The grocery store, like any other place, is full of mischief and surprises.

Case in point? My italiano and lack of brand recognition have lead me to almost buy the following over the following week:

• Vaginal cream
• Denture gum
• Baby food
• Dog food
• Hair removal cream
• Pork hooves

I was also desperately hoping, for some time now, that I could find either pumpkin pie or the ingredients to make some myself. Fate has decided, though, that I am to be left without the ingredients, tools, or a stove to do so.

...I tinkered with the idea of McGuyver-ing my gas range into an enclosure that could pass for an oven. But the last time I burned a place down it wasn't a pretty sight (fun, though).

Either way, I have a roasted bird, a bottle of fairly expensive chianti, a selection of pasta and sauce, meats and cheese, slices of turkey (seriously, you try finding the damn stuff here), and a fruit-ish dessert. A feast however you slice it, pun very much intended.

The town is quiet today, but the sounds of ambulances have been far too abundant to go without note. One of many, many things to ponder, today of all days. One of many, many thoughts that go into the many, many thanks to be given.

Happy Thanksgiving, America. I'll be home soon.

In short, a night handed to insomnia and bug chasing.

Got back around 7:30 after catching the 6:50 bus. I've spent some time on the computer, converting notes into journal entries and working on a new script, working on an old script.

The new villa I moved into is working very well, but on my way from the upstairs bedroom I spotted a huge spider on the wall, just hanging out. Nothing I could do about it, and it didn't seem very interested in doing anything, so I just hit the couch again with the laptop and the bevy of sweets I had picked up earlier between getting-lost-gelato and just-need-to-use-the-facilities-gelato. They are good, as obviously expected, though I need some coffee. It's just too sweet, it'll make me not want anything remotely containing sugar and we clearly can't have that.

About ten minutes later I look back up and spider mcgee up there is gone. Must be running amok upstairs. I'm already planning to sleep in the downstairs bedroom, so it remains of no concern to me.

The fly buzzing around is annoying and a half, however. Every once in a awhile I'm caught into a whirlwind of buzzing and flying. I get up to swat at it but swing at thin chianti air. I sit back down but an hour later I get buzzed at again.

Still can't sleep, so I get into the bedroom and lie down, try to fall asleep. Doesn't work, so I try to fall asleep to television. No dice. I'm clearly not falling asleep tonight, so I suck it up and head to the kitchen to grab some water and maybe get something done. I was planning on staying in here in Impruneta tomorrow (now meaning today) and writing. There's books I want to read but they are triple the price here than at home and it's just more for me to have to carry back to the states somehow. So I want to hammer at some scripts while I can do so next to a pool and some privacy.

On my way back from getting water, what do I spot but good 'ole spider mcgee again, this time hanging out right in the doorway to the downstairs bedroom. He could have been sitting there all night, or just gotten there recently. Either way I wasn't about to start wondering where he was roaming; I may not be falling asleep tonight but I'd like to give it my best shot tomorrow and that isn't happening with a spider doing whatever he pleases amidst my sheets. So I grab one of the birks I happen to have sitting by the door, send him on his way, and hit the sack with my water.

So let's see what happens tomorrow...at the very least I'm very interested to see what crazy adventures breakfast might throw my way again if I'm lucky.

Keep your fingers crossed.

The city is a teeming mass of smells and sounds, seemingly wishing it had more from itself, a junkie desperately pushing to OD without a fix in sight.

I walk by and listen to the sounds of ancient streets and new merchandise. 12 year olds sucking on cigarettes and McDonalds takeout. Gelateria and panini tripping over themselves, brimming with tourists and european town interpretations of fast food.

I've spent most of today low-key, lunch at a small osteria about five minutes away, then a lemon tart to take back to the room. The lack of sleep had gotten to me, so I ended up napping after lunch and into the darker hours of the day (the dredges of autumn, it seems).

My dinner was relatively uneventful, as much as lunch was. Both involved the full courses, appetizer through dessert, and both had their ups and downs. But they were satiating and completely over the top, so I have nothing but praise for the endeavors.

Here in Impruneta the lack of hustle or bustle leaves hours for pensive jaunts and quiet adventure. I take a random meditative stroll, keeping note of the gelateria that has the almost impossible to find signage designating it Artinale (or artisan), the only indicator left of a place not buying processed hoardes of gelato from a brand supplier.

