On One Hand

January 31, 2004

Manhattan

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:05 am
Tags:

This is my realization that I may not ever afford to live in Manhattan.

I used to lust over New York City. I’m sure that if I had ever told my parish priest about the way I looked at pictures of the Manhattan skyline, he would have declared my transfixion a sin. I saw in New York everything that fit me and everything I wanted to be. New York was energy, it was art, it was freedom, it was diversity, it was grandeur, it was controversy, it was culture, it was sex, it was life, it was sin, and it was all of that in a bigger and better way than anywhere else on Earth. I was sick of the monotonous suburbia that refused to embrace my eccentricity. I wanted somewhere I could be a fag without being pressed to the ground under the thumb of institutionalized conformity, somewhere I knew there would be thousands of countercultured bohemians just like me. My bedroom walls were covered with images of stately skyscrapers shimmering in the lingering Eastern dusk. I knew the landmarks and streets of New York better than people I knew to have come from the city knew them, and every time I caught a glimpse in a glossy photograph of the urban paradise I longed for, I felt like the city I’d never been to was, more than anywhere else, a home.

I found out I couldn’t go to New York University when I was a junior in high school. The issues were my lack of straight A’s, my lack of a perfect score on the ACT, and most importantly, my parents’ lack of being millionaires to pay for the ridiculously expensive venture. I decided to stay in state and go to school in Boulder (which is a ridiculously expensive area in its own light) and move to New York for a few years right after college. It excluded the possibility of finding my soul mate at a coffee shop in Tribeca (something I’d fantasized about as a 15-year-old) since I was hoping to know him well before I turned twenty-one, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t take him along when I would finally get to go to New York, and it would be there that the bond between us would flourish.

But then I decided to major in journalism. I’ve found out that anything I might be interested in; writing, sociology, political science or art, won’t land me enough cash to get to New York until I’m well into my career. By the time I’m that old the city probably won’t have the same allure. I’m leaning toward being a writer, and I realize now that I will most likely be struggling just to make ends meet as a writer until I’m middle-aged or older. It seems to me that that’s the way it works for writers, unless you’re really, really good. I always thought I could be that good someday, just like the other kids thought they would grow up to be football players or senators or movie stars. Now I see how big dreams die hard. High school teachers telling me that I should join the student newspaper or get into some special English course isn’t a reccomendation for the New York Times. Toward the end of high school I was realizing what a big difference there is between being among the best writers in the school and being among the best writers in America. Growing up is a humbling experience.

So where do I see myself in five years? I’ll probably be living in Boulder, with three or four other people so that I can afford the high rent here. Maybe by that time I will have given up on my optimism for a stable relationship and gone with the flow of the culture, caving to my carnal desires in realization that I have been, always, a very physical person. I’ll be just about ready to quit my job at the mall and get an apartment of my own in Denver, finally able to feebly support myself designing safety-pamphlets for small businesses and writing the text on manufacturers’ warning labels. “Caution – do not remove this tag unless you are the consumer.” It’s a practical application for a writing degree, I’ll say to myself. I’m not really a pessimist, but I’m ready to live a normal life if I have to, especially now that I see what I’m up against. I say life is about learning to be satisfied with what you’ve got, not about being bigger or better or brighter than other people.

Here’s the good news: I’ll probably eventually settle down with some guy in an outlying neighborhood in Denver, but not downtown, and we won’t be rich but we’ll make it work anyway. We’ll have our flaws and failed expectations, but love each other, very much, anyway. We’ll adopt a few kids and join the PTA and go to all of their soccer games and recitals. We’ll stay close to our families, going to his parents’ house on Christmas Eve and my parents’ house on Christmas Day, and alternating for the other holidays. We’ll have a car, maybe two, a dog, maybe two, a vegetable garden and a few nice old oak trees that give the neighborhood its character. By the time we’re old we will have forgotten that it was ever anything but the best we could have dreamed of or expected.

I still catch myself staring wantonly at sketches and photographs of New York. The habit stuck with me through the years and still hasn’t subsided. I’ll gaze at the image of distant lights twinkling in the night and the perfect reflection of giant buildings on the still waters of the Hudson River, feeling my pulse quicken as the familiar longing to be there returns for an instant. I’ll take a deep breath in enjoyment of the fantasy, imagining the distant murmur of voices and activity across the river, and finally release the thought into the blackness of the New York City night.

