Love (Or at Least Like-Like)

Love (Or at Least Like-Like)

The taste of caffeine at midnight

And the sound of the sedan’s ignition

Shooting echoes around the Harlem parking lot.

The passengers envision four-day vacations.

My eyelids are anvils, and my heart’s a grenade

I’m thrown to the West to detonate.

The blare of the truck's horns

As I drift at the elbows

Of the outstretched arms of Interstate 80.

The trees outside Ohio

Begin to look

Just like dinosaurs,

Hunched like Tyrannosaurus Rexes.

The wheel surrendered, I recline in the backseat

Eyes shut to the landscape,

But the smell of corn postpones sleep.

We are spreading over now

Like your cancer

Once did.

The food here is garbage, you once told me.

And we laughed.

And we shut up.

And we agreed we’ve never missed anything so much.

An ascending elevator,

A pair of perspiring palms.

An 18 hour lurch to this point on an Iowa map.

The sterilized fourth floor

Of a general hospital

With a specific aim:

We’re all here to see you,

But I’m here to save you.

The Telephone

The Telephone

The telephone hangs

With veins entangled below its body,

Humming Gregorian at first

And then chirping melodically

As it, like so few creatures,

Accepts my touch.

It is the medium that connects time zones,

That lets me know my brother

Is safe in Jacksonville, or

That Eric died this morning.

Tonight, your face is broadcast

And I’ve summoned the telephone

And preyed on its transmissions,

As if crossing fingers could make

Our paths follow suit.

Repeating purrs of want and of hope

But the telephone does not make guarantees.

The telephone clicks.

For My Mother

For My Mother

The dashboard is a foot rest.

My heels vibrate to the engine’s hum.

The lights of the Atlantic & Pacific

Flood the cool October night

Like a traveling carnival.

“Who is the horse?” you wonder,

“Who is the carrot? Who drives who?”

The cart pinballs from

Aisle wall

To aisle wall.

The milk is toppling about.

The eggs are bleeding, the bread’s been deflated

And the bruised strawberries are seeking shelter up top.

Your laugh is the soundtrack

Composed by my steering.

You are still a giant to me

And will be for four years.

You store me in the back seat

Among the paper bag jungle and the cereal box skyscrapers.

The garage door opens and I am awake.

Never Believed in Nothing

I never believed in nothing.

But I keep finding myself walking around aimlessly, looking up at my ceiling, or at the sky.

"Eric, I miss you, man."

And then I can't help myself from laughing.

That's how I know he's still with me.

That's all.

Why, Oh Iowa?

The last week of August, Sam, Spencer and myself decided to go to Iowa to visit our friend Dora, getting to stop in at the Iowa State Fair and Iowa City along the way. When the trip was approaching, none of my other friends believed me that I was actually going to Iowa. Little do they know- and in fact, little did I know- how amazing of a trip it would be. Here are the images from the vacation, although I will say, about half way through I decided to stop taking so many photos so that I could better enjoy myself.

We had just played a show in Brooklyn, and so here, Spencer is driving back to his apartment in Harlem to get ready. We didn't officially hit the road until after midnight.

If this is how tired I looked before the trip, you can only imagine how I looked after taking the first driving shift, over 7 hours from New York through Pennsylvania. For some reason, I was obsessed with driving into the sunrise, which I did, and it was beautiful. I only stopped for gas, and didn't pull over until I started to fall asleep and thought that the trees were turning into dinosaurs. Luckily the punk mixes I had made on my iPod helped my long crawl across Interstate 80.

Sam took the wheel next.

I was alive! Took a victory photo, yellow teeth and all.

Spencer lounged in the back.

This was pretty much the sight for 18 hours. Lots and lots of corn.

American flag sightings became entertainment for our fragile minds.

The people of Iowa did not personally welcome us, but it was an inviting gesture nonetheless.

The Novak residence! This is where we would spend the next three days.

Spencer and I shacked up in Dora's little sisters room.

We immediately tried on her collection of Chinese/cowboy themed hats.

We wasted no time and drove off to the Iowa State Fair, which I truly believe everyone should visit at least once in their lives. The food is lacking in any nutritional value, but it is goddamn delicious. Here, one family sold snacks like chocolate covered bacon from their front lawn.

