Little Fish, Big River, Bigger City

Day 20: Rotten Roots

A couple weeks ago I bought a couple of orchids for my couple of square feet apartment. Things seemed to be okay for a few days. Then I watered them as you should. Then one of them started dying as it shouldn't. Something had gone terribly wrong. This was going to take some thought.

Since it was raining and AxL considers any form of water on his fur a "very bad thing" our walk was cut short. We came home and I looked at my list of "rainy day projects" which I could tackle. I could take an entire shoe box of business cards and addresses and file them in my computer. Nah. I could sort out three shoe boxes of photos. Nah. I could actually spend some time working on AxL's screenplay. Bingo.

Cheerio's swimming in Lactaid are sitting by my side as I launch into what turns out to be several hours of productive writing. His story has all the makings of a film which is bound to win at least several Oscar nominations. It all depends on who we get to act and direct of course, but best original screenplay is a lock.

I guess I should throw in a few comments here that I generally get asked. "Why the hell are you trying to be a writer?" comes to mind...the anwer is easy...to win the heart of a woman someday. Oh, and because I can't help but write. Perhaps that's because I don't have said woman's heart won. I will make one further comment on this in that I ran across some things while sorting through boxes a couple of months back. I ran across short stories, poems and some so-so penmanship from my early days. It turns out that I've always been writing and my grandmother was always sticking it in a box which I ran across at the bottom of my existence not too long ago.

One of the poems was titled "Orphan Pony" which I wrote when I was about 7. I would slap it down here for you to read except it would break your heart and bring you to tears. Another reason I won't slap it down is because I really have no clue where it is right now and I've not committed it to memory. What I can tell you is...it's about, yea, you guessed it...an orphan pony who wanders about longing for a home and love. As far as I can tell, he hasn't found it. Neither have I. It's the opposite of a twist of fate. It's the "straight of fate."

Another reason I write is because it's one of the only ways I've found that I can "give to the world" at large. I'm not sure why people ever read any of this garbage I toss out here. I do know that I often get unexpected emails of "thanks" for changing a life now and then. I guess somehow, people's lives bounce around and somehow I end up "saying the right thing, at the right time," to someone who is kind enough to thank me. It's a strange feeling to get an email from a complete stranger who says something along the lines of:

"You don't know me at all. I started reading your journal six months ago when a friend told me about it. Well, anyway, I was going through this really tough time in life. My car exploded, my house caved in, my wife shot the cat and to top it off, I've got this nasty hangnail. Well, anyway, I was sort of down and your words just really hit home with me. I've lost 173 pounds, got my MBA, built a castle on a cliff overlooking the ocean and am now president of Omnicorp, a little company that does about $480 billion in sales per quarter with a 75% profit margin."

It's delightfully rewarding and it warms my heart to know I helped out this poor soul just when they needed it. If only I could help myself as much.

The day sings itself along. My phone rings. I pick it up and hear a familiar Maine accent from somewhere down the hall.

"What are ya doin' right now?"

"Um, nothing, why?"

"I'm wickid sick and was wonderin' if you could bring me some chicken soup from the stoah..."

"Totally...what kind?"

"Just the regulah Campbell's stuff. I think ah've got the flu!"

I hit Gristedes grocery store on 8th Ave and look at the soup section which I hadn't noticed in my previous trips. It's been awhile since I've bought soup. There are way more flavors and "styles" of flavors than are necessary but several of the cans have now added "finger ringed pop tops" to make them easy to open...sans can opener. It's funny how the "technology" to do this has been around for so long but only now, in 2004 is it actually being used by soup companies. Life can be that way. Sometimes we wait years to do the "right thing" with what is available to us.

We get home and I drop off Maria's soup and chat for a moment while teasing Mr. Cha Cha the cat by scratching my fingers about on the floor for him to chase. I'm off the hook now since Maria is sick and won't be going out with Richie tonight. I had been prepping myself for "another Saturday night" but can now relax at home and take it easy. Not only do I get out of Saturday night, I get hijacked for Sunday morning when she invites me to mass. I totally agree because if there's one thing I need on my side, it's God.

Once we get inside our door, AxL follows me to the kitchen and I pop the cap on a can of soup I bought for myself. It's been too long since I've had soup and it hits the spot...like a hug from an old friend. Enough about soup. Now it's time to hit the orchid problem. Armed with a white trash bag, I set "Charlize" the orchid down on the floor and start pulling the decorative moss off her roots to see if I can figure out what's going on. As I continue dig and gently pull her from her terra cotta home, I see the problem. She's been stuffed and rammed into nothing but peatmoss and her roots are mangled, tangled, smothered and rotting. Orchids are supposed to sit happily in bark so they can "breathe" a bit. She's suffocating.

I trim away the dead, soggy brown roots and gently put her loosely back into the soil and write "get orchid bark" on my shopping list for tomorrow. There's a "life analogy" in here somewhere. I think back to my own rotten roots and how I've jammed them down inside to the point that I'm suffocating and dying. Perhaps it's time to just cut out the soggy, choking bits of my past and only keep the "good roots" around in my memory, sitting loosely, so that I can breathe and grow from here.

I spend the rest of the evening going through old photos on my computer and plucking through them, keeping the good ones, deleting the bad ones. It's a start. I keep going through file after file, finding things I don't want to keep around and getting rid of them so my "hard drive" has room for the future blooms. Later in the evening, I spend some more time writing AxL's Life Story screenplay, planting the seeds which will hopefully sprout into a budding writing career. I hear loud yelling and breaking glass and more yelling and lots more breaking glass then police sirens. It sounds interesting enough to look out the window now. I see four police cars, a throng of "eyewitnesses" gesturing while giving statements to an officer with a notepad...and some "suspect individuals" being detained. For some reason, a couple of guys were running down the street busting out car windows for kicks. Crime doesn't pay.

