A Day in the Life

This post was totally going to be a huge and sweeping essay about Robocop but then the thesis fell apart and felt half baked. Don’t you hate when that happens? After McWriter’s masterful post last night, the last thing I wanted to do was present anything but my best. So much pressure, indeed.

Unfortunately, sometimes we cannot tap into our best, no matter how hard we try. Though I scrapped the Robocop essay, I cannot promise that this will be much better. I’m more excited to write it though.

Robocop will not be entirely absent from this post though. Instead I will present the moment and back story that inspired the aborted post.

As usually happens, I sauntered into work 10-15 minutes after my work day was to begin. I get good naturedly grilled by my manager and fellow co-worker (not the depressed one), about it. Then who should walk into my manager’s office, but none other than Huey. Quick back ground on Huey. He’s the library’s janitor and wears all white when he’s not working. He’s also one of the most kind and generous people I’ve ever met. Not to start three straight sentences the same way but he’s just an all around top notch person (see what I did there? I was totally going to start the sentence with “he’s” again). We talk about sports mainly, today’s no different, but as he’s on his way out for the day, the conversation will be brief and about the Lakers (as it normally is from October through June).

“So Sergei,” Huey says, “we’re going to talk about nicknames today. Laker nicknames.”

We run through a few: Trevor Ariza is “The Assassin”, Sasha Vujacic is “The Machine,” and Jordan Farmar is…well, no one really knows, but it probably has something to do with him being half Jewish. Then we get to the only Laker most people care about, Kobe Bryant.*

“And Kobe, do you know what his new nickname is?” Huey asks.

“The Black Mamba,” I offer up.

“Not anymore. Now they're calling him Robocop.”

Huey chuckles, as he is awesomely prone to do, and as I’m about raise objection to this obviously silly nickname, my co-worker jumps in.

“No way! Kobe Bryant is no Robocop,” she says before storming out of the office, obviously gravely insulted that anyone would even contemplate equating the Lakers on court leader to the robotic hero.

And that was that. Huey left for the apartment complex he manages in south central Los Angeles, I headed for my desk to turn on my computer, and my manager went back to eating her lunch. But the story doesn’t end there. Well it does, as far as that incident is concerned, but there’s still stuff to cover. And it has to do with my co-workers, disgust at Kobe being called Robocop. Obviously the nickname is a bit odd and kind of stupid—really what do the two even have to do with one another—but was my co-worker’s reaction warranted? Completely, if you know how she feels about Robocop.

You see my co-worker is in love with Robocop. I don’t just mean that she thinks he’s cool (like me and countless others the world over). Robocop is her ideal man.

Sometime last year, Nick and I got into a conversation with her about what kind of men she like’s. “I like them big,” she said. “Really built, huge muscles and everything.”

“Like Robocop,” Nick or I facetiously chimed in.

“Exactly. Like Robocop. Now there’s a man,” she said with the utmost honesty upon her face.

“But he’s a robot!!!” we wailed.

To my co-worker that doesn’t matter, because to her Robocop is the epitome of masculinity. Not just superficially either. As I’ve learned through conversations in the months since the initial disclosure, she loves everything about him; what he stands for, his inability—no refusal—to let go of his humanity, and, well, that body. There’s just no way around it, my co-worker is in love with Robocop.

And I think that is sort of amazing.

*I say most people only really care about Kobe because it's the truth. But me? My heart's with Lamar.

What (I Think) I've Learned...

I've been mulling this blog post for about a week and a half but never got around to it for a variety of reasons; the main one being that I've recently lost all confidence in my ability to put together cohesive thoughts on paper (or computer screen, in this case). I'm not sure why this feeling is suddenly affecting me, as I've never been all that worried about the clarity of my writing. I've always just written, trusting that someone would be able to extrapolate what I was trying to get at.

But now that Andrew and Jeff have added their musings to the blog, I guess it's time for me to do the same. I'm usually late to the party anyway.

Anyway, here goes, what I've learned (in no particular order):

I once lived in an avocado. It smelled, was always dirty, the plumbing rarely worked, and a homeless man lived beneath my window; but all and all it was a wonderful experience. A time of hope and love.

