Necessary (9-18-13)

Hobbies are supposed to bring you joy. That’s why we pursue them. We do the things we love to get away from the things we don’t. Maybe we do them to escape the daily grind or to help us cope. Anyone who has one knows the joy and comfort they bring to us. More than that I think everybody remembers what the first time was like, you know, when you discover it- a new hobby to pass the time, an exciting interest that breathes new life into you. It makes us feel taller. It makes us feel like the people we’ve always wanted to be.

When I first started writing poetry 3-4 years ago I thought it would be a fun little hobby, perhaps a way to deal with the ups and down of life. Along the way I’ve learned an important lesson about it. When you can write it, you must write it. Once you realize that you can put your thoughts down to paper, once you accept the fact that your emotions, opinions and dreams can come alive on that page you now have an obligation to keep going. You must. It becomes more than a hobby, it becomes necessary.

Over time writing poetry has become therapeutic for me. Each poem is like a photograph. It’s a moment in time, captured. This was the time I was in love, this one was the time I was bullied, insecure, amazed, thankful, afraid, etc. It helps me to get the bad energy out of my system, and let me tell you, some of that pain has been there a long time. When I talk about how my grandparents wanted me to be aborted because they didn’t want a “mixed” child, that’s something that’s been with me for over 20 years. When I talk about getting bullied in high school, my first love, my weight problems, those are issues that are not new. Sure, there are also pieces about recent events but everything I write has been a byproduct of this journey I’ve been on my whole life. I learned early on to write for myself and I definitely do but I would be foolish not of think of others as well. Sometimes I write deeply personal pieces and I need to write them for me but the more I’ve performed them out in the world I’ve noticed other people relate to them. Some people have gone through similar things, felt similar ways and it floors me. To think I could speak for others in any way is a very humbling feeling. It was only a few years ago where I couldn’t even speak for myself.

I don’t know if I spoke for anyone Monday night at Babeville’s 9^th Ward but damn was it a rewarding experience. I had the opportunity to open for Saul Williams. Hold on, I have to type that again; I opened for Saul Williams. I still can’t believe that happened. When I started to read out almost 3 years ago I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking so sometimes I had to hold the paper with 2 hands just so I could steady it enough to read it. I was absolutely petrified to have everyone look at me, let alone listen to me. My voice was soft and searching for the right volume, the right rhythm, even the right words. One of my first times out, I actually let a bad day and some insecurities turn me around and make me run out the door before a reading. I went home that night, cried a little, wrote a wonderful poem about such a terrible night and made the most of a bad situation. To this day, even though I’ve probably read over 70-80 times now I still tremble, I still sweat like I’m being tortured and I still get butterflies like you won’t believe but I’ve come so far. I’ve read for 2 people and 200. I’ve read for all ages, all colors and Monday was the culmination of all that work, all those nerves and a journey that shall continue, perhaps for as long as I live. There I was sharing the same stage with one of the titans of modern poetry, modern art. Part of me still feels like I had no business being on that same stage, like who am I? Then a different part of me reminds me that I am Eddie Gomez and I am a poet. I am a storyteller and my work is far from over.

In other news I am going to read the Alchemist again. I’ve already read it 3 times the last 6-7 years since I’ve owned it but I think of that book the same way people think of religious books, hell THE religious book. I think of it the same way people who go to church regularly or semi-regularly think of the word. They have to go church every now and then and remind themselves and reinforce what they believe in. They have to go and pay respects to the word. It’s the same thing for me and that book. I have to revisit it from time to time to reinforce and refresh the valuable lessons inside. I know that sometimes I lose my way and have to be reminded again of what’s important.

It’s been a heck of a week already, maybe even a heck of a year in some respects and because of how improbably awesome things have gotten, I’m starting to believe that things can get even improbably better! How’s that for optimism… thank you poetry.  

One Down, Two to Go... (7-29-13)

As I rode my bike down to Allen Street for my first Infringement Festival show of this year the usual pre-show nerves were kicking in. I had low expectations for this show but that didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous. I’m always nervous. That part of my mind that was too afraid to get on the stage for most of my life is still inside of me. It still tries to communicate. It still doubts and worries and sometimes tries to talk me out of commitments. I think it means well. I think it’s just trying to protect me from disappointments, embarrassment and pain but as I’ve gotten older and more confident in my abilities as both a person and an artist I’ve learned when and where to take that voice into consideration. After all, it’s a bit overprotective.

But my concerns about this show were real. I was performing at a clothing boutique I knew very little about. It was at the edge of Allen where Wadsworth meets it. I knew there’d be a lot of people at the College Street Block Party down the street but I had no idea if anyone would be checking out my out of the way show. I thought; I’d probably have at least a few friends there so it won’t be all bad.

I reached Allen, locked up my bike and went over to Picasso Moon to meet their staff and let them know I was there. I looked over at Days Park and there wasn’t anything going on so I wouldn’t be able to get any audience from there. Next door at The Bend there was a rock band playing and all the doors were propped open making it very loud as I stood in front of Picasso Moon. I remember thinking that it was a good thing I was performing inside. Maybe we’d have to close the door so the audience could hear me clearly.

I walked in and saw a few customers looking through the clothing and accessories. It wasn’t a small store but there wasn’t a lot of space in there because there were a lot of items. I wondered where exactly I was going to be performing. I walked towards the guy behind the counter. He told me his name was Lindsey and by the way he talked, I sensed he owned or ran the store. I let him know who I was and with some warmth and a big smile he made me feel welcome. He told me the stage was outside and I went out to see what he was talking about because I guessed I had missed it on the way in.

I stepped outside and saw what he was talking about. It was a little one person stage with maroon fabric curtains and a sign that read “Infringement Stage”. It was adorable but I wasn’t sure if I would perform on it due to it being small (I have a hard time standing still when I read) and the fact that it was kind of facing Days Park more than Allen. If anything I’d perform on the sidewalk right in front or next to it. In the meantime it was 6:40 and I had 20 minutes to sit, wait and really get nervous!