A couple walks their pets; the man with his scarf and leather jacket pulling at a pomeranian, the woman baby-talking to a tiny black bunny on a bright red leash. What else can I do but smile, the sight lends itself so perfectly to one.

( Luck and a half... ) ( Getting lost in Firenze... )

There are a few things I have realized so far in my brief layover in Frankfurt:

• Internet access is expensive. Or broken.
• Sleep is hard to come by.
• Machiatti are surprisingly good.
• I feel a deep-seated need to buy German food if it contains, in any capacity, sausage.

Good sausage and lentil soup, though.

One more hour and I jump on my last plane for a week. I definitely want to putz around Munich next week, though. I'll need a hotel room for my stuff, and for barely 10 hours if that. But I have to try.

The flight from Toronto was contemplative. The three seats across the aisle were taken up by younger folks, two girls and a guy. In the aisle seat was the first girl, age 19 (so specific because she said so to the attendant). Guy was in the middle, probably his mid-twenties. The other girl was by the window, probably around my age or so. Down the plan and to my right, maybe five rows, were a woman and her mother.

I mention them because of the debacles they had been causing since Toronto. They had flown to Toronto from Chicago, as well, and sat in front of me getting there. The mother seemed hard of hearing or just very easily confused. After a few repetitions of the flight attendant asking if she was capable of opening the emergency door, she finally understood. And said 'No!' The attendant then said okay, and pointed out seats for her to take. Mother still did not understand this, so a few more repetitions, mostly by the daughter saying that they weren't asking if she COULD open the door right NOW, but if she was capable of doing so in an emergency, and she finally says 'well of course, if I have to.'

So the stage was set, you see, for plenty of possibilities. Not much happened on the way to Toronto, but after landing the two bolted ahead of me, clearly in a hurry. I have two hours, roughly, until the next takeoff, so I pace myself along the lines to make sure I don't head in the wrong direction. Silence, confusion, and being ethnic in an airport spells D-E-L-A-Y at the absolute very least.

On my way to the connecting flights lines, I head down a hallway and see the two ladies going the other way, from where we came. I don't think much of it, they're probably lost, but suddenly out steps a security guard and the words start flying.

'Ma'am' the security guard starts, 'Ma'am, you can't go back that way.'

'What?' daughter throws back.

'Ma'am you can't go back that way, you have to go back to the terminal and check in.'

'We can't do that, we have a flight.'

'I understand, Ma'am, but you cannot go back this way, you must go through to the terminal and check in.'

'We aren't going to do that, we have to catch a flight and that line is too long! Have you seen that line, it's too long! We'll be late, we can't go out that way. We have to catch our flight.'

Back and forth, back and forth. After about 30 seconds the mother and daughter just say they're doing it, security guard says she's going to call upstairs for security, and daughter says 'go ahead.'

All this as I was headed to the same terminal, same line, same wait. But I have two hours, so I'm not concerned.

…until I see the lines; just to get through customs and into the departures terminal is a HUGE wait. Mind you, I'm not positive that I'm even in the right place. I've never been to the Toronto airport before so this is completely new territory. But I press ahead, and spot some machines to the side. I'm hoping they are Air Canada checkin machines, help me check in now and shoot down the chances of me being late. But it turns out the machines are retinal scanners.

RETINAL SCANNERS. Seriously. I am a little thrown off, but in a very McGuyver mood now, so I try it out. It allegedly helps move you through a line or something, the signage didn't make a whole lot of sense, but I basically did my thing. First with glasses…no go. Then without glasses…still no go. Third time, no glasses and as still as a greek statue…still not working. Machine keeps saying the retinal image could not be captured. I think a silent 'screw it' to myself and walk back to the customs line, now longer and without me five minutes into it.

So I get to the customs agent, about twenty minutes in, and he asks me if I have my declaration form. The piece of paper that had us write up and sign on the plane over from Chicago. I filled it out and put it in my little seat pocket before we even took off.

Thing is, I left it in the seat pocket. It takes all of three minutes to fill out but the agents, bless their souls, don't have them at the desks AFTER the big line. You of course have to get out and go back to BEFORE the big lines and fill one out and come BACK. He says I can come straight back to the head of the line, but we'll try that luck out with my silence in place.

