last winter, amanda & i vowed not to hibernate & not to have a bad winter. we had the best winter ever. of course, i was swept up in the intoxication of a new love, which helped a lot.
what will this winter bring? i’m pretty nervous about 2010. even-numbered years tend to be bad. & 2009 was super-great, for the most part, which makes me think that i’m just gonna be punished again. there was this woman who won’t talk to me now but who taught me so much, and one thing she said to me, perched on the lid of the toilet in my old apartment in brooklyn, was: “not all happiness is punishable. you have to remember that.” & oh, i am trying. but i’m scared. because i know better.
i got some good zines in the mail over these past few days & i’m almost done with my latest zine. yay! it’s a split with a friend of mine in prison. i know what yinz are thinking — “prisoner zines suck”, “who is this weirdo?” etc, etc. but it actually came out really good, i think. and i’m excited to unleash it on the world. this dude and i used to be really tight. i’m significantly less enthused about him than i used to be. it’s okay, though, because we made a good zine & that’s enough.
so. last night i was watching channel 11 news, mostly cuz it’s hilarious & shit, and while watching it i learned that a client at work had died. she was 80. she was hit by a truck while carrying some beer to her house. she was a very decrepit, frail old woman, who would hobble in on the third of every month to pay us $200 on her son’s legal bills.
her son is in prison. he got into a fight with someone over a parking space, called him “the n-word,” and then the guy came in his house to kick his ass & he shot him. just in the leg, the guy didn’t die, but police held him at a standoff as he hid in the house & huffed glue. i wasn’t working here when his case was active, but i heard he was a real dumbass. my boss discharged him due to non-cooperation & he lost his trial & now he’s in prison. i had to write him a letter telling him that his mother is dead. that’s the first time i’ve ever done that; it’s also the first time i found out that someone i know died via the evening news.
it’s just sad. the whole situation. all the shitty lives in this neighborhood. working here has given me this strange insight into my neighbors’ lives that i wouldn’t have any other way. if i didn’t work here i might think that this place was something else, something else entirely.
so. it’s official. after nine years of rabid urban bicycling i’m too scared to ride my bike.
i don’t know what brought this on. nothing brought it on. everything brought it on. i haven’t ridden for nearly a week, but today i had to, because i’m working in oakland, at my stupid job that i hate that i got a year ago today & was so so happy about. there’s no reliable, convenient public transit from where i live to where i work. there is public transit but it would take roughly an hour to go about three miles. so i said fuck it. because i believe in facing my fears. in not letting fear win. i made it about 6 blocks, to 47th & butler, before a school bus came up from behind me, roaring, tons & tons & tons of indifferent metal. nothing that hasn’t happened thousands of times before.
but this time i wasn’t brave enough. so i pulled over to the side of the road. i knew i wasn’t just going to let it pass and keep on going. i pulled onto the sidewalk & stepped off, shaking. i’m not brave enough anymore.
so i walked here, to the library. up & up the hill, looking to all the pedestrians like some stupid weak girl who couldn’t make it up the hill on a bike, like i have to push it. i know i can do it, physically, but i can’t, mentally. it took every ounce of strength & composure i may have left to not just throw my fucking bike to the floor and weep, right there.
so is this it? do i give myself up to the cruel mistress of public transit? do i give up on the idea that i can get places when i want to go to them, on my schedule. do i ignore the voice inside of me saying “don’t do it, you’ll get killed” and then get killed because i want to do what i want when i want to? is that worth dying for? once i would have said, inarguably, yes. yes it is. now i’m not so certain.
& the worst part is, i don’t know when i’m being intuitive & when i’m just being crazy. when i’m saving my life vs. when i’m ruining it. they look & feel & sound the same.
*the cold
*endlessly getting soaked
*unsafely riding my bike without my glasses because they’re so covered in droplets as to be un-useable
*cold toilet seats
*spending all my money on heating billz yet still being cold all the fucking time.
yet, it’s here. it’s SEPTEMBER. boo! well, i haven’t turned on my furnace yet and i’d like to wait at least another month. i turned it on halfway through october last year but that’s only because i got sick.
travelling last week has made me want to go everywhere. i’ve got a few schemes hatching, but realistically, they probably won’t go anywhere. i want to go places.
got a letter from prison from a felon whom i am close with–a dude from a wealthy supportive family. he traveled the world on his parents’ dime before he was locked up. now he’s in prison & has been for years, for crimes that were 100% his choice to commit–not things he was forced into, as so many people behind bars are. and when he sends me a letter complaining about how he’s stuck in america forever because he’s a felon & most countries don’t allow amerikan felons to visit, i just get angry. i’m not behind bars but i’m not free either. none of us are. i’ve never really left amerika and i hardly even leave pittsburgh and obviously i am not gonna send a letter into prison about how oppressed and un-free i am but i don’t know, it just really pissed me off.
