Finally the first warm Saturday of the year! Time to get up out of my small hard empty bed, throw on some gym clothes and hit the jogging path. Before I left I choked down a cold pork and leek dumpling with some orange juice and grabbed my iPod and keys. I hit play. Com Truise, the band Zucker and I saw last week in Greenwich Village, made for some great running music. I took off down 18^th Avenue towards Gravesend Bay and lost my self in the pure electronic soundscape. Fifteen minutes into the run I was at the water. Thirsty, I longed for a Red Fish Ale, water from the bubbler I spied at the park across the street would suffice though. I paused the music to listen to the waves hit the barrier rocks below me. I saw seagulls pick at the garbage floating amid the otherwise clear water. There were huge ships further out into the bay. I couldn’t let the moment linger much longer though, I had to keep going. Running faster and faster on the asphalt, passing families of Hassidic Jews pushing strollers, dressed head to toe in black traditional wear and Chinese families with their packs of rambunctious little kids running circles around them made for some difficult maneuvering and interesting company.

The jogging path goes for miles, I ran two of them at the most. Along it are rather unremarkable sights; running west I had the bay to my left and the Shore Parkway to my right. The occasional grassy hill gave way to unobstructed views of the highway and the surrounding neighborhood of Bay Ridge. Along the wall separating the path from the water are numerous highly detailed signs explaining how, during a severe storm, the massive pipes below said signs connect the New York City sewer system to the bay where it can dump any overflow from the system in to the water. Lovely. Just think, Coney Island beaches are all but a few miles down stream from the drains. Looks like I won’t be swimming in those I thought.

At a corner of the path there were a few benches where people were sitting. One notable character was sitting directly in the sun, wearing a black suit, reading and sweating profusely. I took a seat not too from him and looked out onto the bay. The view was calming. I could see New Jersey in the distance and the Verrazzano bridge towering above me. Taking a moment to reflect, thoughts of spending summer afternoons on the Newport cliffs gazing out onto the Atlantic filled my mind. I wished I could relive those moments now.

It was getting late and I was hungry. I jogged my way back to the foot bridge that went over the highway and made my way back up 18^th Avenue. People were getting out of church, there were cars everywhere, even parked fully on the sidewalks. Further up the avenue the crowds of people got more dense. I saw an ambulance up ahead one block from me. There was a group of people standing around an old lady who had apparently fallen. I felt bad for her and wondered what happened. Closer to my apartment I saw the police pull a lady over for no apparent reason. There was no way she could have been speeding as I was easily keeping up with the traffic on foot. I figured he was probably just trying to get his quota for the day.

Back at the apartment I had some lunch and thought about going to Central Park the next day. This is a good way to start my summer in New York.

Kevin let go of his mother after a few minuets of consoling her and looked at her blood shot eyes and asked her what had happened.

“Well it was like this;” she stammered,  “I had just got the mail around 2, right after Jessica got in.  I was glancing through what we got and noticed a letter from our bank.  It was addressed to Steve and me, so I opened it up and read it carefully.  It read,

‘Dear Mr.  & Mrs. Steve Crawly, this letter is to inform you that your checking account, number 1230-4560-789, has been overdrawn by $2,349.69.  This debt must be settled as soon as possible.  Please contact John Wainright, Sovereign Bank branch Manager at 508 595-2000 x12 as soon as possible to prevent action by the collection agency.  Thank you for your promptness.’

“At that I called Steve on his cell phone but it was not on so I left a message telling him to call me as soon as he gets this message.  Well he never called back and I became angry so once he came in the door I yelled at him.  He yelled back and we started to fight.  I had made myself a drink before he came in to calm my self but it didn’t work.  I asked him about the overdraft on the checking account but he would not tell me what it was, saying only that ‘he would take care of it.’  I told him he has to tell me what all that money was for but he refused and began to scream at me, yelling it was none of my business and accusing me of spending the money.  I screamed at him and he took his beer bottle and threw it at my face where it hit me right here,” as she pointed to the bloody cut and bruise on her left cheek, “and he stormed out.”

“Damn mom, was he drunk?”

“No, just mad I guess.  You know how your father’s temper gets.”

“Yea but I thought you two got that straightened out when you went to the counselor?”

“Well it’s not the first time we’ve been and it hasn’t worked out.  Plus he thinks that Dr. Shekenhousen is an idiot any way.  He never really listened to her anyway.”

“Well mom, what are we gonna do then?”

“I don’t know Kevin, I really don’t know.  All I know is that we have really serious problem with this money missing.”

Kevin gave his mother another hug and walked with Tony down to his room in the basement.  Tony took a seat on the bed after clearing a bunch of car magazines off it and looked down at the messy floor.  “Damn kid, you gotta clean this room up.  It’s a friggin mess.”  Kevin didn’t respond as he sat at his computer typing away to one of his friends online.  “Dude so what are we doing tonight?”

“I really don’t know.  I just wanna get out of this house before World War three starts,” Kevin responded in a tired voice.

“Try calling Mike up and see if he wants to play some pool at Fast Breaks.”

“Okay,” Kevin replied.  “What time should I tell him to meet us?”

“Like ten o’clock or so.”

“All right, I’ll call him in a minute.”

Kevin and Tony went out with Mike later on that night and played some pool for a few hours.  After they got back Kevin went to bed and Tony stayed up talking to Kevin’s mother because she was begging for attention again (i.e. balling her eyes out – Kevin was sick of hearing about his mother’s problems but Tony felt bad and volunteered to be her shoulder to cry on).  After talking to her for a couple hours Steve pulled up in his pickup truck.  He stumbled in the door and glared into the kitchen where Tony was leaning against the counter facing Kevin’s mother.  Both of them stared at each other with a look that of dread and shock.  Neither Tony nor Kevin’s mother had expected Steve to come home, especially because it was close to three in the morning.  She thought he would have spent the night at the Boston motel room his company provided for him.  Steve swaggered up to Tony’s face; the smell of alcohol on his breath was overpowering and made Tony shudder.

“What the hell are you doing in my house, talking to my wife?”  Steve demanded.

Kevin’s mother interjected, “He was talking to me about school.”

“Shut up!  I didn’t ask you!” Steve screamed at her.

“I was talking to her about school,” Tony answered with confidence.

Infuriated at his arrogance, Steve punched Tony in the face, just missing his left eye.   Tony swung at him and knocked Steve back, causing him loose his balance.  Tony kicked him in the stomach and Steve fell back onto the floor.  Before he could get up Tony ran out the door and got into his car.  Steve chased him down the driveway but could not catch up as Tony’s Porsche sped away from the house.  He was having trouble seeing out of his eye as it started to swell up so he pulled over in the parking lot down the street from Kevin’s house, parking in a dark corner near a bunch of trees at the back of the lot.  Just then Tony heard the squealing of tires as a vehicle turned its bright lights upon his car.  It was Steve’s truck.

Tony got a rush of adrenaline and put his car into gear. He sped off, sliding the rear end of the car onto the main road and gunned it to the highway.  He had a close call with a semi as he cut it off while getting on the ramp for the interstate.  Steve’s truck followed in pursuit and kept up surprisingly well.

Tony was low on gas and didn’t want to go too fast but had no choice as Steve’s truck gained on him and tapped his rear bumper.  Tony had to steady the car as it lost control momentarily and started to skid.  Steve pulled along side him and slammed his truck into Tony’s door causing him to jerk the wheel to the right.  The car fishtailed for a few hundred feet until Tony got it back under control right before coming close to hitting the guard rail.  Steve had pulled in front of Tony and blocked him from passing.  Tony swerved left and right trying to sneak past the large gray truck but could not get around.  Finally Tony saw a tractor trailer in the center lane and decided to use it to his advantage; he waited until they both came up behind it and then jerked his car to the left, Steve mimicked the move and blocked Tony on the left of the trailer.  Then Tony quickly turned the wheel to the right and slammed on the gas.  Steve didn’t have enough time to react and got caught on the other side of the big rig.  Tony matched speed with the trailer and lost sight of Steve.  With an exit ramp quickly approaching Tony prepared to pull of, unfortunately Steve ended up in front of him again.  Steve slammed on his breaks and Tony, caught off guard, could not slow down fast enough and swerved to avoid rear ending the truck.  Tony’s brakes locked up and he could not steer.  He had no control as his car skidded into the guard rail and bounced off across the highway onto the grassy ditch in the center median.  The car spun several times before flipping over as it slid down the embankment and ended up on its roof.