This guy had a bottle of whiskey "disguised" in a Poland Spring bottle, and asked for donations as children got to pet his snake. I know that sounds very wrong, but I assure you, it was very innocent.

Dora's little sis was not afraid to use the snake as a scarf.

Headed over to the petting zoo. Put Dora's sister on a camel.

Dora looks on.

Sam is a friend to the animals.

It quickly became a heavy petting zoo.

The world's first two headed goat! Not really.

Spencer got to feed this majestic forrest animal.

The fairground. I got to see people, tee shirts, tattoos and sights that I will never get to see again at another location. The best people-watching spot in the world is the Iowa State Fair.

Apparantly, Tone Loc played a few nights earlier.

My first snack of the night: Corn Dog. I also ended up trying deep-fried Snickers, fried pickles, and about a half gallon of beer.

Kum and Go is a convenience store in Iowa. They are having a contest to name their newest 32 Oz. Guzzler cup, which I vote should be named, "The 32 Oz. Kum Guzzler."

Sam and Dora shared a snack.

Spencer having a Turkey Leg. I tried it, it wasn't my favorite.

We went for a ride on the skyline, which was so fun because you got to people watch all the folks coming across you, as well as bird's eye people watch!

We all got progressively wasted and wandered around the fair until late in the evening.

The next day, the entire family invited us out onto their boat in the lake.

Paul Novak takes the picnic supplies out to his extremely beautiful boat.

These fish would swim up to the dock. I tried to catch them with my bare hands, but to no avail.

Spencer worked on his tan.

I felt so wealthy to be with such a good group of people and in such a gorgeous setting.

We all started doing flips and stuff off the boat, which is a favorite pastime of mine. Eventually, I let Dora's little sister fake punch me off the side of the boat where I would fly back into the water. Only the second time I did it I separated my shoulder for the second time. I can assure you, there is no worse place to be than the water when your shoulder comes out of place. You have to tread water in an immense amount of pain. I managed to not only swim back to the boat, but to pull myself up and pop my shoulder back into place. No problem! But that ended the swimming for the rest of the vacation.

Later that night, Dora, Sam, Spencer, Dora's older sister, and myself spent the night drinking liberally and lighting off fireworks out of our bare hands. After a bottle rocket mishap, I had to quickly check that I had all five digits on my right hand. Then we lit off some more fireworks until Dora's sister's friends showed up and invited us out to "The Lumberyard: Where real men go to get wood."

Now I had never been to a strip club before, so I told the fellas that I wanted the girls to be gnarly, preferably with black eyes, fake everything and a severe limp. They told me that wouldn't be a problem. Truth be told, the girls were actually pretty decent, and one of them asked if I was single (over the bass of songs from Nickelback and West Coast rap, I thought she asked if I was seal).

Shortly afterwards, a meth-tweaked stripper took the stage. The audience (of about 12 people, not bad for a Sunday night,) went absolutely bananas when tweaker strutted over to Dora's sister, removed her top, and started sucking on our best friend's ta-tas in front of everyone. I didn't know whether to laugh or to look down at my shoelaces. Then the tweaker tried to pull a repeat on Dora, but she wasn't having it.

The tweaker was getting pretty frustrated, and eventually Sam started pulling Dora away from the stage. I went off to piss, but when I returned, I was greeted by re several 300 something pound bouncers looking over me telling me they have to talk to me. I was awfully confused as to what I could have done, but then the situation got explained that they simply had the wrong guy and that both the girl and her boyfriend had left the club. That was the end of Dora and Sam at the Lumberyard.

Spencer and I were far from through, and continued to enjoy the fruits of these fine dancers' labor. The night concluded by drinking (yes, even more drinks) at Dora's sister's friends house, which we were escorted to in a refurnished ambulance.

The next morning, I prepared for a second outing on the boat, still thinking about the previous night's insanity.

We had another delicious picnic, and then spent the remainder of the afternoon driving around Des Moines eating at drive through restaurants and laughing at the scenery. I went to a Wal Mart for the first time, people watched some more, and tried to hold one of the rifles in the gun section. The man behind the counter told me I wasn't taking anything seriously and that he was a cop for over 30 years. I told him that both of my dads were cops.

We took a mandatory cornfield photo.

It was kind of corny.

