Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Category: Life in General (Page 14 of 46)

Valentine’s Day, 2010

February 14, 2010 / / 38 Comments

I’m not in a happy place in my romantic life.

But for some reason, I remain optimistic about the potential of love, even when I am at a low point, like today, sitting in a hotel room a few blocks from my home on Valentine’s Day — and away from my wife. After a traumatic week, I decided I needed to pull away and refresh myself. The tensions surrounding this family, and my sick FIL, have become overwhelming and exhausting.

I stay positive because I am creative, and more importantly, very easily deluded by myself. Writers know that there are always new twists, new characters, and new loves as the plot grows. So, even when things turn sour — it’s no problem; it is not impossible for a bag of gold to fall into your lap the next day, on the way to work.

My interest in telling stories did not grow out of a love for language, but out of the inherent belief in the make-believe. Storytelling is myth, and as cynical as I sound at times, I embrace the bullshit of even the most corny Hollywood story. I believe in happy ending, maybe not the finale you first expected, but some ending that will allow you to leave the theater smiling.

It is Valentine’s Day.

Happy Valentine’s Day to those in love! I’ve always felt bad for those who were alone, or feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day. This was the case even when I was happily in love, being that I am a guilty sort of person. Why shouldn’t everyone be in love? It’s not fair! Money is a limited commodity, but certainly there is enough love for every citizen of the world.

We should remember that love is always right around the corner. We frequently forget that wisdom. That is why it is important to have great artists amongst us who will keep us connected to the great ideas and essential truths about love. Things will work out, and love will find a way, as is so well-documented in one of the most important works of music in the 21st Century —

California Rain

February 11, 2010 / / 16 Comments

I’m sick of the sound of the California rain, the pitter patter of the drizzle, the daily downpour since December.  Is it over?

Once upon a time, the rain was nice.  We would close shop and stay in bed and drenched with wetness would mean wicked kisses, womanly warmth, wild with pleasure,  the boiling of the water for your camomile tea, and the steamy udon soup from Tanaka’s take-out, which we would eat in the sturdy wood bowls on the flannel sheets, the thick heavy noodles bursting with flavor. 

Now it’s just an endless rain, rain go away, raindrops keep fallin’ on my head, like bitter tears. And when it pours, man it pours.

Sent from my iPhone

One Week Journal

January 25, 2010 / / 23 Comments

Sunday, January 24, 2010

I want to try an experiment.  I’m only going to write one post this week, the one you are reading right now, but I will be updating it each night until next Sunday.  It will be a seven night long post.

“Why?”

I’m attracted to the idea because it is counter-intuitive.  I don’t think this idea will attract readers, and the updates won’t show up in the Google Reader.

“So, what’s the point?”

The idea scares me.  And I like that.  Because I will be writing this for YOU.  And by YOU, I mean ME.

I took this photo in the hospital today.   Sophia’s FIL is still in the hospital.   I spent the day there with Sophia’s mother.  Things became worse because he had a heart attack on Friday night.  This has been a three week ordeal now.    When I first made my plans to come to LA, it was discuss our relationship.   Instead, stress has moved into our home with us, like termites of the soul, eating away at the foundation of everything.

Monday, January 25, 2010

– next –

It’s the Real Thing

January 6, 2010 / / 48 Comments

Tuesday Night

9PM – Sophia’s stepfather, Vartan, is not doing well. He is at a rehab center near Cedars Sinai in Beverly Hills. Sophia and her mother have been at his side constantly for weeks and they are exhausted, so I told her that I would stay all night and watch over him. Sophia told me to caress his hand and talk to him to help him sleep.

9:15PM – Vartan has an amazing life. He is older than Sophia’s mother. He fought in World War 2, and was a POW in a German camp. He went through turbulant times in the Soviet Union. He was a prominent cancer surgeon in Russia. He moved to America with Sophia’s mother because he loved her. Rumor has it that they fell in love while still married to others, and they waited decades until they were able to be together.

10:20PM – Everyone here seems to be elderly and in pain. If you’ve been to a place like this, you know what I’m talking about. If you don’t, it’s better off you don’t know.

10:30PM – The sounds. The screaming of the man in the next room.

10:45PM – In one day, I’ve gone from writing about the hormonal teenage years of early manhood to writing about the inevitable weakening of man because of old age.

11PM – I can’t wait until morning arrives, for the nurturing power of the sun. I know this sounds insensitive, but I don’t want to be in this place anymore. I’m getting dizzy. Don’t faint. Be a man. Be a man like Vartan. Think of all the stress that Sophia and her mother are under, doing this every day.

11:15PM – How many of my blogging friends are nurses? Kudos to you for the work you do.

