My ode to HalloweenOn a day that has been set aside to observe and idolize ghouls and ghosts, werewolves, zombies, swamp monsters, vampires and scantily clad slutty girls who couldn't think of a good costume, I would like so say "rock on." Yes, rock on you silly little toddlers, jammed into your fuzzy teddy bear, bumble bee and monkey one piece costumes that your moms all thought were so cute. Rock on you tenderly awkward pre-teen ninja-worshiping boys who have worn the same Hyabusa costume for the last four years. Rock on you bubbly little teenage mini-divas who refuse to admit that dressing up is and always will be cool. Rock on you beautiful College people in your Legs Avenue pre-packaged "sexy bunny" costumes stalking the parties for that elusive hunk in the cabaret tights and a bow tie. And rock on. Rock on you listless dorks, dweebs, nerds and dungeon masters. You brave millions who bask in the glory of the one night where your +10 attack tunic and Ogre Slaying knife actually make you cool and inte
The Snake's CityPale tides of dawn come rushing toward the Manhattan shores each morning. As I wake to the intoxicating scent of salt water and sewage, I pull the shades away from windows and shrug off the constricting warmth of blankets to greet the island head on. A rumbling snake of metal and glass trolleys me to the heart of the living mountain of concrete and iron, belching me out onto the streets. With sluggish steps, I propel myself along the sidewalk, signs and lights vying for my money and loyalty. I find my path and follow it to the great reflective womb of television's most rebellious child and give my nourishment to it's newest baby. Connecting my consciousness to the screen and moving the pixels with ease, the streets soon welcome me back, the signs and lights brighter than ever, the weary mindless servants of commerce endlessly packing by clutching their precious new belongings. I feed myself once again to the snake, and make a dash for my neighborhood. The lights are on in my house agai
The Battle For my MorningOne, two, three, come the tones. Loud, skull-filling blasts of sound that shake the very walls around me until I can find the strength to reach out and hit the alarm. Its morning again. God, it seems these mornings just keep coming. Every time I think I might get to just stay in bed and forget the world for a few days... along comes another morning to shake the covers from my shoulders and replace them with the weight of the world. It seems like the way of things though. Every break I get is abruptly interrupted by reality... sigh.
So off I go, into the air, hurling myself into the abyss hoping that the floor will come to meet me like it usually does. Yup, there it is... Who knew pre-war all wood floors could get so cold on a spring morning? I shuffle across my bedroom doorway and thats when my toes meet the wool rug in my living room. My second obstacle. If I am to make it to work and live another day the way Im supposed to, I must make it across the soft furry cares