Hate alone is not enough to nourish. But there’s rage too.

Brooklyn is the bomb. I’m much more of a voyeur than I give myself credit for. While i was sitting at the kitchen table working, a cab pulled front and center in the view of my window. As it was raining out, the half openned back window caught my attention. Through the window I noticed the man in the back was resting his head on the passenger to his left. This seemed odd for a Wednesday at 6:30PM. As the other man and women paid the fare, the corpse came to life (well, not exactly life) . He tried getting out of the cab and made opening a cab door look more difficult than solving the rubiks cube with no arms. Maybe the door was locked? Suddenly, he became quite frantic and I could tell time was running out. As he began to spill all over himself and the cab I thought it such a shame that the windows only went half-way down. That extra 4.5 inches would have made the difference. His friend finally made it around to this side of the cab and openned the door (guess it wasn’t locked) in time for the last few heaves. At this point the cabbie was none too happy, but they jumped back in the cab and took off. Regurge and paper towels securely stuck to the pavement I think to myself, I know I’ll be sweeping those rags off my side walk.

An hour later, the rain has stopped but I’m still working. I notice the two other passengers at the bar across the street enjoying a cigarette at the outdoor seating. The party must go on.

I hope they tipped that cabbie well.

Every year, my best friend from high school gets a bunch of people together to do an MS Walk (http://www.nationalmssociety.org/) in honor of his sister who has the disease. We typically walk it up in Portsmouth, NH, but since the P-Town walk was on a Sunday this year, we felt that it would curb our post walk bar crawl. Instead we walked down in Newburyport, MA on a Saturday with the intent to go up to P-town afterwards.

So I figured I’d contact a friend of mine name C. King and his wife Regina (the Queen). Unfortunately, when I mentioned that we’d be walking on Saturday he said that he wouldn’t be in town. We decided that it was too bad but that there’d be other opportunities.

The walk was beautiful. Nice weather. Nice old historic houses. Oh, and my sister showed up and walked with us. She and I had an opportunity to talk about some stuff that we haven’t taken the time for in a while.

After the 6-mile trek we headed north to Hew Nampshire. Upon arrival, my buddy and I had to secure some beer funds at the ATM. As we’re walking down the street, I see a familiar face and I blurt “Regina” as she walks past. My buddy thought I’d been stricken with turrets syndrome. But after an uncomfortable couple of strides away from us, the girl recognized her own name and turned around. Turns out the Queen and King were in town for the night and staying at the same hotel as me.

We ended up partaking in some Pabst pitchers for $5 at a pool joint and the Regals got along right good with my other friends. And as it turns out, my friends from the walk introduced me to the person that introduced me to the King and Queen.

I went to a Citizen Cope (http://www.citizencope.com/) show at a place called Rothko in the lower east side with a friend of mine who wanted to stand up front.

A group in front of us had really enjoyed the day and already had a fine shine on. One thing I should explain about my friend is she can get pretty nasty when mixed with certain people. She and I were standing far enough apart as to indicate that it was appropriate to walk between us and perhaps make lewd gestures. So one of these hammered dudes walks between us, looks up to her and stick his tongue in and out a few times at her. After closing my eyes in astonishment, I looked at him to see if he was knocked to the floor yet. Then I looked at my friend to see if she had lunged for his jugular yet. Out of pity mostly, she refrained from any physical response. To say the least this created a little static, so as the show started I tried to stand between my friend and City Licker so as to reduce her exposure to his very impressive display of retardancing. Regardless of the tempo he maintained a quick pace.

Between songs, his friend tried to strike up some dialog with Cope (whose real name is Clarence Greenwood). He would yell things like ?we really appreciate this Cope?. ?We love you Cope you?re the best?. The uncomfortable thing is that he kept waiting for a response between catcalls to which Cope did not oblige. Then he leans over in front of me to ask his friend what Cope?s real name was. I asked the straight man if he realized that loverboy would be yelling that out after the song was over. He realized his error and the next time the loverboy asked (because of course he forgot it) straight man gave him a phony answer.

Later on, as I was fighting my way back to the front, I ran into City Licker again and decided since he was so polluted that he could probably clear a path for me as he staggered back to the front. When we got back I we had the following conversation.
ME: ?Thanks for blocking?
CL: ?it?s all cool, sorry about my friend it?s only his second time on extacy?
ME: (to self) ?That explains a lot?
ME: (to him) ?H seems to be enjoying it?
CL: ?Yeah, man. You know something, you?re my brother from another mother?
you?re my brother from another mother?.
CL: ?if he bumped into you while I?m dancing just push me away.?
No less than a minute late he steps on my foot and turns to me
CL: ?Feet don?t count?