I have nine days off from work.

[justjarret]

I have nine days off from work.

I told myself that I was going to do something productive during these nine days, but I know that I am not going to. This journal is going to be about me completely wasting my nine days off, which is cool because the mere act of writing the journal is helping to fulfill that goal. That’s poetry, bitches.

Day 1: 1/1/05

I am in serious pain. I hurt all over. This is for two reasons.

1) My job is hard.
Being a waiter is a physically strenuous job, and of all the places I’ve ever worked, my current restaurant is particularly exhausting. In addition to extra carrying of crap, there are four extra floors to carry shit up and down to. Also, the holidays make December one of the busiest times to work, so each day there is less downtime and more running around and carrying heavy shit. I like it though. 3 years ago, when I came home from one of my first days of waiting tables, physically exhausted and carrying $50 in cash, I felt like I had actually done something, like I had worked. I never got that feeling from a 9-5, and it is one of the reasons I hated working a 9-5.
I am more tired now though, because for the past five days I have done nothing but work and run around like a crazy person. I usually work about 6 shifts at my job, spread out over 7 days. This week I had to pick up shifts from people who were out of town for the holidays. I worked 7 shifts over 5 days. That means I worked every day, and two of those days I worked a double. This is just having come from 3 weeks of already working like crazy, running around town shopping for the holidays, and trying to move.
My schedule has kept me from sleeping and eating. My back started hurting after my second shift. By the 5th shift my legs were starting to give. Today, my muscles are soar all over my body and it hurts when I walk. My feet hurt. My legs hurt. My arms hurt.

2) Yesterday was New Years, and I hurt myself.
I have a problem with stress, apparently. Last week I went to a funeral in the middle of crazy holiday business, and when it was all over I got so drunk that I was legally blind. I do this sometimes. I’m pretty good at dealing with personal adversity, but when it is all over I hurt myself with booze. Last night I worked a double at the restaurant. I got out around 1am, at which point I was full of champagne. I drank a triple espresso so I would have the energy to go out and have a good time on New Years. It was New Years and I wanted to go balls out, despite being so tired that I was falling asleep on my feet. So 3 espressos it is!
I should mention that one espresso gives me terrible stomach pain.
I went to the UCB party first, as the other parties I knew of involved going to Brooklyn or waiting for other restaurant friends to get out of work. The espresso was doing its job. I was having a good time chatting it up with some good people. I’m sure I did some stupid shit. I tend to do that a lot, even when I’m sober. After about an hour I realized that I had walked back and forth from the front of the theater to the chill out room 3 times, and that meant it was time to leave.
I got on the phone to find out where the next stop was. East Village. Getting a cab on New Years is not nearly as easy as becoming a doctor. I just started walking. Bear in mind that I had just spent 55 hours on my feet this week, and now I was walking across town.
When I got the to the second bar, I walked around trying to find my friends. It was exactly the kind of bar I hated. Loud, crowded and stupid. When I finally located my friends I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Also, there were only 3 kids I knew there, and I thought there would be like 7. I went to the bar for a tequila.
Before I could get my drink I saw a face I recognized.
“Why do I know you?” I shouted.
“Kenyon.” The gentleman responded. Kenyon is a college. It is where I went to college.
“Holy shit. Are there other Kenyon people here?”
This guy then points next to him. I recognize his friend immediately. Gary. We knew each other. We didn’t particularly like each other in college, and now I liked him even less.
“Holy shit. I want to fight Gary.” I shouted.
“We’re hanging out with some fucking hot-ass chicks.” He responded, tangentially.
“What if I poke him? Do you think that would annoy him and he’d want to fight me?”
“I don’t know where the girls went to, but they just left.”
“Poke. Poke. Poke. Fuck you Gary! Fuck you! Fight me!” Gary did not turn around through any of this.
“I think the girls might be Kenyon as well.”
“I don’t care. I want to fight this asshole. This will make my New Years. I would rather fight Gary right now then have sex with a hot girl.” This was completely true.
“The girls were from Kenyon too. Class of ’98.”
This seemed as good of a point to leave for my drink as any.
“Okay, I’ll look for them, but tell Gary that I want to fight him.”
I went to the bar for my tequila. The bartender had to grab me and ask me what I wanted. He put the shot in front of me. I smelled it and realized I didn’t want it. I also didn’t want to be in this bar anymore. I also didn’t want to be in my work shoes anymore. Despite my caffeine regimen, I was all out of steam. I was exhausted beyond repair. I decided to leave. I didn’t finish my drink. I didn’t say goodbye.
I had to take the train home because there were still no cabs. I passed out on the train. When it got to my stop, I seriously considered just staying on the train because it would take too much effort to get up and walk home.

