dirty duck water

(working at) The bar is a place where flippancy is valued.  Gotta have tough skin cuz it's gonna get intense and weird.  Can't easily stand up for equality and respect when an idiot calls an inappropriate joke across the bar.  Water off a duck's back, right?  But what else is that water carrying with it?  (how is that flippancy carrying over and affecting my personal life and virtue?)

One of my finest moments...

Although it may seem like a stupid, “meat-head” reaction, a few weeks ago, I believe I had one of my finest moments.

            I was at the Royal Blood concert at Union Transfer with Kim.  We were on the standing room floor, but towards the back, on the side.  It was an ‘all ages’ show and she didn’t think there would be a mosh pit for a Royal Blood concert, but I bet her otherwise.  Sure enough, there was definitely a pretty intense mosh pit up front, but we felt safe and comfortable about 20ft behind it, watching the show with other passive fans.  Suddenly and unexpectedly, the crowd from our right surged against us!  The five closest people around me and I struggled to regain our balance.  It seemed like somehow the mosh pit had moved back and shoved us laterally somehow.  But when it happened again just a few moments later, I looked to the right to inspect.  What I saw was that our fairly docile neighbors were being pushed around by one, probably drunk, guy purposely stumbling back and forth.  It seemed like this guy was enjoying taking advantage of the back area, and seeing how much he could bully these people not intending on moshing.  After the 2^nd crowd surge against us, I recognized the situation and moved my feet towards him as he ‘stumbled’ back towards to right side of the crowd.  He had at this point, cleared an area of about 10ft. in the middle of the floor.  The right side of the crowd, for possibly the 3^rd time, struggled to regain their balance against the unwanted agitation.  I moved into the open space, my toes, calves, knees, hips, shoulders, and arms stacked, and ready for this asshole to start terrorizing the crowd towards me again.  He took 2 and a half steps in my direction and I let my muscles twitch.  The guy had about 40lbs and 4inches on me, but he wasn’t expecting my strong and direct hit, and I caught him unaware, putting a well-anticipated check into his chest and shoulders.  If I had gone just a little bit harder, I probably could’ve put his feet in the air, but I admittedly did not want to start a fist-fight and pulled up a little bit at the last second.  My hit connected just fine though, and I popped him good.  I stood him up and he was shocked at the hit.  It moved his body backwards about 3 feet.  I was scared of the space between us now, and immediately tried to sign with my palms pumping downward, “cool the fuck down, man”.  But before the guy could react any which way, another guy from the crowd jumped between us, facing the asshole, and backed my warnings.  He got in the guys face and told him to stop or get the fuck out.  It was like the crowd was waiting for someone to step up to this guy, and as soon as I made the first move against him, people stepped in to fill in that uncertain space.  My adrenaline was spiked, but I calmly walked back to my spot next to Kim. 

            The funny part is that there was a young Asian couple where I had been standing, looking at me like I was the assailant.  When I walked back and tried to get next to Kim, my date, they looked scared.  I couldn’t explain the situation over the roar of the music, and it also looked like Kim was oblivious to the entire situation.  I tried to explain it to her and them in between songs and after the show, but apparently I was the only one near me who saw the whole thing through!  No one came up to me afterwards saying, “hey, thanks for stepping up to that jerk pushing around the crowd”, but I left with such an accomplished feeling of bravery and justice served. 

Racist Braille reading

 I’ve been volunteering at a Philadelphia center for the blind and visually impaired for the past few months.  I’ve been regularly meeting with the same blind woman to transcribe written articles to Braille.  I read the written copy of an article out loud while she follows on her Braille copy to make sure they’re perfectly lined up before the copy is ready to mass-print for the nation-wide copy that the center distributes.  After 10minutes or so, we’ll switch: she’ll read out loud from her Braille copy while I follow along on my written copy and make sure we’re in sync.  We chit-chat a bit sometimes- it’s not all business!  While I’ve felt my time there isn’t used in the most efficient way, I’ve enjoyed my time spent volunteering and with my blind partner.  Today was different, however.

            I haven’t always been the most punctual volunteer, often showing up around 10-15minutes late for my 10am-12noon time slot.  “What are they gonna say though”, I figure- “I’m a volunteer.”  But, after I overslept and missed last week’s ‘shift’ entirely, I concluded that I should ‘resign’ after this week so that they may find a more accountable volunteer to fill my position.  Knowing that this would be my last shift today, I was excited but a little sentimental. 

            However, the article we were transcribing today prompted an unexpected altercation.  From inside Harpers Magazine, we were transcribing an article on the history of an American museum commemorating a multi-national socialist union revolt in the early 1900’s.  The article occasionally juxtaposed the multi-cultural revolt to modern-day Trump America.  With any mention of ‘Muslims’, ‘Trump’, ‘unions’, ‘socialism’, or even ‘equality’ and ‘social justice’, my partner would cynically snort.  After a few outbursts, she said, “I’m sorry- I don’t know if we already talked about your political views, but…  I just always hear about MUSLIMS!  It’s always about the Muslims!  I mean…”.   I waited for her to continue.  I forget exactly how she continued, but it followed along a quasi-racist(for religion?) path.  I tried to make an offhand comment to dispel her anger, but figured it was a passing sentiment and not to dig too deep.  However, a few other mentions of unions of multiple cultures mixing together prompted another sarcastic outburst and I had to engage.  She became embarrassed and insisted she wasn’t racist.  Although I just sat back and let her go on, she continued to work herself up into a Fox News-ish frenzy; angry and scared of an idea about an American country dedicated to all walks of life and not, I’d assume, just the white.  It got a little tense.  I tried to continue with the reading, but felt compelled to address her snorts when she made them at a mention of ‘social justice’ for instance.  Strange, I thought, how this relationship has devolved. 