That night, the three of us plus Dora went to her friend Jon's place in Iowa City. What a neat little place to live! We got wasted, played the board game Life, and watched Pawn Stars. Spencer and I even got to stagger around town and buy late night pizza and obliterate a discarded television set. We concluded the evening by putting all of our coins on the train tracks. The next morning, they were totally warped! So cool.

We woke up, went to Which Wich, a very creative sandwich place, and then went to visit Mayim at the hospital. I am happy to say that Mayim is now out of the hospital recovering. We did so much during the four days, but our last stop to see Mayim had to be my absolute favorite. She is the coolest girl in the entire world, not to mention drop dead gorgeous. We played yet another round of Life in her presence, which she won by a landslide. I mean, can there be a more obvious metaphor to insert here?

I didn't want to leave her for a split second, and I certainly didn't want to leave Iowa, but it was getting late in the afternoon on Tuesday, and I had school early Thursday morning. The open road was calling us back East.

The Iowa sunset, shortly after a pit stop at the world's largest Truck Station.

Sam started the drive off back towards New York. On the home, I acquired over 200 dollars in driving related fines. I had a sore shoulder that was separated. I was riddled with bug bites. I risked serious heart failure from eating so much fried food and drinking so much alcohol. It was all in all the most worthwhile trip I've ever taken. Good friends, good times, and Mayim. What else do you need in life? I'm actually planning out my trip back to Iowa to see Mayim, and although this will have been an extremely difficult vacation to top, I'm expecting this journey to be even better.

Thank you to the Novak family, Jon Waters, Andrea, and all of our other friends we met along the trip. Those four days will stick with me for the rest of my life. Be well!

My Letter to Eric

A fair warning: this is not a feel-good post, so do not read if you aren't looking for tragedy.

On Monday, the 2nd of August, I got a phone call from one of my best friends, Jason Sherman, saying that his brother (and one of my best friend's) Eric would be refusing treatment for his leukemia. If you've ever wondered what it might feel like if someone removed a thread of your life force from your body, that just crushed the breath straight out of your chest, I'm sure it felt something like that phone call.

Two days later, I was granted permission to see Eric in his hospital room, the two of us essentially knowing that we were saying goodbye to each other. It was also, as it turned out, the last day Eric would be able to hold logical conversation and speech as the painkillers took their effect throughout his body. On that day, I got to tell Eric how much he meant to me through a letter I had written the night before. I feel like it wouldn't be right if I didn't let others know how much he meant to me. That is why I am going to post the letter that I read aloud to Eric that afternoon. It is as follows:

8/3/10

10:45pm

Dear Eric,

The first time we met was at Taylor Sakaratt's place. I even remember the night before we met: my mom had locked my board in the trunk of her BMW because I refused to stop wearing-what else? my infamous Batman painters hat. I almost didn't make it to that session that beautiful Saturday afternoon (I believe it was in April). Luckily, I managed to smooth things over with my mom and got my board. Thank God I did because that afternoon, I met you.

Taylor and I played S-K-A-T-E while we waited for his "dope friend from the village," to show up. He introduced me to you, an afro-wielding skater from Massachusetts with an infectious laugh and a genuinely friendly and welcoming personality. I haven't really seen that in any person I've met in the city since (barring, of course, Corey and Jason); as I write this now, it only makes perfect sense that you aren't from New York!

The three of us skated all across downtown and midtown that afternoon, and I remember being supremely impressed by the amount of pop you had with all of your tricks (perhaps it was hidden inside your 'fro). As Taylor and Corey swore and smoked and talked to the "moldy bitches," as they preferred to be called, you just skated and laughed. That's how I knew you were totally different from the rest of the skateboard scene in New York City, as little as I knew about it then. I'm sure we ate Wendy's that afternoon, where we traded laughs and numbers and found out about our common interests.

You know what happened next: friendships can change and alter and for one reason or another, I fell out of contact with Taylor, Corey, Mark, Kevin, and the rest of the Moldy crew. But I never fell out with you. We remained friends and, even if we couldn't skate, we would just hang out at your place. My friendship with you opened the door for so many other relationships and friendships like your brothers, your folks, your grandparents (your family became my second family), as well as Damon, Calder, Nabi, Esteban, and so many others. If in life, you can pick your battles and you can pick your friends, I know I made the best decision in having you be my best friend.

