I have late classes on monday. They start at three and end around eight. I woke up at six monday morning. I pressed two glasses of coffee, and then started stretching. I did some pull ups on my Iron Gym, and then I did some push ups on my bedroom carpet. I took a brief shower and dressed to go running. Sweat pants, running shoes, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. I drank one cup of coffee and then twenty ounces of water. I found my ipod, and my keys, and left my apartment to start my 3 mile campaign. Once outside, I turned on my ipod and found a playlist I had assembled the night before, “Monday Run.” I walked across the street to Riverside Park and began jogging.I ran from 115th to 113th before turning around and going home.
It was too cold. Instead I would smoke a bowl, and lay on my couch, drink coffee and watch two hours of The Cleavland Show. I can’t say it was what I had planned for the day, but it turned out quite well. Around one I realized I should start dressing for school. I also realized I was still pretty stoned. I found a pair of socks, pulled my jeans out from a pile of clothes, and dressed for the cold. I took two naps while getting dressed. I fall into the category of ’low-functioning pot smoker.’
I take the red line directly to school, and it takes me 45 minutes to get there. I use this opportunity to catch up on reading. I had Jonathan Lethem’s new book “Chronic City” on me. I started searching for the page where I had last left off when the irony of the title dawned on me and I began loudly laughing to the dismay of the Dominican grandmothers who I had wedged myself between in the packed car.
My first class was Art Survey. I walked into class late because I had to stop and get a Jamba juice. My professor was going over her syllibus and I took a seat against the wall. She started showing slides, and giving us vocabulary for describing art. ” Do you guys see the LINES in this Picasso? Notice how Poussin uses COLOR and FORM.” Yes, I did. “Does anyone have anything to add?” I felt that I’d made a bad impression, arriving in class late, and figured this was a better opportunity than ever to make up for it.
“I have something to add” I spent the next five minutes of class monologuing about landscape painting, and a trip I had taken to the MET during the Poussin show in 2008. I talked about what color REALLY MEANS, whatever that means, and how I FELT about form. I talked about who I was, and how it was funny that we’re all sitting in a room looking at slides of paintings.
I scribbled this in my notes “sitting here in art survey, my young female professor is huddled around her textbook, aiming her nerd specs at the letters on the page. She is quietly reading and chewing on her hair.”
Between classes I stopped at the library to use my laptop. My friend Soan tapped on my shoulder, and we talked about our winter breaks. We talked about travel, and girls, money, and responsibility. We went for a cup of coffee at the Barnes and Noble cafe down the street.
Sitting in French 102, my teacher began calling roll. She called my name, and asked me to tell the class about myself, but in french. “ah, oui, Je muh-pelle ——, and, no I mean ‘et’ , ET- j’aime uhm biking and stuff.” fuck. After the attendance was taken, I opened my book bag to pull out my notebook. I noticed that my laptop was not in my bag. I stood up, knocking a glass bottle off of an older haitain woman’s desk. It burst open on the floor throwing glass and peach juice everywhere. “Sorry” I said. I ran to the library, my mind racing with the thought of a student plucking my laptop off of the desk which I had so haphazardly left it. Fucking asshole! How could I forget my laptop? Did I? My pace slowed wit realization. I brought my charger, and I brought my mouse. Did I even bring my laptop today? I walked back to where I had been sitting in the library, still doubtful, but too embarrassed to ask the front desk if someone had found a laptop which did not exist. Leaning against the desk, I stretched my calves, and quads, as if I had just finished exercising. ‘yep, done.’ I walked back to class slowly, grabbing some napkins from the bathroom on the way.
That night I would find my laptop opened on my couch, frozen on a still of the Cleavland Show. A bear wearing a shirt, and a tie, and a chubby black kid crying. I knocked my running shoes out of the way, and began taking off my boots. Best monday ever!
I had a physical done earlier this month. My doctor gave me the usual: took some blood, had my boys looked at, knocked them around a little (that’s part of the usual, right?). You know the deal. About two weeks passed and I received a voicemail:
“It’s a big project” one of Celebrity Islands longest residing members, and head of Performance Bookings said this morning, in an exclusive NYCIYA interview “but we all knew it would be an ambitious one from the start.” His co-director interjected; ” Yeah, for real. When we heard about this we did what we had to do as quickly as possible to get out here.” Tupac and Biggie exchanged knowning glances of friendship, and fraternal love, right before bursting out in teary eyed laughter. Tupac continued “You know, we’re happy to have DJ AM coming out here.When Michael Jackson decided it was his in his best interest to make that big move out there, we knew a lot of younger guys and girls, still in their prime would start flooding the gates. A lot of pressure is put on celebrities. You know they wanted MJ to do 50 shows for 200 million dollars? That’s only 4 million a show!” NYCIYA was not allowed an interview with MJ but his officials released this statement to the press: “Mr.Jackson isn’t yet ready to be in the public eye. To answer some of your more pressing questions: The disappearance of local village boys is not related to his arrival, regardless of what the numbers are saying, the spike of missing children reports are completely unrelated. Remember people, he was acquitted.”
Who the fuck joins the Navy? says me, a deluded city kid who knows nothing but the smell of burnt pretzels and trash which has yet to be collected in the morning. well, that was the first thing that crossed my mind when my friend told me he was enlisting. To be honest, Im not really sure how to feel about it. I’m not the type of person who becomes an emotional wreck over other peoples shit, and I respect the decisions of others (or at least if I respect the person), but I do have my own opinions, as well as care about his well being. He’s talented as all hell but has that dangerous sense of adventure that makes you do things that most writers, like myself, only have wet dreams about, before deciding to write fiction. But I couldn’t help but think he was throwing a big part of his life away. You know, the part which keeps you not-dead.
