The Post 5am Post

I'm trying to remember...

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-Peter Rinaldi

Better Living Through Absurdity

This is going to be something along the lines of a Better Living Through Absurdity Quickie. I have been remiss in my columns for the last couple of weeks due to a hectic work schedule and then also being on vacation (where I got to see my fellow contributors in PERSON!) Next week I intend to get back to things with a vengeance but I thought that the least I could do is toss you a bit of something as an apology and to tide you over till the full column appears in all it's glorious ridiculousness. So, without further ado, I present...

2 Things I Heard While At the Airport, Waiting for My Flight


1. While waiting to leave Chicago, I purchased a cup of coffee and a bagel from Starbucks, along with extra cream cheese. I sat down at my gate and proceeded to put the cream cheese on the bagel with a level of neat precision that kind of frightens me. At any rate, there I was, wholly absorbed in my task when suddenly this conversation cuts through my calming zen waves of food prep. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a couple, probably early thirties, most likely culled from the "up and coming businessperson" category ("wannabe junior executive just sounds mean) given their casual yet still name brand attire, the tans that ALMOST look real and the presence of sunglasses, large purse, a man's travel sack, laptop computers and snappy cellphones. Anyways, these two are chowing down on McDonalds...a lot of McDonalds. And in the midst of chewing on what appeared to be a double quarter pounder with cheese, the girl sighs and says, "I have to detox this week." The guy mutters something unintelligable. She continues by letting him know just what this process entails. "No liquor, no fat, no grease -just raw fruits and vegetables. I've got to get this crap out of my system. I'm going to have to buy a lot of cabbage. You know cabbage soup is what they use to detox celebrities. I love cabbage." The guy, who to my eyes looked profoundly disinterested, seemed to suddenly realize that he'd at least better ACT interested so he chokes back a bit of burger and says, "Really? Cabbage? Wow. That's cool." She continues chewing and nodding and then begins to relate how much she loves salads and salads mixed with cabbage and then she says, "I also love brussel sprouts. I steam them in chicken broth and garlic and it's sooooo tasty." At this point the guy looks up in amazement -genuine as far as I can tell and says, "Really?! In chicken broth? Instead of water?! And with garlic?!" as though this is a totally foreign concept with potentially earth-shattering possibilities. I was holding in laughter so hard that I almost pitched my bagel off my knee where it was precariously balanced. She nods sagely and launches into a speil about various foods that she likes that hey, guess what, are good for you! Like for instance, did you know that carrots make a good snack? Or that fresh fruit can make a huge difference on your diet? And that leafy greens are excellent for your system and have lots of vitamins? I'm sure if somehow you managed to miss all of that in elementary school, you'd have been as surprised as I was. I was waiting for her to tell him that milk somehow can help make your bones stronger...and then for him to smack her for being such a know-it-all little prat.

Eventually the McDonalds bag was emptied, thrown in the proper "We Recycle" bin (though I have no idea if paper soaked in grease is really recyclable) and then they set off in search of a chocolate bar and some coffee. I finally allowed myself to laugh, startling the woman across from me who had watched me most intently as I cream cheesed my bagel. I think perhaps she was trying to determine if my meticulous knifework proclaimed me to be a sociopath or worse, someone with a severe case of food OCD. I laughed even more as they walked away because somehow they missed the Starbucks which happened to be IN our gate.


2. This was just one of those random snippets that you overhear which makes you shake your head with absolute wonderment.

A man was sitting in one of the terminal chairs, taking care of some paperwork, checking a few things on his laptop and generally exuding the air of "important person with important business which is conducted on expensive and important technological gadgets" -he too was tan, though his was quite real, owing most likely to the vacation that he'd extensively described in a prior phone call. I would have listened to the whole thing a little more thoroughly except after the sentence, "So yeah we just got wasted and took the boat out" I tuned out. It amazes me how much the douchebag teenager never quite leaves even the most competent of businessmen. I hardly need to point out the serious lack of responsibility you must possess if you honestly think that taking a boat out after getting trashed, especially in a heavily-trafficked vacation spot, is a great...nay...kickASS idea. This is the same kind of jerkwad who splashed kids at the local pool...

