Categories
ranting

the whole story, or deja vu

I’ve found a new girl to obsess over… Well not really an obsession, more of a desire to get to know someone more.

A week ago last Thursday—that was the 17th for those of you keeping count of my pathetic existence, but then again how pathetic must you be? Where was I? Oh yes, a week ago last Thursday I was set up on a kind or blind date with a friend of the girlfriend of one of the guys at work, who he’d never met—does this sound like a bad, late night dating show yet? Since my dating life could not get much more pathetic I agreed to call the girl and go for drinks.

We agreed that since she lived in Fairfax I would meet her at Carlos O’Kelly’s [ carlosokellys.com ] (I didn’t even know it was a chain until I just looked up the website!) So, we met. Now that was kinda fun. She’s not really someone I would date but we did have a nice long discussion of ethics that began with the question; “Why are you a vegetarian?” Our conversation was interesting enough to get the attention of the table next to us—who told us so after buying us a round of drinks.

As we were, uh, ‘discussing’ ethics a large group came in and started pulling tables together. One of the girls pulling tables and chairs together looked familiar. I mentioned to my companion that I thought I knew her. “I think I work with her. But I don’t know, I don’t see much of her, all I know is her name.” A few seconds later when she turned around and looked in my direction I was sure.

“Hello.” I said.

“Um. Oh, hey! How are you?”

That, along with introductions and a few seconds of pleasantries was the end of my interaction with my coworker for the night. Except when I got to make fun of her for singing during karaoke—which was funny. Very funny.

So, end of story for a week.

Fast forward to last Thursday. The guys at work usually play flag football—I’ve played a few times, but we didn’t have enough people to play a good game lest week. So we went for a drink or two at happy hour. Since everyone needed to drive home as they all live in the boonies we had one drink then left. I went back to work because I was looking for a little more of a night out. I called a few people but no one was answering or they were not up for going out.

Wait, I know, I’ll call the hot chick from accounting. Well, actually I was too chicken to ‘call’ her. I sent her a text message—hey it’s what we do!.

You guy’s going out tonight? Mind a tag along?

Who is this? And where are you?

Sorry, forget not everyone has the whole company directory in their phone book. It’s beggs, I’m at work.

Hey. No prob. We’ll be there about nine.

So I killed a little time and then headed back to Carlos O’Kelly’s for karaoke. She and her roommates and friends were already there. I crashed their party, and got to know her and her roommates a little bit. I also got a tad drunk. But so did they. They’re a fun crowd. I had a really good time, hope to do it some more.

Now for the introspective pseudo-psycho babel and whingeing. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I do think she is really good looking. And from what I know of her I do like her personality. I would like the chance to get to know her better. But there are drawbacks to her. 1) she smokes. And as everyone who knows me knows I don’t do well with the smoking think. 2) I work with the girl. I mean she works on another floor and I never really see much of her, but still. 3) Now this is the big one—she has a child. I’ve dealt with that before and the results were less than spectacular—at least for me. I put myself in that position a second time and fucked up my whole life for several years. Now I’m looking at someone and saying “I don’t really have anything against trying it again. You know, you’ve got to get to know someone before you cross them off for something that is part of them.” So. I’m not really obsessed and I doubt anymore will come of this tail but I would like to get to know her better.

Categories
writings

David

Years later, as the school bus drove past David’s old stop, I would wonder. Why, when I remembered David, did I not feel sad? Why did I remember David’s birthday party, at his house down that driveway, where David had a full head of wheat blond hair and a big smile on his face? Why did I not remember the bald David, string off into nothingness with those tired eyes? The weak eyes of someone who is fighting for their life, the chemotherapy steeling all their strength.

I don’t remember exactly when David died, I know it was in fifth grade. Mrs. Vinning’s class, where David sat in the back corner—when he came to school, which was less and less often. His leukemia was bad, had been since the year before. That year, fourth grade, we sent David to Disney World, or at least we helped. Our class designed some little pictures and had them printed on some little pads. I designed one of them, a simple scroll that said “David” and had some stars on it. We also had some pencils and erasers that said “David” on them. In the mornings before school we would stand at a table in the lobby and sell these things to the other students as they got off the bus. They would buy a few with the money their mother or father had given them for it, because the school had sent home a piece of paper explaining what we where doing and why we where doing it.

What we where doing was trying to raise enough money to send David and his family, his mother, father and younger sister, to Disney World—his dream. We did not even know how much it cost, but we where determined to send them. Each of us bought something every morning, even if we did not need it, even if we had bought one the day before.

In the end we did raise some money, I don’t know how much but we gave it to David’s parents so they could take him to Disney World. The Starlight Foundation payed for the rest, airplane tickets, tickets to Disney World, hotel, and even a limo to pick David up from school to go to the airport. That was a great day, the end of forth grade, and everyone in our class outside of school waving to the limo as it drove David and his family off to the airport.

I do remember the phone call. It must have been a holiday, maybe spring break, because it was sunny and nice outside and my mom called from work. She told me that David has “passed away.” This was not the first time that someone I had known had “passed away” but this was the first time it was not someone old, it was the first time it was someone I saw more than a few times a year and it was the first time one of my friends had “passed away.” This was someone my age, this was someone who was not supposed to die. Even though David had been sick for years and getting worse the idea that he would not get better had never occurred to me. This was the first time I really came face to face with mortality.