            Anyway, I finished the shift and humorously told her to lay off the Fox News- that it’s making her angry and scared.  She laughed.  But- this was my last shift, remember!  So, in a day or two, I’ll call up the coordinator to say I’m finished volunteering there, but once my partner gets word of my ‘resignation’, I’m sure she’ll assume it was because of our last meeting’s awkwardness!  Good, I think.

First season with the Nighthawk, recap

I put the Nighthawk into storage for the winter today.  Sad day.  It was an epic season of riding though!  With about 4,800 miles put on the bike since May, I had some fun.  Here's a recap and some highlights:

Road eaten: approx. 4,800 miles

States traveled through: PA, NJ, NY

Top Speed: 111mph

Hottest temp ridden: 93degrees + sunny

Coldest temp ridden: 33degrees + 75mph = (feels like) 13degrees

Lanes changed with no-hands: 1

Destinations hit:  Longwood Gardens, Dan’s bday party in Hudson, NY, Tara’s music festival in NJ, Delessandro’s cheesesteaks, Fairmount Park, Rutgers, Rocco’s BBQs, south Philly.

Bests:  The end of the ride to Dan’s party.  Kelly Drive & MLK drive.  Coming back into the city on a warm summer night.  Feeling like Batman flying back to the city, the only one on the road in the middle of the night.  Free parking in my secret spot!(It’s not as epic as a BatCave, but I like it).

Worsts:  The night before I first picked the bike up from the shop was one of the most scared I've ever been!  People texting while driving, especially in traffic.  Traffic in general, squeezing the clutch.  Having the bike towed to the shop just to find out that the only problem was that I ran out of gas.  

"Tricks and Treats", First Person Arts story-slam, 10/25/16

Coward

I didn’t jump.  Back and forth, I walked up to the ledge of the cliff, building up my courage, talking to myself, reminding myself I’d done this jump before a few years ago and that it’s not like the water hurt; that it was just a simple mental block.  “Just one more step” I’d say after my legs and feet locked.  For about 2 hours I stood on top of that cliff while other people jumped off into the water below.  They’d climb back up the rocks over to the side and then they’d be behind me again, trying to give me words of encouragement.  “It doesn’t hurt”.  “Just don’t think about it”.  “You’ve already done it before, so you shouldn’t be scared of it now, it’s the same thing”.  And I would be inspired for the next few seconds, or maybe even few minutes; right up until my feet got to the ledge again.  I tried standing on the ledge and leaning.  I tried power walking up to it.  I tried looking out over the water rather than directly below me.  I tried distracting myself.  I tried both shaming myself and positively motivating myself.  I tried reasoning, rationing, bargaining, and pleading with myself.  I even prayed, standing up there on that rock quarry cliff.  But no matter what, I couldn’t- no- I didn’t jump.  Even when the guard came by and politely told us that we were on private property and needed to leave, I still couldn’t defiantly jump.  Tears came to my eyes as I put my t-shirt back on in defeat.  I quickly put my sunglasses on as well.

Embarrassed.  Ashamed.  I felt like a phony.  I felt like an old man, playing it safe.  Out there on the rock, I’d screamed inside my head, “It’s better to regret something you did than something you didn’t.  Don’t live like this- safely!  Don’t settle, don’t give in, don’t lay up!”  And now, walking back down the path, my friends way on ahead allowing me to be in my own thoughts, I realized that in not stepping off the cliff, I had in fact stepped towards old age.  “Don’t worry homie, you’ve already done it before so that box is checked” I was told.  But life isn’t like that, is it?  You don’t just clean your room once, or eat your vegetables once, or test yourself once.  You need to do those things every day.  Just because I had made that jump before doesn’t allow me to happily walk away from that test today.  It means somethings changed.  It means my self-preservation instinct has become stronger, I guess.  And to me, that is the equivalent of dying.  Or at least,  embodying a life not worth living.  It’s disgraceful, the 98 year-old man that can’t hear a damn thing, has snot dripping down his nose, can’t take himself to the bathroom, and would surely perish in a matter of hours if left to his own devices.  Yet we keep him alive for some reason.  Why?  At that point, why not let him walk off into the woods, or paddle down the river in a canoe.  Let nature take it’s course naturally, for he’s done living.  I was reminded of a Hemingway short story about a couple that travels to Africa to go on a lion hunt.  In the face of danger, the husband proves to be a coward, and embarrassed for both of them, the wife shoots him.  Hemingway despises the man that can’t boldly look fear in it’s face and take a step forward.  

And I can rationalize: “I drive a motorcycle.  That’s pretty fucking badass!-and I was petrified to start riding it, so it’s not like I always run away from scary things.  Hell, I ran with the bulls!”  Ahh, but all that doesn’t really matter; it’s in the past.  Today is what matters, and today I failed.  I feel like a coward.  I’m not sure I’ve felt this way before.  Sure I’ve embarrassed myself, acted dishonorably, fallen on my face, and been rejected many times.  But all of them have been a misstep of my own; an action that was not the right one for whatever reason.  Today was different.  Today I didn’t act.  I didn’t jump. I shied away.  I cowered in fear.   

'News To Me', First Person Arts story-slam, 7/26/16