I remember sitting in my room on a disgustingly humid summer afternoon the day I got the phone call from Jason. I wouldn't wish that pain on my worst enemies. I came out to visit you and I was so happy to find that despite a terrible situation, you were the same old Eric. There was less hair of course, but your spirit was unscathed. I'm so happy that we got in those bits of skate sessions and birthday barbecues and the like. As messed up as it is, tragedy often brings people and family together, and we all worked as a family to raise you up. That's how much we all love you, Eric. You are everyone's son. You are everyone's brother. You are everyone's best friend.

At about the halfway mark into my senior year of high school, I was forced to make "a decision" about where I was going to attend college, if you can even call it that. For me it was a no-brainer: New York all the way. Even if CUNY Baruch lacked the traditional college experience everyone raves about, it made no difference to me. I would have my Brooklyn Banks, my Fed-Ex buildings, my pyramid ledges... I'd have my friends like you and Jason. What I was "giving up" in keg stands and frat parties (totally overrated in my opinion) I was more than making up for in real, worthwhile friendships and experiences. I might have ended up a finance major in Michigan, or an accounting major in Florida, or a law student out West, but I am a writing major in New York, Eric, because of you. All of the times you and I have shared together since we were in high school, whether we were skating or just goofing around, gave me ideas and thoughts that needed- that still need- to be translated out to written words. And they will be.

Without you- or perhaps without snatching my board out of mom's BMW- I would not end up in Jersey City. I wouldn't be working (happily) at a hair salon writing freelance journalism on the side. I wouldn't be meeting the people I'm meeting (and that includes the women too). I wouldn't be developing the person that I am developing. I'd have eyes that would have seen far-different things, and I swear the things they'd have seen would not have been as remarkable and extraordinary as the things they have indeed captured. And that is thanks to you.

Eric: You are the pivotal reason I am me and will always be me, and as abstract as that may sound, I know there are others who understand exactly what I mean. It bares repeating: thank God I got my board out of my mom's BMW, the fraction of a spark, the infinitesimal catalyst that would make us friends and would change my life.

With certainty, friendship is one of those bizarre, beautiful things that is forever. It cannot be stopped, nor can it expire by the strict and unyielding time restraints of life. Friendship is undying. No matter the situation or circumstance, our friendship will always remain, and the light of our greatest, most fun and thrilling times will always outshine life's darkest moments, helping to guide us. In some sense, we ourselves become eternal through the lives of others. And you will always be here and be incredible through me and through others.

Thank you for everything you've ever done for me, which is so much more than anyone can comprehend. Thank you for every word you ever said to me, for never a harsh word was uttered by you. For encouraging everyone to take it easy and to be themselves; as you perfectly said it, "You should never have to explain yourself to anyone." Thank you for always having my back, and for always doing the right thing by friends. Thank you for being you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you!

I love you.

Now and forever your best friend,

Dave.

And then I kissed him on his bald head.

That night, I saw the Chameleons UK play, one of my all time favorite bands. OK, so it was just Mark Burgess singing with a backup band, but it was still absolutely incredible. See that? That's me. I was as close to Mark as I could be without being on the stage. I was so moved by the performance that I got Mark's words from the song "Second Skin" tattooed onto my ribs. I found that I could relate it to my situation with my friend, and so the two hours of pain I underwent is a tribute to Eric. The words read:

I realize a miracle is due

I dedicate this melody to you

But is this the stuff dreams

are made of?

If this is the stuff dreams

are made of

No wonder I feel like I'm

Floating on air

Eric passed away the following Sunday and was burried (with a massive service attendance) on Tuesday. As horrible as it is to say goodbye to a friend, I am so honored that I got to spend part of my life with such an incredible person. And I know how lucky I am that I got to say goodbye to him.

He is here with me and anyone who ever knew him.

Shine on, Ricky.

My Summer

Hello All,

I realize that I haven't posted a whole lot this summer. In fact I barely posted at all. My summer was, to be honest, not that great. I turned 21 (see below), I worked a crummy job at 101.9 in the promotions department, I got to see a few good shows (including the Dwarves, The Booze, and the Biters), I played a bunch more fun shows, my best friend died, I got a few more tattoos and I went to Iowa (and hung out with my fiancee, Mayim). Then I started school again.

That's pretty much it.

I am now going to post some of what went down over the past few weeks/months.

-Dave.