I went to a bar in New Jersey after an art opening. When we walked in the door everybody fell silent, turned and stared. I gave me the feeling I might be gay-bashed.

We sat down at a large table and ordered food. I went to the bathroom which was a little crowded, so I backed up against the wall and set off the automatic hand dryer with my butt, startling myself.  This prompted a total stranger to confide in me that she was on a blind date and it was not going well.  She said he lied about his height and was talking about being a metrosexual and all she wanted was a Real Man. She said that she didn’t know what to do.  I asked her if she came to the bathroom hoping there was a window. I gave her a little pep talk and told her that a date is not a hostage situation and that she could leave whenever she wanted.

She said she gave him a chance, ordered a drink and had a conversation with him but now she just wished she was at home watching television. I told her not to order food.

When I left the restaurant she was smoking a cigarette outside. She told me that she worked up the courage to tell him “this isn’t really working for me” and was on her way home. I said, “Congratulations.”

McDavid lost one of his gloves and has been wearing his right glove on his left hand. It looks weird, upside-down and backwards. He is left-handed so I guess it is the more valuable hand to be gloved. Today when I went to drop my Netflix in the postbox I found a North Face left glove resting on top. Sad. Someone probably took it off to mail things, maybe the other one is in the mailbox! It is a little sporty for him but I bet it is warm. I was conflicted about taking it. I actually crossed the street, stopped and stood there thinking.

McDavid has already lost one glove; it is gone, forgotten, maybe reclaimed.

The guy who lost this glove probably has no idea where it is and isn’t coming back for it.

It is the left glove, isn’t that some sort of sign?

So I went back and claimed it on his behalf.

Within a couple blocks I was crossing the street and noticed someone filming two people crouched behind a snowdrift. They were staging a snowball fight. The two actors were completely in character and serious. I watched one count down seconds on his fingers and then launch a snowball in my direction. It was like a slow-motion scene of a bullet being fired in The Matrix. If I had kept walking, it would have been a direct hit. I paused mid-stride and watched the snowball continue its trajectory, just missing me. The actor didn’t offer apology or even break character. I thought in the moment, is this karmic retribution for taking the glove?
That’s what I get for meddling.

I went into Toys R Us in Greenpoint; a dismal place for the most part with no custom shelving and dim lighting, a transient store that used to sell DVDs. I came across a giant remote control tarantula on the shelf, fully boxed. Later I walked over to the rack of Beanie Babies. While I was picking out the saddest-faced, most in need of adoption stuffed animals, I glanced down and next to my foot was the tarantula. I can’t believe I didn’t audibly scream, I had this out of body experience where I felt myself falling through a vortex towards hell.

Remote Control Tarantula how did you get out of the box on the shelf and get all the way over here? Why are you bigger than my foot? So help me god if you start moving I am going to have a heart attack.

Usually I like things covered in fur, except for men.

I sent my Dad a Halloween card for his birthday.

I wrote “Happy Birthday Dad!
I know this is a Halloween card but let’s face it, at your age, birthdays are scary.”

Employee#1: “Hey.”
Employee#2: “What?”

Employee#1: “Come over here.”
Employee#2: “No.”

Employee#1: “Yes, I have a job for you.”
Employee#2: (no response).

Employee#1: “Hurry Up.”
Employeed#2: (Grunt).

Employee#1: “Hold this in place for 20 minutes while it dries.”
Employeed#2: “20 minutes!”

Employee#1: “Yes, 20 minutes.”
Employee#2: “I’m not holding this for 20 minutes. Get a brick.”

I’m still obsessing over my prolonged desire for an iPhone. I predict I’ll be able to get one by the end date of the Mayan calendar, which due to conflicting reports is either October 28, 2011 or December 21, 2012. I decided that I want to get four white iPhones and connect them together, forming an iPhone centipede. It will resemble a white stretch limousine. I will dedicate 3 of the lines to my ever-expanding ego, due to my apparent financial success that has allowed me to purchase several iPhones in excess.

In the meantime I suppose I’ll have to work on my personal enlightenment *sigh*.

The sky looks all Ghostbusters, like the Apocalypse.

This Saturday morning I was woken up by a marching band playing outside my window.
Last Saturday it was a three-person band being filmed by a camera attached to a bicycle riding around them in a circle.

I went to a couple stores to research phones today.
My cell phone looks like it fell out of a moving car, then got jumped on by a pogo stick.
I also wanted to buy some colored craft paper to make new patterns.
The good news is that there is going to be a Summer and a Winter collection!

I ended up finding some a roll of Teal and a roll of Yellow paper.
I like to have a color I like looking at while I work.

I recently painted my floor Teal, it looks like I live in the ocean.
The rabbit was seriously pissed off about it at first.
Initially she ran down the stairs and jumped right on it!
Then sniffed the fresh paint and ran back upstairs.
For awhile she would only come down to the second step and stand on the edge and stretch her neck to beg for carrots.
Then I would give her one and she would run back upstairs with it in her mouth, dropping it almost immediately.
When she got to the top of the steps she would look around like, “Where’s my carrot?”
I felt so bad for her that I would bring it up to her every time.

