Turn down the volume, please.

I just returned from two weeks in Los Angeles. LA is a strange place but the trip was wothwhile. Waking up to the sounds of birds chirping, I spent my days singing in masterclasses and taking yoga and practicing the Alexander Technique. Northridge, CA, at 6:15 a.m., is a quiet place when you are running around a college campus. In the evenings, you don't notice much traffic when you are reading by the pool.

Getting back to NYC was a shock. I awoke last Sunday to the birds shrieking in the trees. They were just talking to each other, but compared to the birds of LA they were loudmouthed braggarts, comparing the size of their beaks and calling out to all the girl birds that flew by.

My first trip down to the subway made my ears bleed. There was an alarm going off at the very far end of the platform and when an A Express went by, I jumped out of my skin. The rattle went right through me.

Coming out of the station at 50th and 8th on Monday morning, I was assaulted by the grating sounds of street vendors, people on cell phones and the pounding of jackhammers. It seemed so loud that I could see the noise as it peeled off of the slamming taxi doors and bounced off of the tall buildings, focusing into needles that entered my skull.

After a few days, I began to acclimate to the sounds again. Even now, though, I will get a chill from two cars having a fender bender and wince at the sound of a slamming newspaper box.

Purgatory, or Service in New York City

Last night I got home to Kitty saying, "I can't even turn on the computer now." Yep, our laptop, the window to our world, had completely died. Based on the fact that we both have so much going on right now, I knew that we would be in trouble if we didn't get a computer... pronto! Since it was a Wednesday night, I thought that things wouldn't be too bad at our local electronics superstore.

We left for Circuit City at 7 p.m., I knew exactly what model number that I wanted to buy. We got to the store and there was one person ahead of us. After about five minutes, the young man with the mint green "Firedog" polo asked if he could help us. As he started to point out monitors, Kitty and I started to discuss our options. We looked around and the man was gone.

We quickly decided on our monitor and we saw Mr. Mint talking to two customers at the register. He was talking to them about buying a laptop and they were trying to negotiate the price. I didn't think that was possible in a chain like Circuit City. About half way through the process, Mr. Mint leaves to get a manager and he is stopped by a different customer. He pauses to help them choose a new video card (and makes a TERRIBLE recommendation). We have now been standing for 20 minutes.

Mr. Mint ambles back to the laptop customers. A man in a red "Circuit City" polo languidly floats over, chats with the the small coffee klatch that has formed by the register, puts his key in and punches a few buttons. As he floats off on a cloud of bliss, we call out, "Can you please help us... we just want to buy a computer and monitor... we know exactly what we want..."

His voice comes to us from far away as he drifts off, "No, I'm sorry, only Mr. Mint can help yooooouuuuu...."

I leave Kitty at the register to wait in line and I head over to the "Official Firedog Customer Service Desk." I find two people sitting there, one is checking out screenshots of Tabula Rasa and the other seems to be doing something actually work related. I asked them if they could sell me a computer and monitor. "No, you need to see Mr. Mint."

As I head back, a woman in a red polo comes over. We ask if she could help us. "No, you need to see Mr. Mint."

Kitty pleads, "But we know exactly what we need. Please, won't you take our money?"

The woman ignores us except to call out over her shoulder, "I'm not just standing here. I'm not just standing here." She removes the cash register from the second drawer and leaves us.

It's been forty minutes now and we finally get some help from Mr. Mint. It takes about 10 minutes to process our transaction (because of a faulty gift card). After that, we get a receipt and head to the Merchandise Pick-up line. 20 minutes later, Kitty and I are sitting on an airconditioning unit watching as one poor guy behind the counter hustles to get people their purchased items. He is friendly, curteous, wears a tie and offers to go get items himself. Swirling around him, like a thick fog, are three red-shirted employees. They move in bullet time, "helping customers" and slowly typing things into their computers.

By 9:30, we are home and I am now the proud owner of a Compaq Presario with 2 GB ram and Window's Vista Premium and a 19" widescreen HD LCD monitor. But only after the most appalling customer service experience I have ever had.

Now just don't get me started on how the hell I get my XP programs to work with Windows Vista.

