A Year's Worth of Shit

I’m going to use this first official blog entry of 2008 as a springboard for motivation into a New Year that seems yet to yield any promising outcomes. Though I’m still optimistic, I’m stepping tepidly. Furthermore, considering my lackluster and lethargic state, your bets are as good as mine on the future. But nevertheless, here we are and there’s not a damn thing one can do about a year’s end whilst the new begins.

I’ll start with a warning: this is not your People Magazine, Cnn.com, Tabloid, random year in review; it’s mine. Just didn’t want you to get too far ahead in case you want to turn back.

I’ve been pretending to conjure up themes, ideas, or a plot for this ’07 wrap up/’08 outlook, but nothing fluid came to mind. Hence the reason I’m just chugging forward; dancing about the keyboard as I usually do, only this time with a whole year’s worth of happenings to consider instead of perhaps a moment’s recap.

The last time I did a year in review was January of 2007…only but a year ago, right around the one-year anniversary of my departure for Semester at Sea (It’s posted on Facebook, not my blog). Now, 2007 was not nearly as admirable for traveling purposes—but it certainly did have its stints. Looking into 2008, travel seems to be the lacuna thus smoldering the prospects of a year of adventure and one to look forward too. Granted, I leave for Montana in about two weeks, but there are no cemented plans for an international excursion in 2008, only talk that translates to hearsay.

Two thousand and seven, with all its 52 weeks and 365 days, seemed to progress in an anti-climatic fashion. The presidential primaries and all the 2007 ebullient hype didn’t occur until after the strike of twelve on the 31st; the Democrats, with almost a full year under their belt of majority rule in both houses of Congress, have yet to make their mark on 6 prior years of sordid, ignorant, intolerant, incongruous, unjustifiably conservative, arcane rule under the unctuous George W. Bush—Christ, they couldn’t even muster the votes to override W’s veto of a children’s health care bill; in fashion, Marc Jacobs ruled the global runways for not only his two personal lines, but also for Louis Vuitton, one of the world’s most revered, sought after luxury labels that has survived more than 100 years; on the environmental front, I’m not sure there was one positive or inspiring tidbit about the state of our planet, other than maybe China and the US coming to the table for the Bali talks for a Kyoto-like treaty, though their presence was more a prick in the side of eco-friendly Europeans and newly green Australians—not to mention all the island states who are absolutely horrified for the warming prospects of the future.

That’s enough of that.

As for a year in positive review: I finished my undergraduate education on time and with what I’ll call flying colors. And though that was a mild shock considering my severe senioritis, constant “negative” peer pressure, numerous and seemingly non-stop adventures rife with bibulous activity, I, excuse me—We—all prevailed from a year ending with an odd number. Though I’m not sure there’s relevance, I’ve always been more a fan of the even rather than the odd, though I’m not really sure why. Anywho, I digress. My spring semester was definitely one of the best. I loved my bi-weekly rants in the Pace Press about school politics and whatever else I felt like incorporating. It was also a great year in achievements for Pace in Model United Nations. Perhaps it’s because I was a contributing factor to the team’s successful sweep at the conference/competition, it also furthered my love and lust for socialism: we proudly and profoundly represented The Republic of Cuba. And we did it with all the zeal and vigor the United States pretends to exude when it comes to spreading democracy and freedom throughout the rebellious world. Regardless, the PaceNY teams took outstanding delegation in all nine committee’s, we raked in awards for seven of nine position papers, and I along with 7 others received Outstanding Delegate awards. Sorry if I sound like I’m tooting—frankly, I kinda am. We fucking rocked and you can take that shit to the bank.

It was a tremendous feeling of achievement, and I am so proud to have been apart of it. I believe finishing college, with the MUN victory as the cherry, will only be topped by my graduate and PhD completion, which looms somewhere in the years before I’m 40.

