Jesse [jes-se]

--noun (pl. Jesses)
1. Someone--typically male--who invents popcorn subs at The Subway six days per week, 52 weeks per year. Jesses may or may not smoke cigarettes and be good listeners.
2. A friend.
3. An arch-nemesis or lover of a Noah, or a Noah-Bitch.

--verb (intransitive)
1. To invent a popcorn sub: For years, I Jessed in isolation
2. To defeat a Flying Demon: In 1862, a Thai Noah found himself unable to Jesse.

--verb (transitive)
1. To mock a Sivens: Guys, quit Jesseing me!

--adjective
1. To be an expert at making sandwiches for The Subway. *See The Subway.

---

Matt [matt]

--noun (pl. Matts)
1. A man or boy who steals alcohol and/or homework from people. He may or may not be drunk at the time of theft: Help! A Matt stole this boy's homework!
2. A philosophy scholar.
3. A relationships scholar.
4. A good friend of Papas. Papas and Matts may or may not have the same mother, depending on the schematics of Dad-History for the Papa/Matt complex in question.

--verb (intransitive)
1. To drink alcohol: have you been Matting?
2. To smoke smoke cigarettes.
2. To study philosophy: have you been Matting?
3. To study relationships.
4. To study the philosophy of relationships.

--verb (transitive)
1. To befriend a Papa: Papa, I am not Matting with you.
2. To be hostile toward a Sivens. *See Sivens.

--adjective
1. To be drunk: are you Matt? Look at me. Are you?
2. To be belligerent.

---

Dad-History [dad-his-tory]

--noun (pl. Dads)
1. The totality of fathers who have disappointed a particular man or boy. In rare cases, the subject of a Dad-History may occur as a girl. Such cases are to be forgotten immediately upon inception. *See father.
2. The essential link between a Matt and Papa, or a Noah and Jesse. Without a Dad-History, either pair will find itself extremely vulnerable to a Noah's Mom (Aunt Mara) attack. *See Aunt Mara.

---

Question: If I hypothetically had a ~15k word manuscript--let's just say I had one of these, this fact kept discreet between you and me--would anyone publish a novella so short, or would I just go ahead and serialize the child?

Any thoughts to ease my mind. Hypothetically. Let's just say.

When I was little, I knew a boy who used a wheelchair instead of legs. When we turned into men, he moved away, to Wisconsin, a safe and snowy state, and brought his wheelchair along. We would sit on his house's red slate roof and toss rocks, lift our legs up under the gutter and flutter them back and forth like wings. I carried him there, through the rancid rotted attic, his small broken body bent in my strong arms. Up there, the wind tearing at our hair, we would stare at the blue sky and scream. In my head, I would pummel clouds to the ground with the beat of my bony brittle fists.

new stuff online

piece in the latest smokelong here

excerpt from my novella on spork here

interview with the great rudy wilson here

story at the catalonian review

i have a story at the catalonian review here

it's a short one, no worries

reading RAY backwards

i have an essay on reading barry hannah's classic RAY backwards, on HTMLGIANT, here

hey assholes

would someone please respond to my blog posts?

it would make me feel happy and real.

excerpt from novella-in-progress

picked this bit at random:

Fletch's house I won't describe, everything is so goddamn clean in there. The bathrooms were dressed with red eyelets, the living room with hoary castered chairs. The rotted brick walls were written with the black of cigarette ash. The shingled roof tucked in a steel-grey trim. I don't know much about houses. I suppose it was a bungalow. What little I do know, I have learned from reading books until things have spoken their natures out to me. My head invites a clear picture. My head and heart both go wild when this occurs.

I have spent long, hot days driving by that house to see how no one was home.

Sometimes I took the car when I wasn't meant to and it was a disaster.

I tried hard to pass my love around that house. My love teetered and someday it just nodded off.

