One Day They’ll Name This Street After Me (Pt. I)

He held her head with his left hand as it rested on his chest. He could smell the familiar smell of her shampoo. It was a smell that, until recently, had remained nameless to him.

(He remembered their first trip down to the corner drug store. It was a chilly, sunny Sunday afternoon. She was bundled in a down jacket and her old purple scarf. She slipped on an ice patch while he took pictures of the city streets for the folks back home. “Another bruise,” she laughed. In the store, he bought some deodorant and gum. She needed shampoo. She grabbed her usual bottle. Hah, it’s just regular shampoo, he thought.)

He held her head closer. She giggled. “Christmas in Prison” was playing from her open laptop. The radiator popped and hissed. It had to be as old as the building itself. He kissed the back of her head, watched the snow fall over the city through the open curtains. His phone rang. He slid it across the hardwood. It came to a rest as it thudded against the far wall, underneath her old couch. The vibration finally died down, and he walked across the room to put the kettle on the gas stove. She lay on her side, seemingly hypnotized by the lights on the tree.

It had been a stressful few months. Graduations, trips to far away places, moving, moving again. A new city. New jobs. New friends. But it was Christmas, and they were on their own this year. Somehow he thought that would make him sad, but he couldn’t help but smile. Life was simple, and he loved it.

He asked her if she wanted to open a present and took the kettle off the stove.

I Gotta Say

Dear Broseph Smith,

I see you in a Barnes & Noble cafe. You’re diligently reading a book entitled “Weird Facts About Iceland.” You’re balding, unshaven, and overweight. There’s no ring on your finger, and you’re not eating or drinking anything from the cafe. You’re just hanging out, reading “Weird Facts About Iceland.” I bet there also exists a plethora of weird facts about you. Weird fact number one: you dress like 1999 Louis C.K. everyday. Weird fact number two: you know the difference between 1999 Louis C.K. and 2011 Louis C.K. (While we’re on this subject, weird fact number three: did you know Louis C.K. has Mexican ancestry, and his first language is Spanish? What?)

Mr. Smith, I hope my comments about your chosen way of passing this lazy Friday morning do not offend. I mean no harm, no judgment. What I gotta say is do what you gotta do, Broseph. You memorize those Icelandic oddities, and I’ll sit here and make my girlfriend a Christmas present. Whatever makes you happy, man. We should all be so lucky…

Enjoy,

An Uninterested, But Very Observant Party

Occupy THIS

I see posters on a professor’s door at my school. I see the signs when I drive through Lincoln Square, when they “march on” City Hall. I see it plastered across the internet. “We are the 99%.” And every time it pisses me off. Why?

Sidebar: This is the best thing to come from the occupy movement so far:

Seriously though, why does the occupy movement piss me off?  I am fairly liberal in my politics, morals, religious beliefs, views on ethics, etc.  I even had a professor tell me my psychology is liberal. (And I have no idea what that means!)  And I have openly identified myself as liberal (not “a” liberal, that just sounds dirty) since my freshman year of college (2005-2006…I KNOW).  Okay, so there was a period my senior year where I retreated to a “moderate” status, but that was mostly because I realized my politics were isolating me on a SOUTHERN BAPTIST campus.  And honestly, for me, being “moderate” just means I’m being lazy (read: apathetic).

Back to the point…why does occupy piss my (mostly) liberal ass off? I mean…I’ve seen that anti-Wal-Mart documentary, and I (mostly) agreed with it! I’m even (mostly) against large corporations!  (To be fair, I do have a weakness for Apple products, Puma shoes, Celtics basketball, and Moleskine notebooks. Also, if someone could turn the Beacon in Spartanburg, SC into a major franchise and open one in Worcester, I wouldn’t care how many rights it had as a person or how many souls it ate.  So someone get on that, please.) So (once again, to be fair), I’m not so much against large corporations as I am aware that they are damaging our economy and still doing nothing about it. (Like most Americans. I am the 99%.)

