Unlock The Armored Codpiece

I'm still drifting.

I get to the SHOUT OUT on time for a change. The Way behaves somewhat as I reach the platform on 96th street and the motherfucking 1 train roars in. I get on her local running ass and take it down to 14th street, and then transfer to the L who pulls into the station as if on command. A simple hop, skip and jump on the L and I'm at the SHOUT OUT.

Cyndi Lauper opens up the joint on time and I'm inside setting up. I get the mics out, the lights out, the signup sheet out. Everyone is starting to move in, looking to sign in. I'm ready, waiting for OBSIDIAN when he walks in. We get started, I hop into the driver's seat and crank the engine over. Up the massive machinery jerks and moves, lurching from the ditch where she was parked, and wheezing down the highway. I open her up, move her along. She's a barrelling fortress now, nothing but wheels and steel. The SHOUT OUT is on!

I'm where I can think on the stage now. Not short circuit, as what I was doing. I'm gaining a handle on my nerves. This is good news for me, because I'm running out of time before I'll have to do the SHOUT OUT alone again, which is coming up fast. This shit is stressful, let me tell you, and I made a few glaring mistakes...I know. On a day like today though, where I can hand over the other half of the show to OBSIDIAN, I have to sit in amazement at myself. I can make it through half a show in one piece. Barely. This is the avoidance therapy that Dr. D. is always talking about. To get before all of these people and get the job done. I love the SHOUT OUT, and everyone that shows up to it, but my nerves find it just a tad difficult to deal with.

I am so blasted when the end of the SHOUT OUT arrives that I'm not even in the mood to hang out and bullshit. I hang with D2theL and OBSIDIAN to get our pizza's but afterwards, instead of sitting in Starbucks until closing, I rise up and call it an early night. I am tired. I say goodnight to my brother and take the Way uptown, riding hard, getting home, the 1 train behaving well again. I get home and undressed. It's hot in my room, I crawl into bed. I curl up into the fetal position and close my eyes, my thoughts drifting, in the hopes of dreaming of the beautiful red head in a bikini. But nothing comes. What does arrive are disjointed stories and visions that crazy people no doubt have. I wake up dumb and tired and too late for breakfast/lunch.

I do what I like to do best on Sundays. I get online and go straight to IRC. This is my kind of Sabbath, and I'm seriously going to enjoy it online with my fellow IRCians. I'm in a chatroom with a ton of my digital companions when about a third of them get disconnected by what is called a 'netsplit'. Then we are talking about the severity of the split and suddenly I'M DISCONNECTED!! I try to get back on, but no dice. Repeated efforts come up goose egg. This is no netsplit for me. I can't even long onto a different server on the UNDERNET. My browser fails to resolve a URL, my Instant Messenger disconnects. I frown at this, what could this be? I look under my desk to find my damn Cable Modem down. Two out of five bars blinking. SHIT! No Internet. None. That's that for an hour or two.

Since I have no Internet running, I hop up and dash out to use the bathroom. No sooner do I let the door shut and lock behind me did I remember that I did not take my keys. Great. I hit the head anyway and then go down to security where I run into Lady Biggs. This woman, everything to her is exasperating. She is even too tired to move from her chair to lean forward and press the door open button nearby. I inform her that I've locked my keys in my apartment and locked myself out. "Alright," She said, her cellphone pressed to her ear. "But you'll have to bring the key back when you're done." Yeah, sure. I give her my room number. She gets up out of the chair she is in with a groan and goes around the corner of the security office to return with a set of keys. She passes them to me.

Just like that. Then returns to her phone call. No security check, no ID check, not even proof of residence. Now she might have known me, because of seeing me go in and out of the building, but how did she know my room number? Or more accurately...if I belonged in that room? What if I gave her just ANY room number? Or a room number that was across from mine when I knew the occupants were out?

I head upstairs in dismay. That means that there is a chink in the armor, a weak link in the chain. There is a gap where tender flesh is exposed. My room can be compromised as easy as that. I thought that only supervisors or bonded cleaning staff had access to the keys to the building, but it looks like to me, anyone and everyone can. Which means, if I leave my baby behind, she needs to be hidden. Simple as that. Nothing is to be left out in the open.

I open my door, grab my own keys and return the building's keys back to Lady Biggs. Then I go up to my room, and spend the day on my computer, writing, surfing and IRCing.

I think I need more picture frames.

Hobobob