Wednesday, November 17, 2010

A Old New Year

Blogging while offline

January 3rd. 2009.

I like irony, even when it is happening in my own life. I would be very unhappy if I wasn’t able to laugh at the joke my life often is. Not a mean joke, in my opinion. Though I have the opinion that all is always for the greatest good. But only cus’ it’s true. Either I look back and am awed at how perfectly and wonderfully my life has unfolded, even and especially the parts that were the least savory while unfolding, or I look back, and I see a piece of the puzzle that has not yet fallen into place.

Let’s start with the Biltmore.

The Biltmore is a very, very nice hotel in Miami. One of the scenes from “Bad Boys” (2? 3?) was filmed in the Al Capone suit, and around the hotel. The Lobby and surrounding areas have soaring pillars leading to ceilings at least three floors high, if there are ceilings at all, and not just open courtyards, all surrounded by equally high pillars and centered around huge fountains. There is a feeling of decadence and easiness about the place. The staff are smart, helpful, and nice. Everything bespeaks opulence. The beds are large, the pillows soft, and everything is wood or stone. The windows are taller than you are. It feels like some fantasy land, where you want to take your wife and have passionate, languid honeymoon sex, interspersed with high quality rooms service, and perhaps the occasional venture to the pool to wash off sweat and saliva. The pool is enormous, literally hundreds of feet long, with a coffee shop that has a waterfall/aqueducts spilling out over the awning, into the pool. And private cabanas, leading to the pool, created out of exotic greenery that kept me busy for an entire afternoon, admiring the diversity and beauty of the plants. It must take an army of gardeners to maintain the overflowing greenery surrounding and within everything. In fact, all aspects of the hotel seem like they must require a full time maintenance staff of hundreds, constantly keeping up appearances. Lord only knows when they did their work, because I rarely saw them. They must have lived in the walls or something.

In the front entrance, were two huge bird cages, mostly covered with cloth, but with windows in so people could look at the beautiful, exotic birds. It made me a little sad, as I watched them and thought about the nature of captivity. Perhaps this hotel Paradise was itself a beautiful prison.

The culminating moment of the stay was new-years eve. I had returned from a good french restaurant, and was up in my Grandfather’s suite, up in the tower area of the hotel. I had come up before the rest of the family, and I opened the windows, and before me was the city lights, swirling in the city heat like a sea of stars, and above, the actual stars, and on the horizon, the crescent moon, just setting, a red crescent falling quickly into the city haze, right next to a red blinking tower. And as the moon set, all around me, fireworks started going off. The sea of stars was exploding, and here I was, high above the city, seeing in all directions, from my warm, safe world of hand carved wood embellishments where every need was catered too before you even thought of it.

Later on, the rest of the family came up to grandfathers room and we played a light game of texas hold em, until midnight, when we put down what was going to be the last hand, and watched the fireworks come back on full blast. It was gorgeous. I felt like the whole world was celebrating me, saying “Congratulations! Well done on 23 years!” Leaning against the old, tall glass window pane, gazing out, I felt like I should be in that position with a soft, flawless, fair skinned woman, naked except for the cold sparkle of diamond jewelry, pressed between me and the window as we gazed out at the metaphor of our lovemaking exploding before us.

Then, when the fireworks slowed down (they kept going for hours afterwards, just less frequent) I sat back down to the table, got a straight on the draw, bet everything, and won the night.

Of course it was magical, and I wish I had a diamond lady to share it with, but more remarkable even was the communication. You see, I talk with the universe, and the universe talks back. Not in the queen’s english, but in physical metaphor. That is, life is a communication. The patterns, the symbology, are a very rich communication. It’s like talking with vision and touch and emotion and everything, all together. In that way, you could say the universe is a book. Though sometimes it feels more like a chat-room. In any case, the whole night was a powerful communication, which is not yet complete. But the importance of the message has been underlined by the power of it’s delivery.

Now, the Sea Pine Inn.