Tony released his sweaty hands from the steering wheel and touched his forehead he felt blood and then he suddenly he blacked out.

A state trooper who had been advised of the car chase was speeding down the highway searching for the two reported vehicles.  He noticed some long skid marks that led to a smashed guard rail and zigzagged for several hundred feet more.  The trooper put on his spot light as he slowed down in the left lane and followed the skid marks to the ditch where Tony’s smoking Porsche lied turned over.  The trooper immediately got out of his cruiser and called for a rescue and a fire truck.  Sprinting down the embankment he looked for anyone inside the wreck.  He spotted Tony pinned inside the car and shone his flashlight on the unconscious driver.  Several minutes later the fire and rescue pulled up alongside the median.  One of the firefighters tried to extract Tony from the car but could not do it alone.  He had to cut off the crumpled door of the Porsche to pull Tony’s body out.  He was then rushed to the nearby hospital and put into the trauma unit.  Tony received twenty five stitches on his head and had a broken arm and three fractured lower ribs.  Luckily there was no internal bleeding or rupturing of organs.

Meanwhile Steve sped up the highway en route to Boston in a rage.  He was weaving his goliath truck through the thick traffic just outside the city; recklessly passing people, and furiously gesturing at innocent slow pokes that were too busy chatting on their cell phones to notice his high beams flashing; instructing them move out of his way.  Once into the city Steve meandered his way through out the cold dark streets.  After about a half hour of city driving he parked his truck in front of a green and yellow three story house.  There were spot lights that flashed on as he walked with in the range of their motions detectors.  The lights illuminated the barred windows and chipping paint on the façade of the ghetto crib.  The front yard consisted of two 5′ x 5′ patches of dirt with little tufts of dead grass poking up and a cracked concrete path leading up to the creaky wooden stairs.

Steve rang the door bell and waited until a short dark skinned young lady in a bath robe answered the door.  She opened the door just a crack to see who it was, the chain that locked the door preventing any further opening.  “Eva, it’s me,” Steve said, his breath still smelling of alcohol.

She asked in an aggravated Spanish accent, “Yea, I know it’s you. What do you want?”

“I need a place to stay for the night, I, I,” he stuttered, “I just got into a fight with ‘The Bitch’ again, she kicked me out,” he replied in an exasperated voice.  “So can I come in? It’s pretty cold out here ya know.”

“Yea, come on in I guess,” she said reluctantly.

Steve walked into the dark narrow hall and followed Eva up to the second floor of the house to her apartment.  Her living room was small; just a brown love seat and an old recliner which her roommate was asleep in filled the room.  The furniture faced an old big screen TV that was tucked into the corner.  The old lime green carpet was covered in cat hair and the room stunk of urine and cigarettes.

“You can have a seat on the couch while I get dressed.  Jakki is asleep, so be quiet,” Eva whispered, gesturing toward her significantly over weight and butch looking roommate, “she smoked too much ganja tonight I guess.”

Steve laughed briefly and took a seat, fixing his gaze on the fat cat sitting a top the TV.  He took the remote off the end table between the love seat and the recliner and changed the channel to ESPN.  A few minutes later Eva poked her head into the living room and told Steve to come into her room.

Eva’s room was equally as small as the living room but was a cleaner and didn’t smell like cat piss.  There were some scented candles burning by the window and some soft music playing in the background.  She told Steve to lie face down on the bed so she could give him a massage.  She took some scented oil from her dresser and rubbed some on her hands, and then began to gently work Steve’s tense back muscles.

The following morning Steve got up and left Eva’s.  Sunday morning traffic in Boston was light compared to the previous nights.  He drove back to his house and pulled into the driveway just as his wife was backing her Volvo out of the garage, presumably going to church.  Once they stop giving out free wine at mass she won’t be going for sure, Steve thought as he waved to his unresponsive wife.  He walked into the house once he parked and picked up the paper off the front porch.

Steve went up to his bed room and changed out of his clothes.  He took a quick shower and went back down stairs to the kitchen to fix him self some breakfast.  He called for the kids to come to breakfast but they were still asleep.  Steve took his plate of sausage and eggs and plopped himself in front of the tube, turning on ESPN.

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          The police had arrived at the hospital in the afternoon, and waited to question Tony once he regained consciousness.  He woke up to the doctor’s relief around two in the afternoon on Sunday. “Anthony, Anthony,” the nurse said to him, noticing his previously static eyes begin to flutter open.  The nurse looked toward the doctor in the room, “I think he’s coming around,” she said.

The doctor went to Tony’s side and tried to speak to him, “Anthony, you are in Memorial hospital in Attleboro Massachusetts.  You were in a car accident but are okay now.”  The doctor backed away and gave Tony time to respond.  His eyes opened suddenly and he began to move his lips to speak.  He cleared his throat and asked the doctor what day it was.  The doctor replied, “Sunday, today is Sunday, December 20, 2002.”

Several hours passed and a police officer came into Tony’s hospital room.  Tony was eating his fine hospital style dinner of roast beef and whipped potatoes with a chincy side of delectable gravy and cranberry sauce.  The cop sat down and introduced himself and began asking Tony all about the previous night and about Steve.  He recanted the events he could remember to the cop and asked if they found Steve.

The officer said they had no way of finding him because of the lack of witnesses.

Once Tony provided the police officer with all the information they needed to apprehend Steve the cop left.  Tony sat upright in the hospital bed and watched an old movie on the TV hung from the ceiling in front of him.  Around eight in the evening there was a soft knock on the door.  “Come in,” he said.

“Anthony, my god, are you all right?” his mother said in a surprised and concerned voice as she burst in the room.  His father and younger brother followed her and took a seat by the window while his mother went to give him a big hug.  Tony cringed in pain as his mother squeezed him in her powerful embrace.

“I’m fine mom, just shaken up.  What took you so long to get here?” he asked.

“Well your father was speaking to the police.  They came over the house once they left here.  So they held us up asking all their stupid questions.”

“Oh I see, well that’s okay, at least you came to see me.”

“Well of course. So tell me what happened,” she asked him.

Tony sighed and began to tell the story yet again.  After he was done his parents left and went to speak to the nurse, asking her when he would be released and what kind of injuries he sustained.  The nurse told them that he would be released by tomorrow morning and that he should take it easy for the next week.  The injuries were not bad but still needed to be given time to heal properly.

Early the next morning Tony’s father came to the hospital to pick him up.  During the short ride home his father told him that the family had decided to press charges on Steve and his family.  Tony really wasn’t surprised at this decision and asked his father if he had called their family lawyer.  His father said he was going to take care of everything on Monday.  Upon arriving at his son’s house he instructed Tony to stop by the house on Monday where they would decide what to do about the situation.

Later on that night Tony was watching a movie in his room.  His cell phone rang suddenly, it was Kevin.  “Hey buddy, what’s up?”

“Not much dude, listen I have to ask you to do me a favor–”

“Yea sure, what do you need?”

“Well I just need you to let my sister stay the night; she wanted me to ask you because she doesn’t want to stay here tonight.”

“Okay,” Tony said in an inquisitive tone, “why does she need to do that?”

“Well it’s a long story but basically my mom and dad had a big fight, she left and Jess doesn’t feel safe being around dad.”

“Oh I see,” Tony said.  “Well tell her it’s all right to come over.  I don’t mind, just make sure she doesn’t come too late, I have to get up early to take care of some business.”

“Oh really; what’s going on tomorrow?”  Kevin asked him.