Banned.

My recent spurt of creativity has been the result of a cushy temp job as I wait to depart for my next gig. It's been nice to sit and relax and write about my experiences. Today is my last day on the job and I am finding that many of my favorite sites (Gamespy, Gamespot, Kotaku) have just been banned by my organization. No time like the present to get the heck out of Dodge.

I'm like a man trapped in a room that is slowly filling with water. My head is bumping against the ceiling as I try to catch breaths of air. When Blogger gets banned, it's curtains for me.

So now, I sit at my desk quietly, await 5 p.m. and I contemplate all those wasted years. Those years when I ate M&M's when Reese's Pieces turned out to be a far superior candy.

I won't be updating at all for the next two weeks-- unless a miracle occurs and I start caring enough about my real career to blog about it.

See you on the flip side.

The Mayor and the Grand Vizier

"Mr. and Mrs. Colorado!" Tyrone yells out a greeting as we see him walking with his son, Rashon. Tyrone is another one of the watchers. Rashon calls Tyrone "The Mayor of Lefferts Place." Tyrone was the first person on the block to introduce himself. His hobby is keeping track of all the cars that park on our block.


"I saw the plates on your car!" he booms out. "That's why I call you Mr. Colorado."

"The other day I saw your lovely wife leave the apartment. I turned my head to say, 'Hello Mrs. Colorado' and she was already halfway down Lefferts and almost to Grand! Boy, that wife of yours can run!"

"You're telling me," I said. "Can you imagine how hard it was get her to go out on our first date?"

Tyrone watches the world go by from the seat of his red Ford Explorer. Sometimes the car is running, most of the time it isn't. He says hello to the neighbors and greets the strangers on the street and always is there to tell us about the changes in the neighborhood. Oh, and he also eats meals sitting in his car. He also spends sunny days washing his car. His car is his hobby and major pastime and since the Mayor retired from his position at the Post Office, his car is is home away from home yet still, strangely, right outside his home. One of the few times I didn't see Tyrone in, at, near or washing his car, he was standing by a small grill, searing a steak, wearing a white apron and cowboy hat and sipping a large glass of red wine. This is our kind of guy.

"Where are you from originally, Mr. Colorado?" he asked one day.

"Well, I was born in Rochester. My dad is German but my mom is Indian. That's why I'm so dark." I imagine my entire foot entering my mouth. I want to smack myself on the head.

Tyrone does a double-take at me and his eyes get kind of large and bug-ish. "You don't have to tell me, man... Black is beautiful!" Thankfully he lets my faux pas slide. Kitty is silently laughing and I think I see a tear go down her cheek. Man, I'm going to get MOCKED OUT when I get home.

On the other side of the street from our house (and the Mayor's car/house/central command), there is a blue free-standing house. In front of it is a small shelter that has been made of recovered wood and a piece of corrugated tin, attached at an angle to let the rain run off. It's rather run down and under it are a couple of benches and lawn chairs. From there, the competing neighborhood watch is on the lookout.

From early morning, when I leave for work, to late into the evening, there are people sitting out, just watching the world go by. They watched us as we moved in and they watch us as we come and go to our jobs. The cast of characters changes depending on the day but there are always at least two people sitting and just watching. At first I tried to say hello. The owner of the blue house introduced himself briefly. After that, not a sound. Every morning as I walk to the train, I say hello and they do reply, but not much beyond that. I'm reminded of Hank Hill and his friends, standing around, watching the world go by. Only they aren't white rednecks drinking beer. I do think that on the weekends I can catch a wiff of Alaz'e...

When we moved in to the apartment last August, Kitty found that she was doing much of the move because she was on her "summer vacation" and I was stuck in my day job. She would pack up boxes at our highrise flat and drive them over to the new apartment. They sat and watched as she parallel parked our car. They sat and watched as she went to unlock our apartment. They sat and watched as she took each box from the car to apartment. They never spoke. They just silently judged her.

Where as the Mayor is friendly and kind, I worry sometimes that the guys across the street are more like Jafar, ready to usurp the throne, enslave the princess and rule Lefferts with an iron fist.