I cherish my alone time, but have come to enjoy the company of certain others much more.

John was right.

A coworker of mine constantly complains about how unfair the world is. No shit, dude. We don't have to dwell on this though.

My friends are my family.

This doesn't mean I don't like my actual family. In fact, they are quite cool. It just took me awhile to figure that out.

I like tacos. Much more than I realize, according to everyone else.

My brain is packed with loads of unnecessary information. Seriously, I can have a conversation about practically anything. The drawback is that I know little of what I should actually know.

I write in an attempt to capture the speed of thought.

The mundane is fascinating in the right light.

Don't drink out of Eiffel Tower shaped brandy bottles you find in dumpsters. It's not a good idea. Also, don't hang out in dumpsters.

I am the fasted man alive when I've had too much to drink.

Driving on the freeway alone at night can be wonderful.

I am very comfortable with who I am.

Two of the best things I've ever read are comic books.

I get way too much enjoyment out of reading message boards. It's that whole staring at a car wreck thing, I know someones going to say something awful/retarded

My syntax can be absolutely atrocious, for no other reason than I often growed bored of a sentence before I've finished writing it out.

And don't get me started on my grammar.

If I talk to you it means I like you.

Museums are the best place to go on the first date, especially if neither of you realize it's a date.

I want to grow up to be a decent person who continues to experience love and has days filled with good conversations. If I do that I'll be happy.

***

Notes unrelated to the rest of this post:

Nico doesn't like it when Joel writes about basketball, but I must take this opportunity to note that the Lakers beat the Celtics tonight. Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!

The winter of my senior year it was so cold in my apartment that I pulled a muscle while shivering in bed one night. It was totally not awesome.

I am back, after a year long vacation. Look forward to future posts written in the voice of a valley girl. We're pretty much the same after all.

P.S. This is Bryan (theoretically)

What I've Learned...

Like the rest of the world, I am slowly being weened off the influence of Print Media, though it's been a great friend so far. It's offered legitimacy and made every Thursday (Wednesday since moving to California) as "Sports Illustrated Day". Even still, it is twittered to shreds, day by day by nonstop onslaughts of information, rumors, and speculation that cloud the mind with data, rendering ink stained hands nearly a relic.  A sterling exception to this rule is Esquire Magazine, specifically Esquire Magazine's "What I've Learned" issue. In this issue--published every December,   people from various fields tell their lessons in unadultered, bullet point format. Over the past three years, these issues have given me more than any book, idea, or poet. Reading the abbreviated wisdom of Muhammad Ali does wonders to a man. There isn't a day that passes where I don't think about Muhammad Ali's lesson of "what you are thinking about, you are becoming". I read this passage the day, sat down and finished the first draft of my novel. It rung through my head as I finished the second draft. I will hear it numerous times as I inch nearer and nearer to completion of my ultimate, be all, end all goal of writing a good novel that represents my soul, before moving on to the next ultimate be all end all goal. 

Joel Walkowski, 22, is a recent college graduate, comedian, and writer from Detroit, Michigan. 

Never pursue a woman unless you can talk to her like you talk to your best friend. Short of that, you'll try too hard and embarrass all parties. If this happens, you can turn it into an essay and friendship but little else. If you find, at a later date, that you're able to talk to her like a great friend: embrace the friendship. 

If you want to write, some nights will easy, some nights will be hard. If you go at each night with this singular purpose, you'll notice that the nights you don't care are when you do your best work. In this regards, everything in life can be traced back to Sports. If you go all out, balls deep with effort, you'll over play and undermine your abilities with extra effort. Let the game come to you and you'll control it all. 

This doesn't apply if you play Linebacker, Defensive Line, or want to direct a feature film.

Also, it's quite hard to admit when you don't have your "A" Game. 

If life gets hard, pretend you're someone else for a little while. The power of pretending to be a Long Island Housewife or Mother of Cactuses has pushed the restart button for me many times. 

Four or Maybe Six Hours a week you will be possessed by a singular purpose, a feeling you'll cling to as your reason for being. There are two ways to take this. You can either feel bad because it doesn't take a stronger hold or work to make it a bigger part of your life. There is only one approach that makes life worth living...