“Well I’ll just give you a general synopsis; Saturday night your father came by after you went to bed.  I was talking to your mother and he stormed in the house.  He started a fight with me because he was drunk and probably thought I was having an affair with her or something.  So anyways he hit me and I hit back.  I ran to my car and sped off after I thought I knocked him out.  Turns out he followed me and we got into a crazy car chase on I-295.

“He started to hit me with his truck and ended up causing me to flip over.  I went to the hospital, yada, yada, yada, and now I’m fine.”  Tony continued on telling Kevin about what was going to happen and conversed for almost an hour before hanging up.

It was close to one in the morning until he got off the phone.  Tony went down stairs to the living room and waited up for Jess.

Chapter

I

Tony and Luis were sitting in the basement of the house with $20,000 worth of Colombian cocaine ready to be packaged when Tony’s cell phone rang; it was his friend Kevin on the other line.  Tony answered, “Hey, what’s up buddy, what’s goin’ on?”

“Hey, nothin’ much,” he replied, “we have to get to Twin Oaks in like an hour, have you left yet?”

“Nah, I just got caught up in helping Luis.  I should be there in about 20 minutes though.  I’ll leave right now.”

Kevin warned him, “All right, but you better hurry, we can’t be late again.”

“Yea don’t worry about it, you know me… I’m always on time,” he said reassuringly and hung up.  Tony looked at Luis, who was measuring out one-gram amounts of white powder and placing them in little baggies, “hey listen buddy, I gotta go pick Kevin up for work,” he said to him.  “We’ll get back at the usual time so be ready when we get back so we are not late.”

“All right, no problem.  I’ll just be waiting outside in the truck when you come by,” Luis replied.

Tony walked out the door toward his bright red Porsche 911 Carrera 4, a gift from his father for high school graduation.  He got in the car and threw his gym bag with a change of clothes in the back seat and started up the engine.  Deciding to show off to some girls across the street, he revved the engine and spun the rear tires of the car so as to make a lot of tire smoke and left two fat skid marks on the pavement.  The three girls didn’t appear to be that impressed at all with Tony’s showing off and glared at him with disapproval.  He disregarded the girls’ admonishment and sped off to pick up Kevin.

Tony arrived at Kevin’s around 5:30 and stopped in the house for a bit.  Kevin’s mother was sitting in the living room watching a re-run of Martha Stewart and munching on a sandwich, “Hi Tony,” she said, not even looking away from the TV.  “Kevin is down in his room and will be up shortly, go and make your self something to eat in the kitchen while you wait, okay.”

Tony smiled, “Ok, thanks.” and went to have a bowl of cereal.

Kevin came upstairs into the kitchen a few minutes later.  “Hey what’s up buddy?”

Tony slurped up the milk in his now empty bowl of Cheerios, “nothing much dude.  Y’all set to go?

“Yea, let’s move.” And they both left the house and hopped into Tony’s Porsche.

After a short five-minute drive down route 1 they pulled up to the large 5 story brick Twin Oaks Nursing Home just in time to punch in for 6:00 pm.

“Oh lord, I wonder what they are gonna have me do today?” Tony asked as he stretched and yawned.

“Well it’ll probably be better then scrubbing pots down in the kitchen for 4 hours,” Kevin replied in a bewildered tone as he waited for the elevator to come up.

Tony’s boss, an old nun named Sr. Gertrude, came down the long dark hallway to meet him and give him his assignment for the evening.

“Anthony, I’m going to have you go upstairs to the fifth floor tonight and keep Mrs. O’Connor company.  She is a very nice woman; I think you will enjoy each other’s company.  You can find her in room number… 505 I think, her name will be on the door in case I am mistaken,” the little nun said softly.

“Okay sister, I’m sure we will have fun.  I’ll see you when I’m done.”

“Very good Mr. Verdarelli.  Hurry now; don’t keep Mrs. O’Connor waiting.”

“Yes ma’am,” Tony said as he got into the elevator with Kevin.

“So what’d you doin’ tonight?” Kevin asked him when the doors shut.

“Ah, just seeing some old bag on the fifth floor… should be a great time.”

“Sounds like fun; I’ll meet you by the car when I’m out all right,” Kevin said as the elevator stopped at the kitchen.

“All right kid, have fun down here, peace.”  And the elevator doors closed.  Tony thought about the last person he had to keep company on the fifth floor.  It was this blind Russian lady who could not stop talking about how she thought she could see angles and talk to her dead cat named Fluffy.  Four hours of that was just too much for one person to handle so he just left periodically to talk to Kristy, a young and attractive nurse down the hall.

The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor and Kristy, who worked there every night, noticed a fat lady in a wheelchair plus an equally large nurse blindly moved in to cram the minuscule elevator as Tony barely made it out with his life.  Kristy and Tony briefly exchanged smiles and then he walked down the hallway to room 505.

Tony knocked on Mrs. O’Connor’s door, “Hello, Mrs. O’Connor?”

“Yes, who is it?” a woman with a strong Irish accent answered.

“Good evening ma’am, my name is Tony. Sr. Gertrude sent me to come see you tonight, may I come in?”

“Oh why yes, of course; come right in,” she replied.

Mrs. O’Connor was in her late 80′s and had come over to the United States from Northern Ireland only a few years ago.  She came to live with her son who lived in Boston in order to escape the fighting going on but she got sick soon after moving over here and had to be put in a home.  Despite being lonely most of the time she still seemed to be in good spirits.  She was happy with her Lifetime channel and her tea.  Tony looked around her small room and studied some old pictures of Ireland and her family crest that hung by the only lit table lamp in the room.  Her TV was muted and she was listening to some old music that sounded like it was from the 1930′s.  Time went faster as they started a conversation about how life was in Ireland and about how things were in the past and soon it was time to leave.  On his was back to the elevator Tony talked to Kristy a little more, still trying to convince her to dump her boyfriend and go out with him.  After getting shot down again he brushed it off and smiled while walking away toward the elevator’s open doors.  He then went to the locker room to go and change into some different clothes and met up with Kevin.

After work they drove to their house in Providence to meet up with Luis.  They had VIP passes for Club Xtacy that night and there was a special performance being put on by “dj PHAT Joe” out of London so they didn’t want to be late.  Luis was waiting in his shiny black Escalade.  The light from the Porsche’s headlights twinkled on the Caddy’s polished rims as Tony pulled up next to Luis.

“Hey are we gonna take two cars or just yours?”

“We’ll take my ride,” Luis responded, “go ahead and pull around back, the garage is open.”

Tony parked and got in Luis’ truck with Kevin.  It was 10:45 and the show began at 11 so they sped down the highway into downtown Providence.  Luckily the majority of the traffic had dissipated by the time they arrived in the heart of the city.  Indeed most of the people who normally would have clogged the streets in their cars were coagulating in front of Xtacy.  At least 1,000 people were crowded in the street.  The police had the whole block closed off and were riding on horseback to keep the crowd in order.  Luis showed his VIP pass to one of the police officers and was allowed to drive through the crowd to the front of the massive club.  The trademark red neon “X” stretched vertically 4 stories to the top of the building, casting a red glow on Tony and his crew as they exited their vehicle parked in front of the club.

Velvet ropes parted as VIP passes were flashed and the trio became immersed in the ocean of pounding bass and beautiful people.  Multi colored lasers lit up the inside of the expansive club as they penetrated the smoke that filled the main room, and rhythmically pulsated to the beat of the overpowering music of the sound system.  They walked up to the main bar and paused to watch two girls, almost nude, dancing suggestively with each other on the elevated mini stage in the center of the circular bar.  Tony ordered three shots of Bacardi Limón and gave one to Luis and one to Kevin.

“I want to make a toast to the success of our business over these past four years gentlemen,” Tony said as he raised his shot glass.

“Cheers,” they all responded and took down their shots.

