Archive for the 'endings' Category

back into the frying pan

so, friends, batshit has her departure date.  this coming saturday, she will be moving out.  where she’s going i know not, and frankly don’t give a hot damn. 

i will be around both for the safety and integrity of my apartment, to collect the keys and also because my new bed is being delivered that day (woo hoo!).  i will not be helping.  normally i would offer, and even now feel compelled because i’m a sucker and an asshole, but i’m not aggravating my shoulder for someone  who would likely not piss in my mouth if were dying of thirst.  i still have the cactus needles in my hands to back up that supposition.

so, i’ve been asking around and around, and assume my friends have been doing the same, but to no avail.  it’s a weird time of year, and no one seems to know anyone.  which leads me, at long last, to my point:

last night, i posted my apartment on craig’s list.

i know!  i didn’t want to, but i guess i have to.  it seems to be a modern necessary evil when social networks fail.  i can’t blame it all on an anonymous internet server, though.  i guess my interviewing process wasn’t rigorous enough.  i’m not sure how i’m going to change that this time.  besides getting and actually checking references, i mean.

but then, when you think about it, anyone can get someone to vouch for them.  a friend or sibling posing as a former roommate- how would i know the difference?  the whole thing involves a healthy dose of trust in a perfect stranger and the risks inherent in that cannot be avoided.

unless, of course, anyone out there has a polygraph or some sodium pentathol i can borrow?



i killed robert goulet

me and my big mouth.  we did it again.  and we’re sorry.

jerry garcia, jimmy stewart, princess diana, mel blanc, mother teresa.  we have now to add mr. goulet to the small, but rather exclusive list.  there may have been others, i’m not entirely sure.

i don’t mean to do it.  i don’t even realize what i’m saying until it’s too late.  when your mama told you that words can’t hurt you, she was lying. 


isosceles is far away, in a happy hamlet in iberia, having cafe with her companeros de piso while watching the news.  even while fluent in castellano, isosceles has issues with the news.  they speak so damned fast.  one item she does manage to fully comprehend: the exquisite screen star and man’s man robert mitchum has died.  so sad! she turns to the companeros and says “oh no.  that’s horrible.  but you know what’s really going to be horrible?  when jimmy stewart dies.  he’s so awesome.”*

cut to the same room, the same group, with coffee and the news, but now it’s the very next day.  guess what little item of news leads off the lifestyle/arts segment?

yesterday, i sat in my new boss’s office, watching a teaser for a far-off will ferrell movie.  i casually say “is robert goulet in this movie?  because he totally needs to do a cameo for will ferrell before he dies.”**

it’s subtle, yes.  but it’s there.  always a very random target, considering the order of the day.

many people would think this hubris of the highest order, but i tell you now, internet, it is an unfortunate truth.  stick around long enough and you’ll see.  i don’t mean to do it.  honestly. 

i’ll try not to do it again.  as long as kevin bacon makes it through the next couple of days, we’re golden.

the man, the legend

*that’s not exactly what i said, because i translated.

** that IS exactly what i said.  yesterday.

the great escape

it’s on kids.  iscosceles is going, going, getting out of dodge. 

physically, i’ve just landed in nyc after many weeks on the road.  but mentally, i’ve flown the coop.  and i couldn’t be happier. 

i’m not dwelling on the fact that it’s a shame and a waste and petty and unfair and all that.  onwards, upwards, bigger and better, and all the rest.  well, after i say this:

suck it, you petty, pathetic, provincial, myopic souls.  you cut off your nose to spite your face.  i’d say karma’s a bitch and all that, but it seems to me that you’re already miserable, insecure and to be pitied.  you have no idea what it’s like to feel good about who you are and what you do.  it’s a wonderful way to feel.  and when you do, you want other people to succeed as much as you do.  when you’re searching myspace and digging around for little tidbits to use on other people, you have a serious amount of introspection and self improvement you’re neglecting. 


ok, all better.  it needed to be gotten out. 

four days off- my first period of rest longer than 12 hours in six weeks is going to do loads of good for my disposition. 

the future’s bright, my friends, and for all of us.  you’ll see.

ricky nelson, i salute you

enough of the brain problems, back to the fun.

we went back to the temple bar again the last night.  we’d gone to see casa mila (la pedrera) late in the afternoon and hadn’t accomplished much else that day.  because, as i explained to cs, that we had a problem.  we couldn’t leave our hovel because the sun was out there.  despite all this and our well-laid plans to go to bed early for our early flights, cs declared that it we had to go out that night.  it was our last night.  no fighting that logic.

we met up with the hilarious irish girl we’d seen the previous two nights and her cohorts.  she’d gathered some boys from roscommon and they asked us to join their group.  they twisted our arms by buying us a couple of pints of fat frogs and then two baby guinness shots.  i have since determined they were evil plants from the planet of teaching responsibility through reverse psychology.  just when i thought i was doomed to sink into an irish hole of drunk, maurizio showed up!  huzzah!  david was not with him.  boo!

