My week begins where it ends

Apparently, I spend all my spare waking hours in bars, hall in the walls... in the company of booze, strangers, music and... my thoughts. In an effort to lose my own thoughts, I tried bar-hopping.



A film crew was at this bar called Hogs and Heffers where attractive barely-dressed bartenders continually yelled out lyrics with a megaphone to whatever songs that were playing, while also announcing to all the women that they needed to dance on top of the bar. I certainly lost my own thoughts for a while there, but, not for long. After having gotten my fix of the wild theatrics there, I left to seek out more entertainment.

I walked east and south and found a cozy place where they were playing Blues music.



I settled for a drink and listened to the entire set. Soon, I found myself lost in the blue...

For my night cap, I continued my bar-hopping in the beast village. I mean, best... errr... east... I mean eat... east village... and went to this place called Mars Bar.



A friend called it the best-worst dive bar in NYC and I kind of agree.

Suffice to say, my weekend was spent in bed... sleeping... or unable to sleep... half-asleep... in fact, I sort of did this video in a comatose state...



...I have this idea to get back into painting, although I haven't done it since college. And, I don't remember being any good at it to be honest. It will be my second or third stab at painting, if I do follow through. My idea is to create a body of work and call each piece by the amount it cost. For example, if a painting cost $1000. Then, it will be called "The Grandaire." I will start with a painting modestly priced at $1 (called "The Dollaire") and each painting thereafter will increase by adding zero digit to the next place value. So, the next one will cost $10 (called The Tenaire) and then $100 (called The Hundredaire)... and then $1,000 (called The Grandaire); then, a $100,00 (called "A grand-century or a hundredthousandaires" just to switch it up) and so on and so forth. I could go on until the zillionth-aire if I wanted. Of course, the whole idea is that the painting will actually cost as much as its title. And, the whole show will be called "Aires." I reckon no one will be able to afford it and thus the point.

To begin my research, I looked at the price of paints online today and I am surprise at how much they cost. They're expensive! Oh, well. I might just do it, anyway, if I am bored enough and have a few hundred dollars to spare. Or, I can just get back to my own thoughts... I am after all, if I am a master of anything, it is that I am a master procrastinator.

House of plants

BIC pen drawing #1; Sept 2008

Some random things that occurred since I last posted: a friend called to tell me that her plants were talking to her. "What?" I said. "You're moving to France?" Her Kiwi accent is hard to discern at times. "No, my plants are moving," she continued. "I think its talking to me." "I don't understand," I said. "Who is talking to France?"

It took a while before I could finally get what she was saying. My reply was that plants do move and she wasn't going insane as she had feared and I told her about the one plant that I have in my room, which I've been dying to see move, as well. "I think those plants have grown accustom to you and have befriended you in some way that it has let you see them move," I explained. "The plant in my room moves as well, but I haven't been able to catch it with my very own eyes. Usually, one needs the aid of a camera or have super extraordinary patience to see the movements of plants."

The time I realized that plants could move was when I went to water the one plant I keep in my room one day after it was all shriveled up and looking dead. Lo and behold, after no more than hour, the plant had sprung back to life the next time I came back to my room. This has happened a few times whereupon it made me think that I might just be able to catch the plant erecting back to life if I wait long enough. But, alas, I found it rather silly to stare at the plant for so long, so I gave up. I haven't thought much about it since then and I water my plant regularly these days.

Nap city part 2

So, here are those pictures I took at Central Park. They aren't as bland as I previously imagined them to be. It fully documents my modus operandi to take a photo-stroll.



Statues stand day in and day out to greet and amuse visitors and pigeons alike.



This is mythological figure Fortitude, if I am correct.



I then escaped into the greenery...



...where I found this rock just before I decided to lay down and take a nap.

Nap city

Friday was another quiet day at the work front so I took a very long time to eat lunch. By the time I was done, I had taken a few unsatisfactory photos, took an epic nap and still came back to work tired. The photos and naps all took place in the SW part of Central Park. Although, one was planned, the other wasn’t. One thing sort of led to another. I was done with taking photos after only a few snapshots. I have always had trouble shooting Central Park, as if, it’s an unphotogenic place. Either I lack the skill or I am just tired of taking pictures of the same thing thousands of other people take pictures of everyday. So, I ended up putting down my camera-phone after I saw a rock and some shade, in which I sat upon it like most of the people there that afternoon and eventually my head descended towards the hard surface, as if, curious to see what it’s like to have a rock as a bed. It then occurred to me that the entire island is a giant bedrock. Laying there made it feel like it was some duty to recognize this inclusivity and my tormented conscience soon found peace once the cool breeze started and the sun, as if, glad to find another napper, positioned its hot and warm rays right on my mouth. It was like the sun and I were making out right there on top of the rock in front of everyone.

