How I met your mother............

Pierce, How I Met Your Mother

This is the forth time that I started this blog entry only to get 8 words down before I hit delete. My thoughts are all over the place and the “monkeys in my mind” have been downing moonshine for the last 15 hours. Japan. I can’t even fathom maintaining an ounce of sanity through such a tragedy. My thoughts and prayers are with all of you, godspeed! Those of us not directly affected should count our blessings, those of us who are fortunate enough to wake up every morning, pour a cup of coffee and grumble about our 9-5 daily grind (no pun intended).

Two of our best friends, Jason and his wife Kaori are living in Tokyo. Jason filmed the 8.9 magnitude quake during it’s peak while in his apartment. The last time I checked last evening, that video had over 270,000 views on Youtube. This, my second blog is dedicated to Jason and Kaori, a couple who forever changed our lives.

In the 1984 movie “Repo Man” Tracey Walter’s character Miller tells Otto (played by Emilio Estevez), “I do my best thinking on the bus. That's how come I don't drive, see? The more you drive, the less intelligent you are”.  Being that I spend an average of 3 hours a day, five days a week, 1 entire month of my life every year commuting on the bus; the monkeys have more then enough time to bounce of the sides of my cranium.

Obviously, like the rest of you reading this (all 3 of us) the horrific events in Japan are monopolizing my thoughts. Riding the X19 into Manhattan this morning, sun starting to rise, nasal passages blocked from the horrendous head cold my son brought back from daycare,  seat to myself thanks to the horrendous cold my son brought back from daycare and the book “Alive in 5.”. Fantastic, healthy reading however, not a novel filled with intrigue, vampires and phallic Da Vinci symbols of the Illuminati. My mind began to drift.

Kingston upstate NY, cheap rent, abominable winters, guys who hang out at the car wash picking up chicks, the IBM ghost town and me. In 2002 I moved up to Kingston under the assumption that I had a position as a licensed Acupuncturist with a friend’s (now a nemesis for other reasons) doctor sister. That didn’t happen. Now to fast forward past both good and bad times in the Hudson Valley and skip ahead two years. In April 2004 I reconnected with my ex, 5 months later I moved back down to Sunnyside Queens. For the rest of this blog I’ll refer to this individual as “E”, short for Evi…… Like I’d call her that?! One brisk fall evening E and I were out at a local pub called the Colony on

Queens Blvd

and

42^nd Street

. We were hanging out in the enclosed back patio, sipping a pint and smoking up a storm. Pretty blitzed and an hour before the bar closes a tall dude wearing a Misfits t-shirt, cupping his hands against his moth to beatbox strolls into the patio area.

Mr. Misfit t-shirt guy sat next to us, his two friends grabbed a bench further away. He bummmed a cigarette, we talked about music and hit it off like two long time bros. We closed out the bar and invited the crew back to our studio apartment around the corner where we drank until the sun came up the next morning.

Jason was the dude wearing the Misfits shirt and he quickly became my best friend.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that getting back together with E was an enormous mistake. I won’t get into the details but I will offer a comparison; sort of like Gandhi dating Charles Manson (guess who is who).

A few weeks after meeting Jason, E and I were at a breaking point and I ended up sleeping on the couch. It was beyond obvious that our relationship was over. The lease to the tiny studio was under her father’s name and upon arriving home from work one day I found most of my belongings packed up in boxes. I had only lived in Queens for two months and had given my bed and most of my furniture away before I moved downstate.

It wasn’t long before I stepped out of the apartment after handing over my keys, walked down the four flights of stairs and out the front door of

45-15 42^nd Street

. Nerves fried, I lit up a Djarum Clove cigarette and walked down Queens Blvd. Technically homeless, 2 weeks into a new job and not ready to move back with my parents all the way out in Huntington Long Island. Called a few friends including Dan and Matt, they both offered a couch to crash on until I could sort things out and find my own place. Anxious as all hell, I headed over to Jason’s on 39^th Place, 12 pack in hand. A few minutes later I was chilling on his living room couch, drinking beer, filling him in on the details of my split. Jason got up off the couch, left the room for a few minutes and came back after speaking with his wife Kaori. “We’d love for you to stay with us!” They were lifesavers and I rented their spare room for several months.  

One freezing cold winter day, I remember it so vividly, Jason and I were walking back to his apartment when he started telling me about one of his coworkers.

