Snow Blogs

I should have just named this blog “Meditations on Snow” or some shit for all the snowing it’s doing outside and all the trouble it’s causing. Not really causing a lot of trouble, after all, but that shit is getting realllllll annoying.

It snowed again last night and now everything is covered and unlike last time it’s still cold today, really cold, so the snow has frozen to hard white on the sidewalks, grittier and less slippery than ice, but still hazardous. And who knows when it’s going to heat up again, so this shit will be with us a while, not like last time. Which was only a few days ago, after all.

My friend from DC came and went over the weekend. We got drunk on margaritas and car bombs and let the ice melt in glasses half full of Jameson. We talked and walked and did not write.

The bike has been giving me a lot of trouble, with it finally blowing up in my face, literally, on Friday. So the bus has been giving me even more problems.

I’m washing towels now, and we have some more people staying here from Airbnb.

I’m listening to a lot of podcasts and reading The Economist. I bought a little notebook in Brooklyn and I’ve been writing in it more factually. I haven’t written ecstatically or fluidly in a long time. Or at least a week and a half. The weeks seem long lately. And short, too. It’s almost payday again. I’m going home for Easter. So that will mean even less writing with all those people to talk to.

No sign of the scrapers today. Maybe they are dead.

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Brief Recap

Holy Christ it’s snowing again. I’ve never seen so much snow. I mean compared to Canada and Minnesota it’s nothing but I think it’s come down and then cleared away and then come down again like four times. I’m used to one big snow a year if that. This shit is crazy. Walking through the snow is a real work out too. I went all the way from GF’s bus stop to the Faneuil Square Library to get a pass for GF so I think I should get some kind of medal.

And now I’m going to work where no one will be because of all the god damned snow. I swear come spring time I better be making some real money! Of course I can’t really complain about the money I make, there’s a lot of it, there are just more debts than money.

It’s funny how just a couple years ago I would have been delighted at the thought of making what I do now on slow days, but now I’m like WTF.

I just finished reading Proust and the Squid and the beginning was way better than the middle and the end. It got really technical and stuff and I guess I was just looking for something more philosophical. Now I’m going to start reading Anxious Decades, a book I stole from the University of Delaware and then had to pay like 80 dollars for. It’s about United States history in the 1900s or 1920s or something.

I’ve been watching this movie on Netflix called Caravaggio about Caravaggio. I don’t really understand it but it seems crazy. I just watch it like twenty minutes at a time.

My family has my Netflix account password and they watch so much TV that by the time I go to look on the Recently Watched page for Caravaggio, even though I just watched it the day before, I already can’t find that shit.

Anyway I don’t understand how in the movie there is a typewriter and what looks like a calculator. I’m obviously missing something, how long has that shit been around? Certainly there were no small calculators until the 1970s or something. And I think the movie takes place in like 1650. Whatever, probably some symbolism I’m supposed to understand or figure out.

Off to work now, back in the button up.

The Scrapers Part III

The scrapers are out again. The sidewalks are clear and with temperatures going up to forty or so today the streets will run with the blood of the snow.

But the old lady is out there scraping scraping scraping.

She looked up as I passed.

“Hello,” I said. She said as much and then I asked how she was doing.

She answered, “I’ll be dead by the end of this!”

She kind of looked at me like I should help her. But I’m pretty sure that’s not even her sidewalk, and the pile she was scraping was well off to the side, pretty much a non-issue.

I laughed and said, “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for the next one!” she said.

I started moving away. “Good luck Madame!”

She didn’t reply and I walked on quickly.

Well, I guess we’re all just getting ready for the next one anyway. The only time we really live is in the middle of the next one. Or something like that.

At It Again

These two old folks are acting strange outside. They are old. They must be up to something. The woman is about seventy or eighty and short and she’s reaching to the top of a hedge of bushes with a snow shovel and scraping the snow from there. Scraping scraping, and she’s just started when an old man, about the same age, looks like he just walked off the set of a British comedy, walks out of his house purposefully. Shovel in hand. Probably ready to start scraping, I don’t know, I got the hell out of there.

Yesterday these same old folks were scraping piles of snow on the street and flattening them on the ground like they were making some kind of strange snow paella or crushing snow garlic or some shit.

They know something I don’t.

And on my way back from dropping GF at the T, a bald man in faded jeans and a spotless white button up shirt came running towards me as if in a dream. And he yelled, “Look at this!” pointing to the snow piled up on the fence next to us, “Look at this! Twenty more inches coming down tonight!” He yelled as he ran past me. Where was he going?

“Shit!” I said, just to sound agreeable. I don’t really care if it snows four feet in the next five minutes.

Then he started laughing maniacally, and I looked back, and he was looking back at me with his hands in the air. I laughed maniacally in return and hurried along. I would have hurried faster if I knew I could’ve avoided running into the octogenarian snow scrapers.

Things I’ve Seen So Far in the Blizzard

Holy shit people are crazy. So far I’ve seen a dude with a shovel that was about twenty feet long, standing on a scaffold scraping snow from his roof. And a man spent five hours scraping off his Cadillac. He was next door. Then he drove it around the block with four feet of snow on the roof of it. Now a man is crossing in front of our window on long cross country skis. Not using the poles, just walking basically, with a shovel in his backpack. People were snowblowing the sidewalks right in the midst of the blizzard, the snow just not giving a fuck covering up their trail like that sweeper thing in Alice and Wonderland. The funniest thing has been watching the two guys trying to shovel their roof. And then this guy that looked like he was going to croak right in front of his door as he tried to shovel his walk. (Young dude or I would be nicer.) People are going mad trying to clean up the snow. I’m like, fuck it, it’s the weekend, my restaurant’s closed again, I’m not opening my door! It looked way prettier before these people fucked it all up with their incessant need to clean shit up or whatever it is that drives them.

