July 13th,
2001. Friday
Mail to G-RockOne Year AgoWell, I've got a little free time here at work. I usually can't do anything like this while here, because my computer screen is directly in front of the boss's office. It's the only one he can really see if he's sitting at his desk. It sucks. Anyway, we're now three weeks into Nora's visit, and i must say, we're doing quite well. I'd've thought that her sharing my room and sleeping in my bed would've driven me crazy by now, but i've almost stopped noticing. In fact, I kind of miss her on the rare occasions I'm in bed before she is. She's a real Nazi as far as say-on-your-damn-side-of-the-bed issues go, but I'd say we've only had 4 or 5 nights where it's been enough of a problem where she's been like "Any more of this and I'm going to sleep on the couch." "Fine with me," I say. "And I'm taking the blanket with me." "Oh no you're not." "Yes, I am. You get the bed, I get the blanket." "What am I supposed to sleep with?" "You could turn off your air conditioner." Climate control is still a big issue. She likes it warm and muggy, and I absolutely need it dry, frigid, and dark. She likes to sleep with the blinds open too, which I cannot, nay, must not do. And I must say, I've been shockingly accomodating for the past few weeks. For the first two, maybe three days, we slept how I slept, with the blinds down, pitch black, a/c cranked up, windows closed, door closed. Then slowly, she started to get her way. Now we go back and forth. Lately, whoever seems to be having the more rotten day seems to get control of the climate. Sometimes I'll storm into the house, give a curt "hello" to Nora, who's on the bed watching "7th Heaven," and I'll turn the air-conditioner from "vent" to full blast arctic, and she won't say a word, or at the very most "...shut the window then," sort of completing a conversation I was having with her through actions. Other times i'll come in, feeling pretty neutral, and she'll be watching Oprah or something and it's 80 degrees in my room, and I'll turn it to a/c and she yell/whine "Greg! Nooooooo! I'm freezing," or "I'm going back to California."
At night, when she's in bed and I'm still up, and the air conditioner is on vent, I'll come in around 2am and turn it to the a/c mode. It's a tense few seconds, when the machine makes the transition from blowing room temperature air from outside to cold, cold, deliciously stale air. It's actually louder when it's on vent, but it makes this "bzzzz" sound when you switch it to a quiety mode. I always hold my breath, hoping it doesn't wake Nora up, and she'll be all "Greg, no..." in a super whiny, cranky, tired voice. It's more like "Greeeeeg. nooooo..." Last night, I was in bed before she was, and she woke me up when she came in, though I pretended to be asleep, and heard her change the air conditioner to vent. That annoyed and amused me. I pretended to be asleep until she stepped on my leg crawling over me.
Anyway, I'm off to meet brother Garrick for noodles.
Didn't noodles. Instead, I met Garrick and we walked down to Sullivan St to Peanut Butter and Co., where they sell mostly different kind of peanut butter sandwiches. He got the Lunchbox Special, a standard PBJ, and I got the Peanut Butter Cup, which is peanut butter and Nutella. We split the two. And washed it down with a tall cup of milk. Whole for me, skim for Garrick. What's the point of skim, really? it's like white water. But the meal was tasty. Though probably not worth the five bucks. Though Garrick paid. They had all sorts of weird peanut butter combos. Particularly intriguing was the peanut butter, banana, ad honey, with the option of adding bacon. I guess everything is better with bacon, though this seems a stretch. And there was this really fat woman and her really fat child, who looked much older than he probably was because he was so large. And he had read hair and freckles, which made his fatness even more tragic. Just a little pink-faced, red-headed butterball, chowing down on a giant peanut butter sandwich. There should be laws. He should be taken away. She should be jailed. They should both be put on extreme and dangerous diets. I like food as much as the next guy. More, even. And I like junky, shitty, fatty food more than anyone I know. But how about a little fucking moderation, huh? How can you let your child get so fucking...so fucking... FAT!? It's obscene. There's no other word for it. And it makes me angry. Whenever I see these fat people, I always look through them, into them, like I have x-ray eyes, and I just see there poor, enlarged hearts, tired and overworked from trying to pump all that blood through all those clogged and clumpy veins, collapsing under the weight of all that extra flesh and lard. The woman, heaving with every step, as she walks from the table to make sure her order is just right, and then trying to weave her way through the chairs and tables, taking a path that most people just take for granted, lifting her giant ass over the backs of the chairs. This scene really didn't bother me then, and I didn't think about it besides mentioning it to garrick for a second, but now that I'm reflecting on it, it just makes me angry. Fat children always enrage me. I'm not angry at them, they don't know any better, but their parents, these fucking people. If my mom had given me a bag of doritos every day after school when I was 8, you can bet I'd've eaten the whole damn thing. But, silly her, she knew better. Is this an American thing? In my brief trips through other countries, and from talking to people who've spent time abroad, there doesn't seem to be such rampant obesity anywhere else. It's really terrible and depressing. But man, was that peanut butter good. Made on the premises. Had little chunks of peanuts in it, but not like chunky style or anything. Very creamy. Garrick bought some to take home.
Anyway, then we went shopping for shoes while killing time til his bus. He bought two pairs of Chucks, I bought nothing. Typical. I've been looking for new sneakers for many months now, but haven't figured out which way I want to go. Same with all my clothes. I've been in fashion stasis for pretty much the last 10 months. And that's about it. Home now. Killing time. Probably won't go out tonight. Perhaps I'll watch a movie. I'm thinking Rushmore at this point. Or maybe Magnolia. though I'm not in that kind of mood. I'll be sure to let you know.
DA&R
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