I digress. So after the vacation call he's gone back to doing work and I've gone back to semi-reading my book. His phone rings again and he picks it up. Apparently it was one of the guys he vacationed with -some of them stayed on for an extra week I learned. He's kind of doing that muffled, mumbled type of "yes I am listening, please continue" dialogue. Then suddenly he leaps up and says, "Oh fuck -Joey got attacked by a shark?!?!! Oh fuck man, is he okay? How the fuck are you so calm about this? You just call me out of nowhere to tell me this?!" which of course makes everyone in the vicinity look up in various states of amusement, shock, horror, confusion and just plain whaaaa?!

Then his face clears and we all hear, "Ohhhh, he's over at the park. Cool." followed by a slight clearing of throat. Everyone kind of snickers and shakes their heads and returns to whatever was previously occupying them.

See, it's things like that which reinforce my love for airports.

Okay enough for now -I'm melting over here and I can actually leave work early so I think that's just what I'm going to do. More to come next week!!!

Bedbugs XXXVIII

Bedbugs XXXVIII



Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.



Hidden mental poisons threaten to creep in as soon as we’re sure of
ourselves and our rightness and our confidence- keep away from
all of us is what we want to shout back but it’s already been
released and it’s time for torrents of doubt and traveling back
to seventeen years of age. Now the phone’s ringing and
interrupting me as the solemn piano plays on in my dusty head.
Outisde the fifth floor window the necktied ants shuffle until
someone tells them to play dead. Routine for numbing each layer
consists of Monday through Friday and occasionally longer. You
can’t find wood decays faster with intention as little shadows with
teeth start breaking in. Bits of sharp metal are stuck in your life.
One prick and the rust sets in until after retirement. Painting the
room a different color still leaves you in the same place, just
delusional. Now come and see what I have for you, turn off the
TV and don’t sleep when you’re told. I don’t care how many
colors you paint to watch over me. I don’t need them or you.
Surprising her the mood lightens on the fifth hour that you keep
clean. Make plans but don’t act on them. Be subversive by being
successful. Love the right one, might want to listen to that one.
Stop playing victim or pretending you’re legend in your own little
house.


Next week’s seven phrases/groups of words:


-Perfect weather in these times
-Friendship contracted under duress
-Eye contact forbidden during his rant
-Come and keep me warm
-I’ll have a cup of your coffee
-asphyxiate aurally while holding your breath
-wasting time with a purpose


-Adam Barnick

Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story" or start your own.

Today's entry:


Window's broken..
Masked figure inside.
"HEL-"



-Adam Barnick

Start Talking: Melissa King

Every episode will have a different person sit in front of the camera as I announce their character name and a brief description of them as if they were a guest on my program via satellite, except the person has absolutely no idea who they are playing or what I am going to ask until the words come out of my mouth. At which point they have to, simply, Start TalKING.

Guest: Melissa King


-Peter Rinaldi


Check out other episodes of Start Talking -
Start Talking #1: Timmy Cassese
Start Talking#2: Jonathan Roumie

Bedbugs XXXVII

Bedbugs XXXVII


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.


As soon as she and one of us and the rest who get a chance to
do so, the 'victim act' starts up again and drains everyone around
them until the color is gone from their flesh. Knowing mechanical
emotion brought forth in spurts of implanted inspiration tries to
fool everyone tied down into thinking it's real. I don't look into my
past anymore. Too many reasons, clouds gathering upstairs and
eventually I'll have to move out. Weekends become the hiding time
and Mondays the day you spin fiction describing how your life
is the one you wanted to lead. Across hiding in the open field is
your conscience..waiting for you to stop wasting its time.
Underneath her eyes are intentions and revelations coming
out in each curve of a lip; but you can't even look at her so
you miss the point as does everyone else. Clouded heads turn
the words into something found at the bottom of a bucket.
Spill it all over a white room and call it 'art.' Some idiot somewhere
will pay you for it. I'm lucky enough to wake up again. But
give anything to turn it back seems to be the mantra, realizing
there's no way to earn a past change in one's life. March on
before the house burns down. Somewhere at the end of this
field's road is something better that's not molded from toxic
material, rounded up and they're filled with absolute joy.



Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:



-keep away from all of us
-the phone's ringing and interrupting me
-routine for numbing each layer
-wood decays faster with intention
-come and see what I have for you
-the mood lightens on the fifth
-legend in your own little house


-Adam Barnick

The Post 5am Post

MWM said tonight:

"If you never recognized the greatness of what you had when you had it, or even fully know what it was that you had, then how could it be true that 'you don't know what you have till it's gone'?"