maurizio came because he thought david might show- they have a very informal friendship and just meet up there sometimes.  he and cs bonded about italy, amongst other things, i’m sure, while i pined and wished for my imaginary boyfriend* to show.  alas, he never did.  to buoy my spirits, maurizio told cs a secret: david thought i was cute and tried to call me the previous night.  unfortunately, he only had my office number and not my blackberry.  curs-ed fates!

we all went off to find a disco and with maurizio’s guidance, found one on las ramblas, relieving us of a long cab ride to porto olympico and an 18 euro cover.  he couldn’t join us because he had serious research work to do in the morning.  we bid him a warm adieu and followed the irish upstairs.  of course there were many swirling, twirling lights on the dance floor, so cs and i hung at the bar.  it was hot.  i turn my head for one second and when i look back, cs is talking to three fine looking, but barely post adolescent, boys: jose uno, jose dos and alex.  and they were from?  tenerife.  seriously. we had to fly 2247 km (1,396 miles for those of you on the SI system) to find natives of tenerife.  it was no hoax.  they showed me their papers.

though they were all cute, and cs had her weary eyes on jose uno, we realized we didn’t want to be there.  we didn’t want another drink.  we were tired of sweating and breathing in the musty air.  we were tired period.  we decided to head home. 

on the way, we passed the slightly unhinged israeli girl we’d ditched on the way to the disco (mostly at the irish’s urging.  but they were right.  she was kind of crazy.  and very intense).  she was talking to a nigerian man selling trinkets on las ramblas.  we trudged up to our hole for the final time so i could pass out for a few hours and cs could shower in time for her flight to roma.

i left the next day and had smooth, uneventful flights home.  on a lark, i checked my email.  god is good, folks, because i had an email from the catalan waiting.  he wanted to know if i was going back to the bar that night- he’d run into maurizio who told him he’d seen us the night before and he wanted to see me (sniffle).   he wrote that he’d wanted to spend the night with me the other night and tried to follow us to the disco (sob).

unfortunately, i was now back at home, 6169 km away (hysterics).

i wrote him back and told him all this.  he said he was leaving on holiday that day, but would be on messenger at 22h on 2nd september.

sigh.  a girl has to have dreams, i guess.

so now, i’ve decided my immediate life goal is to emulate ricky nelson and have a man in every port.  this trip was a good start towards that end.

 oh, and BMW came over the day after i got home.  a girl has to eat.  more than once a month, too. 

*he’s an actual person of course, just not my boyfriend.  not yet, people, not yet. mwahaha mwahaha (curling imaginary** handlebar mustache). 

** the mustache is not real.  not since we went to el corte ingles, anyway.  zing!

how do you mourn the man who taught you to silence a gun with a potato?

oh no, you guys!  mr. wizard died today.  i’m so sad; he was awesome.  he’s probably the reason i love science so much. 

i do not want to hear from you kids who don’t remember when a cable box resembled a blender, except the buttons brought you to hbo, espn, cnn, a fuzzy porn channel and nickelodeon instead of puree, blend, mix and chop.  the man used to do things in his kitchen set that were so awesome and fun.  and when you made a rocket out of the cardboard roll inside of a paper towel roll and some baking soda and set it off in your kitchen, your mom couldn’t even really get mad because it was science.

i remember learning how to make so many fun and interesting things on that show.  damn.  he was like a mashup between captain kangaroo and macguyver- it doesn’t get better than that when you’re a kid. 

RIP, Don Herbert. 

when the good ‘ship sails


it is so much harder than walking away from a best friend than a boyfriend (girlfriend), no?  there can be something so much more intimate about a true, close friendship than a romantic relationship.

for one thing, a truly good friend really likes you for who you are.  they appreciate you for you.  that’s why they’re here. 

think about how many couples you know who love each other, but don’t really like each other.  you know the ones, “honey, don’t do that.”  “baby, that’s not funny.” “oh, not this again.” 

friends also support you in a way that a signifiliteralism!literalism!literalismcant other often cannot.   they don’t have an agenda for you other than your happiness and/or well being.  it’s not about them.  it’s about you.

i’m talking true friendships, not co-dependencies, people-habits (e.g. you grew up with them, they’re not so bad, etc.) or the friendly acquaintance.  they can be rarer than relationships and truer than family because you actively did something, no matter how big or small, to have them in your life. 

and realizing that the shoulder that you can always cry on has turned away, even a small degree, is a cruel, cruel reality.


“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”


Upon common theatres, indeed, the applause of the audience is of more importance to the actors than their own approbation. But upon the stage of life, while conscience claps, let the world hiss! On the contrary if conscience disapproves, the loudest applauses of the world are of little value - john adams
May 2018
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from the man who taught me everything:

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”