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January 29, 2004

Oh, VIRGINIA!

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 7:11 pm

Oh, VIRGINIA!
virgo virgo virgo virgo CAN-CER! (count, two)
cancer cancer cancer cancer
VIR-GO! (me, you)
virgo virgo virgo virgo PIS-CES! (come, through)
cancer cancer cancer cancer FREAK! (and pause, ugh!)
cancer virgo cancer virgo cancer patient cancer patient
ICE! – ICE! – ICE! – ICE!

FUCK YOU.

(stop!)
virgo virgo virgo virgocancer cancer cancer cancer
cancer cancer cancer cancervirgo virgo virgo virgo
ICE. ICE. ICE. ICE, (one, two, three) spoon CANTALOUPE! (pause, two three two three two)
spoon spoon spoon ice spoon spoon spoon ice

FUCK YOU.
FUCK me.

fuck! ONE, TWO, THREE… (virgo) ICE (yes) ICE (oh) ICE (baby) ICE
Persecuted sex in the back of a sanct-u-ar–
ee-leven after seven in the back of the car. SPOON!

FUCK YOU.
FUCK me.
FUCK US.

two
three
(STOP!)



*HUGS* TOTAL!
give pizzuti more *HUGS*

Get hugs of your own

January 27, 2004

POGS

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 10:41 pm

Remember pogs?

I remember back in first grade, when all the commercials showed a bunch of twelve-year-olds hopping around with these weird plastic devices called “skip-its” wrapped around one leg. They made it look so easy. Whenever I would try the elusive art of “skipping it,” I managed to get a few bruises from the heavy end hitting me in the shin, but couldn’t get a single digit to pass on the plastic ball’s stingy skip-counter. The girls would always provide an excellent explanation for my shortcomings: “Girls go to college to get more knowledge, but boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider!” That poorly-structured sentence seemed to be the answer to any and every male fault, and it always seemed to leave the boys fuming with rage, stuttering for a sentence that rhymed just as well but featured the two genders with reversed connotations.

But the girls couldn’t have been talking about me when they wrote off the entire male sex in such a cruel, condescending manner. I was all of the girls’ best friend. On the playground there was a number of cliques and clubs, the most prominent being the “no boys allowed club” that held complete monopoly over the jungle-jim. For each twenty-minute recess period, a horde of six-year-old girls would stand on the metal bars, shouting “no boys allowed!” as loud as their tiny high-pitched voices could project. The club retained this name for the brief period period leading up to the day that I joined, when the name was changed to “the only-one-boy-allowed” club and the trademark slogan was altered along with it. My then girlfriend, who was my biggest advocate, loved me despite my lack of Hi-tops and the all-revealing elementary school status icon, a slap bracelet. Three days after I finally got a slap bracelet of my own, the school had the things banned because they kept the kids from paying attention. Damn totalitarianists.

January 26, 2004

Geek Fiction

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 5:13 pm
Tags: ,

He took a step toward her, trembling, and their eyes met.
“Oh, Leesi, what’s happened to us?” he pleaded. “We used to be so perfect together. Now we’re being pulled apart like a mid-ocean tectonic spreading center. And I don’t like it, Leesi. I don’t like it one bit.”
“Charles, I know.” All she said was three simple words and he knew exactly how she felt. “You don’t have to say it – I, I already know.”
“It’s just that–” Charles went on in spite of her false reassurance. “It’s just that, ever since the Star Trek convention, I’ve felt like you’ve been so distant, so cold, so…” He trailed off. The tears in her eyes told him the reason she had become so withdrawn. She was afraid.
Leesi gathered herself, and slowly began to speak. “I feel like a hydrogen sulfate ion that just broke off from my parent sulphuric acid molecule,” she said. “I was ready to leave my family, my roots, ready to move on. But now that I’m here with you, thinking of settling down with you, a solvent, to start a family, I just–” Leesi’s voice cracked for a moment before she went on, “I know the second ionization will be incomplete.”
Charles spoke up then. “Because you keep thinking of me as a solvent, when I’m not!” he insisted. “I’m more like a positive ion, a hydroxide ion no less! We’re so perfect for each other! Remember how much fun we had working in the museum? Remember band camp!? We’re like–”
Leesi cut him off. “No, Charles. It’s not like that,” she whispered. Her quiet voice was barely audible, but to Charles the finality of her words penetrated his body like gamma radiation, ripping apart the deoxyribose nucleic acid chains that made up the very fibre of his being. He gazed at her face, her pale skin, now clear at last after four long years of Accutane. His eyes traced the familiar contours of her graceful hairline, thick glasses, her freckles, her retainer, glinting in the fluorescent lights of the main engineering lecture hall. Slowly he reached up his arm and grazed her thick woolen sweater tenderly with his fingers, one last time. He longed to hold her against him, longed to feel once more the familiar pressure of her breasts against his flannel, but he restrained himself. Sadly he released her into the crowd of scurrying students the way the queen Apis mellifera releases her eggs, never again to make contact or take interest in the life now left in the care of others. She was gone now. Gone, like Voyagers I and II, forever into space.