Here we have a second part to the communication. The image/phrase that comes to mind is “tempering.” That’s where you take something like a sword, and strengthen it by first making it really hot, then really cold, then repeating. Well, I went to Florida, and got warmed up, and then came here, to Newark, and got chilled again. More important, I went on vacation, and got pampered, and now I am on assignment, and am being terrified and disgusted.

Let’s talk about the Sea Pine. It is a ‘Motor Inn.’ I don’t know what that means, except that you have to put down your address and license plate number if you drove here. Tracker students often stay here because it is the only hotel right next to the pick up point for the Tracker School. So if you don’t have a car and you want to arrive a day early, this is the place.

As far as I can tell, the only other use for this place is sex. And not the clean, luxurious sex of the Biltmore. No, this is the kind of sex that will turn you celibate. I walked through the sketch run-down half-empty plaza that was adjunct to the Pine, caring my wheely suitcases, and made it in without being mugged. Which I know is unlikely but can’t help worrying about anyways. Two men hanging out in back of the plaza probably weren't doing anything illegal, but could have been robbing the stores or receiving payment for sexual favors or drugs, or just having a smoke break out back. I’ll never know. The receptionist was pleasant. She seemed nice, overworked, probably happy to see from my beard and suitcases that I wasn’t going to fornicate on the key or computer cable which each required a deposit (cash only) to be refunded upon return of the key and ethernet cable (which, by the way, didn’t end up being used anyway, since the internet outlet was broken. I am typing this up on open office.)

I should probably mention, since it would be unfortunate to wait till it was over to comment, and miss the opportunity of being able to say, that, as I type these words, I can distinctly hear the thumping, fake moaning, and, unexpectedly, laughter, of some people having sex in some adjacent room. I can’t tell whether it’s above, below (in some secret basement dungeon... but that doesn’t keep with the theme of blatantly obvious, and if it was a dungeon there probably wouldn’t be laughing (which is sad)) Welp, looks like he finished. The thumping and fake moaning has stopped, as quickly as it started, and has been replaced with the original sounds of television. I’ve got to say, when I heard the sex start, I was kind of happy. I knew it was just a matter of time, but I was afraid they would wait till it was bedtime to start and be loud and obnoxious and keep me up all night. I guess they’ve got kids to get back to or something. I just hope the shmuck doesn’t feel empty and depressed and stay up all night watching tv. Soundproofing is one of the few things you’d think they’d do. But no, I guess it’s part of the ambiance.

Back to my description; when I entered the room, I locked the flimsy push knob door and hooked the chain lock into place, still worried from the disclaimer I had to sign, about the hotel not being responsible if any of my property is broken or stolen, or I am somehow injured here at the fine Sea Pine Motor Inn, Waretown Plaza, Tom’s River New Jersy. Unfortunately, when I turned around, I found...astonished horror: another door! Leading right the fuck outside. I put the flimsy dead bold in place and contemplated taking out my knife and hiding under the bed, but decided I didn’t want to be down there, after discovering an opened condom wrapper shining underneath the bed.

The red led clock is flashing at 12:00. I'm sure it was 12:00, and probably always will be, at 12:00 (am, I assume) because no one gives a flying pinwheel what time it is or what the alarm is set to because they are not here to go to sleep and wake up the next morning they are here to have a quicky with a hooker or mistress or perhaps even with a partner, away from the kids. The table is covered in splotches of what is probably not seamen, but so help me I can’t think of what else it would be, and even worse, I accidentally touched it and now have a greater than zero chance of having some sexually transmitted disease.

Let’s look at some other fine details. You know, the See Pine Inn really caters to it’s customers just as thoughtfully as the Biltmore: there is a microwave on top of the tv cabinet, perhaps for warming up prosthetic sexual appendages, lube, or after-orgasm burritos. There are two boxes of cleanex on the mysterious sticky substance stained table and in the bathroom (which is useful because the toilet paper holder is directly behind the toilet and a foot from the ground) and at least half of one working power outlet, the other socket of the pair being blown out or melted or kicked in or something. The phone by the bed has the number for the Sea Pine Inn Restaurant taped onto it, perhaps for post coitus microwave dinners.