After having a drink they went to their reserved section toward the back of the club.  It took several minutes to plow through the sweaty mass of people already inside the club and on the dance floor.  Two bouncers stood at the entrance to the roped off section and checked their VIP passes in order let them through.  Once inside the private lounge they closed the purple curtains to the room and looked for any cameras or false mirrors.  When the coast was clear they sat down on leather easy chairs around a table with a chilled bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket.

Kevin helped himself to some bubbly while Tony and Luis went for the nose candy.

“All right kid, you know what time it is,” Tony said while rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“Yea, hold on.”  Luis took out a slim silver case and placed it on the table.  He opened it up to reveal a small amount of white powder wrapped in plastic wrap.  He took out the little package to reveal a small spoon and a razor blade resting on top of a mirror.

“Nice dude, nice.  How much this time?”

“Just fifty I think.”

“Sounds about right,” Tony said, handing Luis a rolled up fifty dollar bill.

Luis cut up a nice line and snorted it up with vigor.  “Here ya go,” Luis said, wiping his nose clean.  Tony did two lines and passed it back to Luis.  He wiped off his nose and took down a half glass of champagne as Luis snorted the last bit off the mirror and put everything back into the case.

“Some good shit right there kid,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped together behind his head.  Almost instantly the drug kicked in and a cocaine induced rush of self-confidence whisked Tony and Luis to the dance floor to find some girls.  For a at least and hour they were grinding with any female with in sight, periodically returning to their VIP booth to do another line or to get a blow job from the girls they had brought back with them.  Kevin was enjoying his champagne quietly during all of this but still managed to get a lap dance (a complimentary service of the club for VIP members) from some German girl named Nadine; he managed to see more of Nadine later that night after she got off her shift at the club.

Club Xtacy was not a strip club, but it sure seemed like it tonight.  The guest DJ had girls getting up on the stage in front of his booth; making out and taking one another’s clothes off for free drinks and CD’s.  Tony managed to push through the crowd of horny men gathered around the stage and got one of the girls to come back to the VIP with him by flashing his pass to one of them and motioned his hand in a come here fashion.  Surprisingly Tony didn’t see Kevin when he returned to the booth and figured he must be off on the dance floor somewhere.  He closed the curtains to the entrance once again and took out some more coke that Luis had given to him, placing the baggy on the table.  Then he moved toward the girl, whose name was Stacy, and slowly pulled off her shirt and told her to lie down on the couch in the back of the room.  Almost obediently she did as he told and sprawled out as instructed.  Tony walked over to her and placed a small amount of snow-white powder on her naked torso.  Meticulously he formed a single line of coke that stopped just inches from her navel and snorted the line and then proceeded to kiss her the rest of the way down.  Luis and Kevin conveniently burst into the room just a few moments before things between Tony and Stacy got too intimate.

“Hey dude you should have seen this kid,” Luis said with his arm around the totally drunk Kevin.  “He was dancing with these two girls on by the bar and then all of a sudden this big black dude comes up and taps him on the shoulder and says, ‘those girls are with me cracka, get the fuck off!’ and then Kevin just ran like a little girl, all scared and shit.  Dude it was the funniest thing!

“So anyways the black guy is trying to find us and the club is clearing out so we better bounce, okay.”

“Shit son, can’t you see I was in the middle of something!” Tony replied in a frustrated but somewhat understanding tone.

“Oh yea, I bet you were about to get in the middle of something, if you know what I mean,” Kevin said jokingly.

“Yea, well… I know, god damn it, you guys have the best timing you know that,” Tony shot back.  “All right lets get out of here.”  He gave Stacy a kiss on the cheek, “Thanks babe, call me sometime all right.”  And he left with his friends.

Upon leaving Kevin caught up with Nadine, who was waiting for him at the coat check.  She walked him to the back of the club where her car was parked outside.  “Get in,” she said, “we’ll go to my place… oh and this one won’t cost you anything either.”  The drunken Kevin obediently sat in the passenger seat and they drove a few blocks to the Renatta apartment high-rise.  They went up to her room on the twelfth floor and wasted no time getting to their nightly activities.  After an hour of getting down they decided that they needed some food.  Kevin called Tony on the cell and arranged to meet them at Denny’s where he was already waiting with Luis.

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The cold night air was a refreshing feeling as Tony and Luis left the intense heat of the club.  Sweat from their forehead dried up once the frigid air hit their faces as they walked down the streets.  There were taxis parked all down the street waiting for the other clubbers who needed a ride after parting too much.  Car horns were blaring because a car stalled in the middle of the busy street.  Hundreds of people were pouring out of the clubs and bars, all inebriated from a night of fun.  Police on horse back were riding in pairs down the main street in front of the brightly lit theater, and the hypnotizing sound of the horse’s hooves clip clopping down the cobble stone streets of Providence.  All the sounds around of the city were stifled and seemed muted to Tony and Luis.  Their ears had been punished for hours by the thumping and unrelenting bass of the sound system in the club.

“Hey we’re going to Denny’s, right?” Tony asked.

“Is that you wanna go?”

“Yea, definitely.  It’s the one in Warwick, like fifteen minuets from here; but it will take at least an hour to get through this traffic.”

Luis retrieved his SUV from the valet and made his way out of the city.  An hour had passed and Tony and Luis had finally pulled in to Denny’s parking lot.  Kevin called just as they left the vehicle and arranged to meet them with Nadine at the diner.

Tony burst through the double doors, “Cassie!” he yelled.  Cassie was a waitress there who had known him for some time.  They went to high school together and even dated for some time before they broke up.  She cheated on Tony with another guy from school and ended up getting pregnant as a result.  After that they lost touch shortly after Cassie dropped out of school.  Several years later they met again through a friend of his who had re-introduced them while eating late at Denny’s.  Tony felt bad for her after he had heard what her life had become after she dropped out and decided to be friends with her once again.

“Hey guys… back from another night clubbin’?” she asked from across the counter.

“Oh hell ya babe, just had a great time.”

“Good to hear,” she said as she grabbed three menus from under the counter, “follow me boys, I’ll give you the best seats in the house tonight.”

Twenty minutes later Kevin walked in with a tall brunette, presumably Nadine and found Tony’s booth.  Kevin was still pretty drunk but at least could walk straight at this point.  Nadine had a strong German accent and told them all about how she was only 18 years old and had just come to America as an exchange student.  She was studying culinary arts at JWU in Providence and was also a dancer.  She did not work at the club because she needed extra money but just because she loved to dance (all of which the guys didn’t buy for one second).

After they finished their late night munchies Tony sat and chatted with Cassie while Kevin sat in the SUV with Luis, telling him about his time with Nadine.  Nadine went home and left her number with Kevin; but he threw it in the trash on the way out the door. Tony finished up with Cassie and they also exchanged numbers so they could keep in touch.

Luis drove them back to their house in Providence once Tony joined them in the SUV and they all slept until late in the afternoon on Saturday.  When they pulled them selves out of bed they had to do some major cleaning before they left for the weekend.  Luis was going up to visit his girlfriend in Boston and Kevin had work on Sunday night so he was going home.  Tony was Kevin’s ride home because his car was in the shop and wouldn’t be ready until Monday so they left for North Attleboro once the cleaning was finished.

It was dark by the time they reached Kevin’s house and both of them walked up the dark driveway toward the quaint house.  Suddenly, a man yelling, and glass breaking shattered the silence and Kevin’s father stormed out of the house, slamming the door and got into his truck and sped off.  Kevin and Tony were both tired and didn’t really want to deal with what ever was happening but never the less they ran toward the house, stunned and intrigued to find out what had just happened.  The two opened the door and looked around the dimly lit kitchen.  Kevin’s mother was face down on the kitchen table crying, a half empty bottle of vodka at her side.  By her feet was a broken highball glass with vodka and ice spilt on the floor.  Kevin noticed a broken beer bottle and several empty beer cans on the counter amidst a mess of dirty dishes and more broken glass.  His mother, still crying put her head up to reveal a large cut on her cheek.  There were dried tears and smudged mascara all mingled together underneath her eyes.  A bruise was starting to form where she had been cut with a broken bottle.