There are only two answers to this:

1) In the "true reality" (as opposed to the reality of your consciousness) you were actually experiencing that which you had, in full appreciation, and you just didn't "know" it because your conscious mind (with all of it's filters and egos and fog) was clouding it, until, when you actually lost it, you were "shocked" out of the cloud of your "ego reality" and had a realization (albeit fleeting because the "ego reality" has to come flowing back) of the greatness of the experience, person, or thing.

2) It's not true. You'll never know.

-Peter Rinaldi

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story"or start your own.

Today's entry:


Patriot volunteered.

Fought.

Wounded; discarded.

'Next!'


-Adam

YOU DON'T MESS WITH THE ZOHAN by Frank Palmcoast

When he's not watching, with beads of sweat, his fellow, legally blind, senior citizens parallel park, Frank Palmcoast is catching seven dollar movies at the local multiplex from sunny Pompano Beach, Florida. He's retired, he's angry at the world, he can't spell to save his life, and he hates Hollywood almost as much as Hillary Clinton, but that will not stop our irreverent, dementia fightin', AARP card carrying everyman from giving us a fresh take on all things Hollyweird. Besides, how can he pass up that marvelous senior citizen discount?

**************************************************

Firstly I must say this film is a good and a bad movie. If you are a lame ass with no sense of humor, stay home. This flick is a slap stick, bathroom humored comedy with a political twist. With over 2000 years of fighting going on in the Middle East, this flick ask the question, how come we can get along in America and not in the middle East? As crude as this movie is, it's certainly better than that "Borat" piece of garbage! There were a lot of cameo by other actors and I enjoy the performances of Rob Schnieder, Shelly Berman and especially Lanie Kazan. The heart throb of Sandler, a gorgeous, outstanding looker named Emmanvelle Chiriqui was visually outstanding. Rob Schneider was a cab driving Palestinian nincompoop and Ido Mosseri as the fast talking Israeli who runs the typical, "Going Out Of Business" electronic stores that we seen for years in New York City. The bad guys aren't the Israeli's or the Palestinians but are the red necks and the white coller CEO's who are looking to displace these foreign outsiders. Believe it or not, this shameless flicks eagerness to get laughs from every possible way states that you either enjoy it or not and shamefully I found myself enjoying it most of the time. I guess there is a small part of me that loves the people who invented the whoopee cushion. This Zoran hero reminds me of Warren Beatty in "Shampoo"! The love of Pariah Carey and her feeble at temp to sing the start only, thank God, of the Star Spangled Banner, mystifies me. For me the highlight of every mans fantasy was Adam Sandlers seduction of Lainie Kazan and her nude, huge, Derriere-UGH! Sandler works as hard as Jerry Lewis ever did and all I kept thinking at the end of this picture was "bless me father for I have sinned as I laughed my ass off"!

Bedbugs XXXVI

Bedbugs XXXVI


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.



Wondering how many more voices will come out of that
speaker, breathing out sputtering static as well
as frightening slivers at what will happen in our future.
Fell down without help, and he can get up without it as well.
She's stuck here tonight, realizing that 'who takes care of us?' is
waiting with a horrid answer: No one. Settle into
a 'life' of thinking you were going to make a
difference. A full-time job of taking up space running
toward me in the hallway. Keep still and don't talk
out of turn and you'll win a new car. Shut up and
take your prescription. He paid millions to pretend
you needed it! Throwing up and back revolutions of
thought adds up to spare change and lost hope. Now
autobiographical to a degree, it can't help but
inspire. Filling out what's needed here, they remember
a sliver of sectionalized and endorsed hope. They will wake
up eventually. For now, sit back, wonder...don't
try to think straight.



Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:


-the 'victim act' starts up again
-mechanical emotion brought forth
-clouds gathering upstairs
-hiding in the open field
-underneath her eyes are
-give anything to turn it back
-they're filled with absolute joy



-Adam Barnick

Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story"or start your own.

Today's entry:


Work. Complain. Eat. Sleep.

That's it?!?




-Adam

Start Talking: Jonathan Roumie

Every episode will have a different person sit in front of the camera as I announce their character name and a brief description of them as if they were a guest on my program via satellite, except the person has absolutely no idea who they are playing or what I am going to ask until the words come out of my mouth. At which point they have to, simply, Start Talking.