When I woke up today, it was only after 4 hours of sleep, but my stomach hurt so badly that I couldn’t go back to bed. So I got up. I’d had so little sleep that my eyes hurt. I tried to watch television but it annoyed me. I had to stop watching TV to take a shower because I smelled like death from work the night before and it was making me even more nauseous.

Nauseous, achy, tired, soar, and hung over. Day 1.

I am moving tomorrow, so I need to pack. I need to call the utilities and tell them to cancel service. I need to schedule doctor’s appointments. And I need a nap.

Update: I just spent 30 minutes on the couch debating how I was going to eat today. In that amount of time, I could have easily walked to and returned from any number of shops or restaurants.

Update: Cable, gas, and electric are all cancelled, though I have to drop off the cable box and modem at a Time Warner office or something. My room is full of a ton of crap that I don’t know what to do with: my old comforter, the bag that my new comforter came in, the box for my ipod, a broken VCR, etc. What if I need this crap one day?

As this is my last day living at this apartment, I feel justified in having not left it. The apartment and I were having quality time. We watched “Buffy” together, just like when I first moved in. Tomorrow I’m going to have to move all my vital shit to the new apartment in Queens, then have an improv meeting. Perhaps I will get to read some comic books or catch Asscat, which I haven’t had a chance to see in years.

 

[justjarret]

Day 2.

Day 2: 1/2/05

I got up bright and early to go pick up the U-haul that was going to carry all of my crap to the new apartment in Queens. The decision to move to Queens was a really difficult one. My old apartment was fantastic and really worked out well for me, but my landlord was very unreliable. I spent 90% of the time in the apartment trying to get vital shit fixed, but the other 10% was golden, especially when my roommate wasn’t there. The decision to move essentially meant I wouldn’t have to find a new roommate, I wouldn’t have to deal with my landlord, and I would get to keep an extra $200 a month. Sweet.

I forgot what a pain in the ass it is to move though. I have been fighting my pack rat-ish tendencies since I moved here, but my last place was so large that I managed to accumulate a stupid amount of stuff. I spent a good part of this month throwing crap away, but as I was soon to realize, I had hours and hours left of work to do.

My friend Bill came by to help me move. The plan for today was to move all the stuff I couldn’t lift by myself, and anything I might really need. This filled 90% of the 14 foot U-haul van.

When I called U-haul to rent the van, I asked about prices.

“Lets start with the smallest one.”
“The smallest we have is an 8 foot van for $19.95”
“Okay, I might need larger then that.”
“Our next largest is a 10 foot truck for $19.95”
“It’s the same price?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that might work, what else do you have?”
“Our next largest is a 14 foot truck for $19.95”
“Wait a second. All of your trucks up to 14 feet are $19.95?”
“Yes.” She said, as though it made perfect sense to her.
“I guess I’ll take the big one then.”

It’s not my fault, but I was exceptionally under-prepared for the move. This wasn’t my fault mind you. I had been working pretty much non-stop all month. Regardless, 90% of the move consisted of me spazzing out in the apartment, trying to figure out what to move next. It was a successful first run, though I still had a considerable amount of crap left in my room. The truck was very poorly organized, and I spent the entire 30 minute drive there worrying about the state my possessions would arrive in whilst going 15 miles per hour. When I arrived though (thanks to the impeccable driving directions of Matt “Oracle” Pack), everything was nearly perfect.

New roommate Anthony jumped out at me from my room half naked and brandishing a rather threatening Swiffer.
“Ah!” I shouted.
“I just cleaned your room!” replied Anthony, who then proceeded to put on some clothes and help Bill and I empty the truck. It took way less time then it did to load, due in part to the extra help. I should say that my brother was available to help me move. He just chose not to. I hate my brother.

I jetted back to the U-haul to return the truck, which was very satisfying since I had to be so careful on the way over. I probably did a little damage to the truck’s internal mechanisms, but oh well! My stupid brother picked me up and drove me to the train so that, sweaty and unshaven, I could attend a meeting with fellow improvisers Dave Warth and Michael Gauss.
It had been a year since our team’s current inception, and it was time for a state of the union. We all pretty much agreed to work harder and do better work, and I was chastised for being so hard on myself, and by proxy the group as a whole. I love improv meetings!

I ran back to Queens to shower and change, then ran back out to Brooklyn to buy my friend Bill dinner as thanks for helping me move. Bill and I were joined by our awesome friends Brooke and Simba at Grimaldi’s in Brooklyn for awesome pizza, after which we had awesome ice cream, and then saw the awesome movie “Sideways.” Then I got lost trying to get back to my new apartment, and my 30 minute commute was a really not awesome 2 hours. All in all though, it was a crazy fun day. Unfortunately, not any of my other 7 days off would be half as awesome.