This whole time I was afraid. I thought Fletch would leave me, weak and hollow, for Orlando. I had trouble staying in my bed at night. I wandered the house, I would open and close doors. I would yell through hallways, my hurting voice gone unheard. I developed trouble breathing. Sometimes I awoke hitting the fingers of a fist into my chest. In my dreams I hurt myself and other people. I developed lesions on my arms from so much of my dreaming. Langston wrapped herself around myself and asked about it. I said problems at work. There were problems. Certainly, there were problems, but I couldn't make my mouth stop lying. Langston worried herself asleep. I held her hair and spoke gibberish into it. Then I walked the halls some more. I would fold my nose into windows and wait for the sky to change.

"the red truck"

has anybody read this book?

i am fifty pages in, but would it be crazy if i preemptively lauded the red truck by rudy wilson as one of the most unique and extraordinary books i've read?

the book is majestic. the book is a little peter markus, a little barry hannah, and absolutely there is nothing else like it.

i'll snip something out:

Alan jumped. His shortness ran, his shadow crouched toward a tree that got two small bullet holes in it, one that came through the boy's head, coated red. The blood was on his neck, it dripped down there, past the sun-brown to the sun-missed whiteness of his body that pulsed and then stopped. he had tiny hairs on the nape of his neck and on his back. His mother ran her fingers there. He lay, now he curled up last into a circle on the ground. His lips touched the dust in the grass. In his throat was a lump of air connected by nothing to a point of being.

how am i supposed to respond whenever people say things like 'peace' and 'word' at me

recent writing

lately it's been rejection after rejection. i got a longer story accepted by night train. but the coldness of form rejections has stymied my writing, trapped me in my head a little.

i'm working slowly on a novella. it feels like stringing together flashes, and the experience is sometimes nauseating; this one might be doomed. i am constantly worried that i won't be able to make it long enough for book form, which seems extremely vain.

is worrying about length vain? do you ever feel pressured to lengthen? perhaps it's just another form of inspiration, which is itself a vain anguish.

what do you think about multiple narrators in a work? is it outdated? should 'outdated' even apply to aesthetics? no, it shouldn't, but it inevitably does. i suppose i am not brave; i guess my voice is just weakening. but multiple voices: how do you manage them? what if the voices sound the same? do they have to be radically different? what is the nature of "voice" in an artwork?

etc.

"correction" by thomas bernhard

i don't think i'll ever finish it

but i knew it was about heidegger, i fucking knew it.

'infinitude'

so i was thinking that i long for a sort of 'infinitude' in what i read lately

i miss a certain respect for the infinite, the incomplete, bottomless, etc.

there is a smaller scope to what i've been reading--there are worlds in sentences, yes, but the sentence is not only found in sound

and it seems like i prefer sentences that are acoustically resonant rather than those that are mathematically plotted or something

i feel like i cannot have a dialogue with most of this stuff, like i cannot collaborate

somebody just offered me free MDMA

happy halloween or something

funny thing

i had a story about a man threatening a plane with terrorism in order to be taken home to his wife, written in an "awkward, angular style" (as i guess i would term it), rejected by a journal because of content that "perpetuates stereotypes." the editor who responded--because the narrator speaks in "broken english," and because the story concerns (though it does not really concern) him performing terroristic activities--assumed that the narrator was i guess middle-eastern, and that i was, in the story, perpetuating stereotypes regarding middle-eastern people and terrorism, when that, in fact, has nothing at all to do with the intended content of the story.

funny, and a little disconcerting.

upcoming work

i have stuff in december online in the catalonian review, pank, and smokelong quarterly.

what's funny is that the smokelong piece was declined by JMWW, which on its guidelines page declares:

Flash Fiction: We like our flash under 1000. We think that Smokelong Quarterly publishes the best work out there, so if you think they'd like it, chances are we'll like it, too. We might even like it if Smokelong doesn't.

thought that was kind of funny.

sorry

haven't been posting really. i'm "on hiatus" i guess from blogging. i mean, it's not like anyone cares. i'm mostly apologizing to myself.

been busy with school, writing, transferring schools, etc.

okay.

story on everyday genius

here

sweet thanks

FUCK (2)

BABY FLOURISHES

Diane Williams

The baby spent time on a pitiful romance. She felt herself to be in the arms--somehow gathered, forcibly invited, incapable of enjoying herself, and very much in love.

