The View from the Top...

From the top: Dusk over the Hudson - 52nd floor Westin Times Square, NYC;
Pacific Sunset - 10th floor Sheraton Delfina, Santa Monica, CA;
LA Palms vs. Skyline - 6th floor terrace, L'Ermitage, Beverly Hills;
LA Weather - 12th floor, Westin LAX;
Salt Lake Surrounded - seat 2A

Can I take your order?

Why is it that the best meals often occur way past midnight, hours before the morning omelet? Is it the calming effect of the post-dusk air that serenades the food like strawberry vinaigrette running over acres of mixed greens? Or is it because a chicken gordita just tastes THAT damn good?

Why is it that every thought of calories, carbohydrates, or caffeine seem to exit stage right when the Drama about late night food begins? Eaters-remorse is fast asleep while you're chewing on that fat-packed Quarter Pounder with Cheese. Potbellies hide under the blankets and Love Handles are busy making out in the driveway... Why is it that a 4am Biggie Size of fries seems like a much more delicious alternative than taking Lucy or Rhonda home from the club?

Something about that late night, drove-too-far-to-get-it and then waited-in-line-behind-nine-cars-kinda-Snack appeases all bouts of confusion or eruptions of hormone...

Something in those twilight tastings energizes us more than any Sunday morning sermon ever could. Reverend Ronald McDonald sho' do know how to preach...

And the hymns he's selling go damn good with some ketchup and a six-piece.

And we're singin' along...cuz we're saying 'screw it' with each verse...with each bite... forgetting about the morning paper or the 7am meeting... just eating something greasy and fried, and lovin' every minute of it... freedom baby... that's what ol' Rev is preachin'...


And ima believer.

Inspiration

When inspiration hits...unleash it.

Even if it's 3:43am on a workday.

Lyrics of the Week

Champ:
Lately my hands they don't feel like mine.
My eyes been stung with dust, I'm blind.
Held you in my arms one time,
Lost you just the same...

Still don't know what love means.
- Ray LaMontagne, Jolene

Runner-up:
I dont want your innocence,
I dont want you to stutter.
I dont want a commitment,
And I dont want you to suffer.
I dont want your number,
Baby I want you to wonder...
- Diddy w/ Christina, Tell Me

Old School:
Did I ask too much, more than a lot.
You gave me nothing, now it's all I got.
We're one, but we're not the same.
Well, we hurt each other, then we do it again...

Love is a temple,
Love the higher law.
You ask me to enter,
But then you make me crawl,
And I can't be holding on, to what you got,
When all you got is hurt...
- U2, One

14

It's an intoxicating balance between schizophrenia and genius...between insanity and prodigy...

A fine line that's a dance floor for only the finest of performers...tip-toeing across the stage with precision, grace, and a few well-timed pelvic thrusts.

Weaving in and out of conscious and subconscious. Fantasy and reality... The Fourteen are fearless.

Armed and dangerous, ready to lay siege on any comer...any dinner guest at the Feast that is friendship, or famine that is the lack thereof... The Fourteen are incognito.

Undercover brothers, with varying attitudes and appetites but with the same infectious laugh. Different outfits with the same bad haircut... The Fourteen are coveted.

Desired by some, unknown by many, misunderstood by most...only the richest of Landlords own the key... The Fourteen are privileged.

Tucked away beneath blankets of security...invisible to the naked-eye... The Fourteen are lonely.


I have Fourteen personalities.

You know 3.

Now accepting reservations for Eleven.

Piano...

Why is it that when you're eleven years old, the thought of 'piano lessons' makes every budding hair follicle in a young male's body stand up in unison and scream out in unkempt anguish to acres of antsy testosterone... petrified about the impending persecution of all that is manly inside his 4 foot, 100lb frame....?

Rough, stubbled, future five-o'clock-shadows in gripping fear of infinite, effeminate curtsies in pink shirts and plaid bowties... Something about an hour on the bench with Mrs.Wyman in her dingy first-floor family room never ceases to whip said 11 year old boy into a whirling frenzy, scurrying with all his might to find some excuse.... ANY excuse, to refrain from refrains, and abstain from "C minors" and tippy-tippy tippy-tippy tee tee tahs... "I am man. Me eat meat. Me play football. Me fight lion.".... So goes the male adolescent mind... the puberic (is that a word?) thought process....

The hot girl in 5th grade doesn’t want the dude who can play a mean Moonlight Sonata... she wants the dude who can boot the big, red, rubber ball over Bobby's head in left field during kickball at recess... or the brotha with the fastest shuttle run time....

So, while myself and flocks of like-minded young men continue our endless search for Professional Kickball Leagues in which we can showcase our accrued ball-kicking talent... the nerd from the back row...in Mrs. Johnson’s class... yeah, that dude...