If you eat Triple Ginger cookies with a redhead does that make them Quadruple?

I was rushing to go to see Dasha perform at PS.1.

I could already feel I was going to be late so sent her a text that said, “How am I already late for the future?”

I ended up making it just in time to see the performance; apparently the future doesn’t start without me.

So I posted this missed connection on Craigslist on Wednesday August 6^th, 2009:

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Verb-Wednesday-1:30PM-raised eyebrows – w4m

I’m not sure if this counts as a missed connection but I’ll post it anyway.

Wednesday at Verb, as I was coming in you were walking out. You smiled at me I think I smiled at you, but I for certain raised both eyebrows simultaneously. You were carrying an iced beverage, I held the door for you. I sat inside on a stool looking out the window, you sat outside with your back to me. You were talking with a 40-something bespectacled Verb lurker and when you got up to smoke you walked over with him to look at a bicycle. As I was leaving I walked by you as you stood smoking. You turned, we made eye contact, you exhaled smoke in my face. I don’t think it was intentional and I tried not to wince. I like to think I just took you breath away.

You-reddish/blonde hair?, blonde arm hair, wearing large silver ring on left hand (middle finger?), taller than me but not tall, you had a black shoulder bag/briefcase you left on the back of your chair.

Me-blonde, pony-tailed, dimples, straight from the gym, green deep-v t-shirt with a 2 headed cock on it (not sure you would have noticed it) we mostly made eye contact, you seemed to keep your gaze upstairs.

If this sounds familiar, maybe tell me something you noticed, something I missed.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I never got any responses from this post and it expired after a week.

Today, September 4^th, 2009, I was at the Verb and saw someone resembling this description sitting outside. He looked different than I remembered, no ring and seemed taller, but it was hard to tell because he was sitting down. I was inside reading an article in the New York Times about a man in Texas who builds low-income housing out of recycled and discarded building materials. I glanced up and he looked through the window at me, he had piercing blue eyes. I made eye contact, sort of smiled my furrowed-brow inquisitive but suspicious smile and then went back to reading the paper. When it was time to leave I just walked away in the opposite direction. I went to the drugstore and seeing that they were out of my favorite face wash, I retraced my steps, and passed by him sitting outside the Verb and tried, non-chalantly to see if he had a black shoulder bag/briefcase hanging off the back of his chair. On the way back from the second drugstore, it occurred to me that I could determine if it was my missed connection by conducting a short interview if he was up for it.

So on my third pass, I walked up to him and said “hello.” He looked up, smiled and greeted me; he had a German accent. Right away I thought to myself, this isn’t the guy. Although I had never spoken with my missed connection, I would have guessed that he was American, Californian if I were to speculate, because of his laidback posture and the fact that he looked like a surfer. I continued, “I think I’ve mistaken you for someone but I’m pretty sure I can figure it out by asking three questions, do you mind?”

“No, would you like to take a seat?”

“Thanks. Do you have a black shoulder bag/briefcase?”

“Um, I’m thinking…of all my bags. It’s possible.”

“Do you have a large silver ring that you sometimes wear?”

“Definitely, not.”

“Hmm…I think I might already have my answer. Do you smoke?”

“Yes, I do. Do you want a cigarette?”

“No, thanks, I don’t smoke.”

“I’m from Berlin. Have you ever spent time in Berlin?”

“Yes, a lot.”

“Really?”

“But I definitely know this person from here.”

“Well I was here, maybe two years ago.”

“No, it wasn’t so long ago. May I ask how tall you are? It’s hard to tell because you’re sitting.”

“I am one meter ninety-four.”

“So nearly 2 meters, you’re too tall.”

He was nice but he wasn’t the guy and having determined that, I excused myself.
“Well, thank-you.” I said and got up and left.

I could tell it was kind of abrupt end to the conversation and that he wanted to continue talking. There’s a strange vulnerability that comes with summoning the courage to approach a stranger and strike up a conversation. So never mind however successful the exchange, I tend to hightail it outta there.

Dear Jim Dodge,

I want to trick you into writing more books. To make my words massage the parts of your brain that put pen to paper. To coax you in from cutting firewood and pluck your nose out of the newspaper and redirect your energy to putting your thoughts and humor on paper. Okay so I imagine you do more than cut wood and sit around reading the newspaper, perhaps you even get your news like me: through osmosis.

Honestly I’d rather clean a toilet than struggle with the written word. Writing, like art, is mainly isolating and rarely lucrative. Reading on the other hand can be an incredible experience and source of inspiration. So I’m torn in asking you to endure a process I loathe to create a product I love.

Writing requires an intellectual discipline that perpetuates restlessness that physical labor usually deters. I’d rather spend my day in a filthy shop grinding metal than in front of a computer, but here I am.

My favorite book is Stone Junction, followed by Fup, then tied between the introduction of Not Fade Away and the poem “Bathing Joe” from Rain on the River.

If there is anything I can offer you as an incentive, barter or motivation (short of a monetary bribe) please let me know.

Thank you so much,

CHANDI