 

[justjarret]

Day 3.

Day 3: 1/3/05

This is a perfect example of why I hate my brother. I really needed to finish moving the stuff out of my old apartment. My old roommate (his girlfriend) and I are required to be out of the apartment by tomorrow, so I have gotten up bright and early today to finish moving the rest of my stuff before my brother needs the car to help his girlfriend move. Because of my stupid commute the night before I had gotten very little sleep, but I managed to drag myself out of bed anyways. Just as I was getting to the train I got a phone call from my brother.

“What’s going on Jason?”
“Hey man, what’s up?”
“I’m coming to get the car like I told you I was yesterday.”
“Okay. Yeah. Um. Hey. Listen. We just got a call from the movers, and they told use they’re coming by early so you can’t use the car at all today.”

Lets not talk about how much this fucks up my day just yet. This doesn’t sound like my brother’s fault, right? Wrong. This always happens with my brother. It’s Murphy’s law, only for my stupid brother. If something can inconvenience Jarret, it will. Also, my brother found out about this schedule change 4 hours earlier, during which time I could have made my run and left before the movers got there.

Okay, now we can talk about how much it fucked up my day. I needed to get some important stuff from the apartment that I now couldn’t get. For example, now, I had to wait until tomorrow to take my stomach medication. Also, it means that I would have to spend all day Tuesday moving, so I couldn’t run other important errands, like doctor’s appointments that I had already made. It also means that the huge pile of crap in the new living room would not be organized until later in the week.

Fuck.

I went back to the new apartment and tried in vain to get stuff done, but there was just nothing I could do without the rest of my crap. Instead, I got cleaned up and went out to the city in the late afternoon to indulge in my hobby.

My hobby is visiting a certain chain bookstore and reading comic books. It could be the most relaxing and awesome thing a human being can do. I only started reading comics this year, and if you chose the right ones, they can bring tears to your eyes. There is so much going on, different character’s lives, different relationships, tragic flaws, and some seriously beautiful writing and art. There have been times that “Ultimate Spiderman”, “Ultimate X-Men”, “The Watchmen”, “Cerebus”, “Fables”, and “The Last Man” have nearly made me cry, not to mention the amazing depth and beauty of contemporary Bruce Wayne/Batman stories. There is something about the power that the characters in these books have that really highlights their humanity. Even bad books like “The Death Of Superman” have some wonderful, albeit accidental depth. Ask me what to read and I happily tell you.

It is also a free hobby. I have easily read over $800 worth of comics without having purchased one.

I left the store early so I could meet a friend for dinner. I have recently become reacquainted with an old high school friend named Keith. Keith has a spark for knowledge that is truly inspiring, and he is a legitimate genius. He had one of those majors in college that makes no sense to me. “Cognitive Computer Legislation in the Myth of Contemporary American Oligarchies.” Something like that. We met up for sushi and ended up killing a few bottles of sake, then went out for crepes and coffee. It was a great meal with some wonderful conversation. Plus, we saw Maggie Gyllenhaal at the crepe place, and she is really pretty. If you are reading this Maggie Gyllenhaal, I will totally date you.

We parted and I went to School Night at the UCB, where I had this conversation with a fellow improviser.

“Have you seen “The Machinist?”
“No, but I heard it wasn’t that good. The only thing is that Christian Bale gets himself down to a freakish 125 pounds.”

And then I remembered that I weigh 125 pounds.

 

[justjarret]

Day 4.

Day 4: 1/4/05

I got back from School Night pretty late the night before, so it was another painfully early morning to finish moving my shit. I took the train out to Brooklyn to get the car, which was an hour and fifteen minute ride.

This is a perfect example of why I hate my brother. The day before, after he made my life exceptionally harder, I told him that I would have to have the car all day today so that I could finish moving in time. He said, “Okay”, only he said it in a way that made me really want to punch him. When I got to his place to get the car today we had this conversation.

“Here to get the car?”
“Yeah. I’m going to be moving my stuff all day, like I told you yesterday.”
“Okay. Yeah. Um. Hey. So, when can I get the car back?”
“I don’t know. Tomorrow?”
“Okay. It’s just, we left some stuff at the old apartment that we have to move today.”
“So, what you are telling me is that, even though I told you I would need the car all day, you assumed you could get the car back at some point to finish moving your stuff out of my old apartment.”
“I didn’t think you meant all DAY!”

It’s amazing to me. This means I have to find time in my hectic, all-day move that was my brother’s fault, to get my brother back the car. And forget about him coming to get it, it would only be acceptable for me to deliver it to him. No hour and fifteen minute commute for him. Okay, fine. Cross that bridge when I come to it.

