What are Words for?

When no one listens anymore?  I’m a product of the 80’s so succinct killer lyrics like these sometimes pop into my head and stay there. Thanks Missing Persons and Dale Bozzio, who was Lady Gaga years before Lady Gaga was even born. Walking in L.A….

Took a high horsepower ride to Sleepy Hollow the other day in a Dodge Challenger that my favorite Hertz girl Tameika upgraded me to ’cause my charm is so irresistible or my President’s Club card actually carries some weight (maybe it’s both). Being back in NY and revisiting some of these places brings me no teary-eyed nostalgia other than my old house on Long Island (see L.I.E.). Sleepy Hollow is about an hour north of Manhattan and is quintessential small-town quaint, complete with the ubiquitous centuries-old houses and stone-cold churches lining the roads.  Even downtown has a 5&10 store.  The Starbucks/Sprint/Chipolte strip mall made its presence known halfway to Tarrytown on a strip of road with no sidewalks or latte lights convenience shoulders. Strange to think you can actually still park for free in select suburban spots of commerce. As long as you spend $$$ when you get outta the car we’ll give you the parking gratis. Cheers, thanks a lot. Traveling companion and I stopped at nice old diner across the way from Starbucks and waited out a rainstorm over bland food and, for traveling companion, a frilly pink girl drink filled with house vodka of which he drank half. What does this all mean? I used to drive up here all the time when I was in college to visit my adoptive father and his second wife, never visits I looked forward to. Thanks to my olde buddy Jack Daniels I made it through. I’m not big on talking about the adoptive family because I am not close to them, but every once in a while I have to admit their presence in my past consciousness of regret and sheer unadulterated rage which has transitioned over time to 99% apathy and 1% lemons-to-lemonade usefulness. Anyway, when I used to drive up to Westchester when I was in college I was always getting lost. This was before cars had navigational systems and driver’s had iPhone’s.  My Siri voice is Australian: Take a left, mate, then a buggery right. And even with my Siri, I call him Simon, I got kind of lost again. Only this time I just went with it, rode with no real purpose or plan, whereas before I used to get so freaked out that now looking back I long for all the brain cells I killed over the innocuous mistakes of the past.Retrospect, both friend and foe.  A favorite literary character, Serge A. Storms of Tim Dorsey’s Florida serial killer series, states simply: Heaven is a full tank and no appointments. Sleepy Hollow, like many towns on the north shore of Long Island is kind of country in the Town & Country sense of country, nice to escape to every once in a while. But as Liza with a Z once proclaimed, those city lights keep callin me back.  And traffic in midtown Manhattan at 5 p.m. on a rainy and hot Friday in August isn’t much different than any other time of day or year. Plenty of Connecticut and New Jersey plates clogging the box, trying to escape the calamity of cops as crossing guards. Back to the burbs. Byee.

I narrowed down for today three words other than Millennials’ use of LIKE that I think should be either stricken from the vernacular of the masses or reevaluated on intent and meaning. First word is #CLASSY. Fuck reevaluation, just get rid of this one. Even when describing someone from the south shore who goes against the grain and holds their head high in “the Hamptons.” Stacy’s so classy with her Chanel earrings and matching doggie tote bag and bedazzled iPhone case. No, #classy as a word, needs to go. See ya!  Number two is #Democracy. hehe.  Third is #try.

Either do or don’t, there is no try. Was that Yoda or Winston Churchill? I don’t know, but the basis of the word #try is very half-measures in a shoulders shrugged on-the-fence noncommittal way. Any New Yorker who has tried to make plans with someone from Los Angeles can feel me here. If one tried and one failed then it wasn’t much of a try was it? I admit this is extreme in the land of literal interpretation and I am a big purveyor of grey area madness, but as I am now minutes older than when this diatribe began, I have come to realize that trying too hard has always been a setup for failure in my life. It’s premised in expectation which usually leads to disappointment.  And as I have stated here before I don’t wish to indulge in any more disappointment in these the final moments of my existenz on the periphery of the iPhone zombie apocalypse. Even when I do try to do something it’s not really a try because I have no expectations about an outcome. That’s just called doin it. None of this makes much sense. Now I know how Einstein felt, or van Gogh. This world was never meant for those as beautiful as us.  Anyway, I’d like these three words either stricken from everyone’s vocabulary or worked over by Miss Webster. Please get on that immediately or at least try to be classy about it and open it up to a democratic vote. I’ll expect results soon, maybe.

The heatwave continues so I’m languid in my air-conditioned Fire Island weekend comfort writing manifestos and eating granola and binge-watching #Billions and its unintentional laugh track of serious absurdity.  How does Paul Giamatti keep his beard so perfect?  Must try pretty hard.

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