11:30PM – There is another man in the room, in the other bed. He constantly watches sports on his TV. Every time I walk by, he wants to talk with me. He is lonely. He used to work for ABC Sports. He thinks that I am Russian. He wants to talk about the famous Olympic hockey game between the USA and the USSR. He was supposed to cover that Olympic event with ABC, but he was assigned to bobsledding instead. He has always regretted that day.

Midnight – Vartan is going in and out of reality. Sleeping pills don’t work. He tries to leave the bed. The nurses have to “soft restrain” him to the bed. It is painful to watch. At times, he knows who I am. At other times, he is in his own world. I try to decipher what he is doing in this other reality by watching his movements.

12:05PM – He is talking to someone in Russian. But this person is not there. Who is this person that he is speaking to? I don’t know.

12:10AM – He is petting what looks like a boy’s head. Or a dog? Perhaps it is a dog he had as a child? He is making rapid movements with his hands and fingers. Swatting flies? Conducting an orchestra? Writing on a blackboard?

12:45AM – The nurse enters, wanting to change the soiled sheets. What a tough job these nurses have! Still, it is a little sad that there isn’t more of a human touch to the caregiving at this facility. One patient seems interchangeable with the next.

12:50PM – Vartan is doing his hand movements, and the nurse just finds them an annoyance as she changes the sheets.

2AM – I decide the hand movements are Vartan performing surgery. I find that dignified. He senses that he is in a medical facility and is doing what he is trained to do. He is not just some old anonymous guy. He is a skilled surgeon, and he wants everyone to know that.

3:15AM – Earlier in the evening, Sophia had sent over some Chinese food from a local restaurant, but eating Kung Pao Chicken in this facility made me queasy, so I hardly touched it. But I’m just noticing that at the bottom of the bag sits a can of Coke. Not Diet Coke, but real Coke. Woo-hoo!

3:30AM – That was the best Coke I ever had. Seriously. This post could be a commercial for the intense power of Coca-Cola. This Coke was my escape out of here. It’s the real thing. It transported me. Coke does not belong in a rehab facility. It is the soda of youth. I close my eyes and I am at a summer picnic, drinking Coke. And there is BBQ. And women. Life affirming stuff.

4:10AM – Vartan is doing his hand gestures again. But, this time, I notice that during the movement, he brings his hand to his mouth, as if he is eating something. That’s it! He is NOT doing surgery with his hands. He is picking something — from a tree? — cherries? grapes? apples? — and eating them. He grew up on a farm. Is this eating of the fruit his equivalent to my drinking the Coke? Is he at a picnic too?

5AM – I try to calm Vartan down again by caressing his hand. He is a cool guy. He used to laugh at me because I sipped my vodka.

This is hard. Soon, I will go home and Sophia’s mother will replace me at his side. We’re all hoping that Vartan recovers.

Last Post On This

January 5, 2010 / / 46 Comments

I had a very long conversation with Maggie Dammit this morning, and she helped me understanding why the post I wrote two days ago upset so many of my online friends — too many of you have been just like this girl in the car. There’s not much more I can say about this incident from years ago. What I’d like to walk away with is an understanding that this was aggression towards a woman, and I was a jerk towards her.

I was rather clueless when I published this post. I had no idea that it would provoke such intense emotions. That is a problem in itself. I don’t think most men realize how many women walk around with painful memories.

I spoke a great deal with Maggie about this comment from my friend, Deb on the Rocks:

I have never been quite sure if your crushes, your proclamations about women’s physical attributes, and your impulsivity/agressiveness on Twitter was humor or truth. People convinced me it was humor. Now I’m confused again, because it’s the same type of sexualize/rejection-fueled impulsivity that you describe here. We’re all works in progress, and I understand writers documenting those truths. I’d like to understand more.

This comment bothered me, because it is about NOW, not the past. I appreciate her being honest, and giving me something to think about. I am much more likely to say something stupid or demeaning on Twitter than ever be physically abusive with a woman. That’s just not me. But I do talk a lot. Do I exhibit aggression towards women online? Do I sexualize women in my jokes? Would you like me to be more business-like on Twitter? You would be a better judge than I am. I’m here to learn.

Thanks.

If you would like to speak to me on the phone or Skype later in the day about anything, email me.

And Kelly/Trish – I am putting back the stuff I edited out.

Next Post

January 4, 2010 / / 41 Comments

Let’s see, Sophia’s step-father is in the hospital, I am struggling with my marriage, and I have work stress.  What can I do for a little relaxation?  How about I write a blog post where I present myself as a horrible person?!

Why did I write the last post?   Here’s the truth.   I’ve been sleeping in the same bed as Sophia, and we sometimes end up doing something called “the tushy-push,” where we end up sleeping back to back, our behinds touching each other.    Two nights ago, I thought about how much I missed sleeping with someone in bed — the human contact.    I thought about some past relationships, and the rollercoaster ride that we all go on, and about how much marriage has taught me about women.   I woke up and wrote the last post.    It’s a personal blog and this is a personal story.