As for my time after graduation, it was a shitshow free-for-all. From the night before graduation to the days immediately after, errantly cavorting whilst rampantly trysting about Turkey and Greece, to my graduation party all topped off by a summer of being unemployed, not to mention the random jaunts up and down the east coast; it was most definitely a summer for the story books. And then there was my official return from summering in CT back to urban life in my very own atelier in Harlem. Then the three weeks of unemployment in the city before running back to the florist I worked at during the springtime, to Maroon5 and the holidays, to landing my very own client for free-lance floral design, to promptly being fired for landing that very client.

That, my friends, is one fuck of a year in a nutshell—and just think, that is only up to 22 Dec 07, the morning I was relieved of my position at Adore Floral Inc.

Which is a story I was never able to tell, so I’ll give a quick précis:

Rewind to the very beginning of December. I had five lobbies to decorate for Goldman Properties, all commission jobs through work for the holidays, and of course, they all had to be done in less than a week’s time. Goldman’s newest building is 25 Bond, where there are nine floors and ten units, seven of which are spoken for, and only two of them are currently housing occupants.

Well, there I was, decorating the 12 foot tree by myself when I was approached by a very nice lady who wondered if my company did in-home tree decorating (using the person’s ornaments) and also in-home floral design (using the person’s containers or vases). I explained that it was not something the company typically does but that I would be happy to do it on my own time considering my experience in doing so and also that I only worked part time for Adore. Well, I was just elated. My very own client.

Well, since I was paid under the table at work and had never signed any sort of contractual agreement for Adore, I saw nothing wrong, nor did anyone I know, with me taking on a client. So, I got them a tree and decorated it. Now, fast forward to about three weeks after that, 21 Dec 07 to be exact.

I had to swing by to check on the tree and to also bring some flowers. It was a Thursday and I was planning on Christmas shopping the rest of the day. The day before I mentioned to the bosses that the flowers in the lobby at 25 Bond (which are replaced on Friday’s) looked absolutely horrific. Wednesday was busy so I never got over there to change them. Well, there I was, done with my work at my client’s pad, so down the elevator I went and into the lobby I landed. Holy shit. There’s the boss changing the flowers in the lobby and here I am coming off the elevator that only leads directly into resident’s homes. My excuse was semi-believable, as I had mentioned to them there was someone who did have questions about a tree and us decorating it.

I made it seem like nothing and that it was something I’d scheduled the day before and that there was nothing work could do—this was certainly not the way I needed them finding out about my jobs on the side. Well, I went on with my day, slightly, but not really worried. The next morning, I woke and took a shower. When I got out, I noticed work had called and left me a voicemail.

I promptly listened to it. It was Jack, my boss, telling me I no longer work at Adore and that they are very upset with what I did to them. Yes people, this was done on a fucking voicemail. I was fired via voicemail. Not in person, not even over the phone directly talking to me—VIA VOICEMAIL. Well, I was in such a state of shock that I wasn’t even going to bother calling about my paycheck. But then I added up the hours, got some guts from my mother and balls from my father, not to mention Roger pestering me to call and get what I was entitled too, had a glass of wine and a hit or two off a bowl, and called to “tie up loose ends” as I so aptly put it.

I let him know the hours I’d worked and that all I would need my paycheck. He said that was fine, and that was that. Short and concise, brief but polite. Then I got a phone call a few minutes later. He just wanted to double check hours and get my address. After giving him the information he wanted, he posed two questions: “Jeffrey, I just want to know, do you really think you should be paid?” Well, I was stunned. I said I absolutely felt I should get paid because I worked those 30 hours for you and only you, you son of a bitch (I surprisingly held my tongue and temper—you can thank the wine and weed). His next question: “So you’re really going to be able to live with yourself after what you did to us? I mean, you broke a business principle.” Well, this one pressed me a bit and I did go off, but for only a second. I told him we’re not even going to get into business principles because he has none and after that realized I owed him none of this. I simply said, “Jack, I’m not here to justify anything nor am I asking for my job back. If you wanted to ask me questions, maybe you shouldn’t have up and fired me. All I expect is a paycheck.” And that, my friends, was that.