So I head back out of line, to the back, way in the back…all the way in the back. I fill out my paperwork, and find out there was a special line for connecting flights all along. I take the special line, head right to the front, and get through no worries.

Another incredibly long line, for every single person trying to hit every single connecting flight in the entire airport. A very long line. But I get through again, another twenty minutes or more, and I'm in the terminal proper. Ready to check in and go back through security again. A little trying, since Air Canada has many many many lines from which to choose, but another half an hour or so I get through and into the terminal.

I get to the gate five minutes after they've started boarding, so still plenty of time in real terms. Fifteen minutes later here they come, the two ladies in such a tizzy to make the flight.

Good times.

The best indication of a well prepared trip is, debatably, the sleep.

Insomnia aside, staying up the night before wears you out just enough for a great onboard nap, especially for those really long flights.

I spent most of the night packing an incredibly and insanely tight suitcase. Given that I’ll have access to dry cleaning and such, I could of course pack much less. But the weather seems a little back and forth down in Tuscana this week, verging between just enough to need a coat to just enough to not want a coat. Ergo, I pack thoroughly.

I had foresight enough to prep all the clothes I wanted to bring along, whether dry or wet cleaning. All in all, for a trip that was actually planned and paid for two days before takeoff, not too bad.

I did forget two items in my hate, though; my ties and my CTA card. Given that I plan to wear some vests and take the Blue Line, these items will be missed. But such is the week of silence, so we make due and go with it. Just means I have to buy a tie or two in Italy (no complaints there) and pay for train fare with cash (I lose maybe 25 cents each way?). So let’s move on.

Day One, though, has thrown me a curve ball. It’s been so long since I was on a true international flight I’ve been missing out on modern aviation. In other words, planes can be cool. The fact that I’m on a plan comfortable enough to sleep makes me want to NOT sleep: TV right in front of my face, selectable channels and movie, a curved headrest, more-than-average space…hmmm.

But these weeks are few and painfully far between. I have time and years aplenty for more trips, all full of passionate spontaneity and simple pleasures, intrigue and romance and action-packed exploring. And televisions in front of my face.

This week is purposeful. Pensive. A retreat and regroup, a getaway.

So shut me up already, I’m off to Frankfurt.


There’s a slight delay as the pilot tells us that we are delayed a few minutes because someone did not properly buckle their seat restraints. The improperly buckled seat is keeping us on the ground, you see. And the pilot is telling us this. For a five minute wait. In several languages.

…so, of course, I only wonder why I need to know this. And how it could possibly make this plane full of people feel more at ease, coupling micromanagement with letting us know there’s a scapegoat out here if we’re feeling frustrated.

Eh, oh well. Off we go.

i am feeling very dejected, let down...practically ashamed that not only is it a leap year, but that it's leap year and i forgot for the last five minutes that tomorrow isn't march 1st. leap years are the result of bad accounting and ill-advised standards of duration. i don't like them at all.

get a life, NIST. seriously, let's get past this damn tradition of laziness.

on our way downtown today we came across an older blind gentleman making his way up from the CTA subway, up and onto state street. a long pipe for a walking cane and a few layers short of totally warm clothing, he made his way humbly, never declining an offer of help.

it was as we followed alongside him at street level that he accepted my help. we helped him cross the street, over to the late-night McDonalds that i pass often enough to neglect. inside we helped him get a cup of coffee and find a seat. he said he would be fine, sitting there, and then thanked me for his help. gave me a blessing and sipped on his coffee as we walked back out to find our bus.

later, i walked and wondered. wondered whether he had a family, immediate or extended. wondered whether he ever wished he had a proper cane, one to fold up and extend easily, rather than the makeshift device he used. wondered how many others in this city and others went through their days with makeshift devices and accepting help from strangers, hopeful for a clot of minutes in the day to enjoy or even simply utilize a cup of coffeee.

later, at home, i dreamt that kleine_hexe and i still sat at some coffeeshop with the man, and that his son was there. all i can recall is being teary-eyed, nodding to another room, exchanging histories and stories and snippets of life not worth remembering in dreams or otherwise.

and i woke up. i was jolted enough that i woke up kleine_hexe, making her think i had a nightmare.

i don't know if i'd call it a nightmare. maybe it doesn't matter, really.

last night, a party was thrown. oh, and how it was thrown. like an indescribable bolt of lightning, hurled from godly fingers. or something.

the lovely and vivacious kleine_hexe had a birthday.  we threw a small (and situationally garish) surprise party for the lass last night (say THAT 17 times fast.  you can't, can you? it's okay, neither can i).

now, for the record, this is most likely the only surprise party i will throw for her. at least for a very very very long time. mostly because she's not a fan of surprise parties. or surprises in general. but chalk it up to that old adage, guiding me ever forward:

" don't knock it 'till you've tried it. "


the party began with several diversions and tactics, designed to deflect attention away from the party. this is known to magicians as 'sleight of hand.' it is also known to non-magicians, as well.

