Bitching the Way

I did the 'work' thing today.

It was a relatively slow day of filing files and answering a few phone calls. At least I had a chance to fix a printer jam. The usual assistant stuff.

I also called for the damn interview. I was nervous as Hell. I wanted to wire my teeth shut they were chattering so hard. Daniel got on the phone, and was very cordial. He asked me if I wanted to come in tomorrow. I said yes. At 4:00PM. Wish me luck.

I didn't go to Starbucks this morning, but instead stayed to press my shirt for work. And to go to that fucking stupid morning meeting. I stood there like a handcuffed dummy while we went through the process of picking winners for perfect attendance. I wasn't on this list this day. I missed one day too many. I was out last week. Besides you can't win twice in a row, so there is no reason for me to go to the meeting for awhile.

It was like standing in the middle of the Planet of the Apes. These cretins were restless and damn near rowdy. It was annoying. The meeting consisted of drawing lots, calling out the names of the winners and "have a good day." WTF??

I blew that pop stand fast, and headed uptown to work. Do you know, when riding the Way, I find a myriad different things that piss me off? Stupid shit, that largely tourists do, that is downright annoying. Hey, I'm not tourist bashing here, but some of them are too much for words. A real New Yorker would never do some of these things for fear of having his/her head handed to them in a bowling bag.

For instance: I'm walking upstairs and there is a family forming a phalanx on the stairwell as they come down. From the little larvae all the way up to the parents, they have to spread out across the entire stairwell, as if they are the royal family coming down out of Buckingham Palace. Well I give dad and mom a real New York greeting by plowing between the both of them as I ascended the stair.

Hobobob, you're a real sonof- abitch. No I'm not. I'm just practical. I have to get up the stair, so unfor- tunately I have to plow through someone. Who should it have been? The kiddies. Then I could be called a sonofabitch. But I chose the parents because they are bigger and should know better. Make room for the OTHER COMMUTERS kiddies. Simple.

Just a little spice for their riding pleasure.

Another pain are fucking bike messengers too tired to ride their bikes to and from their pickup locations. So what do they do? Bring their fucking grungy, shit covered trail bikes into the Way during RUSH HOUR. What in the fucking world??? You have to make room for this stainmaker because this asshole is in a hurry to pick up a package and just doesn't feel like biking down to get it. Dude, you're a FUCKING BIKE MESSENGER. That's the route that you're supposed to take. That's what you do. You don't come and pack your shitty rack into the crowded Way, it's as simple as that.

Irritating, when you have dirty clothes on to begin with, and don't really need them more dirtier.

I've got one last one....

The dumb fucks that stand in front of the train doors like deer in the headlights when the train stops in the station. These piles of excrement stand right in front of the doors as if there isn't a wave of people looking to pour out. I wish that I had an oversized right foot, about the size of a small car, and come out with it first, landing on a swath of those dumb motherfuckers, crushing a path right through the center of this orgy of stupidity. I'm serious. It's enough to make you scream.

And then when you get out of the Way, you're supposed to be a cordial, courteous New Yorker heading to work. No, that shit wires you up.

Now I'm planning to leave the comfortable Starbucks to head to the box for even more acts of wanton buffoonery. I wipe my face with a harsh, dry hand, trying to rub feeling into my features. I wonder what Roundtree has for me tonight. Just this morning he had me print out some sort of biblical piss and vinegar newsletter from somewhere in Wisconsin. He says to me that it comes out every month. I expect he believes that he's going to have me print this shit out monthly.

Then this massive moron comes up with: "Dude, you'll have to teach me how to do this shit one day." Like never boss, I think to myself. I say: First you've got to work on getting the hardware. And he replies with: "Oh, I can learn on your stuff my man." The forward punting gall of this guy. Roundtree is getting to be more and more of a headache each day.

The minute I get home, here he comes with computer questions. He asks me to check and see if a CD is encoded. He claims that he bought a music CD from a street vendor, to 'help him out', and the disk is empty. I look at the disk and can tell it's blank. You've been rooked Roundtree. "Awwww shit man, that's what I get for helpin' out a brother!"

You help people Roundtree? Just the other day this guy was asking me for Q-tips and Baby powder. He is the ultimate consumer. A blob, rolling over and ingesting everything in his path. If he's not asking you for something he's not breathing. This is the truth. The man is proving to be a leech.