I’m happy to report that I did receive the paycheck just a few days ago, so that was great. Sadly though, I liked my job and thoroughly enjoyed my bosses. (It’s a couple that own this little shop; he’s Chinese and she’s Japanese—I know, fucking weird, right?) Anyway, it was sort of a blessing in disguise for the holiday season. I had my time at home to enjoy my most favorite time of year for the festiveness, the decorating and the entertaining.

Christmas was great and New Year’s was even better. And of course I did my annual five-mile run ending with an icy plunge into Long Island Sound on 1 January 2008 and it was fantastic. It is, I’ve found, a fabulous was to start off a New Year, feeling refreshed and cleansed of a previous year’s worth of sin. I don’t do confession and I don’t do religion, so for me, it is absolutely fitting. A plunge and splash in the Sea.

But then there’s all the happenings that will carry over into ought eight. Perhaps most notably, for me anyway, is Pakistan. Of course there’s the rest of the Middle East and all its turmoil too, but what occurred there only a few weeks ago was a tragic blow to a semi-stable region in a tumultuous place of the world.
Former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto was murdered after returning to Pakistan from eight years of self-imposed exile to her home country that has been under military dictatorship for the better part of the millennium—this same military dictatorship is avidly defended and enhanced by the freedom touting United States, too. Now, many people had their problems with Bhutto; it was indeed understandable considering her two stints as Prime Minister were filled with corruption charges and sneaky governance.

A good friend of mine, Neelofer, whose roots hail directly from Pakistan had her say (which you should read here: Another one Bites the Dust and also Knowledge Will Save Us All ), but I must most respectfully disagree with her on a few fronts. I say this because my perspective is political and impersonal, fueled mostly by my love for the Middle East and desire for its safe stabilization; hers is personally political, giving it a far more poignant and stinging ring.

Nevertheless, I was and still am deeply saddened by her assassination. For this was a woman who was elected for the first time at the age of 35 in Pakistan—granted it was on the coattails of her martyred father—but a woman, who was at one point pregnant in office, in the Middle East, in 1988! Can the tide be more bucked than that? Then she was elected again a few years later, only to be ousted on corruption charges. Her goal this time around was democracy (there was a lot more to it than just that, but I’m truly making a concerted effort to stay light), something most Pakistanis got a mild taste of from Musharraf, but the ideology was never thought completely palatable by this conniving ruler.

Then look at where Pakistan stands today: The US touts it as its closets ally in the War on Terror because of its geographic location; since 2001, more than $10 billion in aid has been funneled there which was supposed to be used to enhance military presence in the northwestern territory, Al-Queda and Taliban strong holds. However, evidence is claming that it has instead been used to beef up it’s southeastern border with rivaling India. Furthermore, the current leader, Musharraf, imposed Marshall Law for nearly a month before lifting the ban. Let’s not forget that he also cleaned house in the Supreme Court because he didn’t like the power and independence of the Judiciary. And yet the US has stood proudly by his militant side, reassuring the world that a good relationship with Pakistan is necessary to take down terrorism in the Middle East.

I find this truly nauseating. I could go on about this topic for quite sometime, but there are still a few more things I’d like to get to—and I’ve already gone on long enough.

My guess is that most people have forgotten yet again about Iran. They’ve seemed to slip under the radar. Between the violence in Kenya and Al-Queda activity in Northern Africa, sky rocketing oil prices and a very shaky, on-the-verge-of-recession US economy, there’s reason to overlook, but not forget.

It seems W’s policy of ignoring our enemies and using diplomacy as a last resort, if at all, has our adversaries building their own coalitions. Iran and Russia are now buddy-buddy. China continues to help squelch the people of Burma whilst raping it for its resources. And good ol’ Chavez was not only told to shut-up by the King of Spain, but he continues to be a throbbing thorn in the side of US foreign policy: Citgo, the state run Venezuelan oil company is yet again supplying reduced-cost and at times free heating oil to people all over the Northeastern United States. Just check out some of their operations: Citgo and the Bronx. This though, I must admit is beautiful. Absolute brilliance on the part of a leader who uses oil and socialism to annoy and pester a Nation in a way it can’t refuse.