FUCK

How It Is Done*

Lydia Davis

There is a description in a child's science book of the act of love that makes it all quite clear and helps when one begins to forget. It starts with affection between a man and a woman. The blood goes to their genitals as they kiss and caress each other, this swelling creates a desire in these parts to be touched further, the man's penis becomes larger and quite stiff and the woman's vagina moist and slippery. The penis can now be pushed into the woman's vagina and the parts move "comfortably and pleasantly" together until the man and woman reach orgasm, "not necessarily at the same time." The article ends, however, with a cautionary emendation of the opening statement about affection: nowadays many people make love, it says, who do not love each other, or even have any affection for each other, and whether or not this is a good thing we do not yet know.


*please do not sue me yet

that ain't no god it's just a hedge on fire

thoughts on the new why? album:

it's called "eskimo snow"

i think i would like why? more if there were no baroque pop arrangements

and if they returned to a more outsider electronica feel

of course that would require the firing of several band members

the new album is really good though

maybe the strongest lyrically

most concise

still i feel like the instrumentation doesn't work for them

because yoni's lyrics are so much about alienation and loneliness and stuff

and pianos and xylophones or whatever don't really signify alienation and loneliness etc. to me

dunno


why?: early whitney*

*this isn't my absolute favorite why? song, although it is in the top 5, but this 'video remix' is just about the best and most stirring thing i've seen

why?: gemini (birthday song)*

*this song is actually only five minutes, and it is probably one of my favorite songs

excerpts from a collaborative short story by crystal miller & me

alec: next time i will hold you so tightly your kidney stone will fall out
we will both be drunk then or just me
i will fold you and lower you like we are fishing
on your back, in a sit-up position
i will kiss your forehead and do a push-up and
doing it
i will brake at your face and feel no pain at all


crystal: please just lets have one there outside now.
its blue not gray use your eyes. look with your eyes. with what?
and cravings and the grand slam at dennys and syrup and honey and toast with jam. yes we can.
only thing is you said do they quit serving breakfast at ten
at mcdonalds i quip i added that quip at the end but i said. really though, i said, the difference is attitude.

sleepingfish

i have a short story in the next issue of sleepingfish

makes me feel good, better

'this is your life'

was talking to someone about NOON magazine the other night

think i'm going to write an essay on NOON and post it here eventually

having real trouble writing or whatever

feel like i need to make changes

need to really change how i engage

how i view, map, generate relationships, friendships, etc.

feel like my shirt's always on backwards

or incorrectly buttoned if collared

i mean i want to turn my skin inside-out

'honest'

'honest' i swear

this is so hard for me to say

but

'feelings' and i need to call my grandmother

yesterday was my birthday

i felt so sad on my birthday

there is so much you have to do if you are an aspiring writer

for instance

you have to read so many blogs

you have to lament that you can't comment on those blogs because you don't know the people who write those blogs and it would be creepy to them or they would ignore your comment

you have to lament that you can't think of a way to befriend exclusionary bloggers on the internet

because you are weird and every blog post you make seems a solecism of some sort

you have to really, at once, 'love literature' and 'love the internet'

and you end up spending so much time reading blogs and maintaining a blog and watching the internet happen that you grow more frustrated and anxious and nervous

because your writing has slowed considerably

because you are barely reading anything at all

because

after so much time spent in between the space of internet and the space of literature

you realize

that both are endless

i never get emails anymore

chapbook review

have a review here:

http://thechapbookreview.com/current-issue/

chapbook review rules and i am glad to be a part of it

new prefab sprout song/frederick barthelme story

prefab sprout does it again:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Dq_v5kZeEM

i am writing in the new york public library

it seems to be working

"cut glass" by frederick barthelme is one of the best short stories i've read, probably

it is fragile, surreal, elliptical, spare, etc.