January 24, 2004

Stranded

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 1:18 am

Hoping to make up for our misfortunes last week, my friends and I went back to the club Thursday night.

Unlike the week before, this time things went rather smoothly. We took the bus from Boulder to Denver, took a cab to the club, and had a great time. Everything about that night was great. That is – until we realized that we missed the bus back to Boulder. We were stranded downtown.

Stranded. Initially, the word brings to mind a sense of hopeless despair. It’s the cruel reality of being stuck miles from a home or bed at two in the morning, shivering in the thin January air after foolishly neglecting to bring a coat. It’s being lost in a harsh, endless concrete landscape with no hope of escape until the first bus of the morning after 5:00 AM. That’s the initial thought that came to my mind when we figured out that we had missed the bus. On second thought, being stranded sparked the titillating realization of our reckless freedom and the chance to have a real experience to remember. Think of telling your friends that you slept outside downtown in the middle of winter because you missed the bus. Think of staying out all night when you have class and an important interview in the morning, turning the fact that you risked getting stranded here into something absolutely irresponsible and absolutely stupid and absolutely liberatingly unique. There is nothing better than being lost and hopeless, especially when you’re with friends.

We didn’t stay stranded for long. Before we left the club, I called a friend to see if he knew if there might be one last bus, and he offered to bail us out. He lives in Denver, and was willing to drive us home to Boulder. What he actually did for us was give us a warm place to stay in his apartment until morning, which was even better than giving us a ride. Of course we didn’t sleep at all; doing so would have been much to reasonable an option for a bunch of class-in-the-morning college freshmen to handle. We stayed up and got to know a few friends he had over, who turned out to be some very interesting people I hope I see again. Then at five he took us to the bus stop and we went back home. As we were going home to finally get some sleep, other people were taking the same bus, in what was to them early in the morning, to go to work. It was insane. Who the hell gets up to go to work in the middle of the night!? It was barely 6:00 AM when we got back to Boulder, and people were already awake! Crazy.

January 18, 2004

Message Board

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 7:59 pm

Notes I’ve recieved on my Message Board
as of 7:51 PM, Sunday, January 18, 2004

“OMG Matt you are so freakin’ hot! We wish we could have you!
-the ladies”

“You R CUTE!
-Lindsey”

“i love you poopska”

“your so hot I want to bang the shit out of you I want to fuck your BRAINS OUT
from, anonymous”
(But I know it was Mallory)

“Matt I want your cock
-John”
(I don’t know anyone namd John)

Okay so uh… can I have a real message now?

Haiku

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 7:38 pm

Haiku Generator

January 17, 2004

In politic only

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 5:36 pm

Liberal by politic, conservative by attitude. You know who I’m talking about. It’s the people who are so damn fundamentalist about their anti-fundamentalist beliefs.

I like to call myself a liberal person, and by pretty much anybody’s standards, I am. But if there’s anything in the world I find annoying, it’s when a liberal person takes the moral high ground on everything, coming off as much more conservative than liberal in the long run.

You know what they look like: They’re feminists who vehemently hate porn because it’s “degrading to women” (when, really, men are in porn too) or don’t like men because it’s “sleeping with the enemy.” (If you personally find porn to be degrading, that’s fine – but this issue is not black and white, and to some people it’s not degrading. You have to give other people the right to see it differently.) It’s the gay people who hate bisexuals because “you shouldn’t be able to have the best of BOTH worlds!” It’s the people who jump up and call you racist if you express even the slightest skepticism of the justness of affirmative action. It’s the people who jump the gun when you say something and word it in a less-than-PC way, and they focus solely on your words and not on how you really feel or what you were really trying to say. It’s the people who catch you doing something that offends their “progressive” morals and not your own, but they want you to apologize personally to them for it, even though the “offense” wasn’t PERSONAL at all.