He's hummin' his baby grand right now... spittin' out Mozart and B'tove...Bach.... and sh*t is sounding nice... NICE.... And he's doing something with his hands that we'll never be able to do with our feet.... and THAT is poetic justice... or, pianic justice.


Anyone know a good piano teacher?



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Lyrics of the Week

Champ:
In the light of the sun,
Is there anyone? oh it has begun...
Oh dear you look so lost,
Eyes are red and tears are shed,
This world you must've crossed...
- Augustana, Boston

Runner-up:
Still I wonder why it is,
I don't argue like this,
With anyone but you.
We do it all the time,
Blowing out my mind.
- Corinne Bailey Rae, Like a Star

Clocks

Away too long but not long enough,
Talking so soft the neighbors can hear.
Sweet thoughts act tough,
Mostly cloudy skies are clear.
Full tanks of empty fuel,
Lost in open spaces.
Hammering home without a tool,
Eyes announce the faces.
Angry laughter scolds the hall,
Wooden keys for iron locks.
Time to just embrace the Fall...
Time to change the clocks.

Reflections of an aging man...

Sleep is a luxury that's not often bestowed upon thinkaholic time-wasters such as myself...
Finding out what you're good at starts with realizing what you're passionate about...
Choosing 'not to know' is sometimes the coziest Coat of Arms...
Playful ambiguity is the most maddening of aphrodisiacs...
Mother, undoubtedly, knows best...
Eloquence of speech and deftness of composition are the rarest, and most powerful, of weapons...
You are only as superficial as your latest rejection of an intelligent, kind, well-established dentist whose hair is too frizzy, nose is too long, and skin is too patchy...
Worldly women do not reside in Covington, KY, do not shop at Hot Topic, and do not pronounce 'trash' as 'treeeash'...
Thinning hair is the driving force behind male domestication and matrimony...
If you don't give the phone number, you'll never get the call...
Broken promises and shattered dreams couldn't last a minute in the ring with relentless regrets...
Thirty seconds of greatness is better than a lifetime of mediocrity...

I really AM as smart as I think I am...


Two Seven, with Love.

Anatomy of a Love Affair...

The vision...by chance, but by plan.
The introduction, smooth talk, short span.
The question, the query that opens the door.
The silence, the noise that beckons for more.
The response, the fury that powers the burst.
The anticipation, the thoughts that imagine the first.
The opportunity, triumphed through lyrical play.
The connection, the heat that scorches the day.
The courtship, the method that masters the mind.
The climax, eruptions...of every kind.
The confrontation, colliding like stars in the night.
The reconciliation, amending and ending the fight.
The resolution, the choice to change what to change.
The affirmation, the comfort of all that’s in range.
The hesitation, the doubt that invades the bond.
The acceptance, the knowledge, the resolve to move on.
The reflection, the memories that lecture the heart.
The vision, the glimpse, now back at the start…

Lyrics of the Week

Champ:
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine,
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time...
- Snow Patrol, Open Your Eyes

Runner-up:
Now if I wrote you a love note,
And made you smile at every word I wrote...
Would that make you wanna change your scene,
And wanna be the one on my team?
- JT, My Love

Old School:
The scar's a souvenir she'd never lose,
The past is never far...
And did you lose yourself somewhere out there,
Did you get to be a star?
- Goo Goo Dolls, Name

A couple of lessons for the weary...

During the daily grind... a few thoughts to help you strut your stuff at the office..

1) Act as If... Know the role? Play the part.

2) Motion creates Emotion... Walk around. Use the headset. Shake hands and kiss babies. Move.

3) Repeat the phrase, "I'm the f**kin man/woman," at least 4 times between 8am and 6pm... And don't forget it after.

I wish life was a TV drama on ABC...

60 minutes of emotion. Laughter and envy... triumph and sadness...confusion and understanding...

With a few commercials in between.

Moments of realization within minutes of action... Black panties pinned to break room bulletin boards. Fits of jealousy driving episodes of passion... Awkward cups of coffee with condescending mothers. Bouts of helplessness inside acts of heroism... A tree through your heart...

A roller-coaster of feelings that dips below your gut and loops around your spirit. With a view so clear at the top that a lesson is learned while you're whizzing down.

And somewhere in between, you feel invinceable..like - during those 60 minutes from 9pm to 10pm Eastern Time - you can do anything... Be anyone... Go anywhere...

Get the girl and lose the girl, win the fight and fail the challenge... all in the same day...all in the same sitting... so that when you're done with the Ride... you know that, no matter where youve ended up, you truly did live....

at least for an hour.

Sometimes I think crazy thoughts...

