Friday, September 9, 2005

If I were 2. I'd throw a tantrum

There, or here actually, I was - surfing blogs, surfing blogs, just, you know, blog surfing. You know how it is right? You visit a blog, click someone's link and go to some other blog and then do it again and whatever, eventually you find yourself at some blog completely unrelated to anything you'd normally choose, but what the hell. It's one in the morning and sleep is nowhere in sight and what else is there to do - so you just keep going, keep reading and hope somehow your journey takes you back to some vaguely familiar territory. Or at least, that's what I do because there's something disappointing in having to start over, or hit the "back" button 100 times until you recognize something...

So I kept going.

And I came across a blog that I probably should have bookmarked but didn't, that didn't have much of anything to do with anything, but one of the first things I noticed was an entry that described a gang fight in the subway somewhere in NYC, and how he just watched, calmly, quietly, like everyone else did, and the train came and they quit and he walked on to the store and got milk and went home - as if a gang fight is no biggie, nothing to be upset or excited about - but then, maybe in NYC it isn't. I dunno.

A few entries later he talked about 3 kids on the street trying to pass out stolen books of some sort - the type that they have free in those newspaper type boxes or whatever? Anyway, the story was about how these kids were looking for trouble, and how basically, he got doinked in the back with one of these books, then laughed at and stared down - and let it go because these days you just don't fuck with the crazy-eyed kids ya meet on NYC streets I guess.

Then there was a post about his grandmother, his deceased grandmother, the Jewish woman who knew everyone and loved to talk - who, according to his post, was gregarious and outgoing and told a story, like no other, even if it WAS a story she'd told 1000 times. And he didn't say so outloud but the mood all but dripped from the post - he missed her. And he described how she affected everyone around her, and especially him and how he loved his memories of her and really enjoyed thinking and remembering the things they did together because they were good memories.

I closed it then - because it just isn't fair that some people get those good times to remember, and some of us just don't.


  1. I know, my friend. I know. ~ James

  2. Nice post.
    I love it how you tell the process and take us through your evening to then get to the final sentence.
    I hear ya.