i heard my boss talking shit on me this morning so now i’m on strike. not officially, of course, just in a passive-aggressive way, because as tempting as it was to charge in and yell, “oh yeah? well FUCK YOU” and storm out, i can’t do that.
so i’m still here. thinking about disgusting orange jell-o desserts, about portland oregon, about zines, about people i know who used to be exciting and who are now boring. i’m taking a slide into the boring side of life, myself, and am shocked at how…pleasant it is. WTF? i don’t want to lose my grip on the world or on life. but i am tired of fighting, at the same time. pretty much everyone i know who has gotten boring is just tired of fighting. and i can hardly blame them, even though i miss their old selves.
i really really want to finish the first draft of my nov before the year is up. i need to write about 40 more pages. i’m not inspired at all. but i’ve decided to sit down with it an hour per day, monday through friday. it’s like homework. i was never any good at doing homework. still, it needs to be done. i have things to say that need to get out there & it’s not gonna happen unless i get some real work done. do i have anything else to say? i started this novel in the summer of 2006, that sweaty hopeless summer in philly. it was four pages, written mainly to piss off my girlfriend-at-the-time (it was a cautionary tale about an out-of-control compost pile!) and now it’s about 180 pages. and i just have to keep on going. finishing things is hard, but if i don’t finish then all this work will have been for nothing. i’m tired of that.
hello. i’ve had a lot to say but not a lot of time or internet access to write it in. i went on a strange midwestern roadtrip two weeks ago & then last week was the g-20 summit in pittsburgh. i didn’t actively protest but i did attend some protests, just to witness this strange moment in pgh history. it was nice to see people out and about; nice to see some new blood; nice to see some old friends.
it wasn’t nice to see the former love of my life running towards the riot cops looking totally crazed. realizing that she was here, in pittsburgh, and didn’t even try to say hi. i don’t know if she saw me, but it was heartbreaking. utterly heartbreaking, but i won’t bore you with the particulars. at least i could comfort myself with the fact that her hair looks completely and genuinely horrible. small comfort, but sometimes it helps.
i’m in the empty office. i want to be at home writing for my book or my zine. but i’m here because our particular corner of the country is experiencing crazy-high winds and the siding blew off my office. well, half of it did, and the other half is flapping in the breeze. i’m waiting for my boss’ handyman to come in. i’m waiting for a lot of things.
something funny happened while i was biking to work today. out of the corner of my eye i noticed two 30-something guys. one had climbed up the side of the beam holding up the porch, and the other one was helping him down. i glanced at them, was amused, and rolled on my way. as i passed them a little, i overheard the following convo:
ridiculous lawrenceville man #1 [scornfully & loudly]: man! you did all that and that biker lady didn’t even LOOK!
ridiculous lawrenceville man #2: how could you not look? that shit was so cool! what the hell?
this made me laugh and i continued on to work happy (until my tupperware malfunctioned and i spilled the delicious curried-zucchini-potatoes-and-chickpeas lunch i’d packed all over my bike & the sidewalk, in front of this annoying guy from the bank. BOO!!!
but speaking of bikes, OMG. i seriously had the worst bike shop experience of my whole life at iron city bikes this week! i normally don’t go there, but it’s really close to job #2. i heard a rumor that my bottom bracket was fucked up, so i dropped it off for an overhaul. it was bad enough that when i dropped it off, the obnoxious dude working the counter implied that i was stupid enough to ride around with my brakes totally disengaged (“uh, you do know that your back brakes aren’t even on, right?” “that’s because i had to take the wheels off to fit it in his car!” “uh, you do know that your front brakes aren’t even on…?” DUH. like i am just gonna bop around with NO FUCKING BRAKES. grrrrrrr).
but then when i went to pick it up, i found that the front derailleur had come loose in the fixin’ process and was pushing my chain into hateful first gear and not smooth, easy second gear. i was like “sigh” because i REALLY didn’t want to bring it back and deal with more dudeliness. but it worked when i brought it there, however imperfectly, and didn’t work anymore. so i gritted my teeth and went back in. i calmly explained what was wrong and asked if they could fix it. and the manager fucking yelled at me! he literally yelled, “i don’t know WHO agreed to fix this bike! there is so much shit wrong with this bike! it’s a safety hazard! i can’t believe you ride this thing!” etc etc. i seriously wanted to cry. i have issues with men yelling at me, but i said, in a firm unwavering voice. “look. this worked when i brought it in and it doesn’t work anymore. can we please just fix it so i can get home?” he knelt down to look at it and was making hyperventilating noises like he was about to start crying himself. IT WAS SO WEIRD.
