Bad Craziness

3 Jun

Aloha from Washington D.C. This is my good mate, Jay. You indirectly know him from some of the latest pieces here about a fast-walking, Ghandi-like Indian man who sports a pedometer. The model for that man is his father. The picture was taken a few days ago at an Irish joint called McGinty’s. I have known this man now 25 years, and in that time frame we have made several dozen versions of this same photograph. The only thing that is different is background/locale. And, it seems, my newly-acquired double chin.

Take two people fraught with varying degrees of insanity, which manifests itself mainly in the form of insomnia or (in one particular case) auditory hallucinations, one orange suitcase stuffed with various garments, footwear, and books, one ipod filled with 60GB of music most people would deem either “eclectic” or “not fit to listen to in the 21st Century, you Iron Maiden freak you!” two gallons of red wine, one liter-and-a-half bottle of Dewar’s, 720 total miles of paved highway, several (horribly) state-maintained rest stops, two near-death experiences at 80 mph (120 kph) with produce-carrying 18-wheelers, throw everything into a large pot, add salt and pepper, garlic, olive oil, and three pinches of cayenne pepper, and simmer for 3 and a half days. Then, dump the mixture into a large saucepan, add a half-cup of dry vermouth, bring to a boil and reduce. Strain the concoction over a bed of bucatini and serve with day-old bread fashioned into mouthwatering bruschetta. For libation, pair with an ice-cold limoncello or grappa. Serves many.

The view from the 20th floor is somewhat dis-orienting, if not vertigo-inducing if you happen to just slightly propel yourself over the barricade from the midsize. One thing to note when living in a high-rise: sound waves propagate alarmingly well and clear upward; so much so that the fifth-grader razing his classmates across the patchy-green lawn of the property sounds like he’s busting chops from the unit just below you:
–Yo momma so hairy, she look like she got Buckwheat in a chokehold.
(duly noted!)
–Yo momma so fat, when she sit around the house, she really sit around the house.
(duly noted again)
–Yo momma so old, she knew Mr. Clean when he had a bush!
…and so on and so on.

I love the diversity of a big city. The homogeneity of where I live serves as a good home base for misadventures and travel, but becomes detrimental if one stagnates and doesn’t wander out from within the circled wagons. It’s a breath of fresh air to go to the madness from time to time. It is why I am so looking forward to a longer road trip up north to the land of the Kanucks later this month. Get outta the hole, you! They have the wrong kinds of bars in the cage they keep me. It’s true, the city is laden with insanity and bad craziness (thanks HST), but a subsidized, intermittent dose of that truly keeps the doctor away. Forget all that apple-a-day nonsense. Even my internal systems had grown accustomed to the banality of suburbia, so I welcomed the detrimental effects on my lungs from the haze and pollution of downtown. The only thing still infuriating is the relentless traffic, hindering you from basically making any horizontal headway, but thank god for public trans.

I took off some time from staying in touch news-wise, but upon close inspection I see the world still spins as absurdly as it did four days ago: Tatum O’Neal gets busted for buying crack, grieving for her dead dog, Hulk Hogan’s son is banished to 8 months in solitary for causing serious injury to his buddy in a car crash, Obama still hasn’t pocketed enough superdelegates (breaking news: it’s over; he’s won), Teddy K. just got his brain picked by freelance surgeons, Frasier has suffered a heart attack, a drunk driver has plowed into a bike race on the U.S. – Mexico border, Bo is accompanying those lousy cherubs with his rectangular ghee-tar, and Angelina Jolie is heavy with twins. Basically…nothin’. And so I anxiously await December 2012 when, according to the Mayans, this lousy world as we know it will come to its end. I’m diligently budgeting my finances to last until then, so these goddamned shamans better be right, or come the new year oh-thirteen I’m broke and homeless.

I’m back in Pleasantville for a few weeks, back to the mundane routine of slaying succubi and balancing checkbooks/accounts, but by the end of the month we’re back in the tight comfort of the German machine for a foray north across the border. I am toying with the idea of slapping up pictures from that excursion, although it may seem too self-serving or egotistical. And besides, all the photos in which I appear are fundamentally the same: a forced, wry smile and a drink in hand. You get the picture. Only the background changes.

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2 Responses to “Bad Craziness”

  1. Stef 03/06/2008 at 11:44 PM #

    I like this one very much .. made me smile on a very dismal day.

  2. Slyboots 04/06/2008 at 4:11 AM #

    I want an escape from this place like yours. Just like yours. Because I betcha you don’t have to deal with rain. That’s all.

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