Not Vary Right

There were all kinds of plans for you this week. Good plans, too. Turmoil in the industry, anecdotes of trips of the international variety, ingestion of legal narcotics to foil sinister intentions of toxins attempting to inhibit my cost per action distribution, lack of ingestion of vitamins necessary for stimulating my ever-atrophying condition and the lost Peruvian girl complete with eye contact, green handbag and need for warmth. But now I’m left in the desperate hours of the AM, with hours due until deadline and hours to do before dead time. “You look beat.” “I ambeat.” Even the near-blind, loopy security guard could see I was close. Did I ever tell you my theory concerning the makers of Coca-Cola infusing their diet variety with an addictive substance, resulting in purchasing, ordering and drinking hysteria? Diet Coke drinkers, I mean trueDiet Coke drinkers, have you ever noticed how much they consume? I’ve known more than three people to say, “I need my DC.” In the late 90’s I worked at a dot com start-up, and my boy there drank easya 12er a day. Yeah. Not Twelve Monkeys, not twelve little 1/16^th Cherokee Indian brothers of mine, not twelve steps Re:hab. Twelve diet coke cans emptied into the recycle bin by 5:00 pm. And who knows what that fiend was up to come 5:30 or 6:00. There really isn’t anything theoretical or insightful involved in my Diet Coke theory other than I think they do some shady trash. How come no one in my family will answer me regarding my Native background?

It was mentioned to me some time ago that I might actually be 1/8^th Cherokee, and not only 1/16^th. But no one is really sure. No one is really sure of anything in my family, except that we love each other. If there’s a problem or uncertainty, insecurity or worry, we pretty much all keep it to ourselves and let it fester and boil internally. Cheers to health! After telling the DC-sipping security guard that I was indeed beat, I made my way to the corner, where the lost, green bag toting Peruvian girl stood anxiously. I would find out that she is an exchange student here for three months, and that she needed access to the gym in order to look for her friend. This friend may or may not have been inside, but she got off the bus in hopes that she would find her in the gym cycling or stretching or running, because she had been sitting on a bus with LA’s finest and was ready to get off. She had never ridden a bus until she came to America, which I found humorous in its own little way. Riding a Los Angeles bus three hours a day? Aren’t you supposed to come here and have your life be better? I would rather ride on a three-man motorcycle through Iraq with Pee-Wee Herman and Michael Jackson than be on one of our buses during prime time. “Bryan, please show me inside the gym.” Her tongue exposed itself at some point during every word. That, and the thick accent, upped the level of intrigue by a significant margin. “Bryan, I don’t want to get back on the bus. Scary.”  “Yeah, I hear you there. I’d rather be gimp-masked riding on a three man… nevermind.” “Let’s see if your friend is inside the gym, I’ll sneak you in.” She was wandering the streets trying to find a gym where her friend “might” be. The venture didn’t appear to be going so well. She looked beat. “Bryan, are you tired?” “Just a little. Let’s go find your friend.” “Please find her! Plllllllllleeeeeeeeeeease find her. That bus is not very right.” What’s the need for proper grammar when you can communicate an entire encounter, a string of days, and a mass of relationships all in three words, that when strung together would make your high school English teacher gasp in horror, yet they are making perfect sense to you and me right about now. “Hey Bryan, can I approve this guy as a Publisher,” my new rep asked me. “What does he do?” “He owns a bunch of whoresites.” “He owns a bunch of whore sites,” I inquired incredulously. “That sounds veryright! Approve that mother f!” “No, man. A bunch of hor-ror sites.” “Ah, horror sites. Got it. Give him Ghost Sweeps, damn it!” My girl from the South, America that is, never found her friend, and had to return to the not very right bus stop. I roundabout but not really extended a hypothetical ride home, not really offering as I had a conference call at eight, and her not accepting the hypothetical invitation, as she was in a foreign land and didn’t know me. I mentioned that I would offer to drive her home if it weren’t for my conference call, not that she should say yes anyway, because there are a bunch of not very right in the mind delinquents, and I could be one of them, to which she agreed. I seemed like the nicest in the land, yet even still she could not accept my passenger seat as her 15-minute place of rest even if I had the necessary allotted time to offer it to her. Next time the bus dropped Andiana at my corner and she was lost, we settled on meeting for dinner. She’s studying bi-sexual architecture, which sounds interesting. “Bi-sexual architecture??!!” This girl was really wowing me. She laughed with an open mouth and joyous eyes. She’d had a long day and needed that one. “No, silly. Symmetricalarchitecture. You say funny things that are not very right.” Yeah, I suppose I do. Probably won’t stop anytime soon, ether. Ether?! Grab a cloth, put it in your palm, and hand it over, this ghost needs some shut-eye!