Then there’s Iowa. I was shocked, not by the results, but what it could actually mean. The fact that a very white, very rural state overwhelming supported a black man is amazing. That’s not to say he’s my first choice, in fact he’s not even really my second, it is nonetheless amazing. As for the Repubo’s—I’m just thrilled about what Huckabee (and Chuck Norris), that ignorant preacher from Arkansas, is doing to the GOP. My hope is that he gets the full nomination because if he does, christ, even Dennis Kucinich could beat him in the general election. But at the same time I’m getting nervous: McCain, a very viable candidate for the general election, could make some serious moves if he bodes well in NH, as he also did in 2000. Then you’ve got Guliani to worry about in Florida, and that crazy flip-flopping Mormon, too. (Whom, if you didn’t know, won in the little heard of Wyoming Republican caucus two days after Iowa.)

Hillary is salting and licking her wounds as Edwards furthers his pointedly populist agenda. Which, I must admit, I am falling very fast for. Obama keeps taking half-ass swipes at the Clinton’s for continuing to steel his pitches for change and tolerance, while Richardson, barely holds on. I vote in the Connecticut primary on 5 February, along with 22 other states that day. I’m currently on the fence and quite obdurate at the moment as to whom I’m going to throw my hat in for, so I’ll just leave it at that.

So here we are. A year has gone by. I visited, by far, one of the greatest places on earth and I hark back to it daily. Istanbul, by far, was my absolute highlight for the year. Perhaps it was the drugs and the trysts, or maybe it was the sights and the culture, I’m not really sure. All I do know is that I will return there in due time, and I will do so again and again for the rest of my life. I’m not ruling out dwelling there for quite some time either. It was a year of great laughs (my parents doing dueling keg stands) and striking blows (US mortgage crisis), good friends and new experiences.

There’s not much to complain about for ’07, but then again, there’s nothing to preach or scream about too much either.

It was a year, and we’re all older now, more learned also I hope.

As for 2008, I’m hoping to find a job; I’d also like to hit up Spain with my dear friend Amanda, but that’s all on the backs of getting a good job. I’d like to get a step closer to my 40-year-old goal. Whether that means simply figuring out if I’ll stay in the city for more schooling or run overseas for it—which also depends on that whole job thing—I hope to have a better, more 17th Century Dutch-like painted image for my future, rather than a 19th Century Impressionist idea and view. As for politics: I’m not even going there…yet, anyways.

Good luck in all that you do for the coming year.
Be well.
Drink up.
Smile.
And goddamnit, don’t forget to laugh.

Cheers.

Highs and Niches

Let’s try something:

Is there a first step down a mildly trodden avenue for opportunity and success, or does it bloom from nowhere?

I’m guessing it depends on the troddener and the avenue. I think I’m slowing coming to see the notion that if one does truly put their mind to something, that something—whatever it may be—is indeed achievable.

Now, typically I’m quite frank in personal narrative and seething—or at least hoping to be—with odd, slightly morbid, lurid sarcasm. But unfortunately, what I’m dappling with needs to be kept silent before official take-off.

In other news:

I am SO far behind on my fucking Christmas Cards.

[Note: Author recognizes the ridiculous religious reference, however, he sends cards to any human being, regardless of religious preference or affiliation, thus making them Holiday Cards.]

And as much as I’m loving the winter weather (though today (12 Dec 2007) was an exception), I’m finding out more reasons to dislike radiators and multi-story buildings.

No, my building has not burned down, but it has certainly heated up; and I’m on the forth floor. And though I’ve lived with radiators before—most recently during the construction of my parents’ current home in 2003. And such becomes the case while jaunting on the second story of a late 19th Century Victorian home; it of course, was my grandparents’ home. And though it certainly had its perks—same day laundry service: Mem washed while Pep either folded or ironed, and they loved it because it kept them busy(!); fresh cookies and desserts almost daily; centralized city location (mind you I use the word city mildly: Norwich has a population of about 36,000); and a delightful transitional place to be whilst going from home to college—the radiators and their heat were ruthless.