Eat good meals daily, even if they have to be fried multiple times. The smile  is worth the smile. 

Exercise and inspiration make life feel equally good but you can only force one of them. A game of tackle football feels much better than several scotches. 

If someone grants you the gift of their conversation, you owe it to them to give everything in return. 

Armed with a proper frame of reference, all life's lessons can be gleaned from a single NBA Playoff game. 

As far as I know the best feelings in the world are: 1) Being surrounded by a universe formed in friendship 2) Completing a large scale project 3) Seeing your team win a championship 4) Being in love. These are in no particular order, no should they be. 

Money doesn't matter. Spend it. Even if you don't have it. If you're worrying about it they've got you. 

If I can't have a decent conversation with someone they earn my immediate distrust and scorn. I believe the same beliefs are hoisted upon me. That's how it goes. Sometimes you meet, often times you judge, but don't forget that you're getting the same treatment from them. 

If a group of people give the gift of their attention, you better do something damned good with it. Think of the time spent awash in your presence. You'd be hurting the world if you didn't go all out to inform, enlighten, or entertain. I think of this every time I have a group conversation. Some hate me for my aggrandizing ways but those who understand, those who love me, appreciate these efforts. Because of this I know we'll be friends forever. 

Find a good friend. Find another good friend. Keep finding. Try your best to build everyone up and they'll return the favor. Keep it up and before you know it: voila! You're surrounded by a framework of caring, like-minded people. That's what it's all about isn't it. 

Sometimes you need to act crazy to feel sane. If I've ever picked you up at a party, sprinted 100 yards with ya'll over my shoulder before collapsing in an asthmatic heap, this is the reason. 

Back when I was 17, I took on a large goal I had no business achieving. By some cosmic fluke I achieved it. Since then, I haven't felt at home unless I was combatting every element on the way to some place greater. In short, certain moments define you. Don't ignore these moments. They pave the way. 

Good friends hate you sometimes. Great friends love you even though they hate you. If you're a good friend, you'll listen and shape the fuck up. If you're a great friend, you'll let them set your hair on fire because you need the ass kicking. 

Never let a woman ruin a friendship. You can't control a woman but you can control acting like a stubborn douche. 

Several works will strike you as pure genius as young man or woman. You'll grow up, holding these close to your heart, but don't forget to revisit. Going back allows you to understand why you thought they were genius to begin with. 

If you can't get a song out of your head, listen to it over and over again until it becomes part of your soul. 

Chinese History and Hydrologic Cycles are important as you make them. 

Any meal made by Mom is the best one I've ever had. 

You never have enough socks. 

Late night suits me. it ruins my days, casting me as a zombie, but these lonesome hours provide access to a part of me that would otherwise lay dormant and aloof. No wonder I turn to these hours to do what I do. Days are reserved for vice, sports, and hobbies. Nighttime is when serious soul searching comes. 

On a final lesson, perhaps this formal outlet isn't the best way for me to illustrate What I've Learned. Maybe a convo will suffice. 

An excerpt from tonight: 

 me:  what's going? Thanks for watching Goals btw. Do people think I won't be returning?

Bryan:  who said you wont be?

me:  thats just the feeling I'm picking up. everyone's been saying "goodbye"

 Bryan:  everyones saying goodbye to everyone plus youve made it clear you wont be back for like 2 months

 me:  yeah

 Bryan:  a month and a half

 me:  I hope so. it's just been kinda cryptic and surreal

 Bryan:  and early in the semester you were all about letting the wind taking you where it may be and acting like you never wanted to step on los angeles soil again. i mean you told me repeatedly you had no intention of returning. im sure you told other people the same. so while i feel you will be back and dont really doubt that i think that might be fueling most peoples fatalistic goodbyes

 me:  yeah, it's fueled by my own uncertainty

 Bryan:  id think that the people who know you best believe you will be returning probably although you gotta get over the uncertainty its part of the bargain you know the people who know exactly what they want to do to the t are boring so uncertainty is something we deal with

 me:  yeah

 Bryan:  and shouldnt be feared

 me:  I've just caught the bug for fiction writing and figure I'd be selling myself short if I didn't do it until I get good but that's a lame reason for anything

