The mountains stand out in the distance, a brilliant shade of deep blue. The sun tries to peek above the tip of the mountainous skyline. The air is cool, a dewy humidity competing with the dryness. Clouds that only hours ago lazily floated high in the air have lost altitude. The sky is a sheet of glass, glinting playfully with the rising sun.
The mountain range towers less than usual. Clouds have descended upon the peaks, covering the range from north to south. Having blocked the rising sun, they appear puffy, a light shade of blue. A light breeze passes through continuously, smoothing the surface of clouds. A wave crashing over rocks, moving in slow motion.
The sun persists. Shimmering rays appear, taunting the clouds and daring them to relent. A tiny crescent of the great star emerges. Though small, it reaches far and wide. In both directions, clouds are immediately lined a brilliant color palette, alternating gold and silver as the rays of the sun play off the clouds and misty air at the high altitude.
The air is crisp and still. Time slows down and falls away. Calm. Peaceful. Beautiful.
If you ever come across one of these delicious buildings, I highly recommend you bite, and go inside. Upon seeing the Toll House store whilst wandering Albuquerque Uptown with my friend Dr. Vina, it was all I could do to not lick the bricks of the building right then and there.
The overpowering smell of cookies was enough to make us decide to spoil our impending lunch a little bit by ordering what looked like harmless little snacks of mini chocolate chip cookies with white stuff and mini M&Ms surrounding them. And at a mere 99 cents each, said truffles seemed easily as harmless as a stick of celery. Maybe I’m exaggerating.
We probably really should have ordered celery, or at least that weird grass drink stuff some of those smoothie places sell. Despite my fairly sweet tooth, I bit into my little cookie sandwich and was met with a whipped cream that was so sugary it nearly killed all my taste buds upon contact. So while a ten-year-old might relish the intense feeling that is whipped cream instantly turning to butter in your mouth, it was way too much for me to handle. I think that spike in my glucose level should be my last such spike, preferably for the rest of my life.
The lesson to learn here: when you do go, don’t do what I did. Stick to a regular cookie or maybe some ice cream. You can thank me later.
Today was my youngest brother’s birthday. As a consequence, I joined the family, as well as some of their cronies, for dinner. Every family visit is unique these days, and I never know what to expect when I’m in their presence.
Tonight was interesting, to say the least. Just for kicks, I decided to throw the word gay into as many conversations as possible.
Brother: I think I’m going to get fetuccini alfredo.
Phil: I went to a gay bar-slash-restaurant in LA that had great fetuccini.Brother: That bar gives me the creeps.
Phil: That’s because it’s not a gay bar.
Because I was the last person to arrive, I had prime seating at the very end of the table. I say “prime” because I was lucky enough to sit next to the birthday boy’s friend’s girlfriend. At the tender age of 19, she was very sweet and very innocent. Which made me want to corrupt her as much as I could in the two hours I was there.
Corrupting her was much more difficult than I had expected, however, as Girlfriend lacked the mental capacity to take a compliment.
Girlfriend: It’s so hard to get out of this chair with the pillar behind me.
Phil: At least you can sit there. My figure isn’t nearly as good as yours, so I have to sit here at the end of the table.
Girlfriend: Stop it!
Phil: …
Girlfriend: Don’t say that.
Phil: …
I have to say I was somewhat disappointed. I thought for sure that this girl, who managed to drag her macho boyfriend into the new lingerie store next door to a local bowling alley shortly after it opened, would be a little more savvy. I’m wondering if she’ll talk up the others about what a total jerk I am. Here’s hoping!
I’m still in Albuquerque, as I’ve noted previously, and thus I missed out on what could have been my first ever experience of an earthquake. I called up a good friend of mine there when I heard about it, and she was like, “Ho hum, the ground shook a bit, but it wasn’t anything to write home about. Good times.” I’m sure had I been there myself, I would have completely exaggerated the whole event in my head, and convinced myself that the ground shook so much it knocked me on my ass. But I wasn’t there, and so am still left without ever experiencing such a natural phenomenon.