Guest: Jonathan Roumie

-Peter Rinaldi


Check out other episodes of Start Talking -
Start Talking #1: Timmy Cassese

Bedbugs XXXV

Bedbugs XXXV


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.



Challenges that exacerbate rituals of fools with
everything came together in her favor despite her
best intentions, magnificent in her obsolescence.
A moment of grace is all that's needed to plunge us
through the ice. Now you've done it. My soul is
incomprehensible. Myriad kaleidoscopic lists that waste time
through cellular decay, matching the planet's.
Right beside thirty fatalities from the rooftop are a number
of black-clad celebrations, starting with the man
in the back of the room. Droning that makes glass
vibrate and consider cracking doesn't
faze me unless I let it. Pretentious easily attained as
what's special about her is drained away. Something
is crawling out of me. Will it make me famous? One piece
missing from the puzzle leaves him in the room forever.
Wondering...just let me rest.


Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:


-fell down without help
-she's stuck home tonight
-who takes care of us?
-running toward me in the hallway
-autobiographical to a degree
-filling out what's needed here
-don't try to think straight


-Adam Barnick

Better Living Through Absurdity

Part Three of the Weekend that Wouldn’t Die

“The End of the Affair”

So, where did we leave off? Ah yes, repeated rambling, lack of accountability, tact, class and coherency. The doorman was attempting to both seduce and reject me in the same sentence and I was having none of it. Black widow indeed –I don’t think jackass would make a very satisfying meal for me…

Anyways. So, I have to back up a bit in time. While we were outside having our conversation, one of the things he kept going on about was how hard it was to find a girl who wanted to talk, who wanted him for who he was inside and not for what he could get them perks-wise, or just for sex. He didn’t like feeling used and he would rather have a meaningful relationship with deep emotional attachment…yeah I didn’t buy it either.

Here’s why: I find that oftentimes, especially in regards to the “only being used for sex” or “why am I attracting unintelligent, low-brow women who can’t offer me more than plastic pillows at night?” woe is me crap, the fact is, the person is PRESENTING themselves as someone who does welcome that kind of attention. However, I made the appropriate noises of empathy and commiseration and “ain’t that a damn shame” and left it at that.

Fast forward to the bar and the 30 second wedding and divorce and into the picture enters “very drunk girl from Texas who’s engaged to be married and really in love with her fiancée but who acts like a totally debauched stripper…only sloppier." And the doorman proceeds to turn his eyes…and hands…to her. And she’s all over it –I won’t go into the excessive ass-grabbing, crotch grabbing, grinding and amount of inappropriate things said –except that I just did –but suffice to say, it wasn’t really what you’d call “discreet” –and lets just say it kind of proves my point about how someone’s behavior can give people a certain impression of them. In this case, someone acting like a man-whore means that eventually, the idea of him being only good for one or two things is going to stick –and frankly, he has no right to complain about this until and unless he does something to change it.

But I digress. So the bar is closing, the girl is drunk, the doorman is drunk and I’m sober and I’m going home…alone.

I say my goodbyes, venture outside and there’s the two of them, slightly swaying in the non-existent breeze. The doorman turns to me and says, “Okay ready to walk her home?” and I blink, the look on my face shifting between incredulity and loathing. I can’t help but recall my statement earlier in the evening that I wasn’t going to be walking anyone home anymore –I already clocked over three miles walking drunk folks to their domains –I had lost my inner good Samaritan. So I raise my eyebrow and ask, “Did you miss the whole speech about not walking anyone home anymore?” and he kind of um’s and ah’s and then says, “Well, so you don’t want to?” and I sigh and ask where she lives –turns out, she does live at the building right on the corner so I shrug and figure, what the heck, maybe I might actually prevent a mistake from occurring. We three begin to walk.

Now about this time I begin to notice that this girl is pretty off. Not just the fact that she’s drunk, but the fact that she alternates between being vacantly silly and being rather aggressive and edgy. It’s irritating but I figure I can hold out for a one-block walk. We arrive at her building and of course the “end of evening chat” commences, and I’m mentally ticking off seconds, waiting for the appropriate 3 minutes to have passed. Suddenly, they decide they’re going to go to another bar. I of course say, once again, that I’m going home. They then decide that they can’t let me walk back that block by myself –I MUST be accompanied. I’m now cringing, probably outwardly as well as inwardly. But I finally realize that the only way I’m getting back any time soon is to just let them walk me over there and then they can go their merry way. We arrive back at our original starting point.