 Bryan:  also one that means youll be writing forever (which i fully endorse)

 me:  I sort of need to. nothing settles me like this shit

 Bryan:  as the day you feel you're good at something you should  stop i mean we can produce good but when we think were good were satisfied and fuck that

 me:  and while this novel ain't great it sure is telling of some future good

 Bryan:  one must hope certainty is sort of a mythical concept

 me:  and future good is the only reason to keep running

 Bryan:  (id say youre on the right path though)

 me:  thanks. I'm trying. More than anyone but intimates realize.

 Bryan:  i think people get fooled by your flippancy

 me:  yeah. for sure

 Bryan:  you make so many things seem inconsequential. stop that shit. you obviously care.

 me:  everyone thinks I'm some dumb ass Crispin Glover weirdo. I know I do. but that's my natural reaction

 Bryan:  i do not think of you as crispin glover

 me:  I've been a self promoter and never want to be one of those film school grandstanders again

 Bryan:  you're more mickey rourke

 me:  that's good I guess

 Bryan:  yeah (p.s. letting people know you care is not self promotion)

 me:  but I'm not gonna waste my efforts to do such a thing. It sort of comes out that I act like an ass sometimes. Though I really enjoyed spinning fancy talk last night

 Bryan:  well. thats not exactly what i mean, what i mean is this: nick, me, your mom we know this means a lot to you because you tell us. you dont just make pronouncements of want to be a great writer. you tell us that you like to write. that its important to you and that sometimes its hard but to others

 me:  I'm really proud that I come off that way. Really proud.

 Bryan:  youre like "that shit.  that don't mean much.  i do it when i'm not sleeping.  and usually drunk!  but i'm good at it and im going to keep doing it because im good at it" now while i dont think you need to open yourself up to everyone, it probably wouldnt hurt to act like this is the most effortless thing ever

 me:  yeah. for sure

 Bryan:  you would not be as good as you are if you didnt care

 me:  I care so much, so fucking much, and you know that. It's on my mind every second of every day and if I opened myself past the point of aloofness, people would figure me out as just another over ambitious hack and while that's good, I'd like to have a sort of playful carefree fireball standing with those that don't know me  well...though I can't disregard how many times I've had the same conversation you're starting with myself. You're a really great friend, Bryan

 Bryan:  i think you get too caught up in the fireball part. thank you. i consider you a good one myself... i guess what im saying, which i promise is not a criticism, but an attempt to explain the perception that people feel they'll never see you again

 me:  yeah. I know what I want to do, which is write, but don't really know how to go about it...but that's what the rest of this shit life is for

 Bryan:  yeah. so stop being afraid of not knowing exactly what you want to do. its par for the course. i dont know what i want to do but i do know i want to write so im heading off on the journalism course. i like this shit but i dont think its who i am. itll be part of who i am but it will not be the only thing ill ever do

 me:  Like Baron Davis' Grandma said "Take that ball away and who are you?"

 Bryan:  yeah my concern is that i get to write and you know what a lot of my favorite writers did reportage or criticism. they wrote. because thats what bonds us. we love to write. we need to write. the final outlet will vary. apparently im into verbosity tonight. simply put: i want to write. don't know what yet. but i have some ideas so im starting to check them off the list until i find the one i want

 me:  Do it I have so many more novel ideas now I think I'll put off getting a real job til this one is as good as it can be. though it'll never be perfect, it's me.

 Bryan:  thats important. alright playa. i gots work int he morning and a 1500 word essay on myself to write so im going to catch some sleep, wake up early and try to write a draft. catch you soon. on a final note, i expect to see you come february but i wont lie id be bummed if you dont come back im not intending on that happening though. night killa...what i know will be up as soon as i finish this essay

 me:  AWESOME. I'm doing mine now

 Bryan:  awesome

 me:  I'll be back for you, Nick, Jeff, Brock,  Nico, Mc, & the rest of 'em. the cousins and brothers I never had

 Bryan:  were a pretty special lot. lets take advantage of that and show we are to the world. come back for the club meetings

 me:  such is the "New" Newhindenburg

AUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tonight there will be a birthday party. It will be as any college birthday party. Cake will come in beer form, Lil' Wayne will be played, and half the guests will have fun while the others attempt to look cool. I'm not sure if they will succeed in looking cool. After all, nonchalance is the new black. Everyone looks good in it. 