When the melee has ended, AxL and I venture outside and run into "Spud" the dog and his owner. Spud's an aging dog like AxL and they greet each other with "old dog apathy" like two nursing home tenants passing in wheelchairs. I try to hear the conversation...

"Hey Spud..."

"Hey AxL. How are the hips today."

"Grooooaaaannnnnnn. How's the blind eye?" AxL replies.

"What?" (Spud doesn't hear too well.)

"I SAID, HOW'S THE BLIND EYE?" AxL asks again.

"Oh, yea...my owner is a kind guy."

"HUH?" AxL replies, badly lost in what started as a good conversation.

"WHAT? I can't hear so good, you know." Spud strives for clarity.

"HUH? NO, never been to Juneau. Catch you later, I gotta pee." AxL begins to wander off.

"No, never heard of a potato tree." Spud mutters to the place where AxL was standing a moment ago.

We make our down the street and back fairly fast for AxL except for the minute he stalls next to a Volkswagen Cabriolet backing into a parking spot. I tell him it's the wrong car and no, we're not going for a ride with any strangers, especially in New York City.

Once back in the apartment, I take a look at Charlize and amazingly, her blooms have already started to perk up again. Luckily, her cohort, "Elise," seems to have been spared the suffocating predicament. I love orchids. I'll repeat myself again in saying, the beauty of orchids is proof that God exists. It's time for flossing and brushing and then sleep. As I pull the futon off the couch and onto the floor then lie down next to AxL, I say my prayers, as always. Then I say an extra prayer that my rotten roots get trimmed away and New York is the "new soil" from which I can grow my life.

Day Job Panic: 6 - starting to feel antsy and really wanting an interesting job with a great company surrounded by great people, sooner rather than later. Looking forward to Monday's two interviews to see what they bring. Have lost track of total number of interviews, but the number of companies interviewed at is now six and counting.

AxL-O-Meter: 4 - He seems to be on a tiny bit of a "rebound" yet again. He's still not eating great, but his stomach has calmed down one more time. His walking is still a drunken amble and he still continues to pace about at certain points during the night. I've stopped taking him outside during the "AxL A.M. Circus" because all he does is stand on the sidewalk and pant while looking around with a confused look on his face.

Dream Dial: 8 - spent the better part of today working on the treatment of the screenplay and getting a good twenty pages hammered out. Feels like I'm back on schedule in trying to finish up the first draft in two months and the final draft by three months time.

ESB: White. back to white...I thin there must be a place somewhere which must tell me why it's what color on what night. Keep forgetting to check the web for it. Then again, why solve the mystery when it's sort of a daily surprise that keeps life fun?

NYC Degree: 2 - a very slow day aside from the punks breaking car windows and the cops showing up to haul them off. On the flipside, baseball season is almost here. I jot down a note to get "home opener" tickets for April 8.

Heart Rate: 0 - aside from saving "Charlize" the orchid's life, it's just another day of getting by.

Day 19: All Over The Map

Friday: the "nigh-weekend" and me without plans as of yet. First things first - tackle the morning, the dog walking the working out, the dog walking, the job searching, the cover letter writing, the resume scheduling...am I leaving something out? Eat, you gotta eat. Without your health, you've got nothing. Hard boiled egg white, yogurt, plain bread, turkey sandwich, cheerios with Lactaid. If I just nibble all day, it doesn't seem so boring.

I was hoping Lactaid would be a bit of an adventure when I bought it last week, like the times I tried goat's milk and buttermilk. It wasn't exotic in the least. It tastes just like milk but you don't get that thing in your throat, that makes you say "ahemmmm" before speaking. I'll have to try something else at some point, like POM juice that I keep seeing everywhere. It comes in a fun little bottle that looks like it was stolen from a mad scientist's labratory. It's balanced out with a heart-shaped "O" in the word "POM." I wish there was a "heart character" on my keyboard sometimes. It would be so much easier to just type out "I-heart shape character-NY" than to keep typing, "I love New York." It would also be appropriate to type "D-heart shaped character-G" instead of just "dog."

Somehow, the day burns away as I send out my resume for everything from VP jobs at internet startups to commercial real estate training programs. I'm all over the map at this point because it's been a long week. Even dinner is leftover spaghetti eaten cold out of the pot because I find I don't have any form of tupperware or saran wrap. Thank God I'm still a bachelor because this is the sort of unacceptable male style that is unbefitting of someone with a woman in their life. Then again, perhaps this IS why I'm a bachelor...too rough around the edges. I need to smooth myself out.

I look over the gym calendar. I might try yoga at some point. I'm also still pondering the manicure/pedicure thing for the heck of it. I'm not sure if I'm growing up or softening up. At one point, I lived in a cabin set on the edge of the Colorado National Forest. I literally dragged fallen logs back home and cut them up with a chainsaw before splitting them with an axe to heat the place. My life has been all over the map like my current job search. If you tell yourself this is a "good thing" enough times, you almost start to believe it. It's just that at some point, I think it would be appropriate to actually plan out a route so I can get "somewhere" instead of meandering aimlessly "nowhere."

I need another NY Experience. I set out to find one with AxL. I've created a shopping list - dog food, shaving cream, cd rack, shelf for the bathroom, Q-tip holder, scented candles to offset dog's breath... We make it to the petstore and barely make it back. I'm going to have to hit the rest of the town solo. I drop him off as the weather has warmed up to the degree that he pants way too hard, even on a short walk. I head down 8th Ave. I stop into a lighting store to see about a reading lamp for my loft area. They're all $250 and up. I promptly leave said lighting store. I pass a Banana Republic and think...hm, there's a Banana Republic on my street and I didn't even know it. I hit furniture stores and realize that my current decorating scheme is alas, all over the map. It's made up of non-matching, semi-functional remnants. I guess you could call my style "junque" or "cheape bastarde" or "merde de l'un homme."

