calling my friend and setting up a rendezvous; having walked over 100 blocks and still arriving there early, my own calves and thighs beating back up at the sun. I will have remembered a short old lady with at least 7 different shades of brown turning around and asking me to help her cross the street; I thought things like that only happened in the movies. I will have remembered having questioned my hesitation, and then thought about Helplessness and his sister Fear, who take walks in the graveyard with grandfather time and his old undergrown children. I will have remembered slowly walking her to Apple Bank and her asking "are you holding tight?" a few times along the way. Dropping her off at the bank and then waiting to see as she struggled to cash her check, noticing the sweat marks on my arm reminiscent of a hand holding tightly to it. I thought more in those two blocks than I did in the last hundred. I will remember how I pulled out my phone and began to write, and how I changed my pace to that of the old woman's although I wanted to reach a fast food place as soon as possible. How I went to Taco Bell and ate whatever was on the menu as long as it had a large sprite with no ice, and then how I went to Union Square Park. Remembered how I saw mirages of empty seats only to find my eyes neglected the people sitting on them, or to realize there were no seats to begin with.

A picture of her would be nice when old age catches up with me as it did with her. Maybe I should take a snapshot with my writing and not have to rely on that five hundred dollar coveted camera (although It would be a great accquaintance with thse words). Maybe I should take even slower steps when I walk even if I know I can walk faster, showing the sun who's boss. Yes. I will take slower steps hand in a hand with the withered old lady while it's still early in the day in the middle of the year.

----------------------


Sunday, August 01, 2004



Last week I went to hell and back; yesterday I killed a cherry...



The stream which manages to shoot out of the faucet and wrap around the corner of the stone, reminds me a lot of the lines we deal with at work. Yesterday unlike other days, there was a huge plump cherry blocking the stream, which would carry all of the left over mix-in residue from entering the drain. So I stabbed it with the scraper, and the juices which escaped from it appeared like a drop of blood in an ocean of water. I killed the cherry.



Working on the coldstone hasn't been anything new. Iit's almost been a month since I've been working there and when I do work, I seem to be thinking of everything but making ice cream for the faceless customers that only care about being served. The line which manages to shoot out of the store and wrap around the corner of the block, reminds me a lot of that forced "niche" I will find myself in at Buffalo and later in the world. White and faceless as my customers are, were the people at Buffalo; and every so often when a minority comes in, I can't help but feel some type of connection with them or even feel that they deserve special treatment, being even nicer than I would regularly be. At times, I laugh when I'm at my nicest and I still get the usual rude customer who happens to be a minority, but even so, I sense the tension that arises when "the whites and non-white's meet" in my store. The whites seem to have no problem associating with the non-whites, and genuinely believe any racial problems that were once, are all solved; the non-whites however would like to believe this.



Working on the coldstone hasn't been anything new. Iit's almost been a month since I've been working there and when I do work, I seem to be thinking of everything but making ice cream for the faceless customers that only care about being served. The line which manages to shoot out of the store and wrap around the corner of the block, reminds me a lot of that forced "niche" I will find myself in at Buffalo and later in the world. White and faceless as my customers are, were the people at Buffalo; and every so often when a gay comes in I can't help but feel some type of connection with them or even feel that they deserve special treatment, being even nicer than I would regularly be. At times, I laugh when I'm at my nicest and I still get the usual rude customer who happens to be a gay, but even so, I sense the tension that arises when "the gays and non-gays meet" in my store. The non-gays seem to have somewhat of a problem associating with the gays, and genuinely believe that many of the sexuality issues that were once, are mostly solved; the gays however would like to believe this.



Working on the coldstone hasn't been anything new. Iit's almost been a month since I've been working there and when I do work, I seem to be thinking of everything but making ice cream for the faceless customers that only care about being served. The line which manages to shoot out of the store and wrap around the corner of the block, reminds me a lot of that forced "niche" I will find myself in at Buffalo and later in the world. White and faceless as my customers are, were the people at Buffalo; and every so often when a poor comes in, I can't help but feel some type of connection with them or even feel that they deserve special treatment, being even nicer than I would regularly be. At times, I laugh when I'm at my nicest and I still get the usual rude customer who happens to be poor, but even so, I sense the tension that arises when "the not-poor and the poor meet" in my store. The not-poor seem to have no problem associating with the poor and genuinely believe any financial differences that were once, are all solved; the poor however would like to believe this.



The world can never be perfect, and the stream can never be crystal clear but there's always hope...

I'd rather not see the faces, so I killed the cherry in hopes that all the residue would go down the drain.