I pulled out my poetry folder and took out the 7 poems I was going to perform. I started going through them and making minor adjustments here and there because no poem is ever truly finished and I’d pop my head up every so often to see if any familiar faces were approaching. The weather was cool and pleasant and I thought about the dynamic of performing right on the street, or sidewalk as it were. With the exception of one time 3 years ago I’ve never performed outside in public and that one time, I read one poem on a corner for 3 friends when no one else was around. This was different. Anyone who was walking by the high foot traffic area could stop and listen. I reminded myself to be aware of my surroundings because although I didn’t think there were any curses in any of the pieces I would be performing in a matter of minutes, if some little ones walked by, I didn’t want to say anything objectionable or even suggestive in their presence. Call me old fashioned but I care about the kids’ ears.

After being lost in my mind going through scenarios good and bad I looked at the time… it was 5 minutes to 7pm. Five minutes to show time and there was NO ONE there! That little voice I talked about at the beginning really began to get loud inside my head. What if no one shows? Should I still perform? And if I perform, should I do all 7 pieces and use the full half hour? It wasn’t like anyone was coming up after me. In fact there wasn’t anyone before me and that’s why I had low expectations to begin with. I was doing a stand-alone show and without a lead-in or a performance following mine it was entirely on me to draw a crowd.

When I first started reading poetry crowds were easy to come by. There was a novelty to it. Ed, who is shy and private actually going up and spilling out his soul… it needed to be seen and it was. Some early open mic appearances 2 years ago could generate 5, 6 or even 10 friends coming down to see it. My first Infringement show in 2011 had something like 40 people there. I felt so lucky. But when I think about the pieces I performed that day as opposed to now I cringe. I’m now 5 times the poet that I was then. My confidence and presence have improved as well as my writing and while my pieces are as sharp as they’ve ever been I still maintain that same relativity, vulnerability and accessibility that all those early pieces had, if not more so now. The fact that no one really comes out to hear me read anymore hurts a bit and on the cusp of my first Infringement show of the year it was hurting a lot.

So here I was, just moments from performing a show I’ve looked forward to for months in front of this strange place, performing outside for really the first time and there was no audience whatsoever and this band was rocking hard and loud next door. I began to despair. Am I supposed to be some kind of poet pied piper? I read and then they’ll come. Who would hear me unless they were passing directly by? The voice inside was still telling me to escape. To get the hell out of there, grab some ice cream, and to paraphrase one of my pieces, get a 3-way going with Ben and Jerry.

My emotions fuel my poetry but they can also influence me negatively. When the time came to begin and no one had arrived. I just wanted to run away and hide and never come out again, embarrassed and hurt to degrees of which I haven’t been in a long time. But that emotion, while it can hinder me, also makes me the person and the poet that I am and I’ve used it, not only to become a good poet but also to get through moments like this one. 

In the 3 years I’ve been a poet, I’ve learned so much and come so far. One of the most important things I’ve learned along the way came from the old Caffé Aroma open mic days and 80-something year old poet Al Felix. He told me to do it for myself. That if I’m not doing it for my own benefit that I’ll never be that great of a poet nor will I enjoy myself. Then I thought of Bukowski who said that if it isn’t bursting out of you, in spite of everything, don’t do it! Well it is bursting out of me. Since I opened the dam, it has definitely come bursting through and the longer this journey goes, the stronger the flow seems to get. The flow is bursting with heartbreak, setbacks, losses, dreams, hope, admiration and so much more. The bottom line is I’ve come too far to let a crowdless crowd stop me now. I would wait til a little after 7 in case people were having parking issues and then I would read. I wouldn’t read all 7 pieces, maybe 3 or 4 and then reevaluate from there.

Then right at 7 a great omen occurred… the band next door at the Bend stopped playing. I guess they were done. A minute after that a ray of light approached in the form of my friend from work and 2 of his friends a block away on Allen and getter closer. So I had 3 people coming. 3 is definitely better than zero! When they arrived I was very happy to see them. They were surprised when I told them I was performing out in front of the store. I told them I’d start in a few as I wanted to give anyone else who was coming from as far away as they did (they parked near Delaware Ave.) a chance to make it down.

It was nearing ten after 7 when I decided to begin. My thought was so what if only 3 people made it down… those 3 people were going to get a hell of a performance! Plus they had never seen me before so there was the fun of making a powerful impression on them.

I took one last look down Allen to see if anyone I knew was coming and after I couldn’t see any familiar faces I turned my attention back to the 3 who made it and let my first poem rip. I did “Modern Day Fairy Tale” a story about how I collect movies very seriously but hardly watch them as I await the right woman to start watching them with. I jumped into “One Plus None” my piece about my lifelong battle with isolation, then “The Poet Soul”, my piece about what poetry means to me. I told them I was only going to do 4-5 pieces but I started to rethink that because as I was doing the 2^nd piece a few men came over and sat on the curb and then during the 3^rd piece two couples, one older and one younger came over and started to develop a nice little half circle with the 3 people who were there from the beginning. As I began my 4^th piece “Newtown” a few more people came by and stopped and when I began my 5^th and so called final piece “Home” I looked up to see a few more people were there as well as a few people listening from over at the Bend’s front mini-patio.

Now that there was about a dozen people, and mostly strangers taking in my words I decided to do one more piece. I got into “The Angry Poet” and at the end got a hug from one of the guys looking on. At the end of every piece I could even hear Lindsey behind the counter inside clapping as loud as any of the onlookers. I just had to do one more piece. I had planned to do 7 anyway, so I did the tale of unrequited love and friendship “For Her” and then ended to a very warm response. I made sure to let everyone know about my 2 remaining shows during the rest of the Infringement Festival. Many of the onlookers approached me afterwards to tell me how much they enjoyed my work. The young couple came over and the young female told me she had seen me before at a poetry slam at Merge 2 months prior and that she really loved my piece about my music history. That was the night I won the slam for the first time and did my biological music piece “I Like Everything” as an encore. I thanked her sincerely and mentioned how I was going to do that piece Tuesday night.