I venture over to 7th Ave and am greeted too often by the smiling faces of the "Queer Eye Guys" on small posters which tout that they shopped there. I have hope, walk in, walk out. I eventually get to Bed, Bath & Beyond which is so crowded that it's more like "blood bath and beyond" as I fight my way through. I check out the CD racks. They're even more crappy than the rest of my furniture. I check out little tin jars to hold Q-tips. $9. I can't justify it. I bail out and head to The Container Store. I walk through with a basket, hopeful in finding something that will solve at least one of the nagging decorational/functional problems of my non-decorated/non-functional studio/loft/hovel. Last year, I had help with window treatments, throw pillows and the like. This year, so far...I'm on my own...and failing miserably. I leave the container store with nothing in hand. The sales clerk asked me if I wanted to at least buy the shopping basket I was carrying. It was an admirable effort at guerilla revenue generating tactics to say the least.

Someone had suggested I try a store called "Hold Everything." I go in, again, full of hope. No one holds me. I leave totally dejected.

I hit a few more high end totally hip and cool furniture stores on 7th and then I give up. I fall through Radio Shack's door and buy a voltage adapter to replace a missing one for a digital camera. It feels like a tiny success. When I get home, AxL's more than ready to go out after my two hour assault. Shortly after we return, the day is saved by my friend, Yuen. He says he can go out tonight and do something. He's good at getting me to new places. We meet up around 10 p.m. on West 21st between 5th and 6th Aves. The bar he was thinking of hitting has a line down the block and almost around the corner. We decide to head North up 6th and see what turns up. On 26th, we see a place that looks like it might be fun. It turns out to be a jazz club called, "Kavehaz." It seems cool enough so we go in and make our way toward the back, following the hostess who warned us that there's a $10 minimum to sit at a table instead of the bar. Considering that just two drinks would run around $22, we're safe. The band playing is called "The Marriott Brothers." The musicians are all white dudes except for the drummer who's a black female. She looks like she should actually be a TV sitcom star and man does she ever rip it up. The rest of the band holds their own against her, but it was oddly difficult to look at them and their "way-nerd-like" appearances because it just seemed all wrong, like grandmothers on skateboards.

Eventually a waiter who actually looked like he was sculpted to be in a jazz club approaches us all in black, wearing a black fedora cocked ever so slightly to one side atop his longish hair. He even went so far as to have a little "goatee-soul-patch" thing going on about his mouth. If you happen to be a casting director searching for a "jazz lounge waiter" consider this your place to hit paydirt. Yuen orders a scotch.

"Holy crap!" I think to myself figuring he's had a much tougher week of school and work than I've had. No way am I going there. I order the first "Manhattan" of my life. The Queer Eye advice book taps my mental shoulder: "every other drink should be non-alcoholic, especially water..." I order a water, too. Our drinks arrive and we check out the eclectic crowd while listening to the racing notes that are, you guessed it..."all over the map." The crowd matched the music that matched my life...there were old "artsy fartsy" ladies with make-up so thick it must have been applied with a garden trowel. They sit with crusty/dusty men in suits with wrinkled, leathery faces that would make a crocodile jealous or horny or both. Nearby are pixie-sized lesbians in lime green and pink t-shirts complemented with camoflauge pants. Their hair is so short it looks like it was painted on their heads just after their noses were pierced. There's a big-boobed bad girl with frizzy hair celebrating her birthday or escaping the trailer park (or both.) Against the opposite wall is a three to four hundred pound androgynous black individual with dreadlocks and a thickly serious looking book. She/he reads away despite the establishment's "loudicity" (cool made up word, huh?).

It hits me. I've been all over the map, but I'm now in NYC. It keeps hitting me at moments like these which seem more like I'm in a dream than actually living out this mosaic of an experience. The tempo slows down to a more soulful pace. Yuen and I order another round, including water. Midway through the set and through our drinks, the perfect jazz lounge waiter comes around with a champagne ice bucket collecting donations for the band. I drop a $5 because $1 is too little and $20 is too much. The set wraps up after a mentally unfollowable but thorougly mesmerizing drum solo which is more than followable with energetic applause dished out by the random collection of hands attached to the hodge podge audience filling the chairs wall to wall with the exception of the androgynous reader who doesn't even look up. She/he must be in the middle of a great story.

I daydream that it's the story of a guy in New York City who's all over the map...

Day Job Panic: 6 - still didn't get call from one company promising an answer this week either way. Lined up another interview to bring Monday's total to 2 (two). Calculated out that at current rate, I have 2.5 months of cushion left, thanks to Yuen for picking up the tab tonight.

AxL-O-Meter: 3 - stomach seems to be doing better again, but he still just wants to stop walking and lie down to nap during short stints outside. I'm amazed that he's made it a full three weeks longer than I expected him to. I wonder how much longer he's going to bounce along like this.

Dream-dial: 0 - opted out of screenwriting to focus on job search. Will spend all day tomorrow working.

ESB: Back to "white" which if you kind of squint your eyes almost has a slight yellow hue to it which makes it more interesting.

NYC Degree: 6 - fruitless shopping adventure on a beautifully warm, nigh-spring day is somehow still enjoyable. The evening is saved by the Kavehaz jazz lounge and my first "Manhattan" ever, but probably not the last.

Heart Rate: 1 - still have my dog, maybe a bit less each day. Still love the city, maybe a bit more each day.

Day 18: How YOU Doin'?

For the past few weeks, I've been extremely "itchy" in my clothes. I pull on a pair of boxers, a tshirt, jeans...everything has a strange feel to it, like it's still full of laundry detergent. I've done two things to fix the problem. I've been trying to reduce the amount of detergent I use and I've been cursing the washing machines at my laundromat under my breath each day for not doing a good rinse job. I might have to change laundromats to the one on 7th instead of 8th. They have internet access while you're doing the wash, too. But today I forget as I head downstairs, exchange a $10 for quarters with "Pearl the attendant" and load up the last couple of machines I haven't tried yet. Perhaps these two are better than all the others down the line.