Step #1 - come up with an excuse for having to leave the house, well dressed, on party-night. solution? tell the lady that your friend is throwing his wife a lavish party. and that we are to attend, dressed to the nines.

Step #2 - invite those friends you know live in the area, and know well enough that you can be assured she  doesn't hate the sight of them. trolling through old evites and email for a week helps to create the guest list. as does calling up people and telling them to add others accordingly.

Step #3 - reserve the restaurant. also key here is that the restaurant be location-friendly, amenable to dressing up, new to her tastebuds, and able to accomodate the group. a bar helps, as well, in case the guest of honor is running late or the table is not ready on time.


so things look like they will roll along smoothly, right? not when the birthday girl gets suspicious; phone calls requiring secrecy, gift cards arriving in the mail, and an odd insistence on her attending the fake-friend's-wife party all begin to take their toll. oh man. time to think up a proper diversion. a new, DOUBLE sleight of hand. enter fake friend #2. i inform her that there is, indeed, a ruse being played upon her. a friend of hers, from out of town, wants to drop by unexpected and visit her. but this friend does not want her to know, and so asked me to keep it a secret.

oh, and the topper? I called the friend from out of town and asked for some help: "if she talks to you online, just drop some hints that you plan on seeing her soon." so, now, after talking online for a couple days i hear the question:

"are we really going to a party on saturday?" she asks. aha, i mentally resound. so i lay out the new tale, insisting that we are actually going to a party but that the next day the out-of-town friend will arrive, and she seems to have her fears put away.

perfect.

and so things went on, me gently prodding for her to attend the fake-party, her none the wiser. come party night i jump from restaurant back to the house, pick her up, and we arrive. a bevy of friends, all having arrived and waiting, greet us at the table as we enter.

not a fan of surprises, indeed. muhahahaha.

the postings are finally getting finished, so i'll keep this guy on top while i finish up all 7 days. bless the person[s] who invented the cut tag:

i have been breaking in my new hiking boots at work all week so that they'll gone unnoticed as i traipse through the west coast.

...i have been wearing hiking boots as i walk into work, slacks and shirt and sometimes a tie.


me.


hiking boots. with slacks.


me. the guy that wants to shake young men who walk out of their houses wearing black shoes and a brown belt. brown shoes and black socks. weird ties and anything.

i've become everything i despise, willingly walking around as if to say "yeah, i know what i'm wearing. get over yourself, starbucks" to any yuppies that happen by.

i practically say it to every shiny surface, too, it seems.

so it's official. week of silence is in california.

so far the 'plan' involves flying into san diego late friday night, staying with an exceptionally awesome friend for the weekend, and starting the week on monday.

monday will involve getting a rental car, getting into said rental car, and traipsing along the coastal state along whatever path i choose at the time. i'm aiming for san francisco, pasadena, and maybe LA.

of concern is all the people i won't be able to visit while i'm out there...visitors and visitees tend to be at a loss when one of them is not talking. so sigh and move onward.

i'm packing light; clothing, food, you name it. and no laptop. i will be be as the-shirt-on-my-back as one can get with a credit card in his back pocket. and a rental car. though the rental car is really just a guaranteed roof over my head for the entirety of the trip. i intend to trek the state as much as possible otherwise.

but it's late, i'm going to be at work for many more hours longer, and i'm blanking a little on something to fill the rest of this up. so, if you have any ideas on what to see, whom to not-talk-to, where to go in california, then let me know!

so the week of silence is coming up and i need suggestions on where to go.

in essence? i don't speak, not a word, for the week of November 6th - November 12th.  November 10th - November 20th.

my intention is to fly out of philly on november 2nd, get to my location that night, crash somewhere until sunday, the rest of the week is silence, and fly back to philly on monday the 13th.