The emaciated, red headed woman tried to speak, but only burst into uncontrollable tears and walked over to her bewildered son.  She put her head on his shoulder as they embraced one another.

.  .  .

to be continued

Here I finally am

… sitting in a windowless room six stories above a downtown parking lot, in a room full of red eyes, loosed ties and security guards all dressed in black. I am poised not to unleash my emotions as the woman calmly speaks to me, she is silently begging me to maintain my composure probably because many before me did not.

I hate the feeling of being in a pivotal moment and not being able to ask the right questions. This is my opportunity to make a bold and enduring statement that will change the minds of many.

I took the liberty of pouring my self a glass of scotch, took a long sip while holding my eyes to hers.  Upon raising my empty glass in front of the calm woman I gently told her to cut to the chase, give me my belongings and send me on my way.  I wanted this to be quick and painless.

Her response was delivered mechanically, undoubtedly from saying the same words to others like me all day long. She conveyed a disconnected pity with her eyes, gesticulating gently while holding my gaze. Yes, it was her gentility which I admired most. Someone younger would have conveyed the wrong impression; she was more like a mother sending her child out on his first day of school. Her words went over my head.

I really admired her, though I must say again, that admiration was partially based in pity.

After collecting my belongings from the security guard I walked outside onto the sidewalk.  It was dark, blustery, cold and raining – perfect really, I thought as I walked through the streets. I wrote goodbye emails as I waited for my train and made a few phone calls effectively ending a stage of my life.

Wow… back to square one.

I had the day to my self. Finally some time alone to do what I wanted after weeks and weeks of catering to others. It is mid Autumn in Manhattan. Back in Boston it had been unusually warm, not so down here. I had most of the afternoon ahead of me after a quick coffee with a few colleagues in the city, the friend I was going to meet for dinner had to work late, so there I was with a good eight hours to kill. I went to Bryant park; the last time I was in the city with time to spare that is where I went, I ended up meeting with a dead end recruiter in the Chrysler building shortly after that, so who knows where this moment of pause in the park would bring me. I wanted Indian food, and of course, being only a few blocks from the tourist traps of the city, every place I looked at was either packed or over priced. I looked online to see where the closest subway was and then saw where that subway would take me; I could go uptown towards Central Park, have some food and then have a cigar (I brought one because I knew I would have time to enjoy it), or I could go downtown to SoHo and Greenwich Village. I opted for the later. I got off at Washington Square and started walking towards the Indian restaurant I picked out in the West Village. I really didn’t want to go into Greenwich Village because of the bad memories of my last time there over the summer, so that guided me towards the Hudson. While I walked I happened to come across this little Mexican restaurant that looked perfect to relax for a few hours and have some tasty food. Just as I hoped the place was empty and it was warm, those were the two requirements I had.

Like I mentioned earlier, the weather in Manhattan was pretty different than Boston’s the day before, it was actually seasonal so I can’t complain, all I can say is that I was sorely mistaken for not wearing a jacket. I had a pretty good burrito at the Mexican place; the ground beef was just spicy enough to warm me up and the guacamole, lettuce, tomatoes cooled my tongue when things got too hot. I wanted a beer, but they wanted too much for one, so I got coffee. The coffee was fantastic; almost like Turkish coffee there was a pleasant sweet aroma and a hint of cane sugar and caramel that worked my palate

like a crisp sauvingon blanc would after having brie and apple in a puff pastry – if that means nothing to you then I highly suggest you try it right now! Anyway, this is not a restaurant review, but this would be an otherwise unsavory account of an ordinary afternoon if I didn’t include the above. After gorging on Mexican goodness I needed that cigar and a good walk. I really had only one objective and that was to find a park were I could enjoy that cigar, as luck would have it, Washington Park was only a few blocks away.

It had gotten dark and I saw that the bums had set up camp in on the benches by the entrance I was approaching. I decided to be bold and invade their territory with hopes of not angering the urban homesteaders with my cigar smoke. It was here where I met Alex. About sixty years old, Alex was dressed like your typical hobo; he had the baseball cap, at least one big puffy winter jacket and probably a few layers of pants on. I actually felt envious for once – I was clearly out of my element in my jeans, cotton button down dress shirt with only a thin cotton v-neck sweater, hardly protecting me from the penetrating cold wind that pushed its way through the trees of the park. Alex was sitting in front of a chess board. I loved chess and I had nothing to do for several hours, I asked him if he charged to play. I knew his time had to be worth something. It only cost me a coffee and donut from the Starbucks up the street.

Alex didn’t say much, but he played chess pretty well. I figured he would be about as good at chess as I would be at making macros given that this must have been somewhat of an occupation outside of his cigarette business. He sold a pack for nine bucks, making a small profit margin, especially in New York, but he still undersold the corner stores by a few bucks. His clients tended to be exclusive though, he knew them on a first name basis like any good proprietor and was flexible with the quantity he sold. I liked this guy, he was smart. I guess even the bums in New York have that drive to achieve that I really haven’t seen in other cities. Alex and I played three games. I lost all three. What I learned though was not just a better way to play chess, but I learned something about my self. In chess, just like in life, I like to make the first move. I guess that is the control freak in me, but what it does is open me up to a vulnerability of being taken by someone who waits for me to make the bad move that inevitably comes. This guy exploited that bad move every time just like a sharp trader on Wall Street would make a quick in and out move on an undervalued stock and get out just before the price hits equilibrium and the gains flatten. So Alex just waited. Even when I tried to change up my playing style in the second game he still got me after about twenty moves. He took me after I had every major piece except a rook and a queen and he took me after I totally shifted from a heavy offense to an almost neutral playing style. The key he told me was not strategy, but tactics, and then it made sense; I had a strategy, but he really didn’t play with a strategy, he would not hold himself to a predictable pattern, but he would use a few clever tactics to put me into a position where I was trapped – trapped by my own strategy as it were since that is what he exploited. It would not have mattered if I played defense or offense I think since he was always just a few moves ahead of me. Alex’s favorite piece was the knight, I hate the knight, but I have now come to respect it just like I respect Alex and will be thankful for the lesson he taught me.

Riding the rails from Boston to New York I occasionally take a break from my laptop to gaze out the window. Maybe it is because I am looking for it now, but it seems that there is a lot going on in a country, or at least a region, who is supposed to be falling behind. Most of the trip takes me through coastal Connecticut, and all along the shore line there are men and machines building with steel and moving rocks and earth. Sights like this give me hope. I do not fear that that life blood of this country, the men and women who work every day to build and then maintain it, are falling behind, they are just maintaining a vast infrastructure that has suddenly been awaken by an urgency broadcasted from the other side of the globe. I hope that America will be able to put its wreckless ways behind itself and embrace the future by investing in the people and infrastructure that made this countries greatness possible.

She was one of those girls you only meet once…

I lament as I sit here now in my custom made leather chair, sipping my eighteen year old single malt scotch, overlooking the expanse of the Mediterranean outside the floor to ceiling walls of glass in front of me. In this world where one works hard to accumulate all the luxury money will buy, I still feel empty. Perhaps this is just too cliché; the guy who has made it big still missing the “one who got away”. The funny thing is that I have heard that story before. The girl was perfect, just the timing was off. It always ends up the same way, with the man doing something stupid to get the girl. Ultimately he ends up loosing any chance of having a relationship with her, and in the process destroys all the other relationships he has taken for granted once she invaded his mind.

This type of parasitic love exists for the sake of pure evil. There is nothing productive which can come of it; it is merely a conduit for one to destroy themselves while numbed to all logic.

It starts when I see her picture with him. The guy who is so much like me, but for whatever reason is having all the fun. I try and make my self believe that I will have my time to be happy, but what I have now does not satisfy me like she could. The trips they take together, I take alone. The celebrations they attend together, I always have just one name on the invitation. The pictures they take together, are picture which contain just one face when it is my own. Of course I realize how this sounds, but this is how I heal. I feel the need to write, yet I worry about how these words will be interpreted. Are you keen enough to get what I am saying, or must I be blunt?