I judge the amount of clothes, sheets, and towels in each washer and pour a scoop of detergent into one of the slots on top of the machine. I repeat the process for my whites. As I'm jamming quarter after quarter after quarter into the slots, I kill time reading the directions.

"Put detergent into compartment 1 for soak cycle."
"Put detergent and bleach into compartment 2 for wash cycle."
"Put fabric softener into compartment 3 for rinse cycle."

Yea, that's what I've been doing except for the fabric softener thing. I'm not a fabric softener kind of guy...not yet anyway. There's a small wheel spinning somewhere in my head. It catches a small gear and more wheels begin to turn. Then there's a tap on my mental shoulder as my inner voice politely clears its throat.

"Um, why don't you double check the numbers on the compartment lids."

I listen as a sinking feeling sets in and my clothes start to tumble in non-soapy water. I lean over the machine and put my nose right down to the compartment lids to read the invisible numbers on them.

What I thought was compartment 1 is actually compartment 3 and vice versa. Compartment 2 was easy. It's in the middle. Every time I've done laundry over the past several weeks, I've been using a small amount of detergent in the "wash cycle" to stop the itch. Meanwhile, I've been pouring a hefty amount of detergent into the "rinse cycle" thinking it was the "soak cycle."

No wonder there seemed to be a white sticky detergent film on everything as I pulled it out and stuffed it into the dryer. Brilliance. I may as well go home and make a sandwich and put the mayo on the outside of the bread while I'm at it. In fact, why don't I just wear my boxers on the outside of my pants and my socks on the outside of my shoes to strive for consistency in stupidity. I could also wash my dishes then pour soap on them and put them into the cupboard and I could move my shower curtain to the wall-side of the bathtub and then shower, rinse my hair, step out and pour shampoo all over my head and comb it down. (I think you get the picture I'm trying to paint here...)

During the day, nothing of importance occurs beyond my stellar discovery of how to do laundry. However, it is kind of amazing how almost every time we go for a walk, someone seems to know AxL's name and ask how he's doing. He seems to be the "dog" version of Ferris Bueller and at some point I wouldn't be surprised to look up and see an airplane flying a "Save AxL" banner in the sky.

As night approaches, I'm trying to write the umpteenth cover letter of the day while the dog makes me dizzy with his crazy circles about the apartment. He wipes out hard into the bookcase and sends Scrabble pieces flying across the floor. He gets up and starts roller skating across them like the overused Home Alone movie scenes where the bad guys are skidding around on marbles strewn about the hardwood floor. Yea, it's definitely time to go out again. We meander about half way up the block. He stops and refuses to go another step. I turn him around and he stops again. He stands there with his eyes half-closed, swaying in a wind that isn't blowing. He drunkenly stumbles left, catches himself, then stumbles right as if he's on the deck of a sloshing boat.

"Okay, this is it..." I think. The vet's closed now so I go through the mental steps of carrying him home and laying a blanket over him until morning. His hind legs slowly deflate and he lies down, chin on the sidewalk between his front paws and he closes his eyes. I bend down and pet him. He lifts his head and half opens his eyes.

"Okay, not yet..." A girl walks by and says he looks really tired. It's an understatement. Of course, it's just another dip in the long road that we've been driving for a few weeks now. He eventually gets up and we take ridiculous looking, tripping baby steps all the way back. A loud man with a brown bag comes up and spits all over me as he half screams and half slurs.

"Maaaan....dush yerrrr doggggg do coke? Maaaan....he loooksh liiiike he dush coke! I doooo coke maaaaaannnn....blessshhh the doggggg maaaannnn...haaaa hhaaaaaah haaaa...I'm Vinshennnttt maaaannnnn...."

"Hey Vincent, nice to meet you but I gotta go." I try to move AxL along against the rising tide of the Sea Of Vincent. AxL's not moving so Vincent decides to hug him like a favorite teddy bear is hugged by a four year old. He eventually releases is Anaconda grip on AxL's neck to take another swig from the brown bag. I reel AxL in toward me, a foot or two out of Vincent's range.

"Peeeaaasssh, buddy!!!!"

"Peace, Vincent. Have a good night."

"BLESSSHHH YOU MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!!!!!"

"Yea, bless you too." And God Bless New York. Shit. So goes life in the garden of good and evil...

When I get home, I decide to take an evening shower to get Vincent's breath off of me and wake up a bit. The phone rings. It's the weirdest sound to hear when you're not used to it ever ringing. I check the caller ID after I've dried off. It was Maria. It's time to watch "The Apprentice" and I'm totally pumped in that I haven't seen it yet despite all of America talking about it. It turns out to be great. I have my personal take on the characters.

I knew that Katrina was going to go down within five minutes of watching: she spent all of her time complaining and making excuses and blaming others for half an hour. Step up already...or go home. She went home, continuing her excuses in the taxi ride...blah, blah, blah...enough already, girl.

Amy is a total lying bitch who will do anything to get to where she wants to go and use whoever she wants to use. I dated someone like her so it's easy to see right through her little act and her sparkling personality even before she admits in the boardroom it's exactly what she's doing.

Bill is going to win, hands down. He doesn't get enough "air-time," at least on this episode but when he is able to toss in a sentence, he's "dead on" with business acumen.

The other three guys are just going to be casualties of war: Troy is too pompous and overcompensating for his Napoleon Complex, Nick is too (pardon the slang) "pussy-whipped" by bitch-flirt-slut-Amy, and Kwame is smart but seems too polite.

I say goodnight and thank you to Maria and Cha Cha and I reserve Sunday Night at 8 p.m. on her TV so I can watch "Inside The Actor's Studio" since I don't get Bravo on my free mystery cable connection. I wish I could trade the seven Spanish Channels for it somehow.

As I step in my door, my phone rings. Weird. It must be Maria calling to tell me the next chapter in the "Stahkaw Story" that we somehow overlooked.

"Hello...this is Scott." I answer as if I'm taking a business call on line 4.