That was an incredibly long sentence. I don’t think I mind, but I do apologize.

Anyway, the point of my radiator story is that I now have to add more water during the week to my fish’s bowl because of the dry heat. Yes, that is a mildly pathetic reason to dislike radiators, but it is perhaps a tic.

Just like tic’s up an avenue and tic’s of “city” population; they’re all just minor niches in the rotunda at large.

Somehow, sleep is always overdue.

Cheers.

Words

This is surreal.

Well, not really.

I’ve been itching to run with words since I was forced to eradicate my festering hard drive a few weeks back. Thankfully, I was able to grab an old version of Word, having lost the re-installation CDs from my most recent laptop. Oh so fucking typical.

No matter what, and as much as I may hate it, there is comfort in our beloved technologies—my laptop being my most prized. Nancy Gibbs of TIME magazine humorously paid due tribute to our adamantly adorned technologies in an interestingly critical fashion: Love Thy Blackberry, Love Thy Kids. Now, clearly the article is speaking to a much different audience, but it is still a poignant perspective from a pointed journalist about the addicting advancements shaping our lives. And to think she didn’t even mention “Nano” anything.

Anyway, in other news: the world, as usual is bubbling in atypical comport. But then again, what’s typical? I’m loving the Astor Estate stories right now, almost more than anything—especially presidential politics. Frankly, I’m tried of them. Or maybe I’m tired of just the Democrats and just the Republicans. I want them to face each other so we can finally place where the hell the American public stands on a lot of issues right now. And that’s the scariest part of it all.

Peace in the Middle East, or at least while W. and Condi are attempting to mend smoldering ties.

Not Sure What to Call This...

It has been far too long since I last posted. If it were not for lack of technological savvy, I’d have been posting galore. But of course, in trying to fix a minor computer glitch…I erased my internet application program from my computer…the very program that is needed to connect to the internet. Thankfully, I’ll be back online by mid-next week.

As for the past few weeks, they’ve been hell on wheels. The world is continuing to bubble and Pakistan is at the top of the pot; presidential politics are somehow, in some odd way, continuing to snowball—and yet they’ve been doing so for a year too long already; fall has once again come almost two months late this year, and now, now it seems there will no longer be a fall, just a long summer into a heartless, cool, not cold, winter. The trees barely have time to adjust, let alone humans.

My blood is typically thicker this time of year, but now it has just clabbered grossly because of the awkward jump void of middle cool period. I regret to admit it, but I saw Al Gore’s “An Inconvenient Truth” for the very first time last night (10 Nov 2007). My oh my. What a film. Shocking really, and yet somehow, again, it has done very little.

He still drives an SUV (a hybrid Mariner), along with his wife, and yet he is saying we can all make change. Now, to the extent I can understand Mr. Gore’s SUV driving: It is a Mercury, an American made car, and one of only two American made SUV models available (the other, a Ford, (the same as Mercury), the Escape). American automakers have yet to produce a hybrid car—unlike Toyota (the world’s newly leading automaker) and Honda (the world’s most fuel efficient automaker).

Frankly, I’ve always felt that Hybrid SUVs are oxymoronic; they get slightly better gas mileage than their guzzling sibling, yet they pale in comparison to Toyota’s Prius or Camry, or Honda’s Civic. You’ll note also that GM does make a hybrid vehicle: a heavy duty pick-up truck—whoopie. Also, most Chevy (and some Pontiac and Cadillac models) vehicles are coined “flex-fuel” vehicles, meaning they can run on ethanol. But, I was wondering…where was the last place anyone saw an Ethanol fuel pump besides the 8 that are in Illinois and the few others scattered across corn country? I thought not.