right...so any ideas on where i should spend a week not talking?

today was spend meandering about the museums of philadelphia. PA.

thing is, i have to work from 10pm-4am tonight, so i was able to take off this afternoon and get out before heading back to work later tonight. so i took off, checking into my new hotel.

first, let me explain what things are like here when it comes to hotels this month: there's more booking going on here than the library of congress. i try getting a room for this week in July and couldn't get one, so that's something. but, i managed to get into a very quality hotel for this weekend whilst my lovely love is in town, so that makes up for so very many other things i say.

so i take off, checking into my new hotel for the weekend, pulling along from the first hotel the vast teddy-bearness [check out the post immediately prior to this regarding my dave&busters winnings]. i check in, take my shower, and off i go to the franklin institute, a science museum.

and, clearly, this is my kinda place.

at first i practically run into the joint, trying to figure out where to go. on my right is the 'giant heart' room. i'm not feeling it, being more in the mood for looking at contraptions through glass, and so i move into the electricity room.

as i'm walking, though, i got to talk to a friend of mine on the phone. and it feels...blank, somehow. my thoughts mostly empty, as if there need be a thrash and fury on my pages as i write all this down, that i should have a certain understanding or epiphany after listening to the latest trials of someone you genuinely care about. but i feel...blank. as if this lack of worries or political outrage, not having a moral or idealogical stand on what's going on in her life is enough to ponder. i don't talk to her often and there is of course the ubiquitous drama to backstage any conversation, but it is still something engaging and interesting and full of good and simple time.

maybe it's just nice to know that you have friends, despite how embarrassing it may all seem. it is definitely nice to know that people are human, that humanity never fails to be human, and not matter how particularly isolated or unique you may feel, there is plenty in heaven and earth that you will never know. but, after realizing that fact, it's even nicer when you realize that, despite the insignificance you feel at this juggernaut of never-going-to-be-known experiences and knowledge, despite all the things that can only be relegated to imagination and speculation and how unfullfilling it is...despite all those things, it's nice to know that if you did have a chance to learn and experience one of those things you thought you'd never learn or experience, there's a good chance you'd wind up underwhelmed and not impressed with the having of it.

so it went, our conversation, and off she went to entertain her stresses. so i made my way through electricity and engineerings, through buildings and bridges and architecture. and back to the giant heart room.

the giant heart room had displays and games and little info-edu-kiosks, as well as a...well, GIANT heart that you're able to walk through. all of these things are rather underpowering to those of us who have ever seen any exhibit on the circulatory system at all, and so i make my round and start heading back out.

but then i see the video playing in the corner. it is a corner dressed up to resemble an operating theatre, with gurney and body and the tray of tools. but the video wasn't playin in the corner. it was playing in the body. a screen, built into the chest, showing a complete open-heart surgery (coronary bypass).

it was completely unlike the normal realms of wonderment or studious awe. and it affects me in the way that you know and have waited for the entirety of your young life. and i know that it leaves me markedly molded for the seeing of it. it was a tidal blow, simultaneously grandiose and powerful and simple and basic. impressive because there was so little that was efficient or mechanistic. it was the quintessential organic display.

so i leave the giant heart room a little quieter than when i entered.

the museum has a darwin exhibit through the rest of the year. the top floor is dedicated to him and his work, and the next exhibition group was being let in at 5:00 (my scheduled time, as well). so i left and waited for the exhibit to open up.

when i get into the darwin exhibit, i'm again approached by information and perspective that capture me. i rarely enjoy the didactic exhibits you find in museums; instead, show me the life of a man, summed up in a few walls of biography and imagery. show me the audacity and purity in putting someone's entire life in a room, throw it up for display and analysis. show me the best you have to offer, the cream of knowledge that will you feel will do. show me what you think can define someone with paper and pen.

and it did. i walked and drank in everything i could. fossils actually excavated by the man, plants he catalogued and pressed and sent back to england.darwin actually touched these plants, i would think. pressed them. held and touched them. i am able to touch some of the very history of modern thought and revolution. i am able to see all the work that outlived the flesh.

i left the museum shortly after the darwin exhibit since all the other exhibits were now closed. so i made my way, as planned, to the art museum. that bastion known to everyone who had every mentioned philadelphia in my presence, that universally noteworthly institution.

