My pallid, sickly New York complexion will soon gleam golden upon the endless sparkling beaches of Hawaii, as I carelessly lounge in anonymity under the clear, turquoise sky. In quite simply three months, or ninety three days, 2,232 hours, my feet will be welcomed by the unfamiliar territories of a tropical paradise and my heart will soar gleefully with the sounds of a ukulele. Six weeks of heavenly bliss will forever erase the polluted, frigid, grime this city has cast upon my being…or so I do hope.
Random Thoughts on a Random World
Today brought moments in time I will forever reflect upon and seek for some resonance of hope. The details will be limited here, as the gravity at which they perturb my being are too peculiar to describe. However, I will offer some profound highlights…
Staten Island Ferry –Commute of doom in the New York Harbour. An eighty-year old man, with a countenance Hemingway so often portrayed, walks the isles of the ferry, amongst the scattered, introverted passengers. His sermon echoes throughout the open spaces where the pigeons anxiously flutter.
“God is the power. Look at the face of a baby and you will know. He brings the beauty to the world…You forget that God has the Power. You seen dat damn news and hear ’bout the cloning. Remember God gives the babies to us, not man. God is the Power. Man invents toilet paper and thinks he’s the hot shit.”
The stoic faces of passengers stare ahead, but I catch the sparkling eyes of this weathered man and give him the a smile wider than my lips have managed in months…perhaps even years. I, too, now become the enigma to these timid travelers, but their cynicism severly lack the fortitude to shadow the glowing of my heart. This sage, old man brings me joy, not only with his words and fiestiness, but with a certainty of life I have yet to understand. A certainty that I am confident not one of those passengers are willing to appreciate.
Upper East Side – My peers ardently discuss the words of classic Greece and for a brief moment in time I become lost in the sea of overlapping words that fill the stuffy air. Yet again, I smile from a release of hostility and self-pity that have ravaged my ungrateful being for months on end. I come to terms with the guilt for my bitterness at those who have wronged me and laugh from the words of Archilochus-
“One main thing I understand, to come back with deadly evil at the man who does me wrong.”
Perhaps my adherance to karma are unnecessary…restitution may be due in the understanding of “an eye for an eye.” Perhaps I am not a wretched, hideous person for wanting some vindication! And although… the bipolar essence of these two brief epiphonies is peculiar, I nevertheless am thankful for the restoration of my passionate spirit and the other moments of the day these words allowed me to appreciate.
An Invitation to My Self-Indulgence
Accompanied by strained eyes and severe back spasms, I invite you all to view my minor/slightly successful attempt to develop a webpage… Other than the guided efforts at xanga. I suppose it was simply one of those – why the hell am i doing this?- type of projects. http://www.geocities.com/missdiatribe/missdiatribe/Page_1x.html
The Cat in the Can
In my most strident efforts to emulate animal taming extraordinaire, Jack Hanna, I thoroughly convinced myself that I could quite easily tame my harmless (most of the time) yet obdurate (all of the time) kitten to use the ceramic tub…el retrete… the little white toilet. Nevermind, being proper– I just wanted the little furbrain to use the can and save me the weekly chore of changing the much-feared litterbox.
This venture originated around Christmas time, as Imagination would be able to survive the proverbial “sink or swim” with much ease. Upon inundating myself with online tutorials and eagering watching a late night infomercial, I was more than adequately prepared to take on the feat. I boasted to everyone, that indeed I would train the senseless little furball to humanize his efforts of excretion…. why it would only be weeks until he would handle the task and prove that man (or woman) is the paragon of animals.
After stealing (or borrowing) seven Staten Island phonebooks, I stacked up the litter near the toilet as Imagination familiarized himself with the altitude change. Sure, he often tipped over the litter box from its two feet standing and endured three of four concussions upon crashing onto the marble floor, but these steps of learning were crucial to overcome.
Nine weeks of this repetetive routine brought us to the thrilling stage of inserting a metal bowl in the ceramic tank, to progress in the twelve steps to satisfaction (my glee of course). Of course, the inconvenience of removing the bowl to use la toilet myself was a hassle, but the tutorials promised that once my four-legged pal could squat, a magical force would take over and we would both find the light at the seemingly dark, endless, tunnel of toilet-training doom. That was a month ago. So all those boasting owners who claim “any cat can use the can” can frankly all come and kiss my toches ’cause all their testimonials are not helping me the slightest.
Speaking of which… I hear the cat scurring now, looking for a new place on the floor to baptise…I better get the lysol and run.
My Wallowing in Self-Pity
It seems the time for the moment of freedom of which I always sought is quite simply a moment that time won’t allot.
Another birthday, another year brings so many more barricades I now have to fear.
Once knowing my self was a trivial part; now a longing for such knowledge is breaking my heart.
I hide from the sunlight and sulk in the rain, wishing for just one angel to ease all my pain…
I am trapping myself so this must be my fault. Self-pity, self-hatred rid yourself of my vault.
GOD BLESS KATHY NAJIMY
On an incredible surprise for an upcoming birthday, I attended Dirty Blonde on Broadway to see Ms. Najimy in the last week of her run. Let’s just put it simple folks. I. LOVE. HER. From the beginning to end, she portrayed two characters of Mae West and Jo, a fan of Madame West. The performance was riveting to the affect I was awake all night, contemplating how talented she truly is. I suppose this little blurb is just to glorify a talent, not yet recognized for her full worth. And she isn’t a facade folks… the compassionate and inspiring advocate, combined with a kooky and touching comedienne, she is genuine. Then again, it also helps that she flattered my book with the comment, “It’s Hilarious!”
PS To you all who may be in the city this week, I definitely recommend seeing the show. Head to http://www.kathynajimy.com for more info!