"Hi...it's Racquel."

BLANK. SIT DOWN. Must be a joke...call them on it...no, I think that's her voice.

"Hey, how are you?"

"I'm good, sorry I haven't called I've just been busy..."

"Oh, no big deal, I figured I'd hear from you in a couple weeks when you got back from Miami...How you doin?" Dude, did you really just say that??? Heaven help me...NOW.

"Um....." (I've totally confused the poor girl now.) "I'm good, sorry again that I didn't call sooner, I've just been really busy..." Now we're going in circles like AxL. Hang up fast or change the subject. I almost ask "how you doin'" a third time. I stumble around a sentence or two about "The Apprentice", she actually laughs at something I say and then I dumbly ask how she is a third time. It's pure telephone suicide. Eventually I get my verbal footing and make it through a few more minutes of less painful conversation. She politely laughs as I go through the AxL story of how he came home at one point and just stood with his head against the wall like an elephant trying to push it down. It's a new act that is sadly comical in my "lack of sleep mental state." She offers to dogsit at anytime. I tell her I'll take her up on the offer and that she'll meet a ton of people walking him, including weirdos and freaks. She tells me that she gets her fair share of them on her own. I wonder if she's referring to me in that group. I fumble a few more times, lose myself in the middle of a couple of sentences every time she laughs and eventually we say goodnight and hang up.

I made it through alive...I think...and I have a dog sitter should AxL need one. Baby steps...tripping, swaying, puttering baby steps. I'm learning to walk again as New York keeps surprising me. I look out at the beautifully blue Empire State Building with a white spire sticking out of it like a birthday candle on a one year old's cake. One year...I hope it's a good one.

Day Job Panic: 5 - still didn't hear back from the company promising to contact me by yesterday. However found several more cool opportunities and sent my resume in. Talked to the design firm again and they're definitely interested in a second interview with the other partner. He'll call. (We'll see...) Something is bound to hit sooner or later.

AxL-O-Meter: 1 - Watching him walk is as painful as listening to me talk on the phone to Racquel. He had a complete wipe-out, head first into the wall while walking down the hall today. It took five stunned minutes of lying on the floor to get him moving again. He's added a new move to the AxL Circus: leaning with his head against the wall while standing and panting after coming home from a walk. Incredibly sad but so adorable in an "AxL" sort of way.

Dream Dial: 0 - writing derailed by job search, laundry, AxL walks, a coke addict, The Apprentice... Focus, man...focus!

ESB: Blue with a white spire instead of all blue tonight. Mr. (or Ms.?) Color Changer is getting artistic.

NYC Degree: 3 - Finally solved itchy laundry mystery, escaped Vincent the coke head, finally saw The Apprentice, weather is warming up and the roof is waiting to be assaulted soon.

Heart Rate: 2 - The phone rang. I survived.

Day 17: Tempah

The night easily became morning as AxL punished me with his hourly outings. In order to keep up, I have had to resort to picking up plastic bags which blow down the street. I don't get it. How can he be fine for so many days and then without warning unleash such a choking barrage on such plain food? I figure his internal workings are battling some unseen ghost as I gag and mutter a long-running inside joke as I clean up after him: "NELLY fur-TADO!!!!" My waning sense of humor is the only thing keeping my thin thread of sanity from snapping after another night of his intestinal arsenal.

My spirits are lifted a dash when I get another call back for yet another interview at yet another company. If only I were getting paid "per interview" for entertaining so many folks. I plow through Monster.com, Jobs.com, HotJobs.com, Craigslist.com and Find-a-friggin'-job.com. My cover letters are becoming almost eloquent:

"As VP of your comapny, the first thing I would do is hire a team of people far brighter and harder working than myself. Then I would schedule a few hours at the driving range...I know how to delegate. While my underpaid underlings would be driving sales, I will be driving range balls into oblivion with a slice you wouldn't believe..."

It's noon and time for yet another walk with the "time-bomb" as I now call him. While he's busy desecrating another section of the sidewalk, I spy a small form digging through the garbage across the intersection. The light changes. We cross.

The form pulls itself from the can and straightens out its stocking cap before walking along on well-worn shoes. My heart breaks and I hold back tears.

"Hello, Mary!" I throw out my cheeriest.

"Well, hello!!! And how is my favorite old soul today?" bright blue eyes happily reply.

"He's okay. Hanging in there and all..." I'm stuck for words as if I'm talking to Racquel. I want to give her everything in my wallet, but feel like it would only embarass her for some reason. What do you say to an angel who just pulled her five-foot frame from a garbage can? We chat about the warmer weather, air conditioners, stomach issues and weapons of mass destruction. Somehow, they're all interrelated.

Before I know it, she's on her way as AxL is protesting our current heading, wanting to turn around. I bid her farewell and vow that the next time I see her, I'm buying her lunch if she'll accept it. I pull a three-wood from my internal golf bag and start swinging at my ego for being such a self-absorbed bastard. I think back over the past few months and all the "woe is me" crap I've been wearing like it was some badge of courage. How dare I? Sure, I'll admit I'm a bumbling idiot, but I've also been blessed with everything from AxL to my incredible friends to my health to a roof over my head and food on the table each day (or the floor or the walls depending on how cooking is going).

We end up back at our place and I set about job searching some more. I also try to come up with something for the day that is a true New York Experience beyond seeing the "Heartbreak of Mary" although that's almost too much for one day in itself. I think about the roof of my building and the fact that I can go up a ladder and through a hatch to get up there. I'm probably not supposed to, but as my grandma used to say, "Let's go do something even if it's wrong..."

Hm...I'll hold for now. The afternoon vanishes and Maria appears in the hall as AxL and I head out again. She was supposed to have a date last night with someone she met during Saturday's assault on the city. I ask her about it.

"Oh my Gawd! I'm so pissed! I gotta tell ya all about it. What are you doin' for dinnah?"

"Um...leftover spaghetti but it can wait. I gotta hear this."