What I did get to do today, though, was go out to lunch. Robert and I met up with a friend of ours neither of us had seen in far too long. When you meet up at 11:30 and don’t leave until 2:30, you know you’ve had a nice time.
At some point during the meal, I had to excuse myself to use the restroom. And, awkward as it is to admit this, I couldn’t resist taking a picture of something that caught my eye while there. Ever heard of Johnny Boards? (If not, it’s because they’re an Albuquerque company. I’m sure the concept can be seen elsewhere.) Basically, the concept is that an ideal placement for advertisements is in a place people always have to go: the John.
Normally, I don’t think much of it, but today was a different story. It pretty much speaks for itself.
And I think it definitely merited taking a picture in the restroom. Just saying.
It started out as one of those occasional catches of the eye. The kind where you make eye contact and some sense of familiarity is sparked, but usually as just a reminder of someone you knew in the past, nothing absolute. It’s meant to end there. Except in rare cases in which the opposing party decides to say “hey stranger” and move in for the kill.
At the time, I had no idea where I knew her from, and I was more than happy to keep it that way. After all, I wasn’t the one who went rushing up to hug me. I knew enough to know that if I only barely recognized the face, there was little point in trying to figure out where we knew each other from, much less try to catch up on the six or eight years it’s been since we’d last seen each other. My thought: if I don’t remember you well, I probably never knew you well.
Relief swept over me when her name was called to go into the clinic. Only she clawed viciously against the poor nurse and shouted her phone number to me and told me to call her. “I can’t hear you” was what I said as the door closed, and peace resumed in my little world once again.
Five minutes passed. A door opened and a nurse approached me. She handed me a piece of paper, upon which was scrawled a name and a phone number. Meghann.
As the day has drawn onward, the events have replayed themselves in my head. Images of high school have flashed before my eyes. Remembering events and faces I’d long ago put behind me, perfectly content to let them lie. And with all these memories, the face from the doctor’s office returns. Ah yes, I remember her well. Walking along the hallways before math class, and hearing her blather on about stories about her ROTC buddies and her girlfriends.
So much of my life has changed since those days, and suddenly I’m reminded of just how little I miss that time in my life. The phone number will remain on that paper, in all likelihood never to be dialed. So good to see you, but our brief contact will suffice. I’m very happy to let chance dictate our next encounter, rather than voluntarily make that happen. Until next time…
Albuquerque, as a whole, is full of awesome people. It’s funny, but being back home has really reopened my eyes to this place, and reminded me why I love it so much. It’s not perfect, however, and has its share of people who have asses for brains.
As Robert and I have made our way through the past week, we’ve encountered more than our fair sure of some pretty amazing jerks. Based on actual experiences, here’s a short “how to” list for your reading pleasure. I call it…
HOW TO BE A TOTAL ASSHOLE (Part 1)*
1. Accuse patrons seated at the table next to yours of stealing your condiments. Eager for some high quality fast food, Robert and I stopped for lunch at a combination A&W Long John Silver’s. Whilst consuming our delicious meal, a Registered Asshole walked over and sat down at the adjacent table. He left at one point, then returned and muttered “The least you could do is ASK” loud enough for us to hear. And then the bitch glared at us. When we finally asked, he accused us of taking the Malt Vinegar from his table. Because we have nothing better to do, right? And the idiot wasn’t observant enough to see that we’d had one on our table the whole time he was there. I would have smacked him if it weren’t for all the children present.
2. Turn your car around so you can drive the wrong way in the one-way lane AT THE HOSPITAL. We had to stop to pick up some medicine for Robert at the hospital. While walking to the building, we noticed a woman trying to turn around after just dropping someone off. I decided to be nice and shout “IT’S A ONE WAY, BITCH!” at the top of my lungs. She continued to turn, so both Robert and I started waving and pointing the one way the street was to go. She freaked and started pointing to the parking lot entrance, and we responded in kind by pointing our middle fingers at her. I would have thrown myself onto the hood of her car to make my point, but decided we were already making enough of a scene as it was.