I went to my old apartment and decided to make breakfast there. Sort of an official goodbye to the place. And then I started to move.

The entire move took three trips back and forth from Queens. It started when I left Queens at 8am, and took me an extra hour and a half to get back due to insane traffic on the BQE. I started the second trip around 2pm and got back around 6pm. The last leg of the trip I didn’t finish until 9pm. This means that I had been moving for over 10 hours. By the end of it I really didn’t care what state my crap was in. I had 13 plastic grocery bags packed stupidly with things like glasses and bowls full of change.

I decided to throw out an old chair and some other stuff, so I tied up the crap and put them outside on the curb with the old chair. I had just had a rather emotional goodbye to my apartment, and was all set to depart when a really large and angry black man started violently pounding on my window.

“You garbage! You garbage! You put on you side!”

What the fuck are you talking about?!

He then proceeded to take the garbage and chair that were in front of my apartment and throw them into the street violently. I was too tired to deal with this. I just drove away. I’m sure it worked out well in the end.

I got home and showered all of the move out of my body and put on some clean clothes. It felt awesome. I then called my brother to say I was going to get him, at which point he asked if I could make it later so he could finish watching “The Amazing Race”. Matt Pack, all dolled up and ready to go out to the city, told me he was swinging by Kevin Hines’ house right before. I offered to drive him over, and then to drive them both into the city. To me, this meant I would be late getting my brother the car, and for once, he would be inconvenienced by his own nonsense. Sweet.

Matt Pack was tired and hilarious. He admitted to getting “punchy” when he was tired, which explains all the references to amputee prostitutes he was making. The ride over was delightful and informative (thanks Kevin Hines!).

Me: My brother didn’t even help me move.
Matt: Kevin Hines helped me move.
Kevin: It’s true. I did.
Me: That’s funny, because in all my short stories, Kevin Hines is my brother.
Matt: Kevin Hines is the subject of all of erotic literature.
Kevin: You’re gonna want to take the upper roadway now, but on your way back you should take the lower.
Me: When you say the subject of your erotic literature, you mean that he’s like, the theme right? He isn’t any of the characters.
Matt: No, he’s the theme. The other theme is “change over time”.
Me: That’s nice.
Kevin: Now that I know you have a car, I think we can step up our friendship.

After I dropped these two off I went into Brooklyn to get my brother, who then dropped me off in the city at Pizzeria Uno so I could get dinner.

I used to be an employee of Pizzeria Uno. I was there for just over two years, during which time the restaurant became a sort of second home to me. It was a pretty amazing and singular experience, which was unfortunately also wrought with deception and pettiness. It’s been almost a year since I stopped working there, and I have friends who got there before I did, that work there to this day. These are the friend’s I was visiting tonight.

Val was on the floor, so she gave me plenty of free beer and introduced me to her manager, who was really cool. He didn’t even charge me full price for my burger. When the bill came, what should have been over $25 was less then $4. I was soon joined by two other Unos friends, which meant a delightful hour of eating and drinking with wonderful people. When Val finished her shift, we all went to a bar where another Unos alumnus was bartending, so we got lots of free beer there as well. I made a decision to not stay out too late. However, after the stress of the rushed move, I felt it necessary to get crazy drunk again. I should stop doing that.

There is something weird about waiting tables, especially at a crappy place. You develop a bond with your fellow waiters after busy nights akin to people who have been to war together. It is probably this loyalty that gets you all the beer you can drink when you go to visit them at their restaurants. It is also why I passed out on the platform and missed the first E train back to Queens. Fuck.

 

[justjarret]

Day 5

Day 5: 1/5/05

Something I do that is weird is I’ll think about what I’m doing when I’m doing it, as though I’m describing it to people. It's a little bit like cooking yourself breakfast, but then narrating your breakfast in your mind as though you were on a cooking show. “You want to salt the beans before you add them to the salad, just for a little extra flavor.” For example, when I woke up this morning I had a little bit of a hangover from the night previous, so at the start of the day I thought this to myself a few times:

“Oh man, I’ve got a little baby hangover. Or…as I like to call it, a Bangover!”

I told this to a friend of mine at work, and now we always announce our “bangovers” to each other. I’m lame.

I got up relatively early today. A friend of mine works at a popular computer company and can get me a little discount on certain products. We were supposed to go have lunch and get me some material today, but he had to bail on account of being weeded with work. I made myself breakfast and tried to arrange things in my room. Despite my roommates telling me countless times that they don’t care about the mess I’ve made in the living room, I am still trying to take care of it as quickly as possible. A little progress was made, but very, very little.