I was a little uncomfortable writing this, but I figured most of you know me long enough now that I can create a fuller character.   You may be surprised to hear this, but I didn’t expect such an intense reaction.    I wasn’t going for controversy.   Who would want that attention?   If anything, I was stupid not to think about all the hurt that so many of you walk around with every day.  This event in high school always bothered me because I was so disrespectful, but we both moved on, and I learned to better relate to women in college.   This was a specific incident with a specific person, not something I did repeatedly.    Perhaps I over-dramatized the aftermath.  I don’t go around thinking about it all the time.   I’ve told other people this story, and it didn’t come off as dramatic, so maybe there is something to the WRITING of it that makes it so powerful.   Or maybe it was ME writing it, and it came off as unexpected.

I’m not sure you can make any generalizations from the story, as if I was an asshole in high school and a great guy now.   I’m the same as I was before, just more mature.  I really hope that I’m not judged on one post, or any post, which would only make me more timid about opening up and telling you true stories.   I can just as easily write funny stuff every day, but I figured I would take a chance on being real.

The Incident in The Car

January 3, 2010 / / 85 Comments

When I was in high school, there was a girl I liked in my class. She was smart and pretty, and she came from a wealthy family. I came from the “other side” of Queens, so our relationship had all of the potential of a Lifetime movie.

One spring day, after math club, I walked her home. I bought her an ice cream cone at Baskin-Robbins. We sat in the sun and talked about how our SAT scores were going to determine the rest of our lives. The fact that we were sitting there together was a sign that she liked me. I was hoping this would be my first serious girlfriend.

That weekend, a group of our friends went to “the city” to see some movie at the Ziegfeld Theater on the big screen. Her friend drove us to the theater. It was six crammed into one car. I was in the front and she was in the back. She was all dressed up, wearing a dress, and looked fabulous. As we drove, I became upset when I saw her flirting and talking with one of my other friends. I could feel my stomach tighten. Until that moment, I had never felt such intense emotions, harsh and powerful feelings of jealousy and lust.

To this day, I do not remember what the movie was that we saw at the Ziegfeld or what we did afterward. I think we went out to eat after the movie, but I don’t remember for sure. Someone smoked pot, but it wasn’t me.

As we drove home, we took the same seats in the car. When I looked at her in the back seat, I wanted her badly, even though I’m not sure what “wanting her” meant as a virgin in high school. I just knew that I hated myself for wanting her so badly, and that these wild, animal feelings were turning me into some sort of Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde monster.

I turned to her in the back seat. She was wearing boots with her dress, and a silk blouse with no bra. I was so angry that I did not possess this girl for myself, or that she might give “herself” to someone other than me.

The next five seconds have haunted me for decades. As we drove over the 59th Street Bridge, I put my hand on her thigh, saying, “Is this what you want?! Is this what you want?!” She quickly blocked my hand and started tearing up. I grabbed my hand back and turned to the front, ashamed. The others in the car didn’t really know what had happened, because it occurred so quickly. When they asked her why she was upset, she didn’t want to talk about it.

I didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the trip home. I later apologized, but she didn’t talk to me again.

This was one of the meanest thing I ever did, and the only time I ever did anything like this, and it affected my relationships with women for years.

This incident truly scared me, not only because of what I did to her, an innocent victim, but because I lost control. For many years, excessive emotions and sexuality frightened me, as if they were dangerous, never knowing where they might carry me, like a leaky raft on wild rapids.

The Christmas Parade

December 12, 2009 / / 20 Comments

December has been a social month.  I met up with Doobleh-vay at her New York hotel, Jen Lee at the Moth Storytelling Slam, attended the BlogHer NY Holiday party, and lived it up at the NY book launch party of Kirtsy Takes a Bow: A Celebration of Women’s Online Favorites.

kirtsy2

The Kirtsy book contains great writing and photography from female bloggers, many who you might know from being online.   For some reason, one of my tweets is included,in this woman’s book, bringing me one step closer to that sex change operation.

kirtsy

At the party, someone asked me if I write a sex blog, or if I am just obsessed about breasts.  I didn’t get too many phone numbers that night.

After all the festivities, I woke up early on Friday morning for the big topper event — I was taking a train for a weekend in Virginia, visiting V-grrrl and her family.

vgrrrl
(photo of V-grrrl by Di Mackey)

V-grrrl is one of my long-time blogging friends, although I have never met her in real life, mostly because, until last year, she lived in Belgium.

She also send me the most important piece of European art work that I own, back in 2006, after she read one of my ground-breaking posts about boys peeing in Norway.

mannekin1

V-grrrl is also the very first person to be interviewed — by me — in the first Great Interview Experiment.

