A Rundown

I felt like a god as I sat amongst my friends in the cramped room at the Typhoon Lounge in L.E.S., the new designated tri-monthly spot for those of us who remain single, childless and interested in the prospect of cheap Japanese, sake, beer and getting the hell out of Brooklyn every once in awhile. As I sat there, enjoying everything from eel and shrimp tempura rolls to scallion pancakes, I could have sworn that I had been in a something like jail during the last four months that have often felt like four years. This would mark the beginning of a weekend that I saw as the end of some hard and tumultous times brought on my a combination of bad choices, tough breaks and the Divine's intent on reminding me that there was no escaping the road that had been lain out for me. Boy have I been trying!

By Saturday night I was having nice quiet dinner with my longtime homeboy Meadows and his wife, a couple of friend of their and the ubiquitous Murph. Fish, collard greens and yams always make me smile, especially when they're made with the love of dear homies.

After that I found myself at a party where all the white kids were drinking forties and I was speaking Spanish with a trio of Portuguese female film students, one with pretty eyes, one with pretty thighs and one of them so flush from the liquor she'd sucked down that her face was damn near pink.

From there I confessed my sins and fears within the confines of safehouse, had my attempts at a good night's sleep foiled twice by some senile friend of my landlord's who took to leaning on my doorbell at 6am on the first and 9am on the second of two consecutive weekend mornings. It was only the timing of my fresh-out of the joint neighbor that kept me from tossing that old man down the steps. I actually needed Tylenol PM to calm myself enough to back under g.

Today I read most of Kitchen Confidential, plotted out the next few books I was going to read, finished the second pass of my script, watched LOST and The Wire with Byron, had a long convo with a new friend who'd had too much to drink (I've been there baby, believe me).

And now I can't sleep, excited as a schoolboy about the idea that the ground underneath me is starting to feel firm again. So many of the things I lost will return more quickly than I can fathom. I'm thinking very seriously of starting a catering company next year. I'm picturing myself in a condo eating broiled sea bass and drinking a ridiculously good Pinot Grigio. Am I'm proud of myself for setting a new record in my own personal life.

These are all good things. For far too long my mind had been clouded with so many impurities that I had abandoned its full use. Now my neural pathways are overflowing with ideas, sometimes so much so that sleep is an inconvenience I choose to forego. Note to self: More meditation. More fish, less shellfish. Try wrapping a think slab of bluefish around ground turkey soaked in chili oil put a toothpick through it and bake. My Mom's coming next month and I think I'm cooking a dinner party.

Maybe I should try to lay down again as that senile man may take another crack at making me crack his head open. Or maybe I'll call the cops and say he's a burglar. But then I would have the wrath of Phil to contend with. So I guess I'll just have to grin and bear it. Out.