And then…the incident occurs.

We began to have a discussion about tattoos. The girl begins showing off her various pieces, most of which are tacky little 20 minute jobs including one of the state of Texas on her ass cheek. She then proceeds to the large piece –lifting the side of her shirt up to her armpit. She shows off what appears to be the outline of a branch on her ribcage –closer inspection makes it clear that there is a lot of work remaining to be done. She then lifts her shirt over her head, revealing that she’s not wearing a bra and that it’s a tad chilly out. So she stands there, cupping her breasts and showing off this weird, black and white unfinished tattoo. She then explains that it’s apple blossoms…or dogwood blossoms…or blossoms of some kind –and it’s to be representative of family. I just kind of nod. Then she says, “This bud here represents my sister because she’s the only one not connected to the actual branch.” Now all I can think to say to that is, “Why, was she adopted?” thinking that that’s about all that makes sense to me. She shakes her head and gets an “I’m sort of possessed by an alien” look on her face.

And thus one of the most pathetically maudlin and drunken moments begins to take place.

She says in this detached, breathy voice, “No, my sister killed herself right in front of me when she was six.” Again, I’m not coming up with a lot of the wit, so I ask, “Um, how old were you?” (What?! It’s a perfectly valid question!!!) She mumbles something about being 4. I take a deep breath and try to say something relatively soothing and understanding. I manage to get out a few sentences about how that was a nice gesture and how I think it was going to look very lovely when it was all done. She seems to relax a bit after that and tells me that the bud will be done in pink and that will be the only color on the piece. She confesses that throughout certain periods of her life, it’s kind of come back to mess her up pretty bad. Which I tell her is quite understandable as well. I’m just glad that the creepiness has gone and I’m just making the appropriate sounds of sympathy. That is, until the idiot doorman decides to go for the “Witling of the Year” award.

While glancing over at him, I notice that it looks like all the booze hit him at once and he’s now visibly swaying, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a kind of glazed look in his eyes. Here’s where it gets tricky. What he MEANS to say to her is, “Wow, I can really tell that this has affected you profoundly and it's really obvious how much that incident has impacted you." What he ACTUALLY says is, “Wow, you’re not lying.” Which makes it sound as though he doubted her story. Which makes her edgy again. She gives him a short, “No, I’m not” response and goes back to furiously smoking. He repeats himself, “You’re really not lying.” Once again, she says, “No…I’m really not lying.” He’s kind of shaking his head like Stevie Wonder or James Earl Jones in Conan and muttering random things and then once more, to go for the Hat Trick of supreme stupidity, he says it again. “You’re really not lying.” At this point, she snaps.

She says, “No I’m not lying –my sister’s name was (Insert whatever first, middle and last names here because I didn’t bother to remember them) and my name is (same excuse as above) and she killed herself in front of me when she was six years old and I was four years old.”

At this point, the doorman straightens up and says, “And I’m (insert whatever name here because I’m withholding the first name and frankly I didn’t bother catching the other two) and I’m just standing there trying not to snicker.

Then he drops his militant tone and says, “I know how it is, my, my, my brother blew his brains out and, and, and…so yeah…I gotta go home.”

Then they both turn and look at me like “So what’s your story –who suicided in front of you?” I once again can’t think of anything to say except, “I once punched an old woman in the face.” (Yeah, I know, it’s kind of a non-sequiter but I had nothing else to run with!)

It would be kind of a depressing conversation if it wasn’t also so utterly ridiculous. At this point, the doorman keeps muttering, “I gotta go home, I gotta go home” which I punctuate each time he says it with, “Alone.” Finally the Ambassador for the Best Little Whorehouse/Slaughterhouse in Texas turns to him and says, “I thought we were going to another bar!” and so he kind of lurches towards her and they go off down the sidewalk, and I just kind of shake my head and laugh as they stagger into every pothole, gaping crack and planter and trip over every slightly raised portion of sidewalk.

Turns out he didn’t go to work the next day…something about a messed up ankle.

I then proceed to go home. Alone. Happily alone. Sometimes, examining one’s options are enough to remove any possible stigma, depression or loneliness that might come from going home by oneself. Absurd, but true.

Next week…a challenge from a fellow BBF’er!

Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story"or start your own.

Today's entry:


Tomorrow, my sister's an only child.





-Adam