http://books.google.com/books?id=hwbbn4VZAVgC&pg=PA66&lpg=PA66&dq=frederick+barthelme+cut+glass&source=bl&ots=d8C1NFZ80V&sig=zHGJ5o9kk1LcuPvrIrd3xy3yjAQ&hl=en&ei=WzZuSqSWBM6Btgfkk_yIDA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=1

that should work

it's like 8 pages

this blog is depressing me

everyone else has a better blog than i do

everyone else puts a lot of work & effort into their blog

making it nice and readable and posting cool things

i wish i could write you nice and readable and cool things

you would read them and comment, 'hey alec, i like you and i like what you posted'

and both of us would feel good, so good, we would feel like two blades of grass or something

i would feel like you are my friend

we could drink beers together and laugh at comedies

sadly that is not the case

this story is really good

http://www.theparisreview.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5585

ALWAYS CRUSH ME

ALWAYS CRUSH ME

a poem

i am in think coffee trying to write

it is not working

i am listening to guided by voices on shuffle

i feel bad for not buying anything here

i think i have mustard somewhere on my face

chapbook review

i'll have a piece in the next issue of the chapbook review

read it and give me feedback if you want

i'll link to it here

please save me

i cannot stay this way

please

agriculture reader

I AM HAVING A SHORT STORY PUBLISHED IN AGRICULTURE READER

THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME IN A WHILE

A GCHAT BETWEEN US

A GCHAT BETWEEN US

a poem

3:05 PM me: there is some-one out there who loves you

 

3:06 PM you: i know

new dog city

i am starting a new novella

the tentative title is "new dog city"

it is about what if people in new york city were replaced by dogs and dogs by people

and narrated by a person

hopefully it will be better than the novella i wrote last year

that was really bad

i am going to see HP6 at midnight

recent books

tonight i read "you are here" by donald breckenridge. i would recommend it to all of my friends. it is complex and challenging and engaging and quick and engrossing. you can borrow my copy.

yesterday i finished "memphis underground" by stewart home. i would recommend it to all of my friends, enemies, and frenemies. instead of describing the book, i will link to its amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Memphis-Underground-Stewart-Home/dp/1905005423/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1247470383&sr=8-2

recommend books to me, too. let me borrow them if you can.

Tell Her I Say Hello

TELL HER I SAY HELLO

a story

I am talking to my friend on Facebook chat. I haven't talked to him in probably 4-6 months. We have a lot to catch up on. I'm typing on a big Mac desktop. I don't know what kind. From the bedroom I hear a sound like coughing. It's actually my girlfriend crying. I leave the computer room. I forget to tell my friend, who has cystic fibrosis, "brb." I feel bad for my friend who has cystic fibrosis.

My girlfriend is crying into a pillow on her bed. Her bed is a futon, I guess. She is cocooned in a white duvet. I don't know why she is crying into a pillow. She sounds very sad from the severity of her crying.

I lie down on top of her body.

"Why are you crying?" I ask.

"I am sad," she says between sobs.

"Oh," I say.

"It isn't your fault," she says.

"Okay," I say.

I go back into the computer room and resume talking to my friend. He is probably confused about why I took a short break from talking.

He tells me about a music festival. I am sad that he will probably die sooner than most of his friends. I wish he could live just as long as anyone.

I hear more sobs break from the bedroom. I go lie down on top of her again.

I say her name repeatedly. I receive no response. I return to the computer room.

This time, I apologize to my friend with cystic fibrosis. He says, "it's ok." I wish we would talk about things besides this music festival. I guess it isn't a big deal that I keep on pausing my involvement in our conversation.

The sound of more sobs. This time they sound more like hiccups. I explain to my friend that my girlfriend is crying in the bedroom, and that I have to go.

"that sucks," he says, "tell her i say hello."