I thanked everyone for listening. I went back in and thanked Lindsey again for allowing me (and the Infringement festival) to perform in front of his place and he asked me to come back and read for some weekly Thursday night series which is starting after Infringement in August. It was truly a night of surprises. My emotions were all over place but I didn’t let the bad ones take control of me. I stayed the course and had a very lovely time despite the inauspicious start to it. It goes to show you the power of words. It shows me the power of my words and of course it shows the power and unpredictability of the Infringement Festival.

Tomorrow (Tuesday) night I’m expecting a bigger crowd because I am performing with other poets who have their own sets of friends and fans and because it has been better promoted than my first show was (again a testament to the other people involved). The show is at 1045 Elmwood, right next to Poster Art and Bird Ave. The poetry begins at 7 and I wrap up the show at 8. I hope to see you there.   

"Coming to Buffalo" (a romantic tragedy) 3-21-13

I’m probably overreacting to a run of recent bad luck with the ladies but lately through the help of several women I have discovered something. I am apparently a mutant. I’ve discovered lately that I am undesirable in pretty much every way possible. I get it ladies. I’m too fat, too poor, too this, too that… I get it. Can’t you see I’m tapping out? You see, lately I’ve been trying to talk to several women, to get to know them, so they could get to know me and I am not exaggerating when I say NONE of them want anything to do with me. Historically my confidence can go up or down and those times when it’s low I keep a low profile. I wouldn’t have the issue I’m having now. When I’m down, I don’t leave the house much and spend most of my time inside my head lamenting who I turned out to be. When it’s higher or at a normal level, like it has been lately, I am proud of who I am and I think of all the wonderful possibilities a relationship might provide and the many things I could give to her. When my confidence is solid I will approach women I like and attempt to talk to them. But I always struggle with forced conversation. On the one hand I tell myself, you might only have this one chance to speak to this person, go do it! Then on the other hand when I do head over and try to begin a conversation the words never come out right. I feel like a phony, like I’m on some sleazy audition and I have 30 seconds to impress this person before she yells out “next!”

Last night was the latest stumble. A female who came in a few weeks back at the end of the open mic came back, once again at the end of the open mic. I saw her walk in the building and my eyes were set ablaze. She wasn’t what you’d call a stunner but she looked really cute to me. For me it was her eyes and her energy. Her eyes had power behind them. She had a fun, dynamic aura like she was never afraid to speak her mind but at the same time didn’t take herself too seriously. Plus she was wearing a vintage style leather jacket. I love a woman who can wear a vintage leather jacket or a jean jacket for that matter… those are my favorites. When she came in the last time I made my way towards the door before she left with every intention of talking to her but I got involved in a conversation with a friend who was there and then she suddenly walked by and as she did our eyes locked and she smiled. I froze. I let myself get distracted and I wasn’t ready. I basically had a split second window and flopped.

So she came in again last night. Again I positioned myself near the door before the end of the show. When it ended she turned to walk towards the door to leave and passed by me again but before she could pass by I blurted out something to the effect of “Hey, weren’t you here a few weeks back”. She confirmed she was and I mentioned how it seemed she’s come in at the end of the open mic both times. She revealed that she has a commitment at the same time as the open mic but tried to stop by on her way home. I replied that I thought that was too bad and mentioned how sometimes the open mic goes later but it depended on the number of artists that night. I looked down at her backpack and I saw a yoga mat attached to it. Perhaps she was coming from a yoga class. Say something! My mind was struggling to come up with another sentence and before I could get out another word she left. Great conversation Ed! She didn’t seem terribly impressed or interested in me but I didn’t have anything too great to say. Something inside of me just panicked when I saw her again. I thought, ooh second chance, don’t waste it and something propelled me over to talk to her without really thinking it through… it showed.

I had given up online dating for the better part of a month but some of my friends have been having luck lately so I decided to give it one more try. This time I was going to go all in. I signed up on match instead of free websites and I bought a nice 3-month membership. This is where the serious people go… the people who are willing to put their money where their mouth is. I checked out many profiles. I entered in a nice age range of about 12 years, looked for women without children and made sure to block out those who smoke.

Anyway, after going through many profiles I found 3 out of the 304 in my search results that I liked, that intrigued enough to write. Of course some of the best looking profiles on there were of friends of mine! I swear there were no less than 6 of my female friends on there and damn if they were not some of the best sounding and best looking profiles in this area! That said, I wrote to all 3 of the women I was interested in a few days ago… so far none have written back. So last night after my failure at the open mic I went back on and tried hard to find a few more that interest me. This is so tough! I’m picky even though I know, on paper I have no reason to be. I don’t necessarily put all my eggs in one basket but let’s just say I don’t have many baskets.  

It was like the poem I wrote and performed yesterday was a premonition to how I would feel. Well, obviously it is how I feel and the last 24 hours really topped it off. The poem starts; “Use caution- you don’t want to get involved with a guy like me”. Seems about right these days. I feel like a mutant.

All I’ve ever wanted is someone who will like me for who I am. In my dreams I’m like Eddie Murphy’s character Prince Akeem from Coming to America (one of my favorite movies by the way). Akeem pretends to be a poor African student and tries to find someone who will love him for who he is rather than because he is the super-rich Prince of Zamunda. If I can find someone who will want to be with me warts and all, then I’ll know she’s not only a keeper but is there for the long haul. The only difference in the plan is once the woman falls in love with Akeem, he would reveal that he is a Prince whereas I will reveal that I really like Prince. But hey, at least I don’t work at McDowell’s! If you’ve never seen the movie, first of all shame on you, secondly you won’t understand that last paragraph.  

Maybe it’s a cynical part of me but like Prince Akeem I worry that if I ever get to where I want to be on my own, you know slimmer, happier, a little better off financially and someone does fall for me then, will it be real? I mean would that person still want to be with me if I gained weight, had money troubles and basically went to where I am now? I want to connect heart and soul, not looks and pocketbook. I feel like giving up on it. Is there no one out there for me? Sometimes I wonder if I will ever find her in this town. Maybe I’ll move to Queens.