"Okay, I'm getting my hai' done and then let's go grab something." Cool. AxL and I walk with her across the street to The Blu Sky Salon and say hi to the girls as Maria takes a chair with Leko. AxL and I depart and attempt to kill an hour by walking part way up the street, standing and panting, acting lost, not wanting to walk and slowly stumbling back to our apartment. I give him a back and hip massage and he seems to be falling asleep so I set out to meet Maria post-hai' appointment. We head to "The Dish" on 8th Ave which is a place that's always busy and I've always walked by but have never visited.

"So I tell him that we'll do something on Tuesday but he calls on Monday and we end up hanging out. I tell him that I'll catch up to him on Wednesday because I have to get my hai' done and have a ton of work to do on Tuesday. So then he cawls me on Tuesday and I say, 'look, I'm busy...I can't do anything, I'll see ya tahmahrraw'...next thing I know he comes ovah! So I tell him again that I'm busy, I gotta get my hai' done. He goes off to Petah McManus and gets a drink for an hou'ah and I'm sittin' my apahtment and the buzzah stahts ringin' like TEN TIMES...AAMMMPP...AAAAMMMPPP...AAAMMMPPP...and I'm all like, 'what the hell?' and I look out and it's him! So I buzz him in and when he gets to my doorah I say, 'look, I told you I'm busy and you keep cawlin' me and comin' ovah and it's really bah-therin' me so fuckin' leave now!!!"

"You said, 'fuckin' leave???"

"Yea. I was so pissed and I have a tempah. Ever since I was a kid I know I have to work on my tempah. So then he says tah me...'are you mad at me?' And I say, 'yeah I'm fuckin' mad at you, fuckin' leave now!' And so he finally leaves but Gawd I was just so fuckin' mad and I'm sorry I'm swearin' like a long shore'ah man..."

"No it's cool. I played hockey in college and we swore like..." I'm cut off.

"So what is it with me and guys? Awl the ones I like ahren't intahrested in me and all the ones I don't like ahre stawkahs!" Our salads arrive and we dig in. I know where she's coming from. I've had a couple of stalkers in my day as well.

"I'm sorry to laugh but it's a great story."

"Yeah, well I need to get my fuckin' life back. I gotta get a new job 'cause it's drivin' me crazy and don't let me bring guys home anymoah. You're supposed to be watchin' out for me." She's changed the subject to another Saturday night victim.

"But I thought it was a good thing..."

"Well, yea, I liked him and all but I'm too old to be bringin' guys home. He flew back on Sunday and I don't even have his numbah. He doesn't know if he's movin' heah and if he is, it would be six months from now and I'm not doin' a long distance relationship. I hate those. But yeah, if it's a guy who looks like him, then it's okay but keep the stawkahs away from me."

"We gotta work out some hand signals or something because I'm clueless as to when to bail you out."

"Yeah, hand signals might work." The pasta arrives and my "vodka cream sauce" is incredible, stunning even. After we finish and our plates are cleared the subject changes to jobs and The Apprentice which I still haven't seen. The waiter asks if we want dessert and we decline as we're both stuffed. He brings us Key Lime Pie anyway. Sweet. There seem to be benefits to being a straight guy in a gay neighborhood. I keep getting free bagels, free coffee, free dessert...and all I have to do is put up with being called "sweetie" and a few winks here and there. At this point, it's an acceptable trade.

I tell her about my plans to break onto the roof at some point. She thinks it's a great idea. The bill comes and Maria picks up the tab in exchange for me being a "venting post" for her tempah. I negotiate to at least cover the tip so I can sleep without guilt. We leave the dish, walk home and head to our apahtments. I look out the window for awhile at the incredible blue of the Empire State Building. A slice of me longs to go sailing in the Caribbean again as I spy an old photo on a shelf. I put the photo away in a box in the closet and check my messages. None. I walk AxL one more time, barely up the street and back. I brush and floss and clean my almost happy face. I say a prayer for Mary, where ever she is, and lie down on the floor next to the World's Cutest Dog. The rooftop adventure can wait another day or two. I drift off into dreams of wind in the sails, tropical islands, rum Painkillers and starry nights looking at constellations while lying on the deck next to another angel. She disappears as sirens scream through my windows from the street below. New York has a way of pulling one back to reality. For now, it's a good thing but I keep certain words in the back of my mind: "Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard..."

Day Job Panic: 5 - feels good to get another callback on a resume sent out, but didn't hear back from one company which was going to call either way with a decision today. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? Hm.

AxL-O-Meter: 2 - can't even make it around the block but instead, he walks part way, stalls, lies down, falls asleep, wakes up and stumbles home again. It's a living purgatory for me.

Dream Dial: 1 - read over scene index, opened document to start treatment, stared at blank page, derailed by thoughts of Mary digging through the garbage and Maria taking me to dinner to tell me her story.

ESB: Incredible blue again. I hope it stays like this a few more days...

NYC Degree: 6 - For what it's worth, knowing that Mary can make it here, digging through a garbage can while wearing worn out shoes and still keep her wonderful personality and sparkling blue eyes makes me determined to not get eaten alive by NYC. Got to enjoy a new restaurant in the neighbah-hood: "The Dish" and hear a wonderfully funny story about NY Dating. If I could find another fifty "Maria's" and get their stories, I'd have a book.

Heart Rate: 0 - AxL's on a downhill run and I remain too full of past memories to make room for future ones at the moment. Something's gotta give at some point...I hope.

Day 16: Flying Under The Radar

I spent most of the day flying under the radar of life. Unseen, unheard, undetected. Sometimes it's a good thing. I have no mail, no phone messages, no calls. It's like a vacation in some odd way. I spent the morning cruising the web for jobs sending out more resumes cleaning up the apartment a tad...contemplating laundry and then procrastinating on laundry.