The shower looks dirtier than me, and the energy-saving bathroom timer-light-switch has the knob removed, so there is effectively no light in the bathroom. Just a fan. Which perhaps I should use, since something about the room's smell is making me nauseous. Or perhaps it’s talking about it that's bringing bile up my throat. I don’t think so; writing doesn’t generally do that to me. Oh, the toilet has a nice paper strip over the top that says “sanitized for your protection.” which is quite thoughtful and practical, really. Even if all they do is put a new one of the paper strips on the toilet each time a customer breaks it, without actually touching the toilet themselves it still confers a (false) sense of safety, that, at least you won't get herpes/aids/genital warts from using the toilet, which is otherwise a serious concern.

A few more little gems: The lampshades are covered in plastic, and with good reason: they are filthy. There are large mirrors all over the place, including right over the bed. That’s right, on the ceiling. I think that could only have one purpose, aside from freaking the hell out of people who wake up at night and see a face staring down at them.

Last but not least, there is a little pink envelope, with the Words: “THANK YOU FOR STAYING WITH US! Your Housekeeper has been ___________. We hope that everything done for you has met with your satisfaction. Your Housekeeper has tried to make your stay with us as pleasant as possible. If there is anything we can do to make your stay even more pleasant, please let us know.

If you wish to leave anything for your Housekeeper’s effort, we are providing this envelope. Please come back and stay with us again soon. It has been our pleasure to have you as our guest. -The Management.” And yes, after picking it up, my finger tips felt greasy and defiled, and I searched for something I could wipe them on before typing any further, that I did not own and would never touch again.

Well, now you’ve got a little taste of the ritziest and the sketchiest hotels you’re likely to find. I think I may not be back to the sea pine any time soon. I hope.

On an interesting note, the fact that the Biltmore was one of the nicest hotels I’ve ever stayed at, and at the Sea Pine Inn I am sleeping on top of the bed covers, in my sleeping bag, doesn't really matter. Not even the fact that I was pampered and comforted by everything around me and huge amounts of expensive food, vs. having a splitting headache from traveling and going from warm to freezing, and not eating anything because I’m afraid to go outside with the sun down and money on me. Frankly, I am alive, well, and entertained. Life is amazing, funny, always new and growing, and beautiful. Always beautiful. And you KNOW that word “beautiful” means something more, because we are currently talking about a place that’s atmosphere is best described as, “inundated with stale seamen and the cigaret smoke of decades.”

trying not to vomit, cus it’s bad for my teeth enamel


Nov 17th, 2010

This entry is much later than the other two, but I am finaly coalating and editing this for publication on my glamorous and highly paid blog.

Tying into the end of the previous post, I vomited this morning, for the first time in many, many years. I was lieing on the floor, practicing an Alexander technique exercise, and I suddenly started feeling incredibly nauseous. I was confused, since all I'd eaten was a vitamin supplement and an amrit tablet. I figured I'd just lie down, skip breakfast, and wait it out. Probably take a dump later on as my body tried to quickly evacuate whatever it was that shouldn't be there. Just then, a friend called me about our lunch date. I explained that I had a really bad stomach ache, and then realized that it was feeling so bad I might have to hang up the phone suddenly to vomit, which I explained. “um, so, no lunch date then?” hold on... just sec, call you back.” beep. GLAAARGLGLARGBLAGGGgggluh... There was nothing to throw up except something that I assume is spit or stomach mucus, and a bright orange half dissolved vitamin gelcap. Well. At least I know without a doubt that I really shouldn't be taking that vitamin.

I'm kind of afraid of vomiting. I think about it and draw up pictures of hurling so hard and nonstop that I can't breath, hideous stenches coming out of my mouth, burning sensations, and feelings of trying to breath in while stomach contents are coming out and choking. But this was really very gentile. I just relaxed and let the gag reflex get something out of my stomach that the incredible intelligence of my body had determined was very bad for me.

That reminds me: if anyone wants most of a bottle of high quality multi-vitamins, I've got some for you. They probably won't make you vomit.

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