Music Video I produced
Music Video I produced
Photo by Kimi Selfridge www.tancamera.com
I want to tell you I miss you without actually fucking your shit up and telling you I miss you. But I decide fuck it. I am going to tell you. I get to the office in the morning with my mind made up. I walk past all the long legged models in the meatpacking district like I don’t give a shit.
I sit at my computer and in between checking my music blogs and my fantasy football team that I play just so my boss keeps hiring me even though it is me virtually handing him 100 dollar bill, I think about you. I think I am going to talk to you today and tell you I still miss you. And ask you if you think it will ever go away? And if I am feeling really brave I will ask you, if you miss me still too?
I think about it all day until I close my computer and go home for the day and realize it is too late because you are back in your apartment, and I know not to call or text when you are back at home.
I feel stupid. I feel the same way I do when I sit in the handicap seat at the end of the subway, the one that flips up and down. When I sit in it all I think about is when you get up, don’t get up too fast because it will slam and everyone will turn his or her head at you and give you a dirty look. I think this the whole time until I get up too fast and the chair slams shut with a bang and everyone looks at me and I try and pretend like I don’t give a fuck. But I do. I give a fuck and I feel like an amateur. Like today, when I thought about you so much I forgot to tell you.
Older Brother and I
When I was five my parents took me and my older brother to Washington DC for Thanksgiving. I remember I bought a miniature Blue Angels airplane from the Air and Space museum. I also broke the sliding doors at the hotel. My brother and I would sneak up on the doors from the side and then stand in the middle. When the doors opened we would stay in the middle where the censor couldn’t see us and the doors would close on us. They always reopened except for the last time when they didn’t open on me but just stopped, squeezing me between them. I slid out and the two doors stayed there. I was scared we were going to get yelled out, but no one saw us.
Later that day when we were waiting for the subway to come, my brother and I grabbed the rails of the escalator from the outside and let it carry us up into the air. My brother and I dared each other to see who would go the farthest. I think he won, but by default because on my last attempt the escalator stopped with me dangling in the air. “What do I do?” I pleaded with my brother. “Drop!” He said.
On our way home from the museums I saw a guy working on the escalator as my family took the stairs up. He looked frustrated and wiped sweat from his brow. I felt guilty. I wanted to say sorry, but I was also frightened he would get mad at me.
We spent Thanksgiving in a bar. There was a football game on while we had a turkey dinner amongst a bunch of drunks. I remember the kicker of the Pittsburgh Steelers (I think it was the Steelers) kicked it out of bounds on a kickoff and my dad leaned over to me and said that was a really bad play, and it rarely happens and the kicker was a real bum for kicking it out of bounds and maybe he would even lose his job.
The TV kept on showing close up shots of the kicker looking sad and depressed. He was standing alone and no one was talking to him. I felt bad for the kicker and hoped he wouldn’t lose his job. He seemed like a nice enough guy.
When we got back to the hotel there was a guy fixing the sliding doors at the hotel. He looked like the same guy that fixed the escalator. I went up to him and said sorry for breaking the escalator too. He said, what escalator? And what do you mean “too”? I got nervous and hurried up to my parents who were waiting for the elevator. When the doors dinged open I ran inside the elevator. My mom asked me what the hurry was. I told her I didn’t want to break anything anymore.