but i guess the story ends happily, because they took off my offending derailleur (which hasn’t worked since 2002) and now my bike works so well! i zip around the city like a dream. now i understand why i was having so much trouble getting up the hill, why i was so exhausted after biking everywhere. it wasn’t my fault! it was the fault of a shitty bottom bracket that should have been replaced years ago, as well as the derailleur rubbing against my chain. and now that i’m free of both those things i feel so free.
but seriously, fuck a bunch of those bike assholes. i am so tired of being treated like an idiot every time i go to a bike shop. i’m not an idiot. i’ve been a commuter biker for 9 years now. i know how to fix a flat, adjust my brakes, etc. and what REALLY pisses me off is that EVERY TIME i go in to a bike shop with a dude, it’s always a dude who knows less about bikes than i do and rides less than i do, but they are ALWAYS treated with more respect. they are listened to, things are explained to them, they aren’t rudely cut off or yelled at or condescended to. it makes me so angry i could just scream. i wish i was handy enough to fix all my own shit and never have to give my money to someone who is such a blatant asshole to me ever again, but my hands are tied, as are the hands of any woman who drives a car or rides a bike. it’s fucked up.
dudes: if you’re in a bike shop with a lady (or someone who’s perceived as a lady) and you catch the mechanic treating them like an asshole, you can call them on it. really, you can. just a simple “hey, she knows what she’s talking about” can do wonders. i remember once, about 7 years ago, i was at home on long island and i was telling my dad about something that had gone wrong with my bike. he said, “oooooookay,” like i was being ridiculous, chuckled condescendingly, and gave my brother (who does not know a damn thing about bikes) a sidelong glance like i was being crazy. my brother snapped, “you should listen to ocean. she knows a lot about bikes,” and my dad’s face fell. it was an awesome moment of sibling solidarity. and you know what? my dad never questioned my ability to fix my bike again. that’s all it took. (and geez, it’s my dad! my dad is always saying that i’m smarter than him, but even he couldn’t be nice about this one fucking thing.)
so please. dudes and people who are perceived as dudes: bike shop solidarity. we need it. mechanics: yelling at people for not having a perfectly maintained bike does not accomplish anything. being condescending to women does not make yr dick bigger. and being a fucking asshole serves no one. the end.
Filed under: destroy that tape loop, ne'er-do-wells, pittsburgh, wingnuts, work
…and any advice would be appreciated. it’s irrelevant whether you’re a friend or just a stranger who’s stumbled across this blog. i realize it’s not the kind of situation most people would have dealt with, but you never know.
so, for those of you who don’t know, i work at a small, eccentric law firm. i was out of the office buying candy for my boss (as he’s a do-whatever-the-hell-i-want senior citizen, he subsists largely on boxes of good & plenty). when i came back, the office felt strangely tense, and i heard my boss say to the law clerk, “ask [ocean] what she thinks! she’ll know what to do?”
so i went into the conference room and asked what was up. “tim _______ called. he’s thinking of committing suicide. i think it’s a great idea!” he said, casually. tim is this client of ours. with his twin brother, we’ve represented them in their father’s estate.
tim is in his late 30’s, mentally ill, physically ill, on disability, very few social skillz, no known friends, no known lovers, no hobbies. both of his parents, who cared for him his whole life, are dead. he has nobody except his twin brother, who he argues with endlessly. he hears voices. he thinks everyone is out to get him. he’s been institutionalized countless times, to no avail.
so, tim is coming in next week to chat about suicide with my boss, who seems to think the whole thing is rather amusing. he’s got a pretty caustic sense of humor, so i don’t know if he’s just saying that behind closed doors. (adding to the complicatedness of this situation, one of our other clients DID kill himself 2 weeks ago–the son of one of my boss’ close friends. i was the one who had to break the news to him.) i don’t know if he will be more sympathetic when this client is actually in the office. i sure hope so.
but somehow i feel like this is gonna fall on me, because i’m the only one in the office with a shred of fucking empathy. how do i convince this man not to kill himself? is that even a good idea, if he truly feels like he has nothing to live for? i have talked people out of killing themselves before, but they were people i loved deeply, who had other stuff going for them. i don’t love this man, although i do find him mildly amusing & endearing in a strange way. but seriously, seriously, what do i do?