I cried, and my mom tried to comfort me over the phone. She also said that she thought it would be better if I did not go the to funeral, she would go but I should stay home. I tried to argue, I said I wanted to go, that David was my friend. But she convinced me that it would be better if I stayed home, if my last memories of David where happy ones not ones of his funeral. She said I did not really want to see David like that.

So I did not go to David’s funeral and the next week we went back to school. Nothing changed in our daily routine except that the counselor came in and talked to our class, and we got the chance to talk to him one-on-one. But something imperceptible did change, the desk in the back of the room took on a new significance. It embodied the struggle of life and death in a way that science class could not and looking back at it brought you face to face with mortality. From this desk, for a long time, the icy finger of reality could come up and tap you unexpectedly on the shoulder and make your eyes swell with tears.

But years later, as the bus drove past David’s driveway I did not think of any of this. I did not think of David, bald, tired, dieing. I thought of David, happy, smiling, laughing, full of life at his birthday party. And the bus drove by David’s stop everyday, and my life went on, and David is still my friend.

Categories
ranting

crazy wochenende

Crazy German weekend. I went out to Arlington on Saturday to watch the Germany v. Latvia Euro Cup game [ euro2004.com ] with Thilo. The game was a disaster, 0-0 draw, poor showing by Germany. But a few Guinness made it better.

Afterwards we headed back to Thilo’s apartment. Drank too much wine and talked about random things. The thing that came up in the end was the possibility of renting a house out in Arlington—near Clarendon (and by association Whitlow’s) [ whitlows.com ]. I like living in the city, but a little more space and a roommate I know would be nice. Added bonus would be the 15 minutes off the commute. We’ll see, have to find a place and decide soon.

While Thilo and I where discussing this my phone rang. It was another German—R█████ [ confusion.cc ] whom I met in London. He was on his way from Baltimore to my place.

So back on the Metro and back to DC. I made it just after R█████ and his Girlie Danielle showed up. We headed out and had dinner at Thaiphoon. Really good to see R█████ and catch up on on all the stuff going on over the pond. Lots of good conversation at dinner and after that back to drinking and watching movies. Stayed up way to late.

So I spent all day Saturday drinking and then got up Sunday to tromp around DC all day. We only saw a few museums but mostly just walked around. We did meet two interesting people.

In front of the National Gallery we met a woman who was a recently retired Foreign Service worker. She was interesting—totally insane—but interesting. Talking to her she never committed to a single thing. Evasive as hell about everything. I guess that’s what it takes to talk to world leaders without bold faced lying.

Inside the gallery we where looking at a Jackson Pollock [ nga.gov ] when the security guard asked us if “we saw the insect” in the painting. Um, given how crazy a Jackson Pollock painting is we all had to say “no.” So he pointed out the small “s” shaped smear in the upper right quadrant that ended in the painted body of a insect of some kind. Can’t tell if it was a cockroach or a fly, but it’s fully fully part of the painting now.

We talked with the security guard for about 30 minutes. Found out that he was in the military for a long time—served as an MP in Germany. He guarded Elvis during ‘the King’s’ tour of duty, and worked Check Point Charlie for several years. He was really cool to talk to. Made more interesting that I was with a German who could add context and even more color to the stories. The juxtaposition of Rob—a well educated punk who grew up in the last days of the Wall and this well spoken ex-military guard who worked in the shadow of the wall, it was surreal.

All in all a good weekend, but man am I tired. I need to call Rob but am too tired tonight.

Categories
ranting

seeking roommate

Well my bitching at Sherman about his “I’ll leave when I find a place” stance seems to have had an effect. He will be paying rent through the end of August. So I need a roomie for the first of September? Any takers?

Categories
writings

A Small Good

“The ladies papers are in order.”

The well-educated British voice brought me out of my daze. A hand extended from behind me with a fist full of money. Before me a soldier, wearing fatigues too large for him and holding an assault rifle, looked down at the money.

A moment before that soldier had tossed my papers to another man sitting at a table next to him and said in a thickly accented English, “your papers are not in order. Step over there.” He pointed the muzzle of his AK-47 to a small whitish building a few meters away. Three more men in fatigue’s stood or squatted, smoking, with rifles in hand. The three smiled and laughed when they saw their companion point.

“Take my hand.” The British accent came again. The wad of pounds pushed into the soldier’s hand. Not waiting for a reply he began to walk.

So I walked hand-in-hand across the border with the British man. Fleeing the days old bloody civil war.

I looked back to see the five soldier’s standing together yelling. The long line of refugees waiting to cross the border looking on. “Don’t look back,” my savior said squeezing my hand. I looked forward again, across the few meters of dead zone to another border check point. The guards there looked on. What a strange pair we must have made, a young blond American woman in cut-offs and a tee-shirt carrying an old duffel bag, and a British business man in a black suit with his briefcase, holding hands.

“Are you going to the airport,” he asked, nodding to this new country’s soldier’s as we passed through the checkpoint.

“Yes, uh…” was all I could manage

Never releasing my hand, my British savior guided me among the rows of buses and cars waiting to pick up refugees and ex-patriots fleeing the violence. “My company sent a driver,” he explained.

A few moments later we stood next to a green Land Rover. The driver tossed his cigarette into the dust and squeezed his eyebrows together as he opened the back door. The driver looked questioningly from me to the businessman as my savior took my duffel bag and handed it to him. “We’re going to the airport first,” the businessman said climbing into the back seat next to me, “then to the offices.”