I'M SORRY THAT I USED YOUR SKIN MOISTURIZER TO MASTURBATE WITH

I'M SORRY THAT I USED YOUR SKIN MOISTURIZER TO MASTURBATE WITH

a poem

i'm sorry that i used your skin moisturizer to masturbate with 

i watched "amateur allure violet," "please don't tell my parents," and "amateur teen sara"

they were good

after i masturbated i lay on my bed and looked at pictures of sharks on the internet

my girlfriend is mad at me

this is mostly because of money and our handling of it

but there are other reasons, too

it makes me sad and i don't know how to respond for the most part

my most immediate response is "i want to die"

because i can't handle being the object of anger

and because i hurt someone and i disappointed them

and made them, too,

want to die, in small amounts,

yes, but no less familiar, no less like a fourth wall gone inexplicably

missing. 

grape jelly

i got grape jelly on my copy of lorrie moore's self-help

last night i got grape jelly on my copy of raymond carver's where i'm calling from

what can anyone do about grape jelly on books?

can i clean my book?

i can only wipe it off so many times.

the grape jelly interrupts my reading.

i will just have to smear grape jelly, now, on all of my books,

all of them. 

edit: it has come to my attention that by "grape jelly" i mean "raspberry jam"

it is also sugar free (unsweetened)

breaking news

i submitted a story to NOON

i am reading self-help by lorrie moore and it kills me 

i am excited to start reading "ethics, politics, subjectivity" by simon critchley

i am also always sad about failing in one way or another

i am embarrassed, and distracted by the internet

i am embarrassed.

my day was three hours long.

i want to submit a story to NOON. i don't know where i could print out the story so i can send it. everyone should read NOON if they don't already. except i only have one issue. 

i probably won't submit a story to NOON. it's pointless because they get submissions from very high-profile and well-established authors--at least from among the magazine community. my story is pretty bad. why would they want it when they can have stories from famous people.

literary journal sounds like a better thing than literary magazine. "i am an intern at a literary journal for the summer," i will tell you.

"are you masturbating?"

"no."

"you should put that in the fridge."

i am distracted by the internet. i think that is the case with everyone. because of the internet i am not doing anything that could be considered real. like reading or writing or being with people who are not the internet. 

i have more emails to check. 

i have no new emails.

megan lyons

comment on megan lyons's blog, it is a very similar blog to mine

an essay on My Life Is Terrible

the internet is a weird space for literature. especially when the literary work is contained within virtual bounds, 

i.e. it has no printed counterpart. 

an ebook may be of any length, inasmuch as it is loosed from capitalistic methods of reproduction. or is it. the latter is not the subject of this short essay.

an ebook may be of any quality. as surely you have been able to discern. 

an ebook designs its own rules. an ebook is written in code. an ebook is programmed into online space. an ebook does not simply happen. but it might as well. one moment there is no ebook. the next one can read the ebook in its entirety. 

the ebook is not dead nor does it die. the ebook is a connective tissue of literature. the ebook is the flesh of the literary body, de-gendered. the ebook alters the body from which it emerges each time it is read. it is the child which impregnates the mother. returns to the womb and bursts out in the span of an instant. the ebook is an instant. the ebook is the instant. 

the ebook is not quite infinite. it does not quite experience the solitude of the unbounded work, the work of sacrifice, the work of absolute ambiguity and shadow. because the ebook can disappear in the span of an instant. for the ebook is constitutive of the instant. and when the ebook disappears there is no longer an instant. 

in a way the ebook has always already disappeared. in a certain sense the ebook vanishes in the moment of its reading. but in each renewed moment the ebook makes its violent return from the womb. 

for the ebook must die in the womb before it can be born. the ebook must resign from time before it can be placed. the ebook must bear the trace of no one--no mother or father--before it can be inaugurated qua ebook.

the ebook lives on in the very instant of its death. the death which is, has never been, the ebook's, or anyone else's. the death which engulfs the ebook, which is no longer an ebook.

instead, it is me. otherwise said, it is the death of me.

alec 

my ebook

my ebook is fictional.

nothing that takes place in it actually happened. 

but i wonder wouldn't it be like that fictional or not.

an essay, or postscript, is forthcoming.

alec

My Life Is Terrible 4, an ebook

I look at a bike. I look at the man who has a five-dollar bill that's my five-dollar bill. I look at 

doors. 

I look at tenements. I look at birds. I look at my girlfriend. My girlfriend looks at me.