V-grrrl and her husband live in a beautiful home practically sitting in a forest (with a lot of Revolutionary and Civil War history).  In her backyard, all sorts of exotic birds fly to her feeder.

“That’s a real oriole!” I screamed, looking on my “Birdwatching” iphone app that I downloaded when it was on sale at $2.99!  I pressed a button on the iphone and showed off the bird sounds to V-grrrl’s kids.  They were not impressed, since they had iphones themselves.  In fact, a good part of the afternoon was spend sharing iPhone apps with V-grrrl’s twelve year old son.  I have a feeling modern technology makes us all the same age — teenagers.

V-grrrl’s kids are super-brainy.  Have you ever heard of this school competition program called O.P.?    O.P. kids compete against each other building miniature airplanes, and then devise the flight plans, as if they were air traffic controllers.  They explained it to me, but I didn’t really understand.  I’m more about the peeing in Norway than engineering feats.

The big event of the weekend was the town’s 40th annual Christmas Parade.  I was excited to see the charm of this small-town tradition. And then it SNOWED.  And SNOWED.  A nearby town, which was also having a parade that day, cancelled their event, but V-grrrl’s town, wanting to prove that they were not a bunch of Yankee wimps, said “The Show Must Go On.”

v_cat

V-grrrl’s family and I dressed in our long underwear and overcoats, and headed out to the parade route, V-grrrl’s husband carefully driving on the icy road.  The crowd on Main Street was surprisingly large for the inclement weather, but some youth group was selling hot cocoa, keeping us warm.

v_parade
The first half hour, waiting for the parade to start, was magical.  The lights, the snow, the old fashioned bookstores and ice cream parlors on Main Street, the church steeple in the background, the pub where George Washington once slept, and the gentle small town faces made this scene as American as any Norman Rockwell painting.

Then, the parade started, and no offense to V-grrrl, her family, or her town, but that was the WORST parade I have ever seen.

Parents were smartly wary about sending their children marching in the snow, so half of the marching bands never showed up.  One determined high school band consisted of three people — one tuba, one drum, and a cheerleader dressed in a wool coat that prevented her from doing any of the dance moves.

In the past, the highlight of the parade was the tradition of those on the floats throwing candy out at the crowd.  V-grrrl’s kids told me of how they would come home with more booty than Halloween.   Sadly, fear of Johnny Cochran-type legal action has now taken hold in small town America.  The city banned the candy throwing — just in case some child was hit in the head with a poorly-aimed Smarties package, and the city was sued!   What a downer.   You could see it on the kids’ faces.   There was no joy in Whoville that evening.   Thank you, legal Grinches.

But that’s not all!

After the last float passed by (something about Jesus, sponsored by a hardware chain), everyone waited for the real meaning of Christmas — the ho ho ho man himself.  The crowd stood there, shivering in both the freezing cold and anticipation, waiting for the grand entrance.

Santa Claus never showed.

It was too cold and snowy, so Santa decided to just STAY HOME and watch videos!

It was truly a bad parade, and we all knew it.   Of course, that is when the fun began.  On the way home, we all devised funny editorials to the local newspaper decrying the “Santa” outrage, the best title to the editorial being, “No, Virginia, There is No Santa.”

Luckily, V-grrrl’s daughter baked a cheesecake for us to eat when we got home.

The next day, when the newspaper came out, there was a glowing review of the parade (I think they were one of the sponsors).   At the end of the article, the journalist wrote, “And lastly, Santa entertained the children, although he showed up late.”

Bullsh*t, I say!  We were there.  Santa did not show up at all.

As I took the Amtrak back to New York the next day, I thought about small towns and big cities.  Was there really that much of a difference?  We both watch the same TV shows.  We both own iphones with bird-watching apps.  And most importantly, we both have media operations that LIE TO US ABOUT SANTA!

Thanks for the great weekend, V-grrrl!

Note: The Fourth Annual Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert is THIS THURSDAY.   Please email me files or links by Wednesday at the latest!

Morning, December 1st

December 1, 2009 / / 20 Comments

Last night, I had a little trouble falling asleep because I was laughing to myself so much over my last post. I know it probably wasn’t that funny to you, but the absurdity of the premise struck a nerve in me, and I could not stop giggling. That was a post I might have written as a twelve year old, if I had my adult brain.

At 5AM, I walked my mother down to her cab. She is going to the airport, en route to Florida for the winter. Even though the flight is not until 7:30AM. This is the craziness I have dealt with my entire life. Always show up two hours EARLY — just in case.

The house is now quiet. Sophia and I have NOT been getting along in our phone conversations. I feel mildly depressed. But also excited about new possibilities. But also worried, which probably doesn’t surprise you. While it is great to have my own space, events are forcing me back into reality, having to ponder my life again, rather than avoiding it.

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