For my friend Colby (3-15-13)

I lost a friend today. Not an old friend, a school friend, work friend or sports friend… a furry friend. It wasn’t a huge surprise because the poor little guy had been in a very long fight and finally, it was time. I guess that makes it easier to accept but not easier to handle, especially in the short term. On my walk into work today I think I cried for about 30 of the 40 minutes of it. I walked down less busy streets with my hood up and my head down as I thought about the loss of my little friend.

The friend I lost today was Colby. If you looked through my photos on facebook you’ve might have seen him a few times. He was my roommate Jamie’s cat. He was a diabetic and had been for a little over 3 of his 11 years. From what I understand he outlived his expectations but after knowing him for over 6 months now I’m not surprised. Colby was a tough cat. Do you know the term “man’s man”? Well Colby was a cat’s cat. Of the 3 cats I’ve lived with, he was the toughest and I say this with only the experience of knowing him for the last 200 days of his life. He provided me with so many laughs, memories and stories in the time I knew him.

When I moved into the new place at the end of August I bonded with Bailey immediately. Bailey is a 10 year old cat but if you spent a day with him you’d never believe it. He’s a kitten deep down and with me and my young heart we hit it off very well. I probably enjoy playing with him as much as he enjoys it. Also with Bailey being so affectionate and sweet anyone who knows me would have guessed we would have become BFFs. We’re the same in many ways. With Lana I’ve had a good relationship but Lana is more like a typical cat, albeit a nervous, skittish one. She sleeps more and isn’t nearly as needy and playful. There are some days where I am busier and my interaction with her is brief. Bailey doesn’t allow me to not spend time with him, even on a day where I’m barely home. I joked with Jamie the other night that I wanted to come home and eat right after work before going out to a few engagements I had that night but that I thought to leave work a little earlier to allow an extra 20 minutes of “Bailey time”.

With Colby the relationship has progressed over the 6+ months. At first I kept a respectful distance from him. He could be a little temperamental, mostly due to the diabetes and the effect it had on him, so early on he usually wasn’t friendly with me. I didn’t blame him. He also didn’t know me. The first week I lived there he bit me because I either pet him at a bad time or maybe he hadn’t decided if I could pet him so familiarly yet. He was a loyal cat and was kind of like a big brother figure to the others. He’d go over and smack Bailey if he was being too rambunctious (which was often) and he’d let Lana know the deal when she lashed out at him due her skittishness or paranoia which was often unfounded. When Bailey tried to play rough with Lana, he'd put an end to it. He would be aggressive with the others when needed but he would watch out for them too. Due to the illness he had good days and bad days and on the bad days it was usually best to give him some space and quiet. He also had the biggest appetite of any cat I’ve ever seen. It might have had something to do with his illness but I heard he had a pretty hearty appetite prior to that as well… perhaps that appetite is what got him in trouble in the first place. You could almost never cook anything or have a meal in the house without his familiar meowing and mooching for a portion. Sometimes, if you weren’t careful he’d steal a chicken wing, a bone, a piece of meat, etc. right off your plate. One night I heard Jamie yell out “Hey! You asshole!” from another room only to find out Colby snatched a piece of steak or some tasty treat right from her plate as she tried to eat dinner. It made me laugh so much. He was bold and he was always hungry. This meant I stayed locked in my room, far away from him whenever I ate.  

By the end of my 2^nd month living with the cats my body had adjusted to them. I no longer got sniffly in their presence and their fur, saliva or whatever it is that makes people sensitive or allergic to them no longer had any effect on me. It was as I'd hoped. I had grown up with several cats and dogs but I hadn’t had any pets for 13-14 years so whenever I would go to a place with them I would get a runny rose and itchy eyes. I wasn’t used to them anymore. When I first moved in to this place I had both the runny nose and itchy eyes sometimes but since I didn’t allow the cats in my room, we had hardwood floors throughout the house (instead of carpeting) and I would sweep up the living room from time to time I think it helped to ease my transition. So by the end of my 2^nd month I decided to lift the cat ban on my room. My door was now open to them. Bailey obviously loved this as he was the one trying to force his way in most often but the other 2 cats began to stop by and found comfortable spots. I also loosened up in other ways, like whenever I had chicken, turkey or something Jamie approved of for Colby, I started to give him a few pieces instead of ignoring his pleas.

Now after 2 months I was letting the cats come and go as they pleased, even through my room plus I giving them, well Colby, some samples of the foods he cried so hard for. I was getting used to them and vice versa. With Colby it seemed like the more I opened myself up to him, the more he did to me. We became friends. I’d talk with him and tell him whenever I was going to have chicken or turkey next, you know, give him the scoop… as if he wouldn’t have come out from anywhere in the house the second he smelled the food anyway. Many mornings he’d come by my room while I was at my desk drinking my green tea or catching up on emails before work and he’d tap me on the leg with one of his paws to get my attention. That was his way of telling me he wanted to be pet. I’d pet him for a few minutes and he’d be all set. He was never as needy as Lana can be sometimes and Bailey is all the time. It really seemed like the longer I lived with him the better friends we became. I began to understand him. Unfortunately our time ran out today.  

This past month the long term effects of his diabetes were really obvious. He had lost half his body weight from 16 to 8 pounds, his hind legs were getting really shaky and his “bad days” were becoming really bad days. He was having trouble going to the bathroom, trouble climbing up on things he used to always hop up to easily and he just looked so frail and sick. The little guy just kept fighting though because he was that tough. He’d have an awful day and then rebound a little for a few days or a week before having another bad one. He’s really looked like he’s been at the end for several weeks now and those rebound days were nice but even on days where he seemed better it was only relative to how bad he had been the day before. Despite the glimpses he wasn’t the same cat he was a few months ago, let alone the cat he must have been in the years before I knew him.