Yeah, so basically, go fuck yourself GM, then pass Ford and Chrysler the dildo you used.

If you, the Automakers, really wanted to make a difference, you could put more money in your pocket: start opening Ethanol fuel stations!!! But that would be far too simple.

Besides, I don’t want to plug too much for Ethanol as a means of alternate fuel because it is certainly not a permanent solution. In fact, it should barely be considered because of the further degradation the environment will see if Ethanol becomes the new crude oil. We’re seeing the environmental effects of it right now in Brazil and Indonesia; the Amazon is not only under attack by just McDonald’s anymore, nor simply sordid foreign developers. Because of the governmental push to free Brazil’s formerly sluggish economy from foreign oil, they’ve successfully switched to Ethanol. But they need fields to grow all that corn…sustainability? I think not. And though Indonesia as a state is not doing any sort of switch to better their fuel consumption or efficiency, they’re feeding the rest of the yearning world with it. They’re leveling age old endangered forests to produce corn in order to sell it off to thirsty places like China and India.

Oh god. I think I better stop before I get myself wrapped up in a India-Iran-China-Wall Street is Blind issue.

If the first name doesn’t conjure up much, fine. But if the second two don’t make you squirm, squeal, and get squeamish…you must be living with that Wall Street guru who still thinks our economy is flourishing.

Eh.

I <3 Harlem

WOw.

I fall in love with Harlem more and more each day. And today may be a cherry on top of a half week’s worth of sundaes.

Last week, while reviewing my credit card statement, I realized that my liquor store, New Harlem Liquors, charged me an extra $253.10. I immediately knew what happened.

On 5 October 2007, I paid a visit to the packy. (If you’re unfamiliar with the term “packy”, you’re clearly not from New England.) In doing so, I picked up a bottle of Stoli Raz, as I was feeling a bit stressed and needed a reliever, and I just wasn’t feeling the bar scene. On the rocks with a fresh lime, it never fails as a sweet but subtle prescription.

Now you must understand that the packy’s in Harlem are hangouts; much like the barber shops and salons are, when evening rolls around, the liquor stores fill up with people—families even—in search of bottles, cigarettes, or lotto tickets.

In the New Harlem Liquors all the selections, and there are quite a few—even of good wines—are behind the counter. I told the gentleman what I was wanted; he grabbed it and rang me up. I handed him my credit card, he ran it through, and I blindly signed the slip, as I was distracted by all the commotion going on around me. Besides, he had told me my total before I handed the card over, so I didn’t think twice about what amount I was signing for.

Well, fast forward to the 10 October, when I was officially reviewing my recent activity. It was then that the transaction that took place on the fifth had posted on the eighth and I noticed it. Instead of a charge for $28.12, it was for $281.22. A seemingly simple, honest mistake—hopefully one that could be easily fixed.

Well, I immediately contacted my credit card company, hoping the process would be simple. Naturally, as with all irrelevant receipts, I had trashed this one. Furthermore, I chose not to use my AMEX so this made life all the more difficult, as American Express is the sole credit card company that will simply bend over and take it. And even though life takes VISA, VISA is not one to up and just take it.

The lady on the phone, as nice as she was, explained the process and I was dreading it, hoping I could resolve it with the store. I went there to discuss the matter with someone, but since I don’t have a printer, I was asked to come back with a copy of my statement.

Fast forward to today: I had printed the statement out, and of course my cycle closed, so now a payment is due on an amount I didn’t spend! But regardless. I went this morning with it in hand, talked it over the Carlos whom I’d spoken to the week prior, and he asked me to come back around 3. Ok, fine.

Well, I just returned from there and to my great relief and surprise, it was as simple as handing them my card to receive my credit of $253.10. The owner, whose name I did not get, laughed as we went over the sales from that day. Like most small businesses, the credit card machine is separate from the register, so since the register balanced at the end of the night, there was no reason to scour the credit card slips. He, like me, said it was a simple, honest mistake with the 2 being hit an extra time.

We shook hands.