sounds like my kinda place, i thought.

i am a fan of particular artistry, much in the same way i am in particular history: give me your attempts at pressing soul to page and canvas, to stone and clay. give me a face, a hand, a recognizable life. give me a woman's life in sculpture, give me a man's pensive war in form. i want to see life recorded, desperately recorded in an imperfect medium. i want to see a legacy naked on the wall.

the canvas is always so cracked and worn, such utterly insistent persistence. it is depressing...but so freeing. to know that you will not be remembered. that your life is your own, a rich secret. your only last definition. i walk through the halls, smelling sculptures older than time, staring down the eyes of humanity long gone, of morals and values and beliefs and sins all washed away from home and rotting here in timeless grace. mortality gone dead, screaming out of the pain and loneliness one only finds in a gallery.

last night, i went to dave and busters. for a company 'outing' that took place inside. i spend my time idly, noticing this and that, snacking on appetizers and eyeing the bleak bridge outside (the benjamin franklin bridge, for those of us who don't live in Philadelphia). then i saw it. the ticket redemption room.

oh yes, you heard correctly...the ticket redemption room. that sweet smelling cove of childhood aspirations, the treasure chest of expensively inexpensive wares, the final resting place of hours and months and decades of dedication and accumulation and jubilation. the booty was boundless. my ambition? relentless. and so i scoured the depths of the gaming floor, the labyrinth of chance and folly.

my first seat was at the infamous cyclone, described by dave and busters as below:

CYCLONE
Test your skill on one of the most popular and successful games ever made! If you can stop the light at the right moment, you'll be rewarded with even more bonus tickets to spend at the D&B Winner's Circle.

like i said...infamous. i spend half an hour at the beast, slapping that stop button with the force of a drunken cockatoo, raising that bonus ticket counter to almost-immeasurable heights. but, as with most infamy, the fervent player inevitably crumbles into anonymity.

so, basically, i didn't nail the 'right moment.'   head hung low, i left the seat and moved onto more productive endeavors.

so after eating and drinking some, i headed back out onto the game floor. i try my hand at a trivia game, a coin-shoving game, and shooting hoops. my enthusiasm for ticket collection wanes and i am newly invigorated with a drive to shoot random fictional characters. and so onward i onward to the shooter-games.

time crisis, time crisis 2, house of the dead 2, sharp shooter, time crisis 3...the options abound. i enjoy myself, stress and bloodlust being spent on clear good versus evil storylines and subtext. plus firing at numerous forms of helicopter.

but, as with all things, ambition wins out, thrusting out the silky hand and cooing for all the joys your work will rend. and so i jump back into the breach, dear friends, with newfound vigor and all that kind of crap.

and when vikas jumps into the breach, dear friends, with newfound vigor and all that crap, he does so in a frenzy. i didn't just want tickets. i wanted all the tickets. i wanted enough tickets to buy me anything i had an inclination to buy. so back to the ticket redemption room, back to the idolatry of chintzy plastics and pizazz, back to back to back back and back.

i was going to get that bear. i'm going to get that bear, that big huge teddy bear. i'm going to get that damn teddy bear, i'm going to have it waiting for my lovely love when she arrives, and i'm going to have that bear. that bear is mine, dear friends. i'm going to have that teddy bear.

smell that? that scent in the air? that's ambition. taste that? that's my fucking ambition, baby. yeah, tastes good right? that's what it tastes like to be me all the time.

the next four hours are spent pressuring coworkers and hustling gamers. a coy eye gets me tickets from women who hear my emboldened pleas to garner stubs for my girl's arrival. a goofy smile and wandering glance gets me tickets from the boy's club, hoping to throw their tickets to a pitiful charity as a sign of their ability to stray from materialism. a pitch and a pint and i've got fully charged game cards from coworkers that have no intentions of touching a joystick or throwing a ball through a hoop.

but my coordination lands me tickets by the bucket load, trading game cards for tokens, rocking the loosest machine in the place:

WHEEL DEAL
Drop your tokens down the ramp to play this addictive game of skill. Win the most tickets by timing your drop at precisely the right moment.

if winning tickets were seduction i'd be a goddamn don juan. buckets of tickets, handfuls of tickets, more and more and more.

oh mr. attendant, i'd say
yes, sir?, he'd reply.
the machine ran out of tickets

...again. can you put some more in, i'd suggest.
no problem, sir, he'd comply.

i bled that wheel try four times, every time a little quicker than the last. if winning tickets were a crime i'd be a goddamn dillinger.

pressuring coworkers, hustling gamers. pressure and hustle, pressure and hustle. but then the real deal starts. when they know you're good.

because then they start giving you their game cards, giving you their game cards to win them tickets of their own. giving you a game card to win them 400 tickets, giving you a game card worth at least two thousand in your hands. this is wealth, dear friends; if winning tickets were magic, i'd be a goddamn houdini.