Last night I made some chicken and he went bananas. He meowed in his distinctive style and even stood up on his hind legs against the counter. We hadn't seen that from him lately. I remarked to Jamie that it was “vintage Colby”. After getting the green light I gave him a small piece of chicken after it sufficiently cooled and he gobbled it right up and within a second was asking for more. This happened 3 more times, I’d give him a very small piece and he’d gobble it up and request another serving. I finally gave him a chunk instead of a sliver and he gobbled that right up but then surprisingly walked away. I thought that was odd. Usually I’m the one who walks away leaving behind an apology for the insatiable cat.  

Within a half hour of eating the chicken Colby threw up at least 3 separate times and that sparkle in his eye that was there when he was begging for food in the kitchen was completely gone and replaced by a distant look. It was like he tried one last time to be himself but as much as he wanted it; his body was just too far gone. He also tried with no success to go to the bathroom at least 15 times, a continuation of a problem he’s had this week. He tried to hop on top of the dining room table (one of his favorite hang out spots) but couldn’t make the jump nor land on his feet when he didn’t. It had gotten to the point where you have to ask yourself, how much is enough? Do you keep him around for a few more weeks, days or however long he has left just because? Last night he also did something that Jamie had never before seen, he actually asked to go inside his cat carrier. All 3 of these guys would traditionally run for the hills when their carriers were taken out. She interpreted this as Colby telling her it’s time. It was one of the saddest things I ever saw. As proud as he is, I went to sleep last night thinking about how hard life must be for him of late where it seems his body keeps letting him down, one thing after the next while there was absolutely no way he would get better. And now it was like he finally knew too.

When I woke up this morning I knew this was going to be the last day I’d see Colby and I thought of my favorite memory of him. Back in the fall during football season I’d have some friends over to watch Bills games. It was usually a painful experience but we often made the most of it. We brought food and treats and sometimes a few beers and we’d cheer, yell and undoubtedly laugh. The noise and commotion kept Bailey and Lana away from wanting to join us but Colby would often stroll right into our get-together like he owned the place, which of course was always how he walked into a room, lol. He’d mooch for food but this one time he did something that had me laughing so hard my jaw hurt.

He hopped up on the coffee table in front of where Andrew was sitting. This might not have been a problem except Andrew was slouched back on the couch and Colby was standing as tall as he could thus obscuring Andrew’s view of the television and the game. Andrew then said; “Hey cat, you’re in my way!” to which Colby prompted smacked Andrew’s pack of cigarettes right off the coffee table and onto the floor. My other guest and I were rolling. It was like he was saying "Hey buddy, don't forget this is MY place." It was vintage Colby.

When I left the house for work today I went over and pet his little head. I wanted to say something to him but I was within nanoseconds of completely losing it so I couldn’t speak. That’s why there were waterworks pretty much the whole walk to work and most of the time typing this. I feel very sad… sad on a selfish level for losing a relatively new friend that I really liked… sad for my roommate and friend who has lost a member of her family but I'm also happy… happy that Colby doesn’t have to suffer anymore. He had nothing left to prove… he was as tough as they come. A cat’s cat. Ironically, today is Colby’s 11^th and last birthday. I don’t know what else to say except happy birthday, thank you and rest well my little friend. I will miss you.

These pictures are from his last night with us. 

Like the Movies... a Modern Day Fairy Tale (3-7-13)

This past weekend I got caught up on many little projects and errands that I had been putting off, none larger nor longer overdue than getting my DVDs in order. You see, a few years ago I wanted to put together a comprehensive movie list. I wanted to create a list of all the titles I have, all the titles I want and put myself in a position where I could update these lists regularly. For whatever reason, probably laziness, I didn’t do it but lately my movie collection has grown so large I felt compelled to get a handle on it. So I entered in the title of every single film I own onto a spreadsheet and finally got a count. What’s the number? 645 DVDs. I have 645 movies… at least as I’m typing this and that doesn’t factor in the 34 seasons of TV shows, the 17 musical DVDs, the 8 poetry DVDs, 29 stand up comedy DVDs, 10 sports DVDs and 17 DVDs of documentaries, short films and other fun stuff.

It’s turned into quite the collection but the movies drive it. I usually pick up one or two a week on average, mostly used but always in great shape and mostly from places online where I think the prices are best. You’re probably thinking to yourself, Ed must really love movies, where does he find the time to watch all of them? I do love movies but to be honest with you, I haven’t even watched half of them yet. They come in much faster than I watch them, and quite frankly, the ones I have seen I probably saw before I acquired them. In fact, I can’t even tell you when the last time was that I pulled a movie from the collection that I hadn’t seen and watched it alone. I’m simply not trying to watch many of them… yet. Despite all of that I feel compelled to get stuff I loved from childhood, classics I might have missed out on and intriguing new releases that interest me. The collection must grow!

So what are you waiting for Ed? Why haven’t you been watching them? More on that later.

For as long as I can remember I’ve always loved movies. I saw my first movie when my brother Bryan took me to see Ghostbusters when I was little and I never looked back. During the late 80’s when my dad would finally spring for movie channels, boy did I watch a lot of them. The month that Star Wars finally came to HBO I watched it so much that my father started to hate that movie. In the early 90’s my dad bought our first VCR. I would get tons of blank tapes and record every movie I could. We were poor so we weren’t going to get too many new movies in their original cases. But I could buy multi-packs of blank videotapes for less than the cost of a new movie. So I would use 6 hour tapes and usually put 3 dramas or 4 comedies on them. When I encountered a 3-hour film, I’d put another 3-hour film on the same tape, usually of the same genre. Sometimes I’d have more than 10 “active” tapes just waiting to be finished off with a movie close enough to the ones already on there. I would do theme tapes like a Quentin Tarantino tape, a Tom Hanks tape, a Bill Murray tape and so on. If it turned out a movie sucked, I’d record over it with a better one. I amassed a huge collection of tapes and I learned there was nothing I enjoyed more than watching those tapes with my friends. I mean why have anything worth having if you can’t share it with others? It started a habit I’ve never really been able to shake, but again, more on that later. I love watching movies with other people but only under the right conditions. I’ve tried to watch serious films with meatheads and horror movies with people who can’t keep their eyes open. I’ve learned that I don’t like to watch movies alone but I can’t watch them with just anyone. I guess this makes things more complicated.