You are the type of girl I only will meet once.

But I’ve said that before too, before I met you.

So I know how this ends…

“Joe, come in here for a second,” the fat guy with the small head said through the open door into the quiet waiting room. “So I spoke to a few of the guys here and they don’t really have anything for you right now, but here is my card anyway. We’ll be in touch alright.” I hardly had time to respond before the fat guy led me back out into the waiting room. The time was only 10:15am, my interview was for 10:00am. I know these recruiters work fast, but I hardly had five minutes with this dude, I thought to my self. With at least an hour and a half to kill until I met up with my girlfriend and her mother for lunch in mid-town I needed something to occupy my newly found free time.

It was a perfect summer day in New York; 80 degrees and not a cloud in the sky, perfect if you aren’t wearing a black suit and tie that is, needless to say I could feel the sweat rolling down my back. I walked a few blocks to Bryant Park, I remember passing it as I walked to my poor excuse for an interview with a recruiter. Taking a seat on a vacant bench I took out my phone and called Xue, my girlfriend, asking her if she could meet up at an earlier time. No luck, she was in Brooklyn, walking around to various hospitals inquiring about nursing positions. She just graduated and was looking for a job too. We were both looking in New York, and today was only day one of what would amount to a four day rat race around the boroughs of Manhattan (for me) and Brooklyn (for her); I was looking for work in banking, she, as mentioned before, was looking for nursing jobs.

Upon ending the call I pondered my dilemma. The waste of time interview left me in the middle of Manhattan with the adrenaline still pumping; unable to use that energy to impress an interviewer, I turned to the next best thing: find a new interview. Taking out my phone once more I did a search for recruiting firms. I cold called several of them, telling them I had time to meet today if they were available. Some places had no answer and others said they didn’t accept walk-in’s, another put me into the voice mail. After spending about thirty minutes calling various places I saw a strange number come up on the caller ID, it was a recruiter from the firm I left a message with, one of the places who did not apparently accept walk-in’s. The recruiter’s name was also Joe, but the coincidences did not end there. Joe, turned out was from Rhode Island, just like I was. We talked about Rhode Island for a minute before he invited me up to his office in the Chrysler Building for a meeting at 2pm. I was ecstatic! I know this isn’t that big of a deal, I mean, it isn’t like I got a job out of it, but it was simply the idea of making things happen so fast that got me excited, and the idea that sometimes a little extra (and unconventional) effort pays off occasionally. I had never done something like this before and had it actually work.

The meeting was scheduled for 2:00pm, I still had time to kill until lunch with Xue and her mother. Walking through the hot crowded Manhattan streets towards Macy’s on 34^th and Broadway I called her once more only to find out that she was still in Brooklyn and would likely be there for a few more hours. I told her it was fine and that I had another interview to go to and that I would just have lunch alone; we could reconnect after the interview. I was disappointed that we could not have lunch together, I had been looking forward to it. With hunger now displacing disappointment though I made my way to the nearest Indian restaurant. It seems every time I eat lunch alone, it is either at an Indian or a Chinese restaurant, I don’t feel the stigma I would had I been eating at an American restaurant, save maybe a bar. The restaurant was perfect, crowded with tables full of Indian families speaking in Punjabi, or maybe Hind (I could not tell which), with its doors open to the bustling sidewalk; it warm and muggy inside, low ceilings, very dimly lit; the navy blue walls and the many Indian paintings hanging on the wall gave it the impression of being in a real Indian restaurant back in their home country. I felt like the American tourist coming in for some local flavor. Of course, this being New York, there really is no local flavor, unless you consider Brooklyn pizza to be the pinnacle of haute cuisine in the five boroughs. After eating my meal I asked the gentlemen at the counter to direct me towards the bathroom. He pointed to a small door in a nook partially covered by an Asian decorative screen on the back wall of the tiny restaurant. Faced with a stair case barely illuminated by the restaurant’s poor lighting I felt my way down into the bowels of the restaurant. Once I reached bottom it was totally pitch back and hot, like a coal mine, just with the sound of jack hammers and construction equipment replaced by the hum of the building’s boiler room. I felt along the walls, hoping for a light switch, fearing coming into contact with some exposed live wiring or a rusty nail. After about thirty seconds I found the switch and illuminated the absurdly small room. Everything was arranged in the most space efficient manner possible and the walls were painted a burgundy red. There was no trash on the floor or excrement spattered around the rim of the toilet, the sink was clean and there was both soap and paper towels ample in supply; it quite likely the nicest restaurant bathroom I had seen in the city that week after being in a locally owned cafe, a Starbucks and a KFC, all in mid-town. I hung my jacket on the door hook (another rarity) and tied my tie in the mirror – I had taken it off earlier while I was in Bryant Park. As I was doing this however I heard two men, one who had a thick Indian accent and another who sounded like he was from Boston, they were talking about some leak in the boiler room. I have to get out of here, I thought. I didn’t want to be down here if this place catches on fire or something. I quickly finished fixing my tie, put on my jacket and promptly went back up the dark stairs. I saw one of the men holding a flashlight… smart idea.

Manhattan had gotten even hotter by 1:30pm. The air was thick like cream cheese and filled with smoke from trucks and cigarettes. The heat generated by the herds of people and slow moving packs of cars and trucks was pulsing through my head causing me to sweat instantly upon being exposed to it. I had about six blocks to walk.

Walking into the lobby of the Chrysler building one is met with imposing and brooding architecture. The art deco motifs in marble, wood, mosaic and stainless steel are impressive but look almost like a movie set given its detail and conspicuousness. The elevators are styled accordingly and appear almost as they must have when the building was constructed. I could imagine a couple guys coming from a three martini lunch, smoking their cigars and talking about the next big railroad or oil deal, back in the day when this building was not a tourist attraction alone but a thousand foot plus tall boy’s club where men dressed in suits and had bottles of bourbon in a cabinet behind their desks. Those are the days I wished I worked in. The elevator let me off at the 27^th floor and immediately I was plunged 75 years into the future, or present as it were; dark walnut sconces and brown marble gave way to glossy white walls illuminated by florescent lights and accented by plasma screen monitors displaying news and stock quotes, soft gray carpeting beneath my feet was a welcome change to the hard surfaces of the streets. There were glass double doors open which gave way to a medium size waiting room with a fantastic view of downtown Manhattan. A woman at the front desk greeted me and then showed me to a small conference room with a view equally as good of the many little roof decks and patios over looking the streets below. Buildings seemed to go on for miles down to the tip of the city.

“Would you care for a drink?” the secretary offered.

“Water, please.” I replied.

“Here you are sir, please have a seat, Joe will be in to see you shortly.”

I sipped that water slowly and took in the view. I had the corner office at the Chrysler Building with a view of Manhattan all to my self, I thought… for ten minutes anyway. That was the best glass of water I had during the whole trip.

== False Hope ==

false hope is seeing your boss park his Mercedes while you step off the bus.

false hope is checking your email from the dating site as your roommate is having sex.

false hope is spending your whole paycheck on a Coach purse.

false hope is going to a club hoping to score.

false hope is being thankful your job hasn’t been outsourced or automated.

false hope is buying a house with nothing down.

false hope is copying your friends homework for a semester.

false hope is putting 15% in your 401(k).

false hope is not pulling the plug.

The Antigua roast is a very consistent and drinkable offering at Boston Common Coffee.  The palate of this roast is spicy then smooth with toasty notes and a calming aroma with hints of honey and almond.  The finish is reminiscent of raspberries and cherries and lingers gently.  This coffee would pair well with milk chocolate or a fruit tart; its intricacies are too subtle to truly appreciate if drank daily, I would save this for an occasional treat given its latent sweet taste and mildness.