He reclines across his bed and says to me: "Hobobob, what do you think of a hundred and sixty dollars for an Ipod?" I don't think about it Roundtree. You shouldn't be either. "Why not," he asks, sitting up on his bed. Because you have no way of loading music onto it. You don't have a PC. "Hell, I can use yours," he replies matter-of-factly. I turn to look at the television audience. Can you believe the stones on this guy? You can forget that Roundtree, I don't have any music on my laptop for you. "Well can't you download them from the Internet?" You must realize something folks. The Internet is God's gift to mankind for homeless people. It's not a tool but an answer to every problem in the world. It's a wonder that the world's medical leaders don't use it to find the cure for cancer. All you have to do is put 'cure' in a search field and hit the button.

No, Roundtree, you can't download anything from the Internet. "Well, my brother has all the equipment that I need to download music into my Ipod." Well then you're set, you don't need me and my computer. He sulks over this. Largely because he and I both know that his brother has bullshit to load on his Ipod. What he does HAVE is an opportunity to ask me again at a later date if he can load music from my laptop.

Too bad if you want to know. I don't have time to hold these guys hands. And I can tell when someone has designs on my baby. They are preoccupied with it. I tell you, it'll only be a matter of time before Roundtree will ask me can he use it for something. Probably to watch a movie, or listen to a CD. Something ridiculous. And the shocking thing is that he will honestly think that I'll say yes. Even though he is constantly designing things to do with my laptop, he will not stop, of this much I'm certain.

Like Seth, who made it his life's aim to separate me from my baby long enough to use it. For what reason? To play chess. Can you believe that. That was his Earth shattering reason. Like Seth so goes Roundtree. Not going to happen, I don't care how hard you try.

Roundtree is everywhere tonight. Back and forth from the bathroom to the bed and then back again. He is restless. And so am I.

I think I'll continue to blog.

Hobobob

The Tables Have Turned

I got this email the other day:

"you got a call on my cell from: Daniel at [Webpage Interview] at 4:56 PM today - Friday. I took the info, acted professional (ha!) and told him I would give you the message."

Well it looks like I got my interview. Here comes the big jump. Dealing with a deadline every week. But if it works for me, it's a feather in my cap. I feel good about this. I'm making progress. All I have to do now is get the interview and ace it. I have a high confidence level in this because I CAN ONLY FAIL. It's good when you're coming from behind. When you have only a few chips to play the game, you really can't lose your shirt. I'm at the bottom as it is. I can only end up going somewhere else.

I'm invincible because I'm already defeated. Ha ha ha.

That's my plan boys and girls. This is another stair step. A move through the microcosm. I find myself in the Madison Avenue Starbucks again, with the busted toilet. Stupid fucks. That's all I have to say about that. Good thing that the water pill has already done its magic for the day. My brother and I engage in healthy banter until it is time for me to snag the Way and head for the Box. I bid my brother farewell and good evening and return to the madness.

What was on the deck for tonight? Look, it was a simple thing, the dresser was moved all the way against my headboard. Now I had a small space between my dresser and my bed to store my bottled water. No doubt Roundtree moved it. So I'll just move it back a bit and explain it to him why. When he did come in and I did explain it to him he blows up. "I really don't care! I just moved it because dis boy ovah here goes to the Techs tellin' them that I'm all over da place with my stuff. Why does dis motherfucker have to fuck wif me?" Whoa, Roundtree, what are you talking about? He repeats himself, using language not appropriate for a Christian. He revisits the emotions of the encounter. Somehow for some reason, John went and complained to the Techs that Rountree had his stuff 'all over the place'. And in fact, he does have a lot of stuff, and he did 'expand' further than the barriers of his bed area. I can see John going to the Techs, but I would have went to Roundtree first. He is an amicable guy and would have easily moved his things. But to go to the Techs only escalated the issue and threw bad blood into the water.

I understand you, I tell the heated Roundtree. I know what you mean. But I didn't go into how I agreed with John. No, that would just be throwing logs on the fire. I stop the conversation instead, put on my headsets and drown him out.