Yes, more complicated. When it’s something I’ve already seen I have no problem watching it alone, some films in fact will cause me to stop whatever I am doing or make me late getting to wherever I was going because I love them so much and have to watch some if not all of them. I’ve seen the original Star Wars at least 50 times and probably Empire and Jedi just as many times. Off the top of my head I know I’ve seen Die Hard, the American President, the Princess Bride, Ferris Bueller, Coming to America, Blazing Saddles, the Matrix, the Breakfast Club, Goodfellas, the Godfather, Spaceballs, the Crow, Friday, Office Space, When Harry Met Sally, Ghostbusters, Beetlejuice, Big Trouble in Little China, and Enter the Dragon at least 20 times each.

I treat my movie collection the way a stamp collector treats their stamps or the way a doll collector treats their dolls. I loathe to let anyone else touch them unsupervised and I really don’t like to lend them out. I love to share my movies with people but I like to be there to share it with them. Call me a bit selfish but lending out a movie, especially one that I haven’t even seen yet to someone else to watch with their significant other or gasp, alone makes me a sad panda. Maybe it’s because I grew up poor and never had much that I cling to this collection so tight. Maybe it’s my pride from slowly building it over many years or perhaps it’s something else.

About 11 years ago I fell in love for the first time and for all the wonderful things finding a partner presented one of the things that I thought about most was; now I’ll have someone to share my movies with! Of course back then I still had a massive VHS tape collection and was probably just starting to add DVDs to it but the sentiment was no less important to me. The relationship while wonderful, was complicated. It became difficult because not too long into it she had to move to another state for a college internship. We kept things going for as long as we could I guess and I visited her every month, sometimes for as long as a week but I couldn’t really bring the movies with me. It would have been impractical to pack my suitcase full of videos when I needed clothes and other, more important things for a trip spanning several days. In absence of that we rented a few and went to the theater a few times but sad to say we never had the chance to watch that many together, especially from my cherished collection.

When that relationship ended it only strengthened my resolve to find someone to just kick back and watch some of these movies with. It’s not even a case where I am fanatical about watching every single one, because let’s face it, the chances of me finding someone who will want to watch every one of them are incredibly remote. I’m realistic about that. I just want someone who loves movies and would be into watching many of them with me. In a perfect world, she’d have a collection of her own whether it was movies, music or whatever and she could share that with me while I shared with her… a man can dream right?

Shortly after that relationship ended my life turned into a Seinfeld episode, sizing up women on first dates as to whether they were sponge-worthy, but in this case the “sponges” were my movie collection. I wanted to find someone ready to settle down. Actually I’ve always had trouble with the term “settle down”. I know I’m using a different interpretation of the word settle, but it feels like settling down sounds like you’ve settled for something. Like maybe you shot for the moon, but settled for something less than that and called it a day. I dunno, I guess I prefer the term “calmed down” as in we don’t need to go out so often looking for things because most of what we need is right beside us.

My fairy tale is that I love movies. Then I was in love with her. Then I wanted to share my great movie collection that means so much to me with her, but then there was no her so I keep collecting them and I hardly watch them until the next “she” comes and honors me with love and her desire to watch them with me once in a while. So I keep collecting until she collects me. Maybe it’s a foolish quest to you but to me it means everything. Perhaps I’m a modern day Don Quixote. But I dream the impossible dream and I wait for her. And when I find her, by the looks of it, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

Standoff (2-28-13)

Whenever I leave Ashker’s after the Wednesday night open mic I’m always feeling right. Getting a chance to share my work with others and take in theirs, plus the great community feeling that has developed there leaves me with a wonderful inspired feeling on top of the high I usually get simply from reading my work. As I make my way home down Elmwood Avenue I always feel alive and invigorated. Some nights when Elmwood is a little rowdy I wonder if I can make it home with my happy-happy-joy-joy buzz intact. I know Wednesday nights after ten aren’t exactly Friday or Saturday nights at the same time but you never know.

As I’m walking my mind is just going… savoring moments, creating, visualizing, critiquing, you know, just going. Although I’m deep in thought, I’m still aware of my surroundings. I still stop at the corners to make sure the lights are favorable to cross. I still look over my shoulder as I begin to cross to check if someone is turning and not paying attention. I still notice every person who approaches and passes. I’m good at that. I’m good at tuning the world around me down so I can turn the volume up inside and really let my mind work without turning the world completely off. Sometimes when I get so deep into thought that I don’t want to come out and someone brings me out, I get a little agitated, especially if it’s not a good reason to break up my thoughts, like someone I don’t know asking me for something, offering an unsolicited opinion or someone acting crazy or dangerous within enough proximity that I deem them a potential threat.

Things were going well. I was thinking about one of the pieces I did a few hours earlier and some adjustments I’d like to make to it and suddenly, about a half block ahead I could see and hear some guy screaming about something. I thought “that guy must be having a bad night”. He was on my side of the street, directly in my path and I would be reaching him in less than 2 minutes. I snapped out of my thoughts and then began to angrily assess the situation. Should I cross the street and avoid him? Is he much of a threat? He was facing my direction and yelling while waving his arms around irrationally.

As I started to close in I could hear some of the things he was yelling. He was screaming how no one should mess with him, although a little more graphically than that. He was screaming that he would mess up the next person who did. Then the craziest part of all happened. As I approached, coming down the sidewalk towards him he started to direct his ire at me. He started yelling for me to come get it, egging me on and telling me what he was going to do to me. He somehow thought my walking down the sidewalk towards him was me accepting his challenge. He was standing in front of the pet store right next to Acropolis. At this point I was approaching Cecelia’s and closing in on this person. The closer I got, the more upset he was getting as if I was doing it intentionally to spite him. Again my mind warned me to cross the street but it was too late. My pride had already kicked in and my rarely seen Latin temper was beginning to simmer.