It is a big night for me. I'm not expecting to get laid, paid, or spayed, but it's an epic night nonetheless. By having a party I hereby accept the fact that I will be twenty-two in the blink of an eye. 

When I was young and truly, resolutely Catholic, I learned about Magic Numbers. According to the Bible certain numbers hold a bit of mysticism within their meanings. School Teachers told me 3, 7, 10, and 40, were of the utmost importance to my burgeoning religion. 

I wasn't a good Catholic. I had my own ideas. Since I was able to grasp the concept of numbers and age, I've always looked at 22 as the most magical of ages. This, not 18, not 21, was when one became an adult. How did I figure this? Because that's when most basketball players started playing in the NBA (sorry for the reference everyone). As my childhood dream was to play in the NBA, I blindly assumed 22 would be the start of my adulthood. 

Dreams came and went. Director, Comedian, Writer. These dreams are still coming and going at four month rotations of ambition. Though dreams change, and boy do they dunking a basketball couldn't be farther away from making people laugh unless one murdered by way of the slam dunk. Through slight changes and edits to my own person, 22 has stayed in place as my idea of adulthood. This is the cusp of the rest of my life. I don't necessarily need to work or strive towards any specific ideal but I've always accepted this as the age where the rest of my experience becomes relegated to mere prologue. 

I realize this is a profoundly stupid and short-cited notion, but I can't control how I think about certain things. Tigers will always be a baseball team. Ravioli will always be a reward for practicing the flute as an eight-year-old. 22 will always be the beginning. 

I don't want to be 22. 

 

I can hearken back to childish fears and trepidation, but that would be a blow off. I'm not afraid of growing up. The reason I'm 22 is that I want to be 21 forever. This is not a plea for youth or sustainment of transitional indiscretions. I want to be 21 forever because 21 is going to be a hard year to beat. 

21 is the year Alcohol becomes legal for intake. In my case, 21 was when I became comfortable with myself and all that came with it. Life came into perspective, and for the first time the world seemed like such a beautiful place to live in. What a gift! Eating, sleeping, screwing, everything seemed like such a monumental gift from the Universe. To be a creature on this planet is to dine on a cornucopia of enjoyments. Pleasure is hidden in every required task of existence. It feels so good to be human. To run, to smile, to talk. 

And oh the talks! 

The past year consisted of fascination with sports, silliness, children, girls, & literature, but the aspect in which I was most blessed (perhaps more than anyone in the world) was my friendships. 

You don't need a friend to get up in the morning, but you sure as hell need one to enjoy the year. In more awkward years I'd look at others interact with their friends and feel jealous of the bonds they held. 

I'll never feel that way again. 

The people immediately surrounding me--you know who you are-- have indulged my attempts at humor, given me their world views, and made everyday an adventure. For the past 361 days, I was the luckiest person in the world to have you guys. When I needed to be held up, you did the job. When you needed the same, I hope I was up to the task. 

Such is my love for my current clique and surroundings that I may overstay my welcome.  I don't want to suck the life out of anything. Let's keep smiling, keep learning, and keep seeing each other for the first time. 

Thanks to you guys I've had an amazing year. Here's to another one. Let's throw footballs, go on missions, be camp counselors, dance our asses of, congregate around Jeff's altar, and eat delicious food. 

It's a wonderful life, thanks for making it so. 

When I think of my 21st year, no memories will stand out. This is not the result of being too blackout, but the by-product of having too much to choose from. A collage of laughter, games, endeavors, and smiling faces. 

This year has held a lifetime's worth of sweet sweet memories. So good we'll all get cavities. 

