Preemptive Penning

Dear Future Ex(es),

It's probably best to start at the beginning. I apologize. I wasn't always like this. If I jog my memory enough I can remember a time when I thought "chivalry" had a definition and wasn't the punchline of a heartbreaking joke. At one point in time I was capable of contributing equally to a healthy relationship, but I fell. Some argue I fell from grace. Wherever the origin, the result is what many PhDs consider an "emotional cripple." I remember when I used to smile a lot and was quick with a joke. Now I excuse my overall demeanor and outlook by naming the city where I reside, hoping people will walk by and overlook me like a homeless beggar in the subway station. I wish I could have introduced you to the 13 year old version of me. Unfortunately for both you and me, that was the best I'll ever be. What can I say? I peaked early and I was still stupid enough to think that there was someone out there for me. Someone like my Mom, but you know, not my Mom. I wish I could look at you and get lost in you for hours, but those visions are tainted by projections of the worst qualities of those before you, which have manifested in my mind. You didn't know this at the time, but you never stood a fighting chance because I'm so jaded and I'm completely neurotic. Maybe living in NYC when I was younger made me callous and in retrospect it probably wasn't a great idea. I know this doesn't excuse me or begin to explain why we didn't work, but fate can be so definite.

Sincerely,
S.A. (24 years old, living in UES)

Honesty & Speech

My patience wears thin when offenders take the liberty to abuse English phrases. As we become more technologically advanced, implementing texts, gchats, instant messages, etc., the language becomes increasingly perverted. Witnessing people democratize the rules of the spoken word on a daily basis gives me mental jock itch. The most outrageous example is when people say some sort of variation of, "I'm going to be honest...." So let me get this straight, unless you preface a statement with the aforementioned terminology you are lying directly to my face? Please stop with statements like this, because, "Let's be honest, it makes you sound like you're incapable of forming intelligent speech."

Wilde, Oscar

"Anybody can make history. Only a great man can write it." -The Critic as Artist, 1891.

Old Habits

...[everyone knows] they die hard. I was introduced to peanut butter and jelly as a little S.A. I thought nothing of it. It was completely uninspiring, two ingredients married together on bread. Not to mention, my mom used to make it the night before and let it sit in the refrigerator for school the next day. The results were catastrophic, a soggy mess. To me, pb&j was a fall back sandwich, only to be considered when you ran out of cold cuts. I never thought of it as the number one.

Many years later, I went back to pb&j and even acquired a taste for pb&fluff. The setting was fall 2002, and I was settling into Northeastern University. I would sit in my room playing "Ready To Die" at overwhelming decibel levels, and mastering Madden 2002 (with the door wide open) welcoming challengers. I quickly developed a bond with Mike, a Puerto Rican from Miami, who would fill up his Brita in the bathroom while dressed in mesh shorts, socks, and Nike sandals. We quickly became friends and developed a smoking bond. He majored in blunts and bongs. I was more the adventuresome MacGyver-type, willing to experiment with apples, door stops, and half-broken glass. Anything really. Many would finish a session and reach for Funyuns, Doritos, or maybe even Swedish Fish. Mike and I would eat at least two pb&fluff sandwiches. Mike would later curse the New England cold and head back to Miami to finish out his college career (graduation date: TBD), and I stopped puffing. However, I was still cognizant of my finances and made pb&j a staple in my diet.

Now, I am creeping up to a quarter century, and I work in Finance. Many think that I should give up my love for pb&j and fill the void with $10 Midtown lunches. However, now I'm working to pay my rent, and devoting long hours to my career. So, sometimes I come home at 7 or 8 PM and an Emeril-esque dinner isn't requisite. I look to my trusted pieces of wheat and these two spreads.