One way to keep comfortable was shift my position once in a while. I covered my eyes from the afternoon sun with my arm. Throughout the park were people in similar poses looking much like beached seals. I could hear them "Oinking" in the background. But, sleep eluded me as much as I tried to keep my eyes shut. A bird would land on the branches above to distract me or I would find my mind racing to grasps the scenario of napping in the middle of the day while getting paid. It was literally a dream job.



Here's another photo (above) from my previous walk along the Westside highway as I don't have any good ones from my Central Park walk.

Surreal city

Work was quiet so I decided to take a stroll. I headed towards the water and was surprised to see a kind of oasis right underneath the Westside highway. I followed the winding footpath along the river's edge and came across a dilapidated rusting steel structure protruding out of the water. A couple of pigeons were gallivanting around and decided that it would make perfect models to be part of this surreal scene.



The pigeon was unusually cooperative. I swear that it was posing for me, turning it's head, as if, to show its good side.

This other pigeon (below) wasn't as cooperative. It kept moving around looking for something to eat. Hungry pigeons are difficult subjects to work with, I guess. But, look at that steel behemoth. It looks like it came straight out of that Kurt Russell film, "Escape from New York."



And, this picture (below) reminds me of that Will Smith film, "I Am Legend."



And this picture (below) is kinda like East meets Westside highway. Or, postcard imitating reality. Or, blue sky meet green grass and green grass meet red steel awnings.



The surreal atmosphere didn't stop there. More surreal-ness ensued after work as I made my way to the subway. Cops were everywhere; angry drivers were yelling at cops that they'd have to make a detour and the sidewalks turned into impromptu stands to watch the NFL kickoff concert that occurred at Columbus Circle this afternoon.



Perhaps, more quiet days at work will enable me to discover more interesting parts of this city.

The be(e)r months

So, these are the months (from September to December) that all end with 'ber,' pronounced beer in my mind's eye. Perhaps, these are the harvesting months for wheat and barley and other grains that produce beer? I wouldn’t know. But, if you may follow me on this strange connection, there is something significant with it. I think. Or, I am just seeing beer in everything. It IS kind of benefitting to me that the following months would have a 'ber' at the end since I drink beer at the end of each day. It is also kind of benefitting that leaves will be falling while sipping beer as if man and nature are finally in synch with one another. It's as if nature is saying during these four months to drink up for the winter. Or, whomever made up the calendar is telling us (me) that these are the times for beer when beer is the most lovely-ist. I always thought summer was beer season, but, I am now thinking that it's the fall just because of this beer-induced OCD that I have to see beer in these months when in reality it is 'ber' not beer. In anycase, here’s some other words where I see beer in:

1) Bermuda (the beer which lures tourist and even ships and planes)
2) Bee (my honey is a beer?)
3) Brrr (cold beer is good)
4) Barcelona (bars are everywhere)
5) Berlin (first we drink in Manhattan, then we drink in Berlin)
6) Transcriber (the language of beer)
7) Bering Sea (a sea of beer!)
8) Beruit (the old beer wars)
9) Remember (beer makes one not forget)

Update:

10) Bear (beer makes one strong!)

Septembeer

Summer’s almost gone. This is also a Doors song that I’ve requested a couple times at the bar where I literally spent half my time in this summer. One learns a few things at bars. It’s like school for me. For example, I learned a new word, called “Staycation.” It’s vacation by staying put. I was towards the end of my bar-stay when a couple of older women sat next to me, whereby some chatter followed. The usual exchanges were made and even some unusual exchanges involving sunglasses, prescription glasses and of course, beer glasses. I brought up something I have been mulling about.

“Where do you live?”

“Around here,” she replied.

“Oh, could I come over?” I asked bluntly.

“No,” she answered.

Or something like that...This was a few minutes after “staycation” was brought up, followed by the film, “Viki Cristina Barcelona.” One of the women had seen it and recommended it to me. There was only a half day at work on Friday so I went to see the film and still had plenty of time for happy hour. The theater was exceptionally packed for a 3:30 pm showing. I like the film very much. I like how the film is shot on location and how time unravels in the film. A good way, for me, to judge a film is how much it disrupts time. Or creates it. A good film will make it seem like time is real on that flat giant screen. This is the best way I can explain it. So, I was glad after the end of it that those characters had spent as much time as I did sitting there. Or, I was glad that it was over, too, because all good things must come to an end. That is a saying I have come to know.

In contrast, all things bad doesn’t end. I presume so, if the former saying is true. But, an end is just a beginning. After the film was my beer-walk and then a talk conducted by a new friend and then another beer-walk whereupon my weekend commenced and concluded in one spot and in a 4-5 hour span. A long time for a movie, but short enough for real life to occur. If real life consist of beer, procrastination and the occasional action every... oh, seven years.