Messy Desk (Rambling and Writing Practice)

I wanted to get started on something, but I just took too long. Now GF is coming home and I guess she’ll be here in 30 minutes or so. She’s a little sick and didn’t get much sleep last night so I’ll be taking care of her. AKA sitting on the couch and watching movies with her while she eats soup.

Got this big ass thing of coffee all made up, too. Don’t know if I’ll be able to sit still.

Till she gets here I might as well spout off something.

My desk is cluttered looks like the snowstorm came through here. No damn it that’s something my mother would say. What’s the best way to describe a cluttered desk? What’s the most interesting way I could possibly do it? I was reading in The Genius in All of Us by David Shenk about how focused practice is the only practice that makes us better. People do their jobs every day but they don’t necessarily improve every day. Only by trying to go beyond what you currently do can you become better. So he said the best way to become a better writer is to do writing drills, not just write like you always do. The best way to become stronger is of course to push yourself past your limits. George Patton says the same thing in Patton’s Principals. I used to keep a card of this quote in my wallet, and now I can’t think of it exactly. Except he said something like: You have command your body to work harder than it can, that way your body will say, ‘I’d better step it up if I’m going to keep up with this crazy mind.’ Well, it was way different than that, but still pretty colloquial like that. So the best way to get better at writing is to write something you don’t want to. Or something like that. I always want to improve my writing, that way I can just write anything and it will be interesting. That’s what Jack Kerouac ended up doing. He practiced all the time until he could just write about something and it would be poetry.

Ok, then. Cluttered desk. Cluttered desk. Desk is a mess. Desk is a mess. Shit is messy. Got a mess on this desk got to put it to rest. Can’t pass a test with a cluttered desk. I must confess my desk is a mess. Can’t pass a test with a messy desk. Messy desk yes it’s blessed.

Messy desk

Can’t be blessed

Must confess

Can’t pass no test

No not unless

Messy desk

Takes a rest

Checkbooks, textbooks, a clock that isn’t plugged in. Staring past the mess out to the street, out to the windows, out to the snowy clean ness of the rest of the world, everyone’s desk is clean but mine is a mess. There are pens and scissors and ripped up letters and things written on scrap paper things that aren’t scrap paper being written on, things that I have written and then written something else on them four years later. And this desk was not a mess just a little while ago. I cleaned it up for our first AirBnB guest so it was just as clean as it could be. Now it’s got my iPod charger cord and my ripped up copy of the New Yorker that I usually keep in my bookbag. It’s got tickets to The Breakers and my little black books from last year and papers papers papers, an application for a CVS card. And this is just shit I can see from this low slung vantage point, slouching backwards in my chair with no visibility. Old mess gets plowed under and ends up on top of new mess, like water in the ocean, or dirt in a field. What’s that process by which water from the bottom of the ocean comes to the top or something like that…reduction or some shit.

I’ve got to learn some more shit.

I wanted to write a little essay about Trader Joe’s. And about biking, too. I’m thinking that I should definitely start that new blog, but I’m thinking I should plan it out better. Like the whole thing should be an actual project, instead of kind of like a therapy which is what this blog really is or should be (thanks to psmprincess for pointing that out). So basically the new blog should be wholly contrived. Which is a word with a lot of negative connotations. But what is the actual definition? Well it simply means to create or bring about by skill or artifice. That’s not so bad. The essays will come from the heart, but then go through a skillful filter of sorts. But yeah so questions come up about should there be pages, shouldn’t it be simple to follow, and how to create a larger and larger audience for that shit so one day I can sit at home watch the snow and write essays instead of being a bartender. I love being a bartender right now, but I love writing even more, and when I’m 79 I don’t want to have to go to work every day. Man I’d love to live to be 79. I always feel like I’m going to die before that, because it’s so easy to do. Anything could kill you. But that’s a different topic altogether and I’m trying to practice some writing before GF calls, which could be any second now.

The snow is no joke out there now. That shit is truly covering everything and this is one of the first times in my life that I have been able to actually see it accumulate. I don’t normally sit in front of windows for this long. It’s sticking to the trees in shrouds now, and the cars are getting fucked up, you can see their whole windows are crystallizing and shit. The snow’s coming so fast and hard that it’s like a mist out there, everything loses color, it’s all whited out the further away things are. The yellows are less yellow. It’s funny too because once the sun comes out, the complete opposite will be true. The sun will reflect off the white and make everything seem like a movie by Pixar. More true than life. Those are some story telling mother fuckers, too. God damn they know how to grip the emotions.

My hands are so dry when I use a rough cloth to polish dishes at work, I feel like I’m the one scratching the cloth instead of the other way around. I feel like I could sand down sandpaper.

Well GF just called and she’s going to want picking up soon. So I’ll have to get to figuring that shit out. I’ll try to write more later today, but I might just read so she doesn’t have to listen to the tippity tapping of these keys.

 

Holy Shit It’s Snowing Again

Readability Index: Moderately Readable

Well this is pretty crazy. I’m sitting in the office, just reading shit and writing more shit and feeling like shit…no not really I feel pretty good. But I look up and there’s snow just falling like pieces of Styrofoam…or that stuff that falls out from the sky in a nuclear winter. I don’t know but it looks great, because I have no lights on in the house and it just got dark and the flakes are shiny and it’s cold as a bitch out there and it’s warm in here. So it’s pretty sweet. It was snowing the whole time I was outside, but not this heavy, and when you’re in the thick of it you don’t have much time or attention to devote to looking at it. And even if you did it’s a completely different perspective.