I'm taking it easy today. I know there won't be much of an experience or adventure, but it's okay. Not every day can be off the hook fun and good times. We're walking in the middle of the day and we're stopped by an angel named Mary. She's all of five feet tall and somewhere in the neighborhood of 80 years old. We talk about everything from old dogs to the cat that lives at the flower shop but runs in the street to government spending. She's got a little stocking cap on. She's flying under the radar with me. I doubt most people notice her as I watch her amble down the street after we part.

I look at her little shoes as she's pushing her cart Southward. They seem a bit worn. I wonder what all she's seen in this lifetime with those perfect, bright, sparkling blue eyes that sort of shoot through to your soul when she talks about matters of the heart like AxL. We continue on our way. Slowly. Then...

Kablooie -

No...not again. AxL's stomach issue has returned out of the blue after several good days. Lovely. We eventually return home and head out again after an hour. We head out again after another hour. The day wears on. I make spaghetti for dinner. I have to use every pot for it: the frying pan for meat, the small pan for sauce, the big pan for boiling noodles, the strainer for straining. The kitchen is a mess as I listen to Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful," probably too loud for my neighbors but not for me. Sauce splatters on the wall...

...and the stove...and the floor...and my shirt and pants. Spaghetti is like that, I guess. Like a relationship, it uses everything in your kitchen, makes a mess of it all, stains your walls, your clothes, your soul. However it's worth it somehow when you taste it. AxL turns up his nose at dinner tonight...and treats...and even spaghetti. Nope he's not happy yet again. He's like an internet stock, always declining but having these hopeful bounces here and there.

We make more trips outside. He stands and pants. He's confused and lost and I'm getting there. I brace for another night of no sleep. 3:30 a.m. arrives and I've lost count of our trips outside. We keep up the routine until daylight when he decides to finally pass out. I wonder if I'll die from exhaustion before he decides to move on in life.

Meanwhile, the garbage men have come for their mountains. In a bizarre way, the garbage of New York is somewhat entertaining. Certain days of the week, there are literally just huge piles of green bags all along the street waiting to be picked up. I can only imagine what they'll smell like in the summer heat. I wonder where they all go. Garbage is funny if you think about it. It's all stuff that we buy at some point, stuff we want, then use up and throw away without a thought. People walk by it on the streets as if it doesn't exist. I think about Mary and how people just walk by her as if she were the garbage piled up, waiting to be carried off. I say a prayer for her...and wonder if I'll see her again with her little cart and her worn out shoes and her stocking cap and bright blue eyes. I wonder if she knows she made a difference in my day. I wonder if she knows she touched my heart with her kind words about AxL?

She must. Angels know why they're here...

Day Job Panic: 6 - Sent off more resumes, no callbacks today. Skipped Starbucks to save money, made spaghetti at home. Hoping for a callback tomorrow and one more interview later in the week.

AxL-O-Meter: 3 - After a really good stretch of a few days, the rascal's stomach is all over the map yet again. Luckily, the seizures still seem to be holding off as there have been none noticed since Saturday.

Dream Dial: 6 - Spent a good portion of the day writing in between taking trips out with the dog. AxL's movie scene index is getting under control and it's almost time to start writing up the lengthy "treatment."

ESB: BLUE! Wow, this is the best color yet. It's soooo cool looking. Why can't this replace the incessant white?

NYC Degree: 5 - nothing overly notable in terms of landmarks or specific experiences except for meeting little Mary on the street. On the one hand, it's not much, on the other...it beats out Times Square in some ways.

Heart Rate: 2 - Mary lent hope that life is a good thing even if you're wearing worn out shoes. She also "blessed" me for not putting AxL to sleep yet and reassured me that I'll get my reward for taking good care of him. I think just having him still around is reward enough.

Day 15: Liberty

The morning has its routine. Walk the dog, work out, walk the dog, eat. Routine is good. I put on THE suit as I'm starting to call it now. I walk to the interview in the freezing cold wind as my eyes water up. My interviewer at the design firm is late. I soak up the feeling of the loft space. It feels like my old place in Seattle. It would be a great place to work.

The principal I talk with is like a long lost brother and we end up swapping more "war stories" than actual interviewing. He's done everything from acting (Tom Petty's Free Fallin' video and a Coke commercial to his credit) to the dot-com thing. He'd rather hear about my cross-country bike trip than bizdev at Amazon.com. I'll have another interview with the other principal later in the week. It could be a great gig in more ways than one.

I leave and note that there's a Starbucks and a subway station within a block. It's one measure of how I'm rating workplaces but so far, they're all passing the test. I decide to see the Statue of Liberty and hop the 1 train southbound. I get out at the South Ferry Terminal and there she is. Cool. I forgot my camera, though. I'll have to come back. The train back home passes under Ground Zero. I think about getting out at the nearby stop and seeing it, but I'm not ready yet. I want to bring flowers for the friends I lost from college. It needs to be its own thing and not an afterthought.

The day plods on as I search the internet for more jobs and send out a few more resumes to places. I've lost count. It doesn't matter. Life will be okay. At least that's what I somehow believe.

Eventually, my friend Yuen calls and wants to grab dinner nearby and talk about the design firm as he set me up with the interview thinking I'd be a good addition to their company. I mosey over to Union Square, passing New York Film Academy students left and right. I love Union Square and the restaurant he chooses is a great little place: Chat 'n Chew, serving up American Comfort food from meatloaf to mac and cheese. We talk for almost two hours while laughing about the idiosyncrasies of businesses in general. It's getting crowded so we migrate East to the Union Cafe which has a great bar and atmosphere to it. We catch a couple of retro couches in the back bar next to the fireplace and continue talking for another hour.

It's been a good day. I walk home in the freezing cold and consider stopping off to buy a CD holder to finish up the nagging project. Nah. It's AxL time.

We go for a long, slow walk. We meet a few dogs that we haven't met before. I think we're up to about fifty or sixty now, it seems. There are more dogs than females or straight men combined in the neighborhood. Yesterday is catching up to me. It's nine p.m. and I'm exhausted. It's been a fairly full day for a Monday between a job interview, Lady Liberty, and Union Square dinner and drinks. I'm slightly proud of myself for getting in new things as often as I have. It feels like it's all adding up in some good way.

