Published September 6th, 2008
in Chicanery.
So there it was Wednesday evening 11:32pm CT doing my very best to sleep after what could be surmounted as a “trying day” to say the least. All cozy in my bed starting to drift off from the effects of high-dose Melatonin/5-HTP then all of a sudden I hear what sounds like someone sanding the floor in the above apartment. Apparently the genius above me felt it would be a great idea to vacuum their apartment this late, in addition the person has a rather large bulldog who loves playing with the god damned tennis ball until 2am. So needless to say I was sprung out of bed instantly awaiting a night of insomnia.
I was too lazy to put on clothes and go upstairs to put the scare into my neighbors, so I resorted to banging on the ceiling. Problem was, standing on my tempurpedic there was a good 2′ difference, so jumping was not even an option. (Light bulb)… Grab the power drill that was on my floor from hanging my curtains. So I did and proceeded to bang on the ceiling until they stopped. I laid back down for 20 minutes and it started again. So I repeated the strong raps on the ceiling with the drill.Finally they stopped the madness…
(SLEEP) 6:30am rolls around and I hear this strange noise, like a winding down sound emanating from under my covers. Apparently the power drill had become lodged between my knees, most likely I fell asleep with it. So the drill was dead and I had the word Kyoko imprinted on my inner thigh/knee for a good 2 hours.
Someone should put warning labels on these damned things!
Published September 4th, 2008
in Jex.
28... It was a good age to die. A good, round number. Enough time has passed to have lived a colorful life but not so much that I overstayed my welcome. I never thought I would actually get this far in life, that is with this year being a complete fucking mess. The experiences I’ve had over the last 365 days could sprawl page upon endless page.
Even as I sit here writing this intro I cannot help to wonder, how could I have done things differently? What did I do to deserve this? Was this someone’s idea of a twisted joke? Or worse yet, is there a God and is he shaking the ant farm? I wish it were that easy, I mean to be able to deduce all of this shit to one tangible event or source. No one said life would be easy, but god damned, someone could have told me I was the only passenger on a train with no engineer!
Arguing with myself back and forth as to whether or not I should even document this, I decided it was best. Maybe someone will read my proverbial “suicide note”, 365 pages in length and draw something from it. I know I have my takeaways, my lessons, my letdowns, but in the end this is not about me. It’s about someone who had it all and lost it piece by agonizing piece. This is a tale of excess, one man’s journey through hell on earth.
Well, I better get this started before I start rambling on, I’m poisoned by a carefully blended potpourri of meth, codeine, and various members of the benzodiazepine family. Time is of the essence, need to put the pen to the paper before check-out time.
Here’s to a life, colorful as a deep bruise yet empty as the deepest, abandoned apartment-complex swimming pool.
Day: 365/6
-Jex
(editors note: In progress and subject to change and/or erasure)
Published August 24th, 2008
in Culinary and Memories.
Growing up in California provided me with tons of great memories that I will never outlive. One in particular was the cuisine (if you can call it that) that became a standard fare as children. As you may know, Southern California has a slew of small mom & pop burger joints all ran by Greeks. I’m not sure where the tie-in is, however they make some of the best food I’ve ever tasted. Establishments such as Apollo Burger, Helmos Burger, Strekos Burger were favorites of mine.
For a mere $3.99 one could eat like a King (and thusly become just as fat lol). A delicious char-broiled burger, mountains of salty fries, and a soda so over-carbonated that your stomach hurt for 2 hours post-meal. While I do not advocate that one eat this sort of meal regularly it is definitely something everyone should experience. It was my understanding that the Greek’s food was so good because everything they made was done right and to recipe. They took pride and love in the art of cooking so much so that something as simple as a burger could become a pure delight.
One of my colleagues introduced me to a Greek Deli/Burger Joint called, Andros Deli. I recently paid a visit to give it a spin. Upon entering the owner (a 4′ 8″ 75 y/o Greek gent) greeted me by yelling at me, “Hello there sir, what do you want?”. Ordering my cheeseburger combo, he repeated the order to the cooks (his wife and daughter), “This gentleman wants an All-American, because he’s an All-American… hurry up!”. The ladies laughed and rolled their eyes and in response the owner barks, “He is here to eat, not to see us”. I started to chuckle and knew that I was in the right place. I had hit the motherload….
After 10 minutes my food was ready to consume. A burger with a toaste bun, charbroiled to perfection, fries with just enough salt, and the very fine pepper so you can dust your fries. I got into it immediately and devoured the meal, with each bite memories of childhood flooded my mind. All I could think of was the good times as a child with my father and brother. Remembering how enjoyable and simple life was as a youth. It was as if I traveled through time and was taken back to a placeholder in yesteryear.
The owner comes by and asks me how my food was and of course I give him 5 stars.
Walking out of the door, overly stuffed and happy I spent the rest of the day reflecting on my life and smiling along the way.
All of this…. for $7.65…
-J