I also took today to buy groceries, which I think is a vital step in the moving process. When I got back it was around 5pm, and it was time to start thinking about what to do with the evening. I had a few options on the table, but it was only five days into my break and I had already seen 80% of my friends. It was a little late to go out and get stuff for the apartment, unless I rushed. I could go see an improv show, or go read at the bookstore again.

Then I spoke to my mom, and she told me we were having a storm today.

I decided to try and make the most of my evening at home. I have an exceptionally old computer with a lot of writing on it that I would like to rescue. It is so old that it first ran on Windows 3.0, and it wasn’t until college that I upgraded to Windows 95, which it currently uses. I’ve managed to get some stuff off, but it was a slow and arduous process. I had the idea to connect my old PC with my new Mac using an Ethernet cable, which I borrowed from naked new roommate Matt Pack, but it didn’t work at all. Naked Matt Pack called up potentially naked Terry Jinn, who informed me that I needed a hub or “special” Ethernet cable for this task, and even then it might not work. The easiest solution would be for me to get a CD burner for my old computer. Oh well, at least I killed an hour and a half.

It was pretty late at this point, so I made myself dinner. I have one meal that I make that is so awesome I would actually give it to others to eat. It is a Curried Mexican Taco Salad and it takes about 45 minutes to make, but it is well worth the wait. I ate and watched TV downstairs, promptly passing out just as “The Drew Carey Show” was ending. It was a very comfortable end to the evening, but I was upset that I didn’t get more cleaning done.

Also, I am a little bit neurotic, so when I am not out having fun I am usually worrying about whether or not I am lame. Tonight was one of those nights, but the worry was compounded by my recent move. Because it was such a hard decision to make, I am constantly second guessing my choice to move, and tonight, with my room in utter disarray and no real plans, I started to stress about whether it was a good idea at all. Clearly all of my problems are the fault of the move! If I was back in my old apartment I would have lots of stuff to do, and their would be no mess to deal with at all.

Lucky for me, I was pretty tired and got to sleep before these thoughts could really bother me. “Go to sleep, Jarret. You need it. Tomorrow is another day, but tonight, you’ve got a bangover to nurse.”

 

[justjarret]

Day 6.

Day 6: 1/6/05

The new apartment has two light switches in the bathroom. One of these switches turns on the lights, and one does nothing. I always forget which is which. I believe that new roommate Anthony is switching the fuses just to fuck with me.

I felt well rested, so I showered, shaved, and made my way into the city. My brother had agreed to meet me at Union Square at noon to trade off the car again. I was going to need it to give my friend back his electric piano, plus, it will be sweet to not have to worry about taking the train home tonight after Cagematch NYC. This did mean though, that I was forced to have another interaction with my brother, which would most assuredly piss me off somehow.

I got to Union Square early so I could write a little bit at the Virgin Megastore Café. At 11:45am I got this call from my brother.

“Hey. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just writing.”
“Cool. Where are you?”
“I’m in Union Square, where we said we’d meet in 15 minutes.”
“You said you would call!”
I did not say this.
“Why would I call you when we already had a time and a place to meet?”
“I said to call me today to make sure that you were going to be there at noon.”
“But I already SAID that I was going to be here, so I’m here. That’s what people who aren’t total idiots do.”
“Well, I’m still at home.”
Oh. My. God.
“Well, when can you get here?”
“I don’t know. I need to shower and stuff.”

The commute to Union Square from my brother’s place takes about 20 minutes. An hour later my brother called me up to say he was just coming over the bridge. I planned the day to leave me plenty of time to meet my friend for lunch in Soho. Now I was going to be late.

I jumped in the car when my brother finally showed up, and only drove off after he made absolutely certain that he could have the car back the next day. I can’t describe how annoying that is.

I made it to Soho just in time. Gary had purchased said computer product for me, so we were off to have a leisurely lunch at a hip, friendly diner.

Gary is an awesome guy for a number of reasons, but my favorite reason is his history. He had a bit of a wild streak as a young man, which I frequently forget when I’m looking at this late 30’s computer wiz with the wife and the amazing apartment in Chelsea. At one point in Gary’s life, he was regularly forced to play piano for a bar in order to cover his tab. When I first met Gary I was on a little tear of my own, so his anecdotes were not only hilarious, but offered a refreshing perspective. Aside from that, he is just fun, so lunch was great.

I drove back to Queens with the booty and ran into my room to install it. I was an idiot and accidentally got into a fight with the people at tech support, but after 5 minutes of frustration and freak out, I was up and running.

I was in the middle of straightening out the living room when new roommate Anthony came home. He was on his cell phone and offered me a friendly wave, which was immediately followed by returning to the call with winged fervor. I’ve never heard such harsh and violent political oratory, especially from Anthony, who I had regarded as a fairly chill individual. I learned later that he was talking to his mother, and that it was all good.