*This could well become a recurring segment. Stay tuned for more in the near future.
I’ve been back in Albuquerque for one day so far. It’s amazing to be home, and I’ve found I’ve missed a lot more of the city than even I had realized. For instance, I love the way clouds form here. And it’s amazing how blue the sky is. That’s probably in part because I’m a mile closer to the sun than I am in LA, and partly because LA has SMOG. Not to mention twice as many cars as people.
Staying up ridiculously late Tuesday night (until almost 3:30), and then getting up at 4:45, was proven 200% worth it when I walked through the door past security and saw my partner standing there awaiting my arrival. I got stuck walking behind a woman who couldn’t seem to decide if she should actually risk exiting the area. She showed her indecision by shuffling constantly from left to right, thus making it impossible for me, bogged down with a bag slung across one shoulder and a suitcase dragging along behind me, to deftly football tackle her and leap into Robert’s arms like a crazed cheerleader.
It’s been great to run all over town. I’ve found it especially wonderful to know how to get around without once getting lost in the process. Sure I’m not driving, but I know this place like the back of my hand. (Funny side note: the first time I ever used the ‘back of my hand’ simile… I was probably 13 or 14, and thought I was being savvy beyond belief. Only since I said “I know [insert smart noun here] like the back of my HEAD,” I proved to the world that I didn’t know shit.)
What’s one of the best things to do when you go home? If you answered “Go to the dentist!”, you lose. That doesn’t mean I didn’t go. Because I did. No, it wasn’t wonderful. My teeth are white and shiny now, but in order to get there I had to lay back in that dentist chair for a full hour. It probably wouldn’t have taken quite so long if I hadn’t been on the verge of falling asleep the whole time. That bright white light was shining in my eyes, so I was like, “Fuck this, I’m closing my eyes.” Only I’m still kinda tired from all the lost sleep the other night, which means my hygienist had to tell me “Turn your head this way” and “Open your mouth wider” 3 or 4 times a minute. I don’t remember, exactly, but I think most of my replies consisted of me either grunting or drooling.
Now, if you answered “Go see Sex and the City with your honey,” please step away from the computer, stand up, and jump up and down and whoop a few times. Sure we were a week late, but it was well worth the wait. I wasn’t sure how well the show would look in the form of a movie, but I was pleasantly surprised. It stood on its own well enough that someone completely unfamiliar with the show would be able to follow the movie. If you’re a faithful fan and have seen every episode of the show, there’s lots of gritty inside story and far and away enough new juicy gossip to complement the old. And if you’re a casual viewer like me, you probably would have been like, “HOLY SHIT, I REMEMBER THAT EPISODE WHERE CHARLOTTE MET THAT GUY AND WAS HATING THAT SHE LOVED HAVING SEX WITH HIM BECAUSE SHE AT FIRST FOUND HIM SO UGLY.” And you’ll think it in all capital letters and bad grammar, just like me.
Here’s a few things I found myself thinking about during the movie for no reason whatsoever.
- Yay for tasteful use of nudity! One word: sushi.
- You know that mole Carrie Bradshaw brandishes on her chin? I don’t follow Sarah Jessica Parker enough to know if that’s real or a character trait for the part, but I’m fairly certain that at one point during the movie it was on the left side of her face, while the rest of the time it was on the right side.
- What on earth is going on with Chris Noth (a.k.a. “Mr. Big”)’s chest hair? That one patch of hair in the middle of his chest seems strangely out of place. Just saying.
If you haven’t seen the movie yet, hurry up and go see it. Whether or not you like it, or find it worthwhile cinema, it’s well worth seeing because it offers something for everyone. It’s smart and funny and catty and gossipy and emotional. Just don’t buy a 75-ounce soda to share with your partner. Because you’re not going to want to get up for one moment for fear of missing some really juicy gossip, and you’ll end up doing like I did, clenching your legs together and then having to bunny hop your way to the bathroom once the movie is over, all the while fearing that your bladder will suddenly explode.
