A Lexus, some justice, a dream or some substance?

I have always been quality over quantity, and I have wise friends and advisers:

Money has no smell.

Just because something feels different or unpleasant does not mean it was a bad decision.

That’s the thing about being in a relationship: everyone now assumes you are only one half of a decision.

One of my best pals called from home. I ranted at him for twenty minutes, and he told me I’d learned a lot about myself way before turning thirty—an impressive achievement, he believed. Then he said, “One thing about myself. The Mall of America opened a Sanrio store. I got a cell phone charm of Hello Kitty wearing a Superman outfit.” You’d think they’d have the parking lot of America to go with the Mall of America, wouldn’t you?

We watch an embarrassing amount of bad music videos. However, it can prompt an exchange much like the following:
“I read a Marxist analysis of the PUSA song ‘Peaches.’”
“The Joshua Tree is the same age as my car.”

Just when I think I’m out of the woods, I flip on the tube and Gone Baby Gone or Mystic River is on. I see a local rapper for whom I once helped make a (rejected) music video, or I hear someone ask, “Wanna go to the Cantab?” All I can think is, “Yes.”

Our screaming abusive neighbors from across the hall took their two giant dogs and iguana and moved out. After slamming it so many times, the front door to their apartment will not stay closed. Unsurprising, no one has snapped up this prime piece of shiteous real estate.

Being a good human being doesn’t seem to be a guarantee in this life though. Recession times make people hostile towards the suffering of others, and I admit to being among the former group (if perhaps because I’m part of the latter too). Forgive me if I’m not more sympathetic when people whine that they’re relying on a safety net. The best people I know are quite poor and without a backup plan, thanks to a lifetime of serving what they believed to be a better god than money. But, your morals are not a pension.

Twice in one week, we purchased rotting produce from the supermarket: first mushrooms, then red peppers. We returned both with no trouble, but after the second exchange, we wondered if this wasn’t somehow related to the economic downturn. “Do you think people buy fewer vegetables so they’re molding on the shelves?” “Maybe they’re just pushing the expiration dates harder so that they don’t have to dispose of as much inventory.” You gotta stand behind your fruit.

This weekend, we are dawg sitting for Sam, our friends’ 13-year-old lab. He likes to shake my hand and runs errands with me in the rain, taking my focus off the crap weather and putting it squarely on whether or not he’s trying to lick slugs on the sidewalk. Malcolm is not quite as impressed by our guest, but there is peace among humans and animals in our home. The gnats have been committing suicide by lamp, so there’s one less species with which to coexist.

Stopping here between Gaza and the U.S., Dead Prez came – for the fortuitous first time – to our city. When M1 signed my CD, he wrote, “Power 2 U!” When I told him where I was from, he said, “I know ‘Napolis.” Stic.man and I exchanged hands on our hearts and a mouthed “thank you” as I turned to go. I always wish I could better convey my appreciation in these situations.