True to my life, Roundtree is already starting to chafe in the dorm. He gets on Willie's cellphone and has a conversation with everyone he knows. Now that's not so bad, but he's one of those people that has to talk at a volume as if the person is down the block. I turn my headsets up further to drown him out. He goes from family members to friends and back to family members.
It's almost unnerving, and like I said, true to form, it's annoying. Because I have already claimed him as a friend and 'cool' everyone in the Dorm is looking at me for an explanation. I have none.

I am so grateful that he says he has to go and take a shower, and Willie appears looking for his phone. Now that's the end of that. I wonder what more surprises Roundtree will have for me. Here's a note to take down everyone...NEVER THINK THAT. Because no sooner does the thought hit my mind does he return and makes a big production of getting on his knees and praying. Now I have nothing against praying, I think it's a beautiful thing when a person acknowledges a supreme being, but this ramp up to prayer was a might bit over the top. The pacing back and forth, the kneeling partially in the aisle. It was a little much.

Maybe I'm already sensitive to the man. Maybe everything that he does now will reflect upon me and I don't like it. Maybe I shouldn't give a fuck and let the man be himself and I'll be myself. Maybe I shouldn't have so many maybes about shit that isn't directly controllable by me. I think that's the maybe I should listen to. I burrow my head in my laptop. I'm going strong. SOMEBODY STOP ME!!!

I smile. I've been wearing a cheese eating grin for some time now. Ever since the SHOUT OUT. Nothing, not even the antics of Rountree and the Box can get me down now. I wrote this Haiku which is indicative of how I feel:

The caged bird soars high
Wings beating the naked skies
It can't be held back

May you feel this way too as you face your day tomorrow. It can't hurt.

Hobobob

Alphabet Bags.

These new alphabet tote bags from Keep Calm are so pretty and simple. I really like them.

(P.S. Is it weird that I'm already thinking about Christmas gifts? I can't wait to do another gift guide!)

Swissmiss's House

I love Swissmiss, and her house is just as warm and friendly as she is! See all the photos over on Design*Sponge...

In Retrospect

As I sit in the Big House it was submitted to me by one of my closest of friend about a comment that I had made in a previous post.

"I had nothing, not even a change of clothes. But I had three things that kept me going when the bottle could no more: the fibre of a broken being, the tattered remains of a life, and...my baby."

I would like to elucidate on that a little. I think I could be or may have been misun- derstood by some. My life at that time was an internal warfare. It was me versus my need for the bottle. Drinking was how I made it through my day. Many of my closest friends will tell you that. I got up drinking and didn't stop until my head hit the pillow. But when I found myself homeless, and the alcohol cushion wore away I was left with internal energies that could have failed me. The battle with the bottle, the battle against living life without it, all of these tested the fibre of my being. Me. And so, the three things that kept me from going mad in the insane position that I found myself in without my self medicating myself was first: the fibre of a broken being: The pieces of me that I had leftover after a ruined marriage, the loss of many friends, the loss of job and home and the assorted mixed and jumbled feelings that go along with it. Kind of like what you would feel if you got a pink slip on Monday. But many times worse. I had to deal with this. Second: the remains of a tattered life. See the above. And one other thing: my baby. A way to voice this outrage and pain that I was going through, and for the most of it, I did it through seeing the humor of the thing. But I had a way to vent them all, through my baby, even she being a gift from a thoughtful friend. These are all internal things, things that I can only blame myself for having, or not having. This all began and ended with me, an internal conflict and salvation.

And it's at this point that I need to let you know that there were people who were there for me, and they know who they are and they read this blog. There is no reason to go into trying to name them all, because I would be heartbroken if I left one out by mistake or error. Suffice it to say, they were all godsends and I love them all.

I fear that the above comment made might be taken out of it's context, so I wanted to paint a clearer picture of what I meant. This has not been a singular journey but one having many helpers. Like Lewis and Clark had Sacagawea on their way across the country to aid them, so did I have aid to get where I am now. I feel for the many homeless people out there that do not. Those out there that are truly alone.

I have not been rescued from all pain, but I have been rescued from at least that one.

I love you.

Hobobob

Six Foot Dick

I wake up late.

No six O'clock AM for me today. I wake at Eight.

