manhattan by woody allen

felt like i was doing 'man kegels' while riding my bike standing up

wondered if i knew how to spell kegels, or at least a misspelling close enough that most people would understand

i got into a bike accident today, except i was the only one in the accident

a Bed, Bath and Beyond coat hanger swung into my spokes, and eight of them broke

i took the bike to a shop called 'Bikes, By George!' where an old man from i think haiti and his son fixed it for 23.99 plus tax

i am watching a ustream of a reading in brooklyn which i was going to go to with my roommate but he got sick

it would take about 25 minutes to get there on the subway

this feels like a 'misuse of the internet'

-

the only time i wish i had more friends is when i want to go to something but there is no one to go with and going alone sounds even worse than not going at all

which attitude on friendship would probably be called selfish

blue suede shoes by elvis presley

the last time i saw my grandfather was in his room at the nursing home he'd been moved into before he moved to the hospital where he died. the moment i walked in i knew something was wrong, different in the way it had never been in the 20 years i'd called him my grandfather. the lion inside him, the light which sometimes dwarfed those of others' around him, was gone -- notably, as it had to be with him.

the physical therapist who helped him sit up in his bed -- sitting up was important, she said; lying down for three days like he'd done wasn't very healthy at all -- she was cute, i noticed, and so when my grandfather, the man who flirted with every waitress i'd ever seen serve him, did not flirt with her, i knew / felt that was off.

as my mom and the physical therapist pulled and pushed him to sit up for a few minutes, i waited outside and sat on a couch in the unused community room where the lights were turned off and played tiny wings on my iphone and felt guilty about tiny wings on my iphone and thought 'what if this is the last time i see my grandfather, will i feel bad about spending half of it outside avoiding his age and playing tiny wings on my iphone.' but i didn't feel guilty then and i don't feel guilty now.

it was around 2pm when i was there and 'who wants to be a millionaire' was on the tv set. it was playing throughout the entire nursing home. as you walked from his room through the common room to the 'assisted living' section down the hall where my grandmother lives, you could see an entire round of the game played out on the floor's tv sets. i wonder how many people who watch any given episode of 'who wants to be a millionaire' are alive for the next episode. for the episode one month later. one year later? certainly 0%, one century later.

before i left the room out of nervousness to play iphone games, a young black boy brought my grandfather lunch -- blintzes, a traditional jewish food. my grandfather requested that i find the kitchen and request they be heated up. it feels unnecessary now that i did that for him, but i like that even a week before he died he was being an asshole to the wait staff so he could have what he wanted. is that ok to say 'i like that he was being an asshole?' i feel like if there is any context in which it's ok to say that sentence, this is that context.

my mom went out to discuss with the nurses how they might better care for him, and i was left alone in the room with him. i wanted to try as best i could to get him out of his daze. i wanted him to talk about something other than 'can you lower the bed a little bit' or 'the tv is too quiet.' i asked him 'were blintzes popular when you were a kid?' because i know that people like to talk about themselves and their childhoods. he told me about his family, who owned a shoe-making business in philadelphia. when i left to go home and play a game of basketball with acquantainces from high school, i shook his hand and he said 'so long, aaron.' i said 'so, long grampop. you'll have to tell me more about the leather shoe business next time. so long'

then my mom lowered his bed and turned off the light and he went to sleep.

paranoia by black sabbath

i can't tell whether cosi's slogan of 'life should be delicious' is pro-life or pro-choice. seems like it's probably neither.

'what if no one else sees red the way i see red' is a thought i had in about middle school, and continue to sometimes have / feel 'proud' of, almost ten years later.

seems like i am writing in the style of megan boyle because i am reading a book by megan boyle.

Richard hadn't seen his father in three weeks, and encountered difficulty dialing his dad's Blackberry, with his fingers were shaking out of nervousness as they were.

'Lugubrious.'

i don't think i've ever thought 'lugubrious' or 'insouciant' or 'magnanimous'

it's hard to know if the way my heart beats is the same way others hearts beat.















all those spaces are from paranoia.

funeral by the arcade fire

last spring my grandmom (dad's mom) died. there were ~30 people at the funeral, which was held outside on a cloudy day next to the hole in the ground where we she was buried, at the end of the funeral. my uncle gave a speech which ended with him crying. he used to make my grandmom sandwiches when he'd visit every sunday. he'd put the sandwiches in bags, which she would open and eat throughout the week. at the funeral he said it would be difficult waking up everyday and knowing that she wasn't there anymore.

last month my grandpop (mom's dad) died. there were ~120 people at his funeral. every one of his seven grandchildren gave a speech. most of us held back tears during our speech, or 'cracked' on certain words. some of us tried to slip in jokes to lighten the mood, which we repeatedly justified by saying that it's something our grandpop would have wanted done. about ten of his other relatives and coworkers, some who he hadn't seen in decades, gave short speeches. afterwards, at the ceremony held in my uncle's synagogue, there was a ~3 hour reception, where corned beef sandwiches and tuna and bagels and 2 kinds of coffee were served. looking on at all of her relatives chatting and eating, my dementia-ridden grandmother asked 'why is everybody laughing and smiling on this sad day?'

compared with my grandpop's funeral, i thought that it was sad that there were so few people at my grandmom's. i thought about how when someone dies, people only talk about their positive attributes and the ways they lived their life positively. its seems like, objectively, some people do have happier or more 'successful' or fulfilling lives than others.

in the days after my grandpop's funeral, i was motivated to 'live my life' like he did, in a fulfilling way, so there will be many people at my funeral. now i do not feel like i did then. now i feel like 'who cares how many people are at your funeral? you'll be dead then anyway you stupid dummy!' i still think you should be fulfilled, but maybe it's not so important how many people attend a service where they dig a hole and drop your corpse into the earth.