But! Is occupy doing anything about it?  Okay, okay.  They were influential in getting Bank of America to repeal that five dollar debit card charge.  Cool. Though, honestly, I was willing to just pay out of laziness (switching banks requires driving and probably talking to people).  What else have they done?

And you know, maybe it’s not about what they have done, but the ideals they are upholding.  (Though, when I see two occupy Worcester members tweeting to one another and one asks the other to stop by Wal-Mart and buy some batteries, I kinda wonder.)  I am with the occupiers in thought.  I do not believe corporations should have the same rights as people; I think a small percentage of people are controlling our nation’s wealth (and doing a really shitty job); I believe we need more jobs; I think the federal student loan system needs some restructuring (that one hits close to home).  I agree with the grungy guys squatting in Lincoln Square.  I’m just not sure I agree with their execution.

I say “I’m not sure,” because there is a lot of information I do not possess about occupiers in general.  Do these bros have jobs?  Are they kinda like Batman–do they work by day and occupy by night?  Are they, to an extent, homeless?  Is this a homeless by choice kinda thing?  (Coincidentally, I spent a week living on the streets in Asheville, NC once.  I did it more as an adventure than anything else, which yes, I do realize is kind of insulting to actual homeless people, but I was young and stupid and we weren’t texting people asking for flashlights. We roughed it.)  So yes, I do have some questions. But I also know that the general execution pisses me off.

I realize that some of the occupiers are actually homeless, are actually jobless, but I also realize that probably a rather hefty percentage of them have the ability to read this blog entry on their iPad 2 (the 99%?).  These are the occupiers that piss me off.  The privileged occupier.  The occupier who is occupying on his trust-fund or parent’s goodwill.  Or whatever.  It’s much like the affluent white kids who decide to panhandle on Haight-Ashbury for adventure.  (And yes, much like, when I was living on the streets of Asheville as a 19 year old.)

So I guess really, occupy doesn’t piss me off, but a certain subgroup of the movement does. In any case, regardless of whether it pisses me off or not, occupy is at least raising awareness of some real issues. So that certainly cannot be a bad thing. I guess I just prefer that occupiers occupy their reality. Some of us are worse off than others.  And there is a whole world out there with portions much worse off than our backslidden economy.  I’m just saying, think before you occupy.  There are other ways to disagree.  Other ways to show your allegiance, to do your part.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to occupy dreamland. (BOOM.)

Thirty-four

So life is always changing and I promise I’ll never take you for granted.
And I’ve got your college schedule hanging on my wall and I think of
how much I miss college and how much I miss you and I just want to
drive all night to Cincinnati again and wake you up at seven AM like
I did that one time. (Remember the time you drove all night, just to
meet me in the morning?) And I can’t wait to drive to Hudson in two
weeks (TWO WEEKS!) and meet your family and see Cleveland’s one
skyscraper. (Do you promise we’ll see Cleveland’s one skyscraper? The
tourism video sold me.) And it’s the holidays and I’m thankful for you.
I really am. I’m not sure who or what to be thankful to (your parents
maybe?) but I certainly am thankful. On Thanksgiving day (like rest
in peace treaty), I held hands in a circle with people from literally all
over the world and told what I was thankful for. I was fifth from last.
While everyone was saying “family” and “freedom” and “food,” I just
wanted to say your name. You’re perfect. And maybe this is a little
heavy and a little direct for a blog entry, but you are. We have made
more enviable memories in the last four months than most couples
do in a lifetime. And I mean that. From a first kiss in the middle of
a lake after a spontaneous swimming trip to climbing a mountain
in the snow to running around Harvard Square buying cupcakes to
having the greatest date night ever across the Ohio. (Remember when
I “saved” your claddagh ring and you thought it was lost?) I don’t
mind the distance. I don’t mind it one damn bit. I have never met
anyone like you. So I say, let the distance bring us together again.

Octobrofest

Then you get na-na-nothing for a whole month.
Charlie celebrated No-November and all he got was this stupid-beard.
It’s all coming back to me; I found the high water mark.