He credited my card.

I bought a bottle of red—paid in cash.

Apples, Bathrooms, Kites

WELL, well, well: Hello and hello.

I went apple picking this past weekend. It was lovely.

My love affair with Turkey has grown deeper, if only because of my disdain towards the United States and its current sordid, unilateral leadership.

I have a new found and deep respect for NBC journalist Matt Lauer. He had the distinct privilege (if you can call it that) to sit down in Boise, ID with one of the GOP’s finest scandal producers: the mendacious Senator Larry Craig (and his picture-perfect wife Suzanne, too). It was a respectfully cunning and inquisitive interview with regards to the Senators most recent debacle: a gay sex sting in an airport bathroom.

Finally, a family values senator gets what they deserve: an ousting.

And then there’s Afghanistan.

I know, random.

But I’ve fallen in love with the place all over again: Its mystery; its culture and once pukka population; its robust history; its tear jerking turmoil. Each of those a facet of a state which the west knows very little about, nor do they seem to have a desire to understand—the proofs in the present.

I was introduced to the country by Mr. Rory Stewart, Scottish journalist and author of The Places in Between and The Prince of the Marshes. Both books are non-fiction accounts of time Stewart spent in Afghanistan and Iraq, respectively. Stewart is a brilliant writer with a prose like no other. He paints a vivid picture of an often scarce, barren, and dangerous landscape. But what he did in Afghanistan was something I could not even fathom tempting: walked across the torn state right after the fall of the Taliban in 2003—and he’s still alive, and continues to do civilian work throughout the Middle East. His second book was about a year in Iraq as a civilian worker for the British government.

I have so many reasons behind my love affair with the most war-torn part of our world, but Afghanistan stands alone for me. (So do Turkey and Israel, but they’re both states in quite different political and societal shape.)

Now, you must know, rarely do I read fiction for pleasure. But over the summer, I was at the book store with Katie T. and we both recommended books to each other and promised we’d read them. I recommended Stewart’s Places, Katie lobbied for The Kite Runner; I went for it. I know it’s despicable that I hadn’t read it up to this past summer. But I’m now happy to admit that I’m one of the millions of readers who so eagerly read through Hosseini’s captivating novel. And thus my love affair has further flourished.

Of course Places was the first book Kate read of the four she bought. Kite Runner was the last I read of the four I bought that day, with a few others in between. But I read it and loved it and am now vehemently following the turmoil behind the film’s release.

Katie and I have talked about how we must travel somewhere absolutely outrageous together someday. I now have no doubt that with or without her, though I’d much prefer she joins, that absolutely outrageous place will be Afghanistan.

But then again, it’s not really that outrageous...is it?

Friend-ly Iranian Visits Furthered by Platformed, Cocaine Vacant Discos and a Gay Wedding

Well, here’s to Kevin Federline being a better father than Brittany that fuck up of a whore of a mother. I’m only opening with that because my Times, the paper of note, had a fucking article about her custody battle in the A section but nearly a day after it happened. And here it is: Brittany's Loss

Bullshit. Leave it to Mr. Murdoch, his Fox fucking Post and Journal.

Anyway, enough with the gossip I never note because of its absurdity, indecency, and inconsideration.

I’ve been frustrated lately, and I don’t think the feeling is going to dissipate soon; there’s a lot behind it. Regardless.

I had the craziest week—and then some—ever [second to last week of Sept to the last weekend of Sept] though. Not only did the United Nations commence, but the delightfully charamastic Preisdent of Iran spoke in my hood at Colombia only to be shushed, shunned, and frankly punched before he spoke at an education World Leaders Forum. Wow. Check that shit. Not only does he—whose name spelling I don’t care to look up—“possess all the characteristics of a petty and cruel dictator,” but he also claims there are no gays in Iran. Wow, what a fucking feature. It must be so dull, ugly, and plain in Iran…please note my sarcasm.

