22 June 2010 § 2 Comments
this is the first baby i’ve ever met in my adult life. i think the last time i held a baby was when my youngest cousin was born; i was 12. i’ve met my other cousin’s kids, two little half-italian ladykillers called lucas and nicholas, but never as babies. they were wearing real underpants by the time i met them.
little noah is my friend jesse’s baby. he was 18 days old when i met him. he doesn’t do much. as i held him, someone asked me “aren’t you just dying to have one?!”
babies don’t like good music, or alcohol, or trying new food (i bet babies don’t like oysters at all). they like milk a lot. i don’t. i also hate loud noises at home, yelling, and plastic toys look cheap and cluttery. so no, dear woman, i am not dying to have one.
the only time i EVER think kids are cute is when they are tiny little kids playing hockey. like the four-year-olds. oh man, i can’t explain it, but they kill me. little monsters on ice.
5 January 2010 § Leave a comment
lost my job yesterday. i also got two parking tickets and watched the sharks lose. not a great way to start 2010.
16 December 2009 § Leave a comment
i don’t own a lot of orange. mostly black. definitely don’t do yellow & blue. so i made a little orange flower that i then pinned to my jacket.
people kept asking me what the deal was, this big orange paper thing on my lapel. it doesn’t make much sense, but it was for the ukraine.
the orange revolution happened in 2004, but it took me a while to get involved. sorry, ukraine.
6 November 2009 § Leave a comment
“i don’t believe that people should take their own lives without deep and thoughtful reflection over a considerable period of time.”
— wendy o. williams, punk rock performer, d. April 6, 1998
27 january 2002. i think i got the call the next day, or maybe the day after. your dad called mine and i didn’t think anything of it until my dad walked back into the room and said, “that was terry. devon killed himself”.
it took me months to get back to normal. i still think of the last time i saw you smiling, laughing and saying something that made me realise that the two of us–two cousins who fought like cats and dogs, beat the shit out of each other, and took delight in scaring the crap out of each other–were more alike than i had remembered. we both had that look, the one that made strangers know we weren’t just little redneck kids from the valley. we were more. and grandma and grandpa cole, they always called us the smart ones. we were. compared to the other kids, we were nothing like the other coles.
but we are. we both have it, that aching and neverending pain, that inexplicably dull and murderous emptiness. our big eyes tired and red from the crying you can’t stop, those parents who don’t care, completely incapable of understanding. i know what it’s like. i know how you felt. i wish you had called me, because out of anyone on this whole fucking planet, devon, i would’ve understood.
you should be done with college by now, or like me, a well-meaning but casual slacker. they put a university in the city where you died, maybe you would have gone there, graduating last spring with the first lady in attendance. or maybe you’d live in san jose and be in the midst of your 8- to 10-year sentence at sjsu.
but you’re not. today is your birthday, little cuz. i never forget. i should be taking you out for drinks tonight, celebrating and laughing instead of remembering and crying. i hate you for doing this to me, but i don’t blame you. i know how it feels. so many times i think of it myself, and then i recall how unreal it felt to be staring down at you in your casket, your face painted with fake colour. of everyone there, friends and family and strangers, i know i was the only one who pulled down the collar of your shirt to check for ligature marks (you would’ve done the same to me). i still laugh at the guy who fainted during your funeral–of course an emt would faint at another emt’s funeral–and cringe when i think of the music they played. sorry about that.
i don’t know if you’re one of them now, the collective of coles that no one talks about in detail because they don’t know how to talk about suicide without emotion. why don’t they just realise that’s our preferred way of leaving ? we are nothing if not stubborn and independent, and nothing says that quite like a suicide. i still talk about you. i don’t want to make you into one of those guys. that’s why i remember, remember, every 6th of november. your kitten that was so tiny, the day you kissed me and i punched you, the ninja turtles that hurt so bad when you threw them at me, horseback riding and christmas morning at the ranch, mcdonalds fries and campfires, and when we laughed so hard when your brother got stung by a bee that we pissed ourselves. oh boy.
i miss you, devon. happy birthday.
31 August 2009 § Leave a comment
because i have:
school (more than full-time enrollment)
work (half time)
russian language meetup club (sporadically)
hockey class (tentative)
and the only way i’ll get everything done: i’m an insomniac. sometimes it helps.