On feeding days, whenever I throw in the usual portion of five crickets into my salamander tank, those apathetic amphibians of mine take their sweet time going after them. I guess when you’re adapted to hunting for food, having dinner provided every few days can get really old. Anyway, as a consequence of my pets’ laziness, I’m usually treated for the next few hours to a nice chorus of cricket chirping. It’s pleasant having the sound of contained crickets chirping inside your own room, but it also makes you wonder. After all, those poor little buggers are about to eat it (or um, about to be eaten), and the males are still happily chirping away, calling for a mate all the while letting their predators know exactly where they are. That strikes me as darkly amusing. Those crickets are trapped inside an enclosure with two salamanders, and all the male crickets can think about is attracting a mate within the last few minutes of their lives and getting laid. That’s a revealing look into the male agenda if I ever saw one.

Posted by KZ on 09/30/03

My Father: Who wants five hundred dollars?
My Mother: Me.
My Father: (holds up a Taiwanese 500 dollar bill) Divide it by 34.
My Mother: (smacks my father)

Sure, I had to wake up before noon today, but witnessing that exchange more than made up for it.

Posted by KZ on 09/20/03

“I hate men. I hate relationships. By their very design, you aren’t allowed to be happy in one.”
I said nothing.
“Tell me you’re single right now.”
“I’m single right now.”
“Tell me you would fall in love with me if I lived up north.”
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
“This isn’t an honesty question you twit, it’s a comforting question. You’re supposed to answer it with much enthusiasm and zeal.”
I finished my beer, with no particular sense of urgency, and set the glass down with a sigh. “This is why I’ve always said that women are fucking insane.”

Posted by KZ on 09/16/03

One thing that especially moved me on September 11, 2001 was the fact that a good deal of interview footage that aired on television that day went uncensored. I remember staying awake until 3 AM that night, watching the towers collapse from every angle, and hearing what New Yorkers had to say about the attack on their city. There’s one man in particular that will forever stick out in my mind. I can still picture him: glassy brown eyes, black mustache, wrinkles across his forehead, dust and ashes dulling the hue of his dark brown skin, and tears that washed it all away in untidy streams. His voice trembled as he spoke, and he made little effort to disguise his grief. “I can’t believe this shit is happening,” he said. So few had anticipated the attack, and nobody wanted to believe the sad reality.

What I appreciated the most about the footage of that man was that it was part of a prerecorded montage of interviews, which meant that network producers had most likely screened the content before it was broadcasted. And despite the fact that this man had said a four-letter word, the producers let it slide. In light of the tragedy and carnage that the nation witnessed that morning, it seemed that everybody, for at least a single goddamned day, realized what truly matters. Nobody bothered to censor an uttered profanity because the entire day was marred by one of history’s most profane acts of human selfishness and stupidity.

The world is far from perfect, but it does have its moments. Realizing that fact alone almost makes life something worth tolerating. That’s a better start than many of us could have hoped for.

Posted by KZ on 09/11/03

As I understand it, the unspoken rule mandates that handicapped stalls in public restrooms are off-limits so long as there are other stalls available. The rule makes sense, since you never know when a “differently abled” individual will enter the joint looking for a good place to tinkle. Sometimes, though, all the stalls are taken except for the big one marked with the wheelchair icon, and you just don’t feel like waiting. Whenever I find myself in that situation, sheepishly occupying a handicapped stall, I always feel an excessive amount of paranoia and apprehension, fearing the statistically unlikely event that a handicapped person will enter the restroom at that moment and be forced to wait his turn. You couldn’t imagine how many times I’ve exited a handicapped stall expecting to see a crowd of wheelchair-bound toughs, bearing torches, bats, chains, pitchforks, and protest signs, ready to scream equality slogans at me before they start kicking my ass. Freaking political correctness. It’s got me running scared.

Posted by KZ on 09/08/03

• 9:00pm: Isaac takes me aside the moment we arrive at The Blue Tattoo and orders us two Alizé and tonics and two Coronas. Being the whipping boys of the night, we toast to “designated drivers” and drink up.
• 10:12pm: Mel is good and liquored up by this time, and he starts in with all his usual antics: walking up to girls on the dance floor and raising both arms to bask in his glory (or whatever the hell that gesture means); calling out things like “I’m rich, I’m single, I’m famous!” or the classic “are you down?” to random chicks passing by; and repeatedly promising to get me and my friends laid by the end of the night. As ever, I’m reminded that even though Mel’s an asshole, and he’s definitely full of shit, I can’t help but love the guy.
• 12:00am: While crossing the outer courtyard of the club with my friends, I make eye contact with a hot Asian chick with that cute, unconceited, girl-next-door look to her. Trailing my friends, I head in her general direction, notice her turn her head to acknowledge me, and I walk right on by because I’m such a goddamn walking pile of insecurities. A pussy, if you will.
• 1:53am: A drunken Carlos approaches the live percussionist who is accompanying the DJ in the trance/techno room. Carlos reaches over and pounds out a great rhythm on the bongos. He and the percussionist start dueling from opposite ends of the drums.
• 2:20am: While eating burritos at Iguana’s, Calvin—the so-called “7th Street Crip,” according to Mel—conspicuously turns around in his seat to check out a girl standing behind him and then takes a picture of her booty with his cell phone.
• 2:45am: From the comfort of my own car, I watch Carlos and Fish drunkenly stumble across Carlos’ driveway and head for the front door. Amused, sober, but still somehow fully satisfied, I back away and drive home.

Posted by KZ on 09/06/03