I drove into the city early to buy some odds and ends from Bed, Bath and Beyond! I then read at the book store until Cagematch NYC.

I love Cagematch. I can’t really explain it, but there is something different in the work that goes on at Cagematch that I just can’t get enough of. Teams that I love either take it to another level of fun or totally bail for no discernable reason. On occasion, underdog teams have done work that left me gaping mouthed. Perhaps I love Cagematch because it was a factor in my early improv development. My first Cagematch was in the replacement theater in Chinatown. Returning champions Respecto were deftly defeated by notorious Cagematch favorite, Mother. It remains one of my favorite shows. Whatever the reason, I try not to miss, and haven’t in a long time.

Tonight the current champion, Pat Baer, went up against Moe-B, and walked away with his third win by the narrow margin of one vote. Half way during Pat’s set, I noticed that my old high school friend Keith had shown up with a couple of girls. During the interim I went up to say hi. Keith turned to the girl at his right.

“Do you remember this girl?”

It took me a second, but I eventually recognized her as another high school alumnus, Dani. She was three years our younger but very eccentric in high school, which gained her admittance to our group of older friends. A few months later, though, it annoyed the shit out of me and I decided not to talk to her ever again. Dani really grew into her looks, and the eyes that once housed an awkward and psychotic gawk were now replaced with an almost haunting depth. Also, after talking to her for a few minutes it became clear that she had matured much since I had seen her last.

The three of us, joined by a mutual friend with no sense of smell, went over to Mcmanus for post-Cagematch NYC libations. The four of chatted for a bit, joined sporadically by the random NYC improviser, which only added to the merriment. It ended up being a relatively early evening, but one that was rife with charm and delight, and I only got a little bit lost driving back to Queens.

 

[justjarret]

Day 7.

Day 7: 1/7/05

My friend Bill lent me his electric piano when I first moved to New York. That was in 2001. It has lived underneath my couch in four different apartments. I’ve taken it out occasionally, but mainly it just collected dust. Since his girlfriend has moved in with him, Bill asked for the piano back. I was happy to oblige.

I got to hang around in the morning before driving to Bill’s place. I first posted the journal the day before and didn’t realize how much enjoyment I would get from it. I write all the time, but my writing is seldom seen. I was actually a little giddy about it, and spent a fair amount of Friday morning happily writing and re-writing entries.

Bill lives with his girlfriend on 42nd street, one block away from the UN. He pays something ridiculous for it, like $400 a month, and now that it is two people it’s only like $200. Bill came down to get the piano, then jumped in my car so we could get a late lunch. Bill seemed a little disconnected. I asked him if everything was alright, and he said it was, but it actually really wasn’t.

Bill used to work for a restaurant that he really hated. Towards the end of his time there, they were scheduling him for 10 hour breakfast shifts where he would barely make $40. This is in addition to his evening shifts, auditioning, performing, and taking care of his girlfriend. He went away for thanksgiving and when he came back he discovered that he had 5 of these breakfast shifts. He worked one and then quit. He just stopped going.

At the beginning of his unemployment Bill was great. He was hanging out, and really happy with all the sudden free time he had. Unfortunately, being out of work can really get to you. I finally recognized that disaffected look in Bill’s tired face. I wore that look for a few months in 2001. I have friend's who've had it since they moved here 3 years ago. He needed to get a job again.

Bill and I had lunch at this restaurant near 60th and Lexington. I tried my best to cheer him up, but there was only so much I could do. He was the worst kind of tired: the kind that is caused by having nothing to do. Our waitress was so attractive it was STUPID, but it barely even dented his malaise. I went a few blocks down to get my allergy shot, and when I was done I drove Bill home to meet his girlfriend.

Seriously, she was one of the hottest waitresses I’ve ever seen.

After deciphering insanely stupid directions, I traded the car once again with my brother. This is stupid for a second reason, and that being that I needed the car again the next morning. My brother decided he needed the car that night, even though it meant picking me up at 10am the next day. I am 90% sure that he didn’t even use it.

I met Bill and Brooke for dinner at Veselka in the east village. I usually enjoy getting together with these two, but the mood was not positive. In addition to Bill’s funk, Brooke was also exhausted from rehearsing a musical. They pretty much fought the entire meal, which I found very tiresome. My favorite of all the fights:

“What was that look for?”
“I didn’t look at you.”
“Whatever.”

That’s brilliant, guys. That’s Pinter.