and hardly slept last night but i want to post anyway. because i’m so angry about the fact that a man who hates women randomly shot up a fitness club around here. do any of you non-pittsburghers even know that that happened? did it make the news at all?
why did my dad call me to see if i was okay when those three cops were killed? (yeah, the cops were killed about a mile from my home, and this gym is pretty far away– it isn’t even technically in pittsburgh, but he doesn’t know that) but not now–i mean, i’m a woman. blatant misogyny like this is a threat TO MY LIFE, it’s a threat to the lives of all women. but oh, who cares? nobody’s going to throw a benefit concert for the families of these three women, even though one was a single mother with a fifteen-year-old son. they threw a benefit concert for the families of those cops, even though the pension for an officer killed in the line of duty is HUGE. but women getting murdered is just business as usual.
so fucked up. i could go on and on, but hopefully most of you understand the full ramifications of this and i don’t have to explain. adding insult to injury, the articles about these women in memoriam all go on and on and on about their bright smiles, their consideration for others, their subservience. when surely, surely, they did something else with their lives besides fucking smile. but who’ll remember now?
Filed under: destroy that tape loop, ne'er-do-wells, pittsburgh, wingnuts, work
okay, before i forget, i want to start this off with the funniest personal ad i’ve seen in a while. it was culled from “out”, not the glossy mag but the pittsburgh gay bar rag. i actually tore it out & tried to scan it in but it, being newsprint, scanned terribly so i’ll just have to re-type:
“preferred tall, blue-eyed, dark-haired, but open, submissive, accomodating white males seeking erotic discipline relationship. and, keyboard players seeking unique lounge act. call (412) xxx-xxxx”
if that’s up anyone’s particular alley, call me and i will supply the number! ha ha ha. people are so strange and interesting sometimes.
anyway. this weekend was weird. after a month or two or a year of manic activity i flipped the calendar to august, nothing written down save sheena’s birthday and “check on garlic” (i have garlic drying in my kitchen). so, i celebrated by sleeping a lot. in a slow motion daze all weekend, which i haven’t snapped out of yet.
ray & i went to the needle exchange in oakland (no, he’s not an IV drug user, he needs syringes for a medical purpose) and it was a really strange and unexpected experience. i’ve been to a lot of odd places in my life but never a needle exchange. there was a man working there with the strangest hair i’ve ever seen–a pregnant junkie asked him if it was “a clown toupee” but he grabbed it and pulled on it hard. “nope! it’s my hair!” he said, cheerfully.
when we approached the building ray said that it looked scary and spooky. i thought he was being silly. but while i was waiting around for ray i asked a worker if they had a bathroom. “we do, but you’re not going to like it,” she warned me. she then led me to a solitary confinement cell. “sorry,” she said, “this used to be a juvenile hall….” it’s weird, considering all the thousands of hours i’ve spent doing solidarity work with prisoners, i’ve never been inside a real jail cell. i couldn’t go into this one. i touched the door handle and shuddered. “i’ll just hold it,” i told her.
i spent the rest of the waiting around time looking at the cinderblocks and feeling the weight of all the lives ruined in this building. i am not sensitive to ghosts but i felt them. i felt all the tears shed and all the misery. nothing could bring me back to my safe present–not book ‘em, not dinner, not a warm bath, not hot buttsex. i strained some muscles at the front of my thigh during the latter and i think some harsh memories were stored there because after that i was just completely dead to the world, just mired in this deep deep sadness that had nothing to do with my present reality.
today at work, my boss asked the young law clerk if he’d found our former client, who we haven’t heard from in a year or so. “i thought he was dead!” young law clerk said. “i have no reason to believe he is dead,” (note: he has been insisting this man is dead for about 2 months) my boss replied. “he’s just….morose. like [ocean] gets sometimes. or like how i get sometimes. he’s morose. he doesn’t want to talk to anyone. we just have to find him, that’s all. he’s out there, somewhere.”
it’s been a while since i’ve had one of those moments looking at the site, where someone sends in something you didn’t write, but could have. i am at the office, feeling kind of jarred. i’m pretty cool with most of my secrets. i don’t have any secrets, really. but you know when you have a secret and don’t even know it and someone reveals it? whoa. it’s quite an indescribable feeling.
i have more going on in my life. but the internet has finally released its vise-like grip on my attention. it feels great. i’ve been doing a lot of writing, but probably not the kind of writing you’d expect. thus, no time, no time for blogs. but living, lots and lots of time for that.