***** 

I meant this to be a forlorn and lonely post. I typed a weird and rambling intro before realizing that any portrayal of my life in anything but the happiest of lights would be an out and out lie. 

I love the world. I love you. 

-Joel 

Warm Up Exercise: An Ongoing Study of the New Orleans Hornets

I don't care if the above photo is a stock photo. It's hard to care today. On a bright Los Angeles day that triumphs lovely triumph, Nick's intrepidly goofy reunion (that's a compliment Mister), and sweet sweet weather that feels like a caress, the wonderful day has been undermined. 

There's no basketball on today. There isn't any on tomorrow either, unless you count Cleveland-Boston as an extension of sport. On a visual level alone it resembles a bland hunting trip much more than professional athletics. The entire lot of Celtics and Cavaliers wander around, waiting for something to happen, longing to draw their guns. In crunch time of yesterday's game I saw Glen "Big Baby" Davis hit the bottom of the rim with a lay up. He is 6'9. 

It is safe to assume that his reach is at least 9 feet. He couldn't throw a basketball a foot. 

 No Chris Paul (CAPTAIN PARAGON!), no Manu flops, no watching David West and commenting on his collection of designer heels. 

For every woman David West sleeps with, he buys a pair of designer stilettos. They are a gift for her but can never be given to her. They are steeped in her essence, overcome with her being. He smells, touches, and occasionally tastes the shoes. Every pump a monument to lost love, a reminder to Mr. West that he promised mother he would shop around. (Mrs. West was a big Smokey Robinson fan). 

It's hard for a hopeless romantic. On the nights of these trysts, David West has considered every woman the one. They fell aslumber, man and wife for all time. 

They're gone when he wakes. They may have deserted him but they deserve to be remembered. If only by the shoes. David West crawls out of bed and logs onto Yahoo shopping. He peruses the selection until finding the right shoe for her. He gets it shipped next day air. 

He sometimes cries when opening the shoes. The box and paper are just like their outfits. He feels a pang of hurt undressing them, forever making them like their inspirations. After analyzing the shoes, getting what they're all about, David West puts the shoes in his "Hall of Ladies". 

"The Hall of Ladies" is a shrine of 350 pairs of Gucci Pumps and Armani Pumps (I like using the word pump this morning). Late at night, with loneliness nipping at his toes, David West goes in his "Hall of Ladies" and remembers each and every woman. The tears last until morning. 

After the shoot around today, the Hornets are planning a team activity, a camaraderie inducing spectacle. As they walk out of practice Tyson Chandler (he of the long limbs and same genes as Tayshaun Prince) asks "Boy, you excited?" 

David West stops and ponders. "I don't think I'll ever be excited again."

Game 7 Prediction: David West will be benched for showing up late to the shootaround in drag. When asked why he will simply state "My urge to rebound is fueled by love alone."

A Good Life Despite the Absence of Shuttlecocks

For much of the past week I have been spending my nights sleeping in the bed of one Ms. Jessie Spano. She is the bartender who so graciously provided me with medical care after I was viciously assaulted last Saturday night. In case you were wondering, she is everything I feel a woman should be. I feel like this just might be love.

In other news, it rains here quite frequently. It rained plenty when I was living with mother in Chesapeake Bay but it was nothing comparison to this. I cannot fathom how life long residents of this part of the country have been able to deal with this for their whole lives. I know I would be quite depressed. Definitely much more so than I am and as has been well documented on Bring Back the Hindenburg I am a very depressed person.

I have been drinking a bit lately. Only a drink or two each day. The rain gets me all out of sorts, so I often need a quick jolt of brandy in the morning. Something to wake me from my stupor.

Because of the rain and my fear of the bar Jessie works at, I have been spending most of my time lying on her bed reading books from her "bookshelf." John Grisham is a bit too simplistic for my tastes, but I find Sue Grafton and Dean Koontz to be quite to my liking. Bang up job on Life Expectancy in particular Dean. I really do like these page turners, much more interesting than the things I read in high school. Not as time consuming either.

I should probably bring this post to an end. Jessie gets out of class in an hour or so and she made me promised to take her to lunch afterwards. It really is wonderful, this thing called love.

-AASXLIII