With a tremendously bad taste in my mouth. My open mouth feels and tastes like the inside of a basketball player's sneaker. I rise and Igor is across from me, already up, already on his laptop. I am ashamed. I should be up when he rises. This day has already started backwards. I walk into the bathroom to take my morning leak and wash out my mouth. I decide coffee will do a better job than just brushing my teeth. I go and have a cup of the shit that they serve here in the Box in the morning, and actually, it wasn't all that bad.

I wander back to my bed and set up the Internet, going through my morning routine of email and blogging and Roundtree wakes. He wakes groggily. "Goodmorning Hobobob." He mumbles. I acknowledge him. Wendy, the Wicked Witch of the West flies by on her broom announcing morning medication. It's time for me to get the fuck out of dodge.

I'm on the Way, reading my book before I know it. There will be scheduled repairs and stops will be skipped. Arrangements need to be made. I get to the sidewalks of Gotham and walking I find an unusual smattering of tourists. Either more than usual, or I'm more sensitive to them this Sunday. They are standing in the entrance to the Way as if afraid of a little rain. I walk out into it sans umbrella and rejoice in the embrace of the refreshing coolness of drops. I head to the Starbucks, running into more tourists, toting cameras and staring up at the raining skies, their bodies covered by bright, thin plastic ponchos. They look comical.

I hit Madison Avenue Starbucks, grab a table and coffee and check the bathroom, finding it closed for repairs. This is not uncommon here. They close down the bathroom for repairs whenever they don't feel like cleaning it. But this will not do for me. In my morning meds is a very powerful waterpill, which as you well know of my exploits of urinating in the most unlikeliest of places, I cannot hold back. I decide to walk over to the Fifth Avenue Starbucks instead.

On my way there I find even more tourists on Fifth Avenue. An avenue that is more designed for them. Fifth avenue is more garish, and stupid and insipid than most, being near to the Empire State building, the shops here do anything to attract tourists. So in their efforts to get them to stop and shop they place shit of all kinds outside in front of their stores. A human-sized Statue of Liberty, a life sized cut out of Senator Obama waving, even a huge spider with a web that looks like you're caught in it.

And these zany tourists and posing around them, smiling, waving: "Look Ma, I'm in New York with an oversized spider!!" I burn inside. Don't ask me why, but I find them stupid. Enjoy New York, not these asinine tourist traps. I swear to God, I believe in my heart of hearts, if you were to put something inherently offensive up, like a six foot erection and hairy balls out in the middle of the sidewalk you will have tourists flocking around it to pose. It should be mechanical too, with a pump in the testicles so that if you stomp on one it'll send a two foot stream of whipped cream from its head. That'll get 'em flocking.

Alright, all of you non-New Yorkers out there who think that I'm being elitist please take a moment to understand me before you pass judgment. I'm not knocking tourists. I'm knocking the shit out of people who 'act like tourists'. Come to New York like a few friends that I know. Come and enjoy the fucking city, the nightlife, the sights, the food, the people. Come and enjoy all of that shit. Just LEAVE THE TOURIST ATTRACTIONS ALONE. leave the six foot penises where they are at, and maybe, just maybe, they'll all go away, and Fifth avenue will become a street again. You don't have to stomp on the testicle to enjoy yourself in New York.

I make it to the establish- ment just as a burning settles into my own loins. There was no way that I could have stayed in Madison Starbucks without pissing all over myself. As I rush in, there is nothing in the Starbucks but tourists. How do I know? Because they are all speaking, and nothing is in english unless it is heavily accented. I'm not pissed now. I'm pissing.

I find a nice table and make myself comfortable. I'm back online, with a cup, make that two cups, of coffee in front of me. The rain outside falls harder, smashing against the huge windows of the Starbucks. I stare outside.

This is home for me now.

Writing, coffee and Starbucks.

And tourists.

Hobobob

Pretty Girl.

I've always feel kind of awkward wearing scarves around my head, but I love this look.
Also, isn't this flower pin fun? It's made from a recycled t-shirt. I think the pretty Parisian girl above might like it.

P.S. I thought you might enjoy these vintage photos of people's parents falling in love. They are so sweet!

IKEA Adventure.

Yesterday, my brother, Alex and I rented a pick-up truck and drove to the new Brooklyn IKEA. It was so much fun! I loved walking through their fake living rooms and bedrooms, and we got these awesome blue and white curtains. Why is IKEA always such an adventure?