Drag racing is the shit. Because on Saturday night, there’s nothing better to do than just that. Goodbye, fun with friends, trips downtown, or just hanging out at home relaxing. Hello, asphalt racing ground with 35-40 mile per hour speed limits!
The winner of tonight’s questionably legit drag race: a souped-up silver Ford Mustang. Because how can you compete with a car that’s got an engine the size of which is nearly as large as modern sedans. I knew when it pulled around me to speed up to beat me to the red light ahead, that I wasn’t dealing with just any drag racer. Mere blocks away from the usual racing zone, I knew that this car played to win.
And when I saw it take on that fancy Mercury Villager, I knew the driver meant business. As the opposing light turned yellow, the sound of a revving engine could be heard coming from the Stang. As soon as our light turned green, the sound of squealing tires broke the silence of this normally calm residential street.
And that charming little mini van gave that 220-horse-power (or however much horse power is in there) Mustang a run for its money. So much so, that the Mustang felt that, in order to retain what little “self-respect” it then had, it was necessary to keep speeding along the street. Where we caught up with it at the next red light down the road. And I’m pretty sure I heard Jan and Dean blasting on their radio. I didn’t get to see what the driver looked like, but it could well have been a certain “little old lady.”
I’ve officially gotten my balloon fiesta fix for the year. As my life-long residency in Albuquerque has taught me, the fiesta was every bit as wonderful as it always is, and also every bit as nerve-wracking.
When I went to the balloon glow on Sunday, I had my heart set on getting a cool pin for the Darth Vader balloon. Needless to say, I was crushed when I discovered that every single balloon pin vendor was sold out. Some punk sales economist person was seriously milking the whole supply and demand thing: each pin vendor only got 500 pins at a time. Okay so 500 pins to each of three vendors, that’s 1,500 pins. That’s plenty, right? Except that about 15,000 people (per event) each want a pin. When you consider how big a field has to be to support almost 1,000 hot-air ballons, and then you add some extra space for shops and everything, and then account for the fact that for each event, you’re lucky to find a single square foot of ground that doesn’t have at least one person’s foot in it, you realize that that’s a shit-load of people. And let’s face it, they probably all want Darth Vader pins.
Still, Sunday was a fabulous time. I went crazy taking pictures of balloons, because I’m a total balloon nerd, and I went through about a whole roll of film. When it was over, Robert and I decided that we had had so much fun that, hey, we should go back! So we decided to go to the special shapes balloon glow Thursday or Friday.
We opted for Thursday. I was stoked, and throughout the day looked forward to the afternoon and evening. The day went by quickly, thankfully. One of my supervisors brought her Miniature Dachshund puppy in to work, which was a big help. He was so cute! Not to mention rowdy and playful. We got on famously, and by the time he had to leave our company, more than an hour had passed. But then said super’s husband? boyfriend? came to pick up the dog. And suddenly I was stuck in Straight World limbo.
Husband Boyfriend Guy: Oh, geez. Honey, is that the collar you bought for the dog?
Supervisor: Mmm hmm.
Husband Boyfriend Guy: It’s kind of feminine, don’t you think?
Supervisor: I like it, and it looked the best on him compared to the others. Plus it’s adjustable and he’s comfortable in it.
Husband Boyfriend Guy: Yeah, but it’s really feminine. Don’t you think, Phil?
As he said this, I was in the process of slinking down to hide under my desk. I wanted more than anything else to not have to to be dragged into the debate simply because I was the only other man present in the room. Damn you, straight man! Only you would ever question whether your dog’s collar wasn’t macho enough. I was tempted to snatch the nearest baby pink bow, attach it to the collar, and then point out that that was feminine. Instead, though, I merely shrugged and responded honestly:
Husband Boyfriend Guy: That collar is totally feminine.
Phil: Actually, it looks fine. Are you metro?
Awkward! By the time the dog left, only an hour remained of my work day, and I was ready to go. As soon as I got off, I raced home. Robert and I then got ourselves all set to go, and we headed off to the nearby amusement park for the park and ride. Where we remained for the next hour, standing in line on the hot pavement. So much for a quicker way to get to the fiesta. I even went up and nicely told off the people “working” there. They were, for the most part, total assholes, and instead of feeling bad about voicing my discontent (which is my usual), I wished I’d been more of a jerk.