...and on it went. tickets and tickets, buckets and handfuls and pocketfuls and tickets and tickets and tickets. i closed out my five hour night with 13,008 tickets, not counting those given away.

and what did i win, dear friends, you ask? just take a look, they sit on the hotel bed.

two teddy bears, a tweety in his cage, a hello-kitty backpack, and a henson puppet (complete with squeaking sound). with 700 tickets left over.

my girlfriend's comin' to philly...
my girlfriend's comin' to philly...
my girlfriend's comin' toooooo pillllllllllIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE...



...so let's go buy a hat.*






*trying to rhyme with the let's-all-go-to-the-lobby song is fun, don't you agree?

tensions run high in the terminal. purple rage oozing like a bulbous growth from random pores. maybe these selective thoughts i screen with ink result from exhaustion. or malaise.

i am falling apart, vikas. i am falling apart. i don't know who to trust. whether to trust. i am tired and waking up in a ten-foot hole, too groggy to remember what sunlight tastes like.

those times in your life when you aren't sure what to do...you have no passions or plans. which may just be the least amount of living you can ever do.

since the film is an action one, based on an FBI sharpshooter, the FBI helicopters flying overhead seem to be what is being shot, rather than aiding in what is being shot. although the obvious first choice as to the need for four helicopters, i nevertheless was uninformed that shooting was actually taking place on the roof, as opposed to the 8th floor as described by the signs inside the building (and somehow having helicopters flying around when shooting a scene inside a windowless part of a building on the 8th floor didn't exactly scream action film)

maybe it's just me.

because right now, in the very same building in which i am typing, there is a film crew six floors above me. shooting. a film.

oh but see the big deal, to me at least, is the four helicopters that have been flying overhead for the last couple hours. directly over the building, mostly hovering, periodically sweeping out and heading into the midst of downtown and then coming right back. and hovering there and back and staying that way.

maybe it's just me, to think that four helicopters overhead aren't needed because

a) it's 9am in the morning and brilliantly sunny outside, so they can't be for lighting any damn thing.

b) it's 9am in the morning and if, for some reason, they are shooting b-roll and exterior we-flew-over-the-city-in-a-helicopter-to-capture-the-fast-paced-action-sequence-transition-by-zooming-over-the-river-with-cameras-mounted-to-the-front,
 ...well it seems way too expensive to have four helicopters simultaneously recording the same stuff and stay aloft for this long to do it.

who knows.

maybe it's me, the way i seem to light up a little whenever i see grip trucks and equipment (get it? light up? because that's what grip equipment is for? for lighting the set? eh? eh?)

such a very big part of me wants to pull the savvy, wants to go out there and somehow fill a void and be recognized and somehow manage to sell myself into a gig. though i'm not sure i should call it a gig as a producer, but whatever. it's such a very identifiable part of me that just wants to go down there and talk shop to a bunch of people who probably think i'm a corporate lackey or some young suit that can't think beyond risk analysis and profit margins, daily reports and status meetings...even if i do kinda spend my own time on risk analysis and profit margins and reports and meetings. but what i do in my own time is my own time, dag-nabbit.

it's nice to know, though, that it has nothing to do with the 'magic' of film or the movies, it's so very much feeling as if i were doing something constructive and unique. it's the same feeling i'd get if there were a symposia upstairs amongst relativists or quantum theorists.

i just wanna go.

yesterday, upon leaving work, i heard the following,

"good night, vikas"

from a complete stranger. not a bum on the street, mind you, but rather a co-worker here that i have never met, never seen, and never met or seen.

this hasn't happened to me since high school, or thereabouts. i mean i honestly had no idea who this was and couldn't possibly begin to try and figure it out. there's just something about being recognizable to strangers that takes a second to get used to, i guess.