P.S. Hilarious.

The Lowliest of the Low

The SHOUT OUT was awesome.

We had such a good turnout with some of the most awesome poets. Jay was there, Earthmother, AJ, D2theL, Rob, Rob and Rob and others, too many to list, and the house was rocking. Elizabeth did the feature and she was spot on! It was amazing mind you, it sent shivers up and down my spine. Now this is the way the SHOUT OUT is supposed to be. As Jay put it just before he read, and Jay should know, being in the poetry circuit for all of these year:, a poetry reading should be grungy, earthy, informal and rowdy. It should promote the sharing of ideas and talent...it should be like ours. I was never so proud of any of my accomplishments. My brother and I had put together something out of a labor of love, and the poets loved it back.

It's a great feeling, these things. One might say, 'shit Hobobob, you're a homeless fuck. Everything that you own is on your useless back, you're a stain on the fabric of society. You're in the lowest frame of the ballgame and basically, you stink. What do you have to be so happy about?"

I question that. I wonder that, because honestly, that's what I say to myself everyday. But shit if I'm not happy. I'm pleasantly overjoyed. I have more than most and I have nothing. Wealth is immaterial. That's why rich and powerful people can feel unhappy and unfulfilled. That is why a cockroach can feel proud when his mates egg sack bursts and out comes a million of those little fuckers. Something so fucking low can feel better than the President when HE looks at the state of the nation and the sorry condition it's in.

Yes, I'm happier than that guy on Wall Street, who is getting that pink slip on Monday because his firm folded. And so many more in the weeks and months to come. I'm happier than most.
I am in a zero sum option. I get whatever's left. Everyone takes theirs and I get the rest. That's alright, because I don't need much. The little I do get out of life is more than enough. The little money, love, sex, power, shelter, the whole Magilla, that life wants to nickel and dime to me I accept gladly.

And on days when the SHOUT OUT is as perfect as it was today, I smile with a unique kind of pleasure, because it's real and it's mine to have and to hold. No one can take that away from me. JM walks past me with a Koolaid grin, his reading when over excellently. I see him beaming. He reached a personal best here, and here was here for him to do just that. We gave him the forum and he performed. He added and was added to. That's a reciprocal engine, when there is no loss of efficiency then it is called a perpetual engine. This here, this achievement, is a true perpetual engine.

I was never, ever so proud.

So what do I do about it. Of course I become insular and put away the stage and my gear. I make myself too busy to engage in the banter after the reading. My brother does that end of the work for me. I do what I do best, work and support. I am the buttress upon which this structure leans. There is a tap on my shoulder. It's Elizabeth. "Hobobob, I am so grateful to come here and read. You two have a great space and it's been a privilege to read here." Her eyes are beaming and far away. I smile. You're welcome. It's been a privilege having you.

I wrap everything up, and head with D2theL and my brother out, where I can pick up some chicken wings. Now I have to say, that the high point of my Saturdays, after the reading, has to be the chicken wings. And don't crack any Black jokes either. Shit, and I'm hungry too. I buy an insane number of wings, nine in total, and fries. This will be my dinner, and I eat them walking to the park with my brother. We walk D2theL to the Way and then we head to the park where I slow from eating. I've since picked up some pastries and so hand the chicken over to OBSIDIAN to finish. I'm done with the night.

My head starts to bob as my brother gets into an animate conver- sation with a gentlemen next to him on the bench. I look up at the huge digital clock on the side of a building. It is time for me to leave. My brother walks me to the Box and we chatter like teeth in the cold. I say goodbye to him and ascend to my bed. The Dorm is unusually still, GOD is singing aloud terribly while listening to his walkman. Igor and another client are in a chat room on his computer with a gay guy in Germany. They're having great fun acting like a gay man. Go figure. Roundtree is preparing for church, carefully laying out his clothes.

I sit, cherishing the day. It has been a good one.
I hope to have many more of these before I expire.

I wish you could feel as good as I do now.

Hobobob

Old Dogs, Same Digs

Roundtree continues to unpack.