We parted early and I ran into a random college friend on the street. She had just gotten back from Rwanda and was on her way to get some pot on the upper east side. They invited me to get high with them, but I declined. Trying to cheer up my friend Bill had taken its toll on me, so I took the train home and tried to get to bed early.

 

[justjarret]

Day 8

Day 8: 1/8/05

When my mom learned that I had 9 days off from my job, she insisted that I drive to PA at some point for lunch. She and my dad have discovered a mall that is the halfway point between Queens, NY and York, PA, and it was here that we were meeting today.

My brother called me up to tell me he was coming over. I showered and straightened up the living room a little bit. He was due to arrive at 10:30. He rang the doorbell at 10:40.

We quickly loaded up the car with some odds and ends that I was giving to my parents to store at their place, then made our way back to Brooklyn so I could drop my brother at his place. Something that I’ve learned about my brother is that he tends to demand kudos, even if its for something he should be doing anyways. For example…

“I’m surprised you didn’t congratulate me on being on time.”

You don’t get congratulated for being on time, because you are supposed to be on time. Why don’t you thank me for not killing hookers? I didn’t kill a single hooker in my whole life! Also, he was not on time. He was late.

“You weren’t on time. You were late.”
“You are such an ASSHOLE!” he responded.

The mall that my folks and I meet at is called “King of Prussia”. It is one of those enormous super malls that house everything you could ever need in your life. I used to be fascinated by these giant communities, but on a previous trip I noticed how many people worked there who were 50 years old and over, and now that really depress me. These could be my parents. They're supposed to be sitting pretty on their bloated investments, but instead they’re being bossed around by some 20 something assistant manager. At one section of the mall there is a visitor’s stand with a bowl of complimentary “King of Prussia” mints. The package of the mint reads, “King of Prussia: Life…and all its stores!”

I love my parents. I even like hanging out with them. I look forward to the times when I get to see them. Today though, was one of the worst lunches I have ever had.

We usually eat at California Pizza Kitchen, which I love, but I had just eaten at the one in New York, so we opted to try something different. I was 90% sure that the place was crappy by the time we sat down. I didn’t say anything, I just tried to order something simple. Our waitress was way older then my dad and it was clear that she was new to the waiting profession. She was franticly trying to manage her section and the worry showed on her time-worn face. I felt bad for her, but truth be told, she was doing a really bad job.

After 20 minutes we got an order of nachos that had a hair in it. I tried to rescue it before my obsessive-compulsive mom could see it and flip out, but to my astonishment I saw that said hair was as long as my arm and so deeply buried beneath the chips that it was impossible to free. We had to wait forever for the waitress to return so we could show her the chips, and after that we had to wait another 30 minutes before our food showed up.

I have been a waiter for over 3 years now, and in that time I have done just as bad work as this woman, which is why I got so upset when my mom started giving her attitude.

“Excuse me! We’ve been waiting for like 30 minutes for our food!”

Granted, my mom was right. But there is a nice way to talk to someone in a service position, and my mom was not doing it. The manager came over to apologize for the inconvenience and comp-ed our meal. He was younger then me.

The food, which was already sub-par, was made all the worse by my certainty that our poor waitress had spit in our food as revenge for my mom’s behavior. We walked around the mall for a little while and got coffee at the Border’s café. I tried to have fun with my folks again, but I was exhausted from feeling bad for the waitress and trying to restrain my mom’s bile. Also, I was a little pissed off. In the restaurant, I told my mom that the waitress was trying her best and not to give her such a hard time. And then my mom said the following, to her son who is a waiter: “It’s not like it’s a hard job. All she has to do is bring the food to the table.”

Around 4pm I got back in my car for NY. Due to an overturned truck in Staten Island, I didn’t arrive in Queens until well after 6pm.

I was miffed. My brother was calling me for the car back, and I’d had a terrible lunch which more then likely contained some stranger’s bodily fluids. I just wanted to go read comics. I would be happy if I could just go read some comics. I called my brother.

“How about I leave the car for you in the city?”
“No, why don’t you drop it off here in Brooklyn?”
“Can you drive me into the city after?”
“Sure. When are you coming by?”
“I don’t know. Half an hour.”
“Let’s make it an hour.”

A half hour passes and I get another call from my brother.

“Hey, what’s going on?”
“I’m leaving to pick you up.”
“Okay. Well, can we push it back another hour?”

This is seriously eating into my comic-reading time.

“Why don’t I just leave you the car in the city? I’ll leave it right near the F train.”
“Okay.”

I got to the store with enough time to read for about 45 minutes. I would have liked to spend more time reading during this break, but my schedule ended up being a little hairy. Last week while I was working, I consoled myself by imagining whole days completely wasted away, piles of books by my side and journal on my lap. Alas, it was not meant to be.