There once was a time where we all gathered to eat, laugh, tell stories, and have stimulating conversation, but reality has gotten in the way of that.  Sometimes I feel like the captain watching from the bridge as his crew disembark the ship in its lifeboats as the sea slowly consumes his vessel, other times I feel like the man who comes home to find everyone has moved away.  It is difficult to feel good about change like this, but it is hardening to come to grips with the reality change imposes.  Perhaps I am the only one who saw the value of what we collectively had, but perhaps not; everyone has their way of hiding their grief.

I catch my self wondering if it were not for this place would we all be so close, logically I think not, for it is this place which molded us to whom we have come to enjoy, and tragically whom we might grow to long for.  True value is in community, it is the most valuable of commodities.  We kid ourselves by surrounding our lives with superfluous things which stand in for what we lack inside and for whom we lack inside.  A decade from now this place will be far in my past, but the place is clearly insignificant, the people who gathered there will be all that is left.

Condensation thickens the air as I plow through the shifting wet wind walls surprising me at each turn.

Feeling my way around people, cars and buildings I plod purposefully passing pools of muddy water, avoiding the sidewalk streams which feed them.

A man’s cigarette smoke is arrested by the moisture before it invades my olfactory with unyielding arrogance and indifference.

The red light, traffic and wide boulevard halt me as I absorb the cool rain drops into my coat.  My eyes scan the landscape for the chance to sprint the gap, I wonder if I can make it…

Routine.

We all have one, and every once and a while it is good to change it up.  Well about a month ago I got all crazy and decided to try a new type of coffee in my French Press.  Today brought with it yet another change to my coffee line up.  The two new coffee are reviewed below, I highly encourage you to try both and leave you impressions here on Artifact.

Rao’s Sicilian roast coffee: Smooth and even at first taste with a consistent strength throughout the tasting. The roast does not overpower the taste buds with flavor, giving the nose subtle sweet aromas reminiscent of dark chocolate. This is a perfect coffee for mornings and should be sipped without anything but the blandest food as it would not stand up to significant flavors.

Boston Common Coffee French roast coffee:  A milder blend of the French roast with a clearer taste on the front end of the palate, lending to a surprisingly strong finish.  Sweet and rich aroma are less present here but do not make this coffee fall flat by any means, its aromas do overcompensate for a less bold taste however.  This coffee is best enjoyed with spicy food as it can stand up to and enhance the more complex spices found in Indian and Mexican cooking.

Cafe Paragon in Providence, RI has been a favorite of me and my closest friends for almost a decade. We always had gone there to celebrate birthdays, get together for the holidays and sometimes just to have a really good meal. The food is excellent, and it has compensated for the horrible and rude service for all these years.

Last night was no different. One of my friends was up from North Carolina where he is going to graduate school, he was in the area for some job interviews. The other friend took a break from training for a race he has in Vegas next week and came to join. Comparatively, I am the least obligated of the three of us. The point is that we were getting together, which is rare, and we figured Paragon would be the ideal place.

Now you have made it to the third paragraph, you are probably wondering when I am going to talk about the wine I had mentioned in the title. Well, soon, don’t you worry. See, talking about a wine just for its own sake would kind of be like talking to you about Michael Jordan without mentioning the Chicago Bulls of the 1990′s. What is that supposed to mean? A good wine is nothing without a proper context, and the context for this great wine I had last night is clearly important enough for me to spend two hundred words setting up that context for you. So now to the wine.

I had picked the Ste. Chapelle mostly for its price. At $18 for the bottle it was a bargain considering most of the wines ranged from the upper $20′s to lower $40′s. Once the waitress brought the bottle to our table she offered me a taste before I committed (although I wonder if I didn’t like it would she have taken it back) to consuming it. After taking a generous nose I detected the bright, nuanced fragrances of fresh citrus fruit almost immediately, something I had come to expect from a Riesling, but was pleasantly surprised when the mild consistency of the wine took over as I tasted. The Riesling did bring some sweet notes to the back of my palate, but they were actually welcome since it gave the wine great versatility throughout my whole meal, which consisted of grilled chicken glazed with a honey Dijon sauce, squash and zucchini in a light, tangy red sauce, mashed potatoes with a liberal usage of butter and a pretty good crème brûlée for dessert. Ste. Chapelle, being the first wine I had from Idaho left me with a pretty good impression. I found it to be comparable to Rieslings from New England in all the important areas such as how it complements a dish of lighter fare but does not back down when paired with a dessert as let’s say a Pinot Grigio would have, therefore the flavors linger long after the meal is through, making this wine a great value.

I am going to end by saying you should try this wine with chicken or pork. It would overpower a pasta dish unless a lot of garlic were used, and it is too sweet for fish but would work well with scallops or shrimp and even lobster, although I prefer the later with a Chardonnay, this isn’t to say the Ste. Chapelle wouldn’t compliment a baked stuffed lobster well however. As said earlier, it goes well with a dessert like a crème brûlée or anything else custard based, and would probably hold its own with an apple pie or a coconut cake. I ended up enjoying the whole bottle on my own, and since it was 12% ABV it provided me with a pleasant disposition after glass number four. I would like to see what else the state of Idaho can produce in the wine arena, so I will stay on the lookout for more from that region.

Cheers!

A 4oz glass of eggnog, spiced rum and nutmeg.
A large bowl of cinnamon Life cereal with 1 1/2 percent milk.
Several fist fulls of Cheez Its.
Half of a single serving size gourmet rum cake.
One slice of Pittsfield Rye bread.

Discuss…

Bright piano notes dancing
Cool black coffee
Power nap on the train home

Here I finally am, standing thirty-six stories above the harbor, in a room full of sport coats, cocktail dresses and inflated ego’s, poised to break the inevitable silence which occurs when a speaker has run out of material and begs for questions from an awkward grouping of entry level associates and seasoned executives.

I hate the feeling of trying to rationalize my self out of being the first person to ask a question of this nature, giving up only feels good for a split second before you realize you just lost out on an opportunity to make a bold statement.

I over dramatized the five second lapse of time in which I pondered what I would say to the speaker. Almost involuntarily I caught the speaker’s eye, raised my glass of Merlot to signal that I wished to put her experience to the test. Fearing a chilly misinterpretation, I unfurled my question in an unwavering tone.

Her response was laced with innuendo, ironically, just as unexpected as I though my words would have been to her. She conveyed more with her eyes than with her words, gesticulating confidently while holding my gaze. Yes, it was her confidence which I admired most, and her commanding posture despite her petite stature; her words seemed to go over everyone else’s head but found meaning in my own.

I really admired her, I must say again.

Had she only been twenty years younger I would have walked over to her and asked her if she wanted a drink, and then proceeded to tell her how fascinating she sounded – of course she would have not had a gleaming rock on her finger, but that is besides the point. I would have told her about my ideas and listened to more of hers. After finishing another glass of Merlot we would have walked out on the patio and delved into more personal matters, and stayed out there until the crowd had dispersed. Parting ways I would have asked her for her business card. When I got into the office the next day I would have sent her an email to arrange lunch.

Wow… back to reality.

A flock of approximately fifty pigeons hang out on the ledge of the fourth story of the building across the parking lot from my office. They have a leader who rests separate from all the others, right on the end of this ledge. When he takes flight, so do the rest. They fly in formation, making three elliptical laps in the sky directly above the parking lot. The pigeons do this several times a day.

In my mind, this is their way of exercising. There seems to be no other reason why these pigeons would do this, except maybe to find food, but a pigeon almost never breaks formation. When there is a straggler, he finishes his three laps and joins the rest back on the ledge, and that is the most unique part of this observation.

The following is a poem I had written in 2005 for submission into a anthology put out by Poetry.com. I am not sure if it was ever published, but readers are encouraged to find out.

The soul is tangible, manageable, and fine
As large as a highway, as thin as it’s line
Cut across the vast open plain
With your words carving it up like a verbal freight train
Tangible and real like a dagger on silk
Words of silence make your soul wilt
The soul is the words before your eyes
It is weakness that will make you cry
For the soul is not what you think it to be
The soul is what is caged in you, in me.