He went on to tell me that she was gorgeous, tall, European, (insert a couple male expletives/ guy talk) and a perfect match for me. Unfortunately, she was living with her boyfriend in Brooklyn and had been dating him for 6 years. “He’s a total tool and Dawn can’t stand him! She’s your future wife, she’s your soulmate.”  He would attempt a sexy Eastern European woman’s voice anytime he imitated Dawn, but always sounded more like a drag queen from down south.

Well that’s it for this blog entry, sorry to leave you hanging but I’ll get to the rest real soon!



Origins of 2 dollar

Not sure why you’re here? Well, I’m not sure why I’ve created a blog, but thank you for perusing. If you know me then you’re probably prepared for some rather strange, twisted and at times psychologically taxing random musings. If we’ve never met, please don’t judge me by the strange babble that transfers through my finger tips, tickling the Dell for all the world to see.

“Two Dollar Kevin’s Two Dollars worth.” WTF??  SUNY Delhi 1992, a strange, wonderful time of my life in a single traffic light town in upstate NY. It was my freshman year, first time living on my own and in a long term/ long distance relationship . Prior to dorm life in Murphy Hall, I was drinking Old English 800 40oz bottles like there was no tomorrow and rap music was my chosen musical genre alongside my long love of punk, alternative rock and techno.

On the morning of September 12, 1992 I woke up with horrendous abdominal pain. I basically crawled to the nursing infirmary only to find that they didn’t open for at least another half hour. Basically curled up on the front steps and waited for 8am opening time. I was seen by the school nurse who listened to my list of symptoms and quickly diagnosed me as “constipated.” There was no way in hell that this feeling of death was caused by a plugged up pooper and I begged her to send me to the hospital. She did. The doctor at the local ER pressed down on what is called “McBurney’s Point” on the right side of the lower abdomen and asked me if I felt any pain. I replied that I did not; he waited a few seconds and released. I’m pretty certain that I screamed as he released. He informed me that I would have to undergo surgery to remove my appendix asap and asked me to call my family. Dialed “Wordmaster’s” the direct mailing company my Mom worked, she answered and put me on hold. I fell back into the gurney and the doctor waited on hold. He informed my mother of the situation and off I went to get prepped.

Where am I going with all this?! Onwards………..

A week out of the hospital, it was a gorgeous fall day, 70 degrees and it seemed like the entire campus was outdoors. I was sitting on one of the 2 large flower planters directly in front of my dorm watching a few skaters ollie over boards. I walked up to one of the guys, a Tony Hawk hair styled dude wearing slacks and Airwalk sneakers and asked to borrow his board. I ollied 2 boards no problem but kept falling when I attempted 3. Frustrated and exhausted I handed the board to the skateboarding slacks guy and said, “It might be these staples in my stomach” as I lifted my shirt revealing my week old sutures. That was the day I met Dan, one of my best friends to this day and along with my buddy Matt they gave me the nic name “Two Dollar Kevin.”

Dan was my first straight edge friend and a far cry from my fellow boozers in Long Island. My roommate at the time, Chris R. from Syosset was a total tool. Our room was down on the first floor of Murphy Hall. Chris had a repulsive habit of squeezing his zits, and there were many (looks like someone lit his face on fire and stopped it out with cleats) leaving the remnants on our shared bedroom mirror. His choice of sleepwear consisted of Umbro soccer shorts, which housed both his hands behind the drawstring, sans t-shirt. Without fail, I’d wake up every morning and the entire room reeked like fried chicken. I’d come home late at night, lay in my bunk bed across the room from Chris and I’d throw pennies at him as he slept. The reason for this was when I made contact, he would sit up while still sleeping and start talking!

Dan (DJ Grinch) and Matt (DJ Garbage Man) where both DJs for the college radio show WDTU. Like I said earlier, there wasn’t a whole lot to do in Delhi, especially when you don’t drink/ do drugs and your girlfriend is 120 miles away. We would often find ourselves at the local Mobil Mart buying cigarettes, Pepsi and scratch off lotto tickets. Our preference being “Lucky 7s.” One night Matt won $34, Dan won $12 and I won…….. get ready…. 2 dollars. Being that they both had cool radio names and I wasn’t yet a DJ, I became 2 dollar Kevin. A few months later I became DJ TDK.