I started thinking who does this guy think he is? In my neighborhood, threatening people, threatening me!

When I was a teenager and I was trying to figure a lot of things, it was as you might expect, a very frustrating time and my temper would occasionally make an appearance. Sometimes I would put my hand through wall or something could get broken. It could be that bad. I would just feel this intense rage, beyond any anger I could normally muster and then I had to release it. My father had a fiery temper too; it’s no doubt that’s where I got it from. His would come out only occasionally as well but when it did, everyone avoided him.

The last real fight I ever got into was in high school at 16. I’ve probably blogged about it before. To summarize, it was study hall, there was a kid hanging with 3 friends in the corner. I was reading a book on area colleges and was just starting to think about them. The teacher left the room unattended for several minutes and then suddenly a used blow-pop stick landed in my hair. After pulling it out and figuring out what had occurred I jumped out of my desk stormed across the room throwing desks in my wake and challenged basically all 4 of them, although mostly the one who did it, whichever one it was. When one of them was brave enough to get up I tried to kick him very hard to the face, just missing and then he tried to tackle me. Unfortunately for him he slammed into my midsection but I didn’t budge. I then reached down, grabbed him and threw him completely over my head and onto the floor and before he could figure out what had happened I pounced on him like an animal does their prey and put him into a very painful hold. Thankfully 2 teachers heard the commotion from down the hall and rushed in. When I saw them, my mind kicked back on and I realized what I was doing so I released him. If those teachers hadn’t rushed in I might have snapped something on that kid or worse. I went at him with unspeakable rage. I wasn’t dancing around, showboating or interested in anything other than neutralizing my enemy and making him pay for thinking he could disrespect me in such a way. I probably would have done anything to prevail. Afterwards I thought about that fight frequently and it scared me. It scared me how angry I was. It scared me in terms of what I was willing to do, what I could have done to that idiot, or any idiot moving forward. I could not be that angry again.

Over time I read about Dr. Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Bruce Lee and I remembered the wise lessons of Mr. Miyagi. I became attracted to the ideas of non-violence or violence only as a last resort. From that day on, I have never been in a real fight. Sure there have been some altercations, confrontations, screaming matches, insults traded but it takes a lot to get me to go. Hell it’s been over 20 years since that last one and frankly I know that the rage and that temper is still in there because every once in a while when I get really frustrated or upset I can feel it trying to bubble to the surface. I suppress it. I’ve heard of people who release their hate, their hurt and the animosity towards others. I don’t know how they do it. I’ve learned to forgive but never forget and every situation, every moment or every person who has ever hurt me deeply is still in the back of my mind, the lessons and the pain ready to rain down on the person who pushes me too far. I hope that day never comes.

After a few decades I have gotten a whole lot better at keeping myself calm in choppy waters. It takes a lot but the temper and the rage is buried in there. You know what will get it out? When someone does something malicious with seemingly no reason behind it, to myself or anyone I care about. I hate injustice and I hate seeing it or feeling it even more. I will fight against that. Also, if you know me you know I am fascinated by vigilante justice. I don’t always agree with it but I feel like at times it’s needed. A time like this was starting to feel like one of those times.

I was about 50 feet away from the guy and he wanted to fight. He wanted to go. He kept saying “c’mon mutherfucker, let’s go”. The anger was swelling inside of me. Who do you think you are! You don’t even know me! How dare you assume you can speak to me that way! My mind was trying to keep me from saying these things out loud. It was also trying to quickly decide what was going on and what I should do before reaching the point of no return as I kept walking toward him and the distance between us was shrinking fast.

As I closed to about 40 feet he reached inside the yellow garbage can attached to the street light and pulled out a bottle. My pace slowed a little. He immediately slammed it onto the sidewalk next to him. He was getting even more upset and more excited as I drew closer. Where did this guy come from? He couldn’t have been out here, almost right in front of Acropolis no less, acting like this without someone calling the police. I was starting to get really angry. I wanted to stop him and also show him that there are consequences for acting the way he was acting. I made the assumption that since he reached into the garbage can for something that could be used in a threatening manner, he did not have a real weapon on him. If he did, in the state he was in, he would have had it drawn already. This guy was in his 40’s I think, maybe 30’s and I was not afraid of him physically whatsoever, but this guy’s mind is what had me anxious. I felt like if I fought him I could use his over aggressiveness against him. I was almost sure I could defeat him, but at what cost?

Then for a slight second my mind took full control. It said, what the hell is wrong with you? You have your brand new digital camera in your backpack, you’ve already had knee and ankle issues this week… why are you trying to fight some guy who may be drunk, high, crazy or all of the above. If he was crazy, I could have locked into a fight to the death with him. Who knew? A man of my intelligence should know there is a fine line between being a man and being macho, between being brave and being stupid.

As I drew to within 20 feet of him I stopped. I took a few steps to my left and went a few feet into the street and then proceeded forward. Ideally I would have crossed the street but my pride considered this a small victory. Okay, so you’ll make me deviate a little but I’m still not going to cross the street, suck it! Pride… a fool’s best friend.   

As I passed him he was only about 10 feet to the right of me. He wanted so badly for me to indulge him. He started calling me a “cracker” and other wonderful things to try to get me to change my mind. As I walked past him my mind kept telling me not to do anything that would escalate the situation which quite frankly, it wouldn’t have taken much. He was standing his ground but he wasn’t coming after me even though I was so close by. My fists were clenched so tight and my body was throbbing I wanted to thrash this guy so bad but it had been decided, I will not antagonize, attack or do anything to provoke him. That meant no eye contact; no words and no gestures… just keep walking. If he attacked me, then and only then would I unleash my fury upon him but otherwise I would do nothing.