But, more than anything, my dear old friend who is now an official South Carolina resident came to visit me: Miss. Kaite T (Twomey). We had a most fabulous time, even though she missed her first flight. Now, this should have come as no shock to me, as I spoke to her after midnight on the evening of her flight only to find her, and to no surprise of mine own, incredibly inebriated. Luckily, damn luckily, she made stand-by on the following two flights to arrive at JFK but merely 5.5 hours behind schedule. Whoopise.

She’s knows I hate her but still absolutely adore her, so whatever. We had a most fabulous four days together, even though I had to work five hours Sunday and six Monday. I have great friends to thank for filling her vacant time with theirs: Miss. D and my roommate, Roger. They wined and dined her as only fellow New Yorker’s can do, and I’m so thankful for it.

Anyway, fast forward to the following weekend (last official weekend in Sept). There was a Disco on Friday night on 138th and Lenox (that’s no mother fucking joke, bitch); a semi-subtle night on Saturday; and my very first, absolutely official gay wedding in New Jersey on Sunday morning.

[Note: New Jersey has gone further than any other state in these United States to recognize homosexual couples and their right be recognized under the law. Though they do not define it as “marriage,” the language of the law parallels the rights of heteros and homos quite closely, closer than VT, HI, CA, CT (though note MA .because they do indeed call it marriage). Allen and Mike came close to receiving the 1100 rights that hetero couples so unknowingly enjoy, all thanks to bright blue, albeit industrially and nuclearly glowing, New Jersey.]

Anywho.

I’ll quickly cover the disco: I went all out, to no surprise of any who know me.

I had my mother mail me the fur coat I bought many moons ago at the Salvation Army in Norwich for a 70s themed coronation dance in 11th grade; I ran to Andy’s Cheepes (which turned out to be not that fucking cheap) and picked up bell bottoms, paten leather white platforms, and a huge silver peace sign necklace. I already had my light green, huge square frame, light lensed Versace sunglasses to compliment; not to mention a ring for 6 of my ten fingers. D had a fabulous costume too: a perfectly Pucci-esq dress with her fabulously afro curly hair, gianormous gold hoops, heels and a tackily matching headband to tie it all in.

We were a pair fit for a shitshow, a cocaine buffet, and a whirl wind of a disco, and that is what it fucking was (minus the cocaine buffet…George Jung is still in jail, and in a recent Times report, Coke prices have skyrocketed: Coke's Inflation). For I have never been to a party where more party goers dressed up! It was surreal and I loved it. If only all themed parties could be so successful, maybe 70s attire would be vogue again.

Or maybe just in my dreams.

As for the wedding:

It was absolutely unbelievable. D and I (Diana, that is) toasted the Sunday wedding with our first drink (a half-ass White Russian) at ten-ish. The wedding started at noon; we arrived a bit early, with all her work’s good company, and because of it were blessed with passed Champagne. Well, we indulged. Who wouldn’t?

It was a lovely day in Jersey City at the Hyatt, stunningly overlooking downtown Manhattan. The ceremony took place on the Hudson and with un-obstructive views of the greatest city in the world, specifically its lower half, mine and D’s home for the past four years. It was lovely. I’ll admit I had one grip though. To “commemorate” their partnership, once the JOP made it official, white latex balloons were released into the air…right on the edge of the Hudson. And to think that I just read an article last week about how recent reports of Sea Turtle populations are continuing to dwindle, even with the supped up efforts to help them. Regardless, it was a most fabulous day for a most fabulous couple for an incredibly overdue legitimate and indeed legal celebration.

After that, the fucking party began. Kettle was my only choice for vodka….god for fucking bid. I think I’ll start it there and end it there as well.

Somehow, and thankfully, I made it to work the next morning. Perhaps it was because we were wasted well before 4pm, or maybe it was because I was passed out by ten…but then again, who knows.

And then, here we are, Wednesday evening. Besides Dexter and Weeds, which I could write full reports about both for, there’s not really much else. Wizard of Oz monopoly with Kimmie is all the cherry I can give.

Till next time.

Cheers.