"I like you," I tell my girlfriend.

My girlfriend is going to leave a comment on chapter one of my ebook. Read that chapter of my ebook. I'm nervous about what her comment is going to say. The music playing now is dumb.

She says, "Oh oh oh" and hugs me and that makes me feel good and happy. Then when she stops doing that I don't feel happy anymore. 

There is an old person jogging. He looks stupid. I want to hit him with a chainsaw. The chainsaw wouldn't be on. I would just hit him with it. 

There is a stupid-looking man walking down the street. Stupid people evidently like to walk down this street.

We have to leave the cafe because they are closing for a morning clean-up. Fuck. What do I do with these glass dishes. These glass dishes are actually ash trays. I want my three dollars back. The guy who has my three dollars is leaving. I want to throw his ash trays at him. I throw his ash trays at him. He dies.

THE END

My Life Is Terrible 3, an ebook

Now "Mad World" is playing. It is 5:22 AM. The sun has risen. Outside a tall guy has opened the trunk of a minivan. He’s carrying into the cafe boxes. I’m hungry and depressed that I lost three dollars to a person who gave me glass dishes and glossy paper with my name written on it. Also my girlfriend’s name. 

    We have been in this cafe for eight hours. 

            I hate my life. 

   My girlfriend thinks I lie to her a lot. I don’t really. I can’t remember the last time I did. The only time I can remember lying to her recently is about my feelings and feeling sad or angry. 

            I just lied to her about reading something she says I didn’t read. I sort of did but not entirely. I think that counts as reading it. It probably doesn’t. I am a liar. How can I even be honest about my lying. Ha ha.

            The guy who took my three dollars is back and he says he has money for breakfast. The money he has for breakfast is my money. I want to stab him in the head a bunch of times. 

            New York City is great.

            “Like a Bollywood type movie?”

            I hate everyone in New York City. I hate everyone everywhere else. I hate Brooklyn. I wish I never had to talk.

            There are so many stupid conversations happening at once. Actually it’s only one conversation. It could easily be about thirty conversations. These thirty conversations are coming from the hot barista. I want to stab him in the head a bunch of times, too. I probably think his conversations are stupid because I think my girlfriend is going to have sex with him.

She probably will.

 

My Life Is Terrible 2, an ebook

3:19 AM 

David: hey

 

me: hey

 

David: how's nyc?

3:22 AM 

me: amazing

  

how's home

  

how was hong kong

 

David: boring and awesome

  

how is the internship?

3:25 AM 

me: awesome, i love everything i'm doing

  

i'm in a cafe in the west village right now

  

this is so cool

  

do you think you'll be able to come up here?

 

David: ha badass

3:26 AM 

yeah i think so. when would be a good time?

 

me: whenever

3:27 AM 

 

David: alright then i'll start looking up tickets. i don't have a job and do nothing everyday. btw guess what i found out eariler?

3:28 AM 

me: what?

 

 David: i'm transferring to emory

 

me: what holy shit

  

that's awesome

  

!!!!!!

 

David: yeah, i literally didn't give it a second thought. i noly applied because my parents forced me to

3:29 AM 

me: whoa that's so cool

  

maybe your parents fixed it so you'd get in

  

maybe to make up for all of the years of abusing you

3:30 AM 

David: that would actually be awesome and might even redeem their poor parenting

 

me: it would for me

3:31 AM 

i'm at a cafe and there is a crazy person who keeps talking to himself, he is bald and really fat with fat rolls in the back of his head

  

now he's talking about his invented girlfriend

  

that's so awesome though

  

congrats

3:32 AM 

did you do really well in college?

