We were standing at the front doors of what used to be the CBGB.
It had been shuttered nearly six months ago, but awning announcing the former rock venue still stood - only obscured by a large "For Lease" sign. The door and front walls were covered with gafatti and piss from drunken fools who needed to put their own mark on this prolific landmark.
The homeless man could have been completely looked over had he not started to stand in front of us from the pile of cans and trash sackes that had ammased around him.
"I saw the Ramones play here when I was a kid, fuck off."
We had not even said anything to him , but he decleration that he had seen the punk rock act at this venue seemed appropriate. He had been here when it was open and Im sure it was not the only show he had caught.
Maybe there was a family, and children. Maybe he was a rocker himself but his mind gave out under the preasure of staredom and booze. maybe I would see him one day - VH1 Real Life Story and this is the part where we hear the dramatic music and wonder if he will ever spring back.
New York was invigorating. There was something going on at all time all over the place. My tour guide and I were walking acorss a busy street avoding cabs and busses as they went screaming by. Shopers were still carrying their wares and moving from pubs and restaurants for a late night snack.
"This town is simply amazing, there is so much going on right now, it feels like it is early evening."
"You stop wondering what these people are doing 2 a.m."
I was far to boring for this town. How could I compare to the Greek Family that moved from their hometown to start the Star Duszt Diner and serve authentic Buffalow Burgers? Would my life even amuse the kid who had dated a guy that used to have bathrtub in his kitchen? At what point does my story become jsut another fuck around filling pages of paper as I try to write them out?
I was smacked with this reality as I tried to get co-workers to continue the party that had been lit in my stomch from the city that never sleeps. Only one of the five I call came out.
Only one out of five approved - its like im the anti-tooth brush commercial.
I can't say we were doing anyhting special, we wre getting drinks and playing into the night to talk and converse. But husbands and boyfriends and life weighted people down andk ept them in.
I have always been terrified of being hte boring one in a relationship - any relationship. Girlfriends, releatives, friends. If I was boring them, I was failing - I would usually tell myself.
But then again, I surrounded myself with some very interesting, intriguing people. Being boring was not an option for them or for us. Those people are gone now.
Maybe I have set the bar to high. But if i lowered it, would that mean settling? Is the middle really a place I want to strive for? Do I want to date a boring woman and have boring kids that will go to boring schools and continue this cycle of life that seems to eating aay at my soul.
At least then my mother would seem happy for the first time.
At what point do we jsut become too lazy to find those people who are helplessly seeking a partner in crime, a sidekick, a drinking budy.
I really can't take it anymore. The boredom is killing me. If i lose any more weight from it, I could squeeze into girl pants for the first time. How hippster would that be?
But I have not lost all faith in humanity. One of the best deciples of the Temple of Gonzo took more than a semester to finally understand what it was like to have fun.
The problem, I think, is that these people - that I work and live around - do not know how to have fun. The second fun and adventure stares them in the face, they run away and hide in their suburban homes with their significant others who seem content to judge us with their master's degrees and husbands who look at us as wild and unkept.
I hope they choke to death on their own safety net and salvation.
I'm excited for the first for this summer to approach. I wasted my last summer here. I was too shell shocked from graduation and new jobs and broken relationships to do anything. I hid in my own suburban hell hole and did nothing.
So now, its time to right that wrong. And I hope to take down as many who are willing ot follow and fight that fight.
No more barriers - despite their energy consuming nature - will keep me out this time. No more stops.
It's time to come to work drunk at least once.
It's time to swear more and dress more comfortably on weekdays. I wear Chuck Taylor not because I am protesting anything or think they are that cool - i do it becasue they are afucking comfortable slipper/shoe.
Maybe its jsut time to be more selfish. Fuck the rest of you. It's time to blow things up and make my own mayhem...will you behind the plunger that lights that fuse?
Or will you be sitting behind your desk in the building awating your final doom?