Here’s a Blog Post

In all my years of food and bev, work as a waiter and at the brewery, I never developed any kind of alcohol palette. The first time I had beer, I thought it tasted like ass. My friend Kyle loved to repeat that, as he was there the night I had my first High Life. “Tastes like ass! Tastes like ass!” He said it more than I did. I still think beer tastes like ass and when I say a beer is good I merely mean that it’s tolerable. Like sparkling water or something. Diet coke. But no alcoholic beverage I have ever tasted has tasted as good as a Coke with real sugar. The Mexican Cokes.

As far as what works, a Long Island Iced Tea helps catch you up when you’re coming to the party late, like off of work or something. Otherwise it’s PBR or the Mexican beers, as everyone knows. I’m not going to get into Medori Sours. Just not going to do it today. Anyway, we liked Bone Jolly, at the ravioli place. It was like a $20 red wine. Whatever the fuck it was. Cabernet Sauvignon Blanc or some shit.



There’s a car that I see in the parking lot of the Olive Tree Marketplace. Always there. A terrible late-90’s Pontiac Grand Am. Horrible. Terriful Shaq would say.

Anyway, the Grand Am has a bumper sticker on the back- To Thine Own Self Be True. I asked Boss whose car that was. Boss told me that it belonged to the chef of the restaurant next door. (Boss owns the block.)

You’re a pretty good writer if many centuries later people have your shit on the back of a car, or horse-less carriage.

Then the other day I noticed that To Thine Own Self Be True wasn’t even a bumper sticker, it was the residue/paint damage that had been caused by the sticker, which had been removed. The contrasting inks aged and corroded differently, leaving the message indelible.

Damn that Bill Shakespeare!

My President

When My President was elected, I smiled. First black president. Well, who are we kidding, half black, right? But this was good, wasn’t it? Like the President on the boring network drama before him! He was black! And a woman was the runner-up to the democratic nominee! Progress, right? I was a good white boy! In favor of these things!

In truth though, I didn’t know anything about My President when he was elected. And when he told his daughters that they were in fact getting a puppy when they moved into the white house, I think that’s when I began to like him.

When we got Osama Bin Laden, I couldn’t help but wonder how much My President had to do with that.

Did I fall off my bicycle because My President was re-elected? I’m not supposed to care about politics! I’m a writer. But I got off the subway and went about unlocking my bike and just as I put my foot on the pedal I heard a small group cheer. It was over. And it was true, I loved My President, another politician, in another boring suit, with another stupid flag pin on his lapel. Don’t tell anyone!

Some people even said things about My President like “He certainly hasn’t done anything for race relations.” Some people are really that stupid and spiteful.

I used to judge Presidents on how well they could speak. Nobody better than Clinton, right?

I don’t attempt to judge My President when he speaks though, because he is my intellectual and moral superior, so when he opens up, I just try to listen.

When a comedian called My President “my nigga” My President hugged him without flinching because My President is a boss, and My President earned that moment.

Why is it that only now, when they show the burning effigies of My President upon his election, that I cringe? Why didn’t that hurt then?

I’ve been avoiding My President’s final speeches and emails because they will make me sad. But I saw that picture of him looking at that school kid through a magnifying glass and I cried. And you can make fun of me for crying, but what do you cry about?

My President cried when he talked about gun violence in Chicago. Well, after all, he is black, and he started his family in Chicago.

-You know what Jimmy, I want to hang out with some kids at school today.
-But Mr. President, we’ve got a STACKED schedule. I mean of ALL days. There’s this bullcrap to deal with and that garbage. This sonofabitch is on the phone and that sonofabitch wants to talk to you ASAP.
-Jimmy, they didn’t just threaten me, they went after Michelle, and the girls. I’m gonna hang out with some kids today, okay? I think we can squeeze it in.


What do you want me to say, all you motherfuckers who read my “blog” but don’t answer my texts? The fuck you want me to say? You want me to put my money where my mouth is, that was always the problem, right? You want me to say that The Church is all bullshit and it’s destructive in its subtle psychotic ways? Sure, I just said it. You want me to say sorry? I’m done with that. I’m forgiven. Except you Christina, I’m sorry to you. Now I’m done, no more apologies.

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