It wasn't until I was 24, when I met a girl, that I mastered making the pb&j. I confessed that I make more money now than in college and that I can't walk away from pb&j. She thought I was "special," but she asked me about it. "How do you make them?" I didn't understand the question. It was simple. Even a stoned monkey could make one. Besides she went to a well respected institution for her undergrad [maybe she didn't smoke]. I carefully explained it to her via gchat, while bored at work one day (I'm assuming my mocking and condescending tone wasn't recognized via the medium). She then explained to me I was doing it all wrong. She said my method resulted in sogginess. She then told me I had to coat both slices of wheat with peanut butter to form a seal, then add gratuitous amounts of jelly and it would never seep through. This girl was brilliant. I told her I didn't want to talk to her anymore, but I want her to know, I RENEGE.

7:47 AM

Bright sunlight finds its way through my bamboo blinds and red curtains to bisect my face. My legs are oddly bent to form the figure four and the drool has hardened on my stubble as dehydration leaves its mark on my chapped lips. My blurry peripheral vision suggests the possibility that I fell asleep (read, passed out) on the phone mid sentence. To be dealt with later.

"Either / Or"

This week's "Either / Or" is devoted to you caffeine addicts who would be completely content with a coffee intravenous dripping the brown liquid directly into your bloodstream. Either Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts? Both companies should be recognized for what they've meant to coffee culture domestically.

Starbucks coffee tastes burnt, like sour milk. They are visible, especially in NYC where there are 193 stores within a five mile radius of my UES apartment. Howard Schultz, the company's CEO, is credited with bringing the Italian coffee experience back to America and recreating it in each store. Praise Starbucks for making it cool to pay five clams for coffee, creating a made up language (venti, grande, etc.), and making it hip for Mac users to sit at a table for endless hours pretending to be writing in public. They try to portray an image of giving a crap about things, what with cups made from recycled paper and their marketing efforts to promote free-trade coffee. Starbucks is nauseating.

I had a dream the other night, and I thought I could remember when Dunkin' Donuts used to actually sell donuts. Those days waived goodbye long ago and the brand has spread across the country like a wildfire. When I drink coffee I order, "Medium coffee with milk and sugar." Notice it is ordered in English [or American as I affectionately refer to the language]. This would be a victory by a landslide, but this company has had some noticeable gaffs on its record. Most notable was their choice to endorse that twattwaffle Rachel Ray as the face of the brand. I'm not really sure what the reasoning was behind that, but I'm sure the DD's people were thinking: we should make Rachel Ray the face of our brand because she has absolutely no talent and proves that all you have to do is blow your way to the top of the Food Network in today's society to be considered a celebrity. She was also seen in a controversial commercial sporting a scarf, which coincidentally was considered "ethnic garb" [and the Gods smile favorably upon the S.A.]. Since then she hasn't been heard from in association with the DD camp. I think a whore that takes the liberty to shorten extra virgin olive oil should shampoo my crotch, but that's for another post. More recently they've been really pushing stuff other than their core competency, which is coffee, like flat bread egg white sandwiches. In an attempt to increase revenues, they've alienated themselves. What's next a fat free Donut, from those culinary masters?

Twist my nipple and I'll say Dunkin' Donut's, especially after a long night of drinking. Coffee sucks. Drink Sencha green tea. You'll live longer.

RLS Audition

I think you can tell a lot about compatibility based on the way two people share a bed. If that's the case, the God's completely understand my fate and mock me every time I sleep with another (not a euphemism for coitus). Sleeping with me is like involuntarily auditioning for a role in one of those Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS) medication commercials that conveniently airs during Larry King Live. You see the commercial and think to yourself: that RLS can't be considered a real disease, nobody really dances the salsa unconsciously at night, in bed while on their back - counting sheep. WRONG! I do. Perhaps it's attributed to the fact that I really don't devote a full night to sleep due to the noise emitted from First Avenue or the ongoing stresses of life on Wall Street, or a countless array of other problems that plague my mind on a regular basis. Whatever the case may be, I do somersaults spanning the entire length of my bed at night. I'm destined to be alone, and this is completely unrelated to any undiagnosed emotional issues that I may or may not have.