He has an enormous amount of stuff. He is a religious man now. He has found God and doesn't do crack anymore. He has lost a lot of weight, that's the reason why it was hard for me to recognize him. It took me a little time to place him in the stream of time here. But when I did, I was glad even more that he was my bed mate.

He lifts up the mattress of his bed and finds the compartment under it. He lifts open its door and smiles, looking back at me. "Ah ha, I found a secret DEPARTMENT." I never said that my boy was well educated.

"I'm going upstairs in three days," he says. "I need one of those big lockers. I don't have enough room for all my stuff." Really? How much do you have? You really going upstairs? "I've been blessed," he says with a broad smile. "I've been blessed. I've been brought back to the city by God. He wants me here, so here I am." And you're going upstairs? "Yeah, I need one of those big lockers." I hear you.

Too bad for me. But in the long run, I'll have three days of bliss until then. That's not too bad. Now here's the amazing thing. Another old friend of mine has returned also. Willie. But he has been back for about two weeks now, and he and Roundtree are like Frick and Frack. Willie walks into our Dorm, an absolute no no, going straight to Roundtree and asks for his cellphone back. They banter back and forth, and I can tell immediately tell that Willie's voice is terribly slurred. He turns to me, pointing at me with a wavering arm. "This motherfucker is still here," he says to Roundtree. "After all these years, he's still here. He ain't never gonna leave." I can tell from here that my man Willie is seriously fucked up. He's tore up from the floor up. I wonder how he roams back and forth through the halls in such condition. They laugh. We are all old hounds in around the new guys. Willie staggers off after awhile, leaving Roundtree to continue unpacking.

In the morning I wonder if I should get up. It's Six in the Morning. As this single thought goes through my head, it's Six Thirty. I get up and take a break from the calisthenics today. Yesterday, it was just too easy to do twenty push ups and sit ups, so I added another ten and damn did that hurt. It felt just like when I started. I'm guessing that in two weeks this will become easy. I get up and pack my gear. The Dorm was slowly coming alive. I skedaddle, heading to the Broadway Starbucks.

I sit and nod off, over and over again, just killing time until the beginning of the SHOUT OUT. Around that time I get the news. Another one of our fellow poets has died, and so has Paul Neuman.

Death, an interesting thing for us who continue to live. It is the predator of our lives. It runs behind the herd, chasing and bringing down the weak, the unwary. It's a sobering thing, it colors our world. When you don't think of it, it doesn't exist. Only when someone actually does die do you get a cold slap in the face. It's here, and it floats just inches away from flesh. It seeks for every opportunity to claim you. Be it untimely, or just old age like my parents. Either way, we wait for it to claim us, whether we believe in it or not.

I'm thinking this now, how death is so close to the skin. And I resolve myself. I decide for myself that now is the time to act. To act decisively but not an overall action, because the question bears: Act decisively doing what? Yes, what? So my act to act decisively is to do so in regards to all things. Starting with the littlest of things. Because all huge things, such as life itself, is made up of an infinitely small number of minute things, tiny decisions, small movements, multiplied over a span of time. Here is where you take control over your life. It is in the microcosm that you can effect real change.

I decide that I am going to change everything now, because the time left for me is shorter than the time going in. My poet friend was MY AGE. Simple as that. His death was sudden and untimely, and he was of relatively good health. What is my problem? What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm whining and crying about the brass ring, but I'm also floating in a state of amber. In a state of inactivity.

Shit, now is the time to act, and act with conviction. I'm not letting go of anything my heart desires. Not easily anyway. I'm taking all the fucked up chances. I'm going for the longshots. I'm swearing to you now that I vow to defy all odds. If I see a chance I'll take it. That's all folks.

And that's why I'm here. That's why I'm standing in the middle of a field under cultivation. Nothing has grown, but there are many sprouts. Time will tell if my decisions have led me to a Heaven or to a Hell, but I can tell you, I came from Hell. I can do no worse by taking the rudder of my life now. I'm clear now. I'm very clear.

I have another memorial to go to in the coming days, and soon thereafter my own. That's the way that I see it. If I keep breathing I'll invite all of you to my memorial. I'm going to have all that I want before I go there though. Or fail at trying. But at least I'll fail trying, not crying.

And I'll be able to tell when it's my memorial.

I'll be the one not drinking.

Hobobob