Bernie is a professional. All day he works, clicking, printing, clicking, printing, and clicking and printing. He loves his work because he can do a good job without thinking. In the Knowledge Economy work is done without thinking. This splash of irony is the reason why the world around him is writhing in a simulated fit of economic angst. Simulated because the boom for which has now escaped humans of modernity was built on fairy dust and not on sweat equity. Poor Bernie will feel it soon enough once he is filed into obsolescence by a third-world day laborer – come senior ultra complex derivative swap analyst who can click buttons and print paper cheaper than the guy who cleans the toilet at Bernie’s favorite coffee shop. Then Bernie will join the rest of his glossy eyed pals waiting for someone to compensate him for his nievete.

For now anyway Bernie will try to stave off the inevitable by doing more clicking and printing. Maybe that way he can make it out of his job before it goes away and do a job where all he does is click, and a pretty girl can do the printing for him, freeing him to divert his attention to more pressing concerns such as emails scheduling meetings which he must then attend. What a concept, Bernie thinks to himself – some of the only thinking he has actually done today in fact (to reward himself for thinking he reaches for the doughnut box on the desk in back of him), all I have to do is click buttons and print paper for a few more months and then get promoted, go to meetings, check email, click fewer buttons and not have to print… wow, what a great job!

The nights here are stale and warm, streets are devoid of chatter, the only noise it the simulated bell of a street car prowling the downtown grid. Bums ride bicycles almost as nice as mine, and go about their entrepreneurial endeavors, competing with the city run waste collection monopoly. My feet slightly ache from walking the expansive blocks standing between me and my studio apartment cross town.

I am contemplating how one finds enjoyment in a new environment where they will only be staying for a few weeks. Making long term relationships seem like a pointless task; the true gains will only be short term, and in my mind at least, can only be worth the effort if the encounters are lascivious in nature, which given my current status would be emotionally damaging. Sex then is a moot topic. As for drinking buddies, they are expensive and empty companions, and a night out with drinking buddies should culminate ideally when a consenting mate is obtained from the establishment in which alcohol is being consumed. The only exception to this in my opinion is when you find an intellectually stimulating drinking partner; those are the best and often times most enlightening people I have found. I will try and find one here.

Her smile mirrored mine as I took her by the hand and led her away from the chaos. We emerged into the sterile night as the doors sealed shut behind us. I lead her across the grass, the condensation of twilight clung to our shoes as they carved a path through blades of grass leading to the dazzling porte cochere where our escape awaited under its covering. The attendant handed me the keys to my slate Pininafarina styled stallion, the girl anxiously slid into the leather saddle next to mine. I punched the throttle and propelled us forward. With ferocious velocity my headlights vaporized the veils of fog attempting to consume us as I navigated the narrow ribbon of pavement ascending the mountain. I briefly noticed her entranced focus as she gazed below at the bright city shrinking below her as our distance increased, her breath quickened as we slid from apex to apex on the winding road, her body clung to its anticipation as we neared the summit.

Dopamine flowed freely though our bodies as we rode the rails of an electric train across an interdimensional sky bridge of pleasure. Our cars collided, our passengers began to intermingle, conversations evolved into a highly efficent synaptic interplay. Our realitities converged on a higher plane of existance than could naturally have been acheived given our relationship’s infancy. We now peered laborously to see the world which lay before us, and amid all the soft touches of holographic pleasure engulfing the periphery, we came to relize whith a painful syncronicity that we had made an error.

Glaring at both of us was the Supplier. She was familiar once, but now her name remains only as a reminder to an obligation I made many years before. The emptiness which had dwelled in my subconscious finally took me by the hand and lead me into the stale night just hours ago, it’s power stoked by the intoxicating siren song from the lush paradise where my acomplis in this act stalked her prey. The pale face framed by thin, artificial hair beguled me with a manipulating purpose to extract from me what she needed. Once the moment passed she would fade away into a haze of confusion. My eyes strained under the peircing light of the morning as it intensely drilled into my optic nerves. I rolled over the wet grass trying to stablize my nausia. I looked at the buildings surrounding me and attemempted to realign my dazzeled senses, not again, I thought to my self, not again.

I was awash in a sea of hot sweaty bodies, my senses deluged by the bass rumbling over the wet stone floor. I stood gazing upwards, mesmorized by the rainbow of laser light dancing along the sheer glass facade of the tower rising in front of us like a futuristic monolith; visible through the glass dome, sheltering all of us from the night, and bathing the crowd below in a fantastic spectrum of psychedelic patterns.

The crowd enveloped me as I became an animated medium for the rhythm spun from the DJ’s laptop. His place being perched high in front of the illuminated pool, palm trees, and sparkling fountains which dominated the landscape. He was the priest in a temple filled with all that is evil for the soul, but manna for the mind’s erogenous appetite. My conscious became lost in an orgy of aural and visual stimuli while the other members of this twenty first century bacchanal imbibed alcohol from their plastic cups and invited their partners to simulate clothed intercourse with them. I could only stare in awe; this scene being foreign to my first person.

My concentration was shattered, “Hey, do you have any coke?” the sultry voice from behind whispered in my ear. I felt her cold hand wrap around my torso and I began to turn slightly as I sensed her body moving closer to mine. Coming around, I came eye to eye with her porcelain face, framed by pin straight peroxide hair, a pair of icy cobalt eyes stared at me with an emptiness as she yearned for her drug. She moved closer to me once more, “I want to have a good time tonight baby.” she said with a moan as her lips grazed my ear. I removed her hands from my body and stepped back just enough to enjoy the view of her body slink around in the red cocktail dress painted over her curves. I smiled.

Stardate 62899.5 (June 7, 2009)

I have seen very few films at a theater that conclude with applause from the audience.  This might be because I do not frequent movie theaters very often, or it might mean that the quality of the films that I see at theaters is lacking.  Nevertheless, on Sunday night in Davis Square’s Somerville Theater, this two hour showing deserved every bit of applause it received that night.

Referred to as a “reboot” of the Star Trek film franchise, the aptly entitled “Star Trek” did an exquisite job at rebooting my latent passion for the Enterprise.  This film was charged with the task of providing a genesis story to the institution created by Gene Roddenberry over four decades ago.  Featuring the much younger versions of Kirk, Spock, Uhura and others, the interplay of starkly different personalities on the screen provided for wonderful entertainment and eye opening insight into each character.

“Star Trek” is replete with cutting edge CGI effects, dazzling cinematography, and an inspiring soundtrack to make this eleventh installation of Star Trek film stand apart from the Star Trek films of yore.  The story presented does not deviate too much from what is called “cannon” amongst Star Trek aficionados; the fact that the story is written as a prequel allows for this however, and the plot of the film is quite coherent with many of the themes present in the “Star Trek” television shows.

After seeing most of the Star Trek films at various points in my life I can say with confidence that this one is my favorite.  I am a sucker for cool special effects and this film left me feeling incredibly satisfied.  The details of the Enterprise, both inside and outside were stunning, the anachronistic inclusion of a 400 year old Corvette being blasted down a country road in Iowa by an adolescent Kirk was awesome, the sub orbital sky dive onto Spock’s home planet was insane and to top it off you get to see Uhura in her unmentionables… what else could a guy ask for?

To provide balance however, the opening scene of “Star Trek” was moving to say the least.  Emotion churning was not something I experienced before while watching anything Star Trek related – I normally watched it to satiate my need for sci-fi, and I did not expect to be taken to such emotional extremes while watching “Star Trek”.  There were several major coming of age themes in this film, all played out quite well without getting too sappy or cliche, all of which complimented the character conflicts beautifully. Specifially, the most aparent themes were relevent to the characters of Kirk and Spock.

This film deserves the accolades it receives from the media and will hopefully bring a new generation of fans into the Star Trek universe.  The new generation of cast are certainly talented enough to have very successful careers in the Star Trek franchise if they so chose to pursue them.

In short, I loved this movie I cannot wait for the next installation – it is planned to debut in 2011!

-Joe