I look at my "to do" list and it's all crossed off except for one thing. "THE call."

I pick up the phone and timidly dial. I breathe a sigh of relief when I get voicemail. I leave a non-witty but carefree message for Racquel. A huge hurdle has been leapt and I'm still alive. It wasn't so bad after all. I feared sounding like the guy in the movie, Swingers when he calls like ten times leaving progressively painful messages. It's funny when I think about it. I had zero problem biking across the United States in the middle of winter alone for 3,700 miles with trucks blowing by me at 80 mph just inches away from death...but I'm totally nervous about calling a beautiful woman to grab coffee sometime. I tell myself, "get a grip man...it's all good. Just chill."

I brush and floss and say my prayers as I lie down on the floor next to the furry angel. I've got life, I've got liberty and I'm smack in the middle of the pursuit of happiness.

Day Job Panic: 2 - great interview with cool firm. Feels like a good week. Fingres crossed for offers.

AxL-O-Meter: 5 - still doing great....although he didn't seem to eat today. Changed his food bowl so that he could lie down and eat instead of falling down while trying to eat standing up.

Dream Dial: 1 - read over scene index which is about two scenes shy of being done. Definitely needs re-working in some parts. It's like four movies all mixed together at this point.

ESB: Red and White - YES! a color change!!!! Reminds me a bit of a peppermint candy.

NYC Degree: 5 - Statue of Liberty from afar, (need to take camera next time), Union Square night out.

Heart Rate: 1 - I dialed. Feels good to at least be stepping up to the plate and swinging.

Day 14: Hard Boiled

AxL made it to ten a.m. until needing a walk. He luckily then let me sleep until 12:30. I have no hangover, but could sure use some eggs. I have yet to go out for breakfast on a Sunday morning which has been one of my favorite rituals over the past year. I miss Caffe Union and Perry's back in SF. We meander about and I vow to take it easy today. It shouldn't be hard.

I hit the grocery store at some point and buy eggs, Healthy Choice turkey lunchmeat for sandwiches, hamburger for another round of spaghetti, and for some odd reason, Lactaid. I figured I've never tried it and it would be an adventure of sorts. We land at the Blu Sky Salon and give Rose and Kumi a rundown of the previous evening/morning much to their delight. Rose gives me a rundown on where to get great omellettes and hashbrowns. The Moonstruck Cafe is right around the corner where the movie starring Cher was filmed. I go home to drop off groceries first. I take a short nap.

I wake up when AxL's breath slices through my slumber on the couch. The dog could stop a subway with one panting breath. We head out again. It's a nice, lazy day. The most energetic thing around is a bright yellow dish towel hanging in the kitchen. We knock on Maria's door as we return. She lets us in with an "Oh my Gawd..."

We start to recount the evening while laughing. She asks me if I recall her giving her numbah to a guy named "James." He called. She had no clue who he was. She had somehow agreed to go and do something with him for the day. He hung up, called back, bitched her out a bit and hung up again. Little did he know how entertaining that would be for us. Cha Cha spends his time getting closer and closer to a sleeping AxL in the middle of the floor...but not too close.

I head home to catch Barbara Streisand on Inside The Actor's Studioon BravoTV. No luck, with my free cable I don't seem to get that channel which also means I can't get fashion/cooking/culture/decorating/grooming tips from the Fab 5 either. Bummer.

It's 10 p.m. and I'm still craving the omellette I've not had today. Screw cooking, I don't want to use the new dishtowel yet. Eggs always taste better at restaurants anyway. I knock on Maria's door on the way out. She's "stahving" and joins me. We hit "Eros Cafe" on 7th Ave just around the corner. I order a turkey and swiss omellette and...tea...what on earth is with all the tea the last two weeks? We chat and hang out and laugh some more and I get more advice while we talk about everything from the fact that they serve french fries instead of hashbrowns to Richie's statement that the first time he went to Macy's to buy a nose/ear hair trimmer they were "out of season." (???!!!)

It's 11:30 p.m. and we just finished breakfast. I'm not sure if it's the end of my week or the start of the next one. It doesn't really matter. New York rocks and I've been laughing over my tea. The weeks will keep taking care of themselves. I get home and hard boil some eggs for the week so I can try and maintain my Adonis body-for-life figure. I read more of the Queer Eye book but am not sure I can pull off decorating this place...but my act is slowly coming together again. I feel notches away from getting the last few things wrapped up to where I can start making something of myself that's worth smiling about even in my sleep.

AxL wipes out as I count out one dozen perfectly boiled eggs into the refrigerator door while Frank croons away in the background. Life isn't perfect but it IS life in the big city and that's all that matters in this quiet moment. A car horn blares out below. I love New York.

Day Job Panic: 3 - Feeling like this week will bring offers for some reason. Plus, I have an interview with a great little design firm tomorrow morning first thing. I'll be fine.

AxL-O-Meter: 5 - he actually seems perky? Perhaps all the good food, love, massages and what not are having a good effect. He seems like he may have more days in him than I gave him credit for. That's a good thing. A very good thing.

Dream Dial: 0 - again. No creative power today. Just as well. Rome wasn't built in a day, but I do have to remember that it was built and I'll never be an Oscar-winning writer if I don't keep pushing.

ESB: ug.

NYC Degree: 6 - borrowed some of the all-nighter by stretching it into Sunday's ratings which would have otherwise been a 2. Had breakfast at 10:30 p.m. at Eros Cafe. Took several good walks and talked to great neighbors who all know AxL by name now despite me forgetting theirs. I feel like a New Yorker instead of a tourist more and more each day.

Heart Rate: 1 - for some odd reason, really missed little Venus today during all the walks. Some parts of life seem wrong while others are all "getting right" bit by bit.