Eventually, though, we made it to the fiesta! And once we were among the seething masses of sweaty bodies, we were both happy to be there. Because we were going to get to see balloons!
First stop was the pin booths. We headed into the first one came across, and oohed and ahhed at all the cool balloon pins. Afraid they’d say they didn’t have any, and half-expecting them not to so as not to get my hopes up too much, I asked if they had any Darth Vader balloon pins. Here’s the answer I got:
“No. We’re sold out. Only one place here has them and they’re selling them for $60, which is totally outrageous and they’re a bunch of fascist jerks. Oh, and be sure to look and make sure it says Lucasfilm on the back because if not, then it’s a knock-off. See? Fascists.”
Disappointed, we left the pin booth. We wandered to the next one, which was super small and didn’t have any either. And then to the next one, where, joy of joy, they had the incredible pins from the Dark Side! As it turns out, these people were extremely nice, unlike the name-calling punks from that first booth. They were selling the Vader pins for $40 each, which isn’t too bad when you consider how inflated it actually could have been. I mean, $20 cheaper than what we had expected? That’s a bargain!
We knew that if we got the pins, we would be the envy of the town. We also knew that if we displayed them proudly, we might get jumped. So we got the pins and then I kept them safely in my pocket. Once that was said and done, I was walking on air. We set off to go enjoy the rest of the fiesta, now that we had the elusive ring of power Darth Vader pins.
We got to see the Darth Vader balloon himself, in all his glory. He’s a massive balloon, and he glows surprisingly well. My theory about his black color being too dark to glow well was proven wrong, and I [hopefully] have the pictures to prove it. I went through another full roll of film that night, and have now only to wait until Tuesday to see how they turned out. I’m counting down the days.
October is here. Which means that here, in the great state of New Mexico, it’s one of the touristy-est times of year. Welcome to Albuquerque’s International Balloon Fiesta. Non-New Mexican people have a tendency to refer to is as the balloon “festival.” Please note that this term is completely and totally inappropriate. It’s fiesta. Considering how many people aren’t aware that New Mexico is part of the United States, I don’t think it’s too much to ask to use our Spanglish jargon.
Given that I’ve spent my entire life right here in Albuquerque, one might think I’d be bored with the balloon fiesta. Like, hot-air balloons, big deal! In actuality, though, it is during this time of year that I imagine owning and piloting my very own hot-air balloon. This fantasy usually goes away as soon as the week is out. Still, it doesn’t matter how many I see, I am still so easily amused by hot-air balloons it’s not even funny. And if anyone else talks about hot-air balloons and/or events involving more than one balloon, you can be sure that I’m right there telling them how in Albuquerque, there are nearly 1,000 balloons present each year at the balloon fiesta. Because I’m competitive that way.
There’s really only one thing not to like about the balloon fiesta: the population practically doubles in the city. Every motel and hotel in town is packed, and the cheapest place to stay is, on average, $100 per night. Most places are booked long before the October for the whole week of the balloon fiesta. Now, I don’t really mind having lots of people here, because I like to play tourist myself from time to time. But. The city gets really crowded, and whereas at other times of year most drivers are ‘jerks,’ the average ‘jerk’ driver suddenly elevates into ‘asshole’ driver.
But none of this can stop me from enjoying myself. Though I’ve slept in and missed the mass ascensions for the past two mornings, I at least saw one balloon up close so far. The picture above was taken just outside my apartment this morning. I heard it outside, and managed to get a picture with my camera phone. Never mind that I was still in my pajamas, and was probably close enough for the people in the balloon to see me. I mean, I’m sure they see that sort of thing all the time, and are quite used to it by now.
Tonight I’m going to the balloon glow, or “Glowdeo,” to use our awesome Southwestern terminology. While I’m there, I’m thinking about buying a pin of the Darth Vader Balloon, because I’m all about the dark side.