 

David: man now that's awesome, can't get that anywhere else

 

me: you should come here as soon as you can

3:33 AM 

David: no, which is the really weird part. i have the exact same gpa as i did in high school, which is a 3.1

 

me: he just called me tom brady

  

that's literally a crazy thing to happen

  

even though a 3.1 is better in college than in high school right

 

David: you should take that cas a compliment

 

me: i am choosing to

3:34 AM 

this is amazing, i am facing a window that looks directly out onto mcdougal street (which is bob dylan's street in the village)

  

you should come here as soon as you can

3:35 AM 

David: min-blowingly cool

  

will do, just got to clear it with parents, which should be easy considering i jus tpulled off a fucking miracle

 

me: hahaha i bet this was a great father's day for papa cao

3:36 AM 

xiu? right?

 

David: close, xu

 

me: even better

 

David: it's funny filling out forms with his name, especially when they ask for only the first initial

3:37 AM 

me: hahaha

  

so what'd you do in HK

 

David: mostly toured the city and some scenic spots

3:38 AM 

doing much of the same in ny?

 

me: sort of. i've mostly been eating

  

i'm also living with my girlfriend, which is great so far

3:39 AM 

David: damn, nice. is she from there or did the both of you move there fort he summer?

 

me: she just graduated from new college, but yeah, next month she's moving into her own apt though

3:40 AM 

David: niice, dating someone with a degree already. you are a god sir

3:41 AM 

me: hahaha, likewise

  

this bald man is now yelling "miss" at my girlfriend

  

now talking to himself

3:42 AM 

now talking to someone else

 

David: lol is he right next to you?

3:44 AM 

me: no he's in the corner opposite to mine

3:49 AM 

what've you been doing

  

this city is amazing

3:50 AM 

David: pretty much noting.

  

i bet it is. everything happens there

 

me: it really does

  

what'd you want to do here

3:52 AM 

David: i don't know. what do you recommend? i'd like to eat at some famous/good places. and i guess any good concert/events that only happen in ny?

3:54 AM 

me: yeah i haven't been to many famous/good places so we should go to them

  

yeah there are free concerts in the park and stuff

  

i saw david byrne for free in prospect park a couple of weeks ago

  

so we could go to those

3:55 AM 

there are free movie festivals

  

i'm sure we'll get to go to some parties and stuff, or at least opium magazine events

 

David: damn, that already sounds awesome

3:56 AM 

almost all of the flights from bham to ny require at least one stop it seems, and thet all take more than 6 hours

3:57 AM 

me: this guy just came over who works at the cafe and gave us free glass dishes

3:58 AM 

shit that sucks

  

well hm which airline?

  

laura took a jetblue flight that was really short

 

David: ah ok, i was looking at sw

3:59 AM 

lol free glass dishes?

  

that is awesome

4:00 AM 

me: yeah and then he came over and wrote our names in permanent marker on some sort of glossy paper

  

and wrote "NYC" on it

4:01 AM 

David: any reason for this or was he just being badass

 

me: up. then he asked me for 2 dollars

4:02 AM 

and i didn't know what was going on and for some reason entertained him and it turned out i had 5 dollars and then he gave me only 2 dollars in return

  

and now i am out three dollars and am depressed

 

David: hahahahahaha

  

that's even cooler

 

me: i also think the dishes are from the cafe

  

i think he stole them

4:03 AM 

David: hahahahah, wow he must be a really lazy criminal or just crazy

4:05 AM 

ok how does july 6 or 7 sound?

4:08 AM 

me: that sounds fine except i might have someone else coming to stay with me for a couple of days on the 7th

  

i don't care it's up to you with regards to sleeping arrangements

4:09 AM 

David: oh where i sleep is the last thing i care about. as long as you're ok with two extra poeple staying with you

4:11 AM 

me: nah i don't care

  

july 6 and 7 is fine

4:12 AM 

i hate my life

  

i really miss that three dollars

 

David: heh can 3 bucks even get anything

4:14 AM 

me: yeah

  

a 2.50 falafel

  

a cup of coffee

  

a bagel

  

a lot

 

David: great, now i'm hungry

  

gj

4:15 AM 

me: haha i am too

  

but i've lost 3 dollars!

  

anyway i'm going to go back to my apt i think

 

David: hmm now i empathize with your conundrum

 

me: let me know about the plane details once they happen

4:16 AM 

yeah i empathize too

  

i hate my life

  

good night