It wasn’t easy but I walked past him and since he was constantly screaming at me I could determine his location and the distance he was away from me without looking, pretty much at all times. I was relying heavily on my ears now. If I heard heavy hurried steps coming my way I would get into a more balanced position and be ready to throw a thrust kick into his face as he was coming in. I was so tense, my adrenaline was way up and my pride still wanted a piece of him but I kept walking. The temptation was surely there, I had to get out of there fast, but without looking afraid so my pride couldn’t complain.

After I was about 15 feet past him I began to make my way back to the sidewalk and continued down Elmwood. I could hear in his voice when I returned to the sidewalk that he was extra pissed that I came back onto “his” sidewalk and based on the slight change in his tone I thought he might come running at me from behind but thankfully I could hear the distance growing between us as he simply would not stop threatening, insulting and barking at me from that one spot. Now the priority was not stopping, not looking back because I felt like he would still take those as signs of escalation. Just keep walking, one foot in front of the other and with every step his voice grew lower and lower. He was not pursuing.

After I got a block away I felt like it was a safe enough distance to stop and look so I did. Once I crossed West Ferry and made a few steps past the corner I turned and looked and he was facing me, albeit all the way back in front of the pet store and still screaming away and making the same animated hand gestures from before. A little voice from inside which was probably my pride was asking me how I could let this guy “punk” me like that. Thankfully it was a little voice. I mean, if I had the little angel on the one shoulder and the little devil on the other both trying to influence me it would seem on this night as it is most nights the angel was 5 times bigger and 5 times louder than the devil. I walked the remaining few blocks down to Bryant with an occasional glance over my shoulder, still wound up real tight and ready to defend myself. When I got home, I sat down immediately and took a deep breath. A walk that started so joyful and excited ended so disgusted and tense. I hope the police came for this guy and stopped him from hurting someone else. I don’t know what could make a man snap like that. Was it booze? Was it a mental health issue? Was it drugs? Whatever it was thankfully it wasn’t enough to get me to snap. I may have lost the standoff but because I didn’t give in to my anger, I feel like I won. 

Sparkle in the Eye (2-16-13)

There are these people who walk among us. They’re a little different. I mean, they look like the rest of us, talk like us and even act like us most of the time. But sometimes they are more than us and that’s what makes them different. That and the constant fire in their souls. They live a stirring, dynamic existence that often leaves a memorable impression on us. They provide the deepest memories and are often beloved in their circles. I often refer to these people as people who sparkle. I say that because when they are going, when they are interested, when they are doing what they do their eyes sparkle in a way that other people’s do not. If you look for it and you’re around the right person, you can definitely see it. The look in their eyes when they are “into it” is beautiful and even sometimes borders on fanatical or crazy looking. You can see their energy levels rise rapidly and their body language shift. Maybe you’ve encountered some of these people. They are the creative souls, the movers, the doers and the people who get things done, usually with a smile. They don’t sit around lamenting the choices in their lives; they are more likely out there living them and chasing their dreams. They often live in the moment and are usually some of the nicest and fun people you’ll ever meet.

They aren’t perfect people, mind you, as their impulsiveness and risk taking can sometimes backfire but that won’t stop them. People can take advantage of them and hurt them because they are usually coming from a genuine place and can be oblivious to other people’s hidden motives or insecurities. Sparkle people don't have time for hidden motives and insecurities! When they do get knocked down, however infrequent, they usually get right back up and attack life all over again. Sometimes they can have trouble with relationships because people just can’t keep up with them or people just can’t give them the amount of space they need to pursue the things they need to pursue. Never try to change or control these people! They can be workaholics and they can be some of the most creative people you know. Their energy can be infectious and frightening all at the same time. If you ever tried to get one of these people to sit down and do absolutely nothing for an hour or two, watch out! They’ll get antsy quickly.

Another thing you should be careful about is if you ever have a good idea around these people... you better mean it! They will not only encourage you to do it, but if it’s an idea for a group or something they can get into with you, they’ll want to get right into it. All those people out there who are all talk and no action stay away from the people with sparkles in their eyes. They are both intimidated and afraid of them because sparkle people will call their bluff. Sparkle people will want to do it and get right to it. They are impressed with dynamic ideas for sure but following them through to fruition really gets them going because they know there is as much if not more fun in the action as there are in the ideas. To them an experience is both a way to better memories and a better chance to obtain knowledge than what an idea on its own presents.

I admire these people for that sparkle in their eyes. I think I have it too, but it’s not really for me to say. You can’t tell people about your sparkle the same way you can’t tell someone you are very attractive. As we know, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I’ve met women who think I am cute as hell and others who think I’m yuck. It is what it is. But I think if I am one of the sparkle people, I make it harder to identify me as one because I try to hide it. I don’t know if I do it intentionally or not, subconsciously maybe. My over analytical side is often in direct conflict with my sparkle. I try to think and overthink things while my soul gets antsy. In one of my oldest poems I refer to my “dull dryness often being at odds with my frosted side” like that cereal where only one half of each piece is frosted. Some people are frosted all over and I both envy (in a good way) and love them. They inspire me to seek out my own sparkle. They inspire me to write, to think and to live. So this is for them. To all you people with a sparkle in your eye, keep shining. 

Ed. note: To all my facebook friends who I tagged for this blog you were the first people I thought of when I started writing this. I’ve actually looked into your eyes at some point and saw the sparkle. You are the sparkliest of the sparkly. For those I didn’t tag, no worries… I think you have some sparkle; I just wanted to highlight those people who I think have the most. Sparkle is a beautiful thing and if you wanna get yourself some here are ways to do it: 1-Start appreciating stuff! 2-Stop talking about it and do it. 3-Don’t get too caught up in your head- doubts and excuses live there. 4-Live! 5-Get off your ass. While I think the sparkliest people are born with it, I think if you can incorporate a little into your life, however much you can handle, it will make things richer, more meaningful and you will feel more alive than you’ve ever felt.

Lastly, I am starting to write a poem about people with the sparkle in their eyes and I will debut it Wednesday night at the Ashker’s open mic, 7:30pm. Those tagged, come down in person and hear me talk about you, otherwise I’ll be talking about you behind your backs. :)