I left before the store closed so I could get down to Terry Jinn’s “The Project.” I really wanted to check out the Juvie teams, and also show my support after Terry was kind enough to teach me a little bit about networking computers. The shows were really fun, and a great group of kids had come out to watch.

After the show, I was delighted to discover a whole gaggle of improvisers on their way back to Queens. This never happened when I lived in Brooklyn. Never did I get on a train simultaneously with 10 improvisers. It was fun, although new roommate Matt Pack admitted that this had never happened to him either.

I spent most of the train ride talking to Dave Lombard. Dave coaches my team, Mysterio, and is a generally entertaining individual. The chat was delightful, and consisted mainly of recounting our experiences at funerals, as he had come in to coach us on the day I learned of a friend’s passing.

Did you know that you don’t have to obey traffic laws if you are in a funeral procession? I just learned this 3 weeks ago. When the procession arrived at the cemetery, I went to console one of my friends.

He asked me, “Did you know that we weren’t responsible for traffic laws in the processions?”
“Yeah, I did, so I punched a few policemen on the way over here.”
“I robbed a diamond store.”
“Haven’t you been planning that diamond heist for months?”
“All part of the plan.”

Lombard had some similarly awesome stories, which he can tell you if he likes.

I was off-handedly invited to have some drinks at Eric and Sean’s apartment with Kevin Hines, which I did after picking up a six-pack of Sam Adams and a gyro. It was a great fun conversation, which quickly devolved into a discussion of our favorite television shows. This doesn’t really bother me exactly, its just that I have so much fun talking about great art like “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and the early seasons of “The Simpsons”, that it almost feels like I’m cheating. Cheating, in the war against me not having fun.

I started my walk home around 3am, and was delighted to discover how short of a walk it was. It would have been even shorter, had I not been misdirected by some strangers near the Burger King.

“Is 25th Ave this way?”
“Yeah!”
It wasn’t.

 

[justjarret]

Day 9

Day 9: 1/9/05

When I got home that night I managed to stay up till at least 5am talking to my roommates and writing. I really didn’t want to go back to work on Monday. I thought that I would be bored of not working by the ninth day. On the contrary, I was just getting started. I decided I’m totally over this whole “work” thing. Around day 4 somebody asked me when I had to go back to work, and even though it was still 5 days away, the thought made me a little nauseous. This has nothing to do with my specific job. I actually like my job. It’s just that as fun as my work is, it isn’t nearly as fun as not working.

I got up late and headed out to the upper east side. Awesome friends Bill and Brooke had invited me out to brunch with an attractive girl today. I am generally uncomfortable with being even pseudo-set up, but I figured it would be no big deal.

And I was right! It was not happening between this girl and I despite her large, dark eyes. Brunch was great fun though, and afterwards we all went to see “Spanglish”, which I liked very much. After the movie we met some more mutual friends for Korean food on 32nd St. More delicious food and delightful company. Our friend’s Grace and Nar are always happy to guide us through the intricacies of Asian cuisine, regardless of the specific region. As we left, the old, Korean hostess gave me a hug, which I really don’t understand at all.

It was around 10pm when we all sat down for coffee and dessert. All at once the mood changed. It was suddenly very clear that I was going back to work soon. There were longer pauses in the conversation, and we all constantly sighed great heaves of regret for the long weekend that was quickly passing. It was over. I was going back to work. I always get a little misty towards endings. They always remind me of graduations, and have so even before I ever graduated from anything.

I went down to the UCB to catch the last half of the second show of Asscat. I generally work every Sunday night, which is actually pretty fun, but means that attending Asscat is no longer an option. This isn’t a big deal at all, as my pre-job attendance was scant at best. Still, I really wanted to hit it tonight, as it was not only my last day off, but also my last opportunity to see Asscat for quite some time.

It was delightful. All four of the UCB were there, which is always a special treat. I’m sure that anybody who loves comedy can’t really deny the appeal of a show like Asscat, where some of the funniest people in the world get together and make up funny shit on stage. It may be the closest realization to what goes on in a comedian’s brain all the time. Plus, it’s just fucking fun.

I went back to my apartment and fucked around until I passed out. The cable guy had hooked up the living room the day before, so I spent a fair amount of time playing with the DVR, which was completely new to me. What I should have done was gotten ready for work. If I had, I might not have left my apron at home, along with the lock for my locker, all my pens, my pad, all my money, and the ticket to get my work pants from the cleaners. I guess we could call it an attempt to ignore the harsh reality of the Monday that was coming up. Regardless, it made my first day back exceptionally harder.

I really didn’t want to go back to work. My nine days off were way more fun. I could do with a few more years off at least. Still, I guess you just can’t halt the march of time.