Today for instance, on the way home from work, driving down 4th street, some old dude started crossing the street on my green... MY green...and i thought long and hard about quickly rolling my hands, right over left, across the steering wheel.. and veering straight towards his piece of sh*t legs... to punish the a-hole for meandering aimlessly onto my personal causeway. I imagined his denim hat falling harshly to the cement and then the car behind me tattooing it with its front tire... just to squash any other pedestrian's fading hopes of crossing the same street again...

sometimes i want to dangle my cats from the 2nd floor by their hind legs just for the hell of it. just to watch them squirm. and then laugh about it.

sometimes i envision pummeling the crap out of the guy in the cafeteria at work when i show up at 928am and he says the 'grill is closed' when that shit closes at 930am..B*tch i got two minutes!! Dont steal my two minutes! I slam his head into the floor and pour mayonnaise all over his eyebrows. And then proceed to make my egg and cheese sandwich on a slightly toasted crossiant..

i even imagine making out with the 43 yr old admin in the elevator every once in a while... thing is, im pretty sure that could happen. tomorrow maybe? hmm...


crazy thoughts keep us sane.

30...

Put things back where they do not belong.
Hold the elevator until you have finished your conversation.
Scrawl your signature on important documents.
Chew ice cubes.
Dance in the bathroom at work.
Trim your nose hairs.
Push the panic button every other day.
Take the screens off your windows.
Remind her that she’s pretty.
Wear a suit to work on Friday.
Change your mind.
Expectorate on the sidewalk.
Take cheap shots.
Take forever to find your word in Scrabble.
Flex your pecs in public.
High-five your boss.
Sit in the exit row without reading the safety card.
Hand out your business cards at weddings.
Raise your voice.
Forget the punch line but don't let that stop you from telling jokes.
Always have an ulterior motive.
Remember that everything was better years ago.
Let your blind date know he/she isn't up to what you were told.
Blame the victim.
Put your initials in wet concrete.
Open the door without looking through the peep hole.
Wear large hats in the movie theater.
Order extra cheese.
Make the same mistake twice.
Drive West.

Hot Streak...

Ridin a heat wave... bulgarian, russian, indian, persian, and cincinnatian... new yorkers... all wrapped up in a steamy cool cigar... after the award show, the real prizes were handed out...

yours truly? Oscar winner....

when it's hot.... let it ride........

Got my Vans on but they look like Sneakers...

Yes. That is a song. And yes... I like it.


Shout-out to 'Shannon's Streetwaves' and my suede, olive and black pair circa 1992.

Lyric of the Week...

Champ:
Step one you say we need to talk,
He walks, you say sit down it's just a talk.
He smiles politely back at you.
You stare politely right on through...
- How to Save a Life, The Fray


Runner-up:
I'm bringin' sexy back...
- Sexy back, JT

Gremlin...

Inside, we all have a monster. A couple actually... The dragon that breathes fire when someone steals our parking spot or when the boss opts to give us the 5% raise instead of the 10%... The fiend that endulges in sinful pleasures behind closed doors and amongst treetops...Then there's the Gremlin...

The Gremlin lives in the pit of the stomach, a couple feet south of the heart, a few knots north of the loins, on the starboard side of the soul... He's born from the hasty conception of Want and Loss; the consumation of Ego and Rejection... The Gremlin lives the roughest, claws the most, and is the hardest to kill... And the Gremlin is one hungry bastard.

The Gremlin feeds on thought...

Stop to start...

I've thought for 45 minutes about the 45 things I need to do at work and the 45 reasons why I should do them now instead of thinking of 45 other things to do to waste time....

Wasting time wins.


Sometimes, you have to stop thinking to start doing...once I realize that...embrace it...then maybe I'll be down to 44.

Speaking of love...

It's getting colder outside... and like I've always said...: Summer is for LUST. Winter is for LOVE.

Summer is nice weather, g-strings, pool parties, BBQ's, thongs, interns, new hires, beachfront vacations, and bikinis.

Winter is about cold nights, rainy days, and fog in between. It's about the Christmas/Hannukah/Ramadan/Kwanza/Holiday "spirit"... It's about long lines, car pools, and lost gift receipts... It's about needing someone to cuddle up with because your electric bill was $198.46 in December and you damn sure ain't gonna pay that much for heat in January.

Winter is nice jackets.

For now, I'm going to enjoy the Fall...

Mountains make you fall in love...

Something about the high peaks and vast ranges ignite the purest of sentiments…jagged edges of artistic affection on an otherwise sea-level canvas. I'm not sure why really... and I don’t think it's a coincidence that ascension up said mountain causes loss 0f breath, dizzy spells, and bouts of nausea... But after you're done throwing-up, it's nice to know that you still have that 5th grade 'cant-wait-to-talk'-kinda love in you...

Until you're on the way down that is... then it's back to www.hotchicks.com and the slightly elderly yet surprisingly attractive divorcee at the bar on Main street.

Between the Gray...

Far from the boundaries of 'black' and 'white' lies a land of endless possibilities and countless opportunities. Where emotion is King and sensation guards the Castle... The conversation begins and ends here... and the Path cuts through the gray area....

but the magic happens between the gray.


first flight.