Isn’t the essence of being liberal in letting everyone be different? Isn’t the essence of being liberal in letting people, once in a while, be wrong? Isn’t the essence of being liberal to tolerate ideas that are not your own? Isn’t the essence of being liberal in free speech, open dialog, discussion, willingness to question long-held values, and a search for a higher truth? Why is it then that some people take their liberal views and turn them into something so damn OPPRESSIVE. Being liberal is NOT about planting yourself in everyone else’s business or about being the world’s judge and jury, and I’m sorry if anyone is offended by that suggestion. I kind of have the belief that you have to let people be themselves and learn to recognize their own hypocrisy in their own time on their own terms (unless of course this person has political power), so I would never call out any specific individuals for being this way (unless they have political power). But I see that kind of attitude all the time, and it’s so freakin’ annoying. It really is.

The Super-Duper Getting-Kicked-Out-Of-The-Gay-Club Intoxicating Adventure

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 2:11 am

So I got kicked out of the gay club.

Long story short: my friends were underage and drunk. Well, I was drunk too, but I convinced the cop that I wasn’t. But don’t even think for a second that I, of all people, would let a long story stay short.

The long story:

A few friends from CU and I decided to go to the club. Thursday nights are sixteen-and-older so that’s usually when I go, but this time we decided to go on a Friday night, which is eighteen-and-up instead. My friends are big time drinkers so decided to get a good buzz going on the way to the club, and brought a handle of Bacardi in a backpack so we could drink on the way. We took the bus from Boulder to Denver and got drunk on the bus, then took a cab from the bus stop to the club. A few drinks, a long bus ride, an early stop to pee and a short cab ride later, we got to the club.

I was a little buzzed, the 21-year-old guy who had bought the alcohol was a little buzzed, a third guy was a little buzzed, the only girl in our group was kinda drunk, and the last guy was drunk off his ass, barely able to walk, as we got to the club.

It was supposed to be only three dollars to get in, but we found out that if you’re not 21 or older, you have to pay the full ten dollars, since they know they’re not getting any money from you for buying their alcohol. (Little did they know at the time that – HA! – we had all provided our own drinks!) As the two friends I was with went back to the back exit of the club to hide the backpack that had the alcohol in it (which I thought was a bad idea – the rest of us were insisting that they hide the booze waaaaay down the street), I went in and paid the full ten dollars to get in. The drunk-off-his-ass guy stayed in the front and said “you just go in, let me wait here a while so I can get myself together.”

Five minutes after I get in the club, as I’m waiting for my friends, the bouncer grabs me (well, tackles me is a more accurate description of what he did) and starts screaming at me to tell him who my friends are. I had just taken a pretty big gulp in the taxi and my buzz was gradually turning into a full-on intoxication… but when an angry bouncer grabs you like that and suddenly makes your lighthearted situation very serious, you sober up like THAT. He tugged me around the club, stopping at this group and that, demanding that I identify all my friends so he can kick their asses out of there and hand them over to the police. But honestly, except for one guy, none of my friends had gone in the club yet, and it’s not like I would have have ratted anyone out anyway. So I just insisted that all my friends were still outside.

“Don’t you fuck with me. I saw you bring a whole group in here, now show me the fuck where they are. Don’t you play dumb with me!” he screamed. I was at a loss for words.

He drug me to the exit, and sure enough, the rest of the group was waiting outside with a friendly lesbian police officer. I guess some employee had seen one of my underage friends take one more gulp of the alcohol through the back window and watched as they hid it back the backpack. The officer kept asking who drove, seeming to be skeptical of our assurance that none of us had been driving under the influence. She said she had a mind to give us all tickets, which would have sucked for the girl in our group who would have lost her full-ride scholarship should she have any sort of offense on her record. But the cop didn’t give us tickets. Thank God. The bouncer continued to be an asshole to me, insisting that I lied about my friends being in the club, until the manager finally told him to chill out. The police officer took my ID, quizzed me about the information on it, asked for my social security number (which I was cognizant enough to recite promptly), and was adequately convinced that I had not been drinking. Sober, I probably would have been too freaked out to say anything. Drunk, I was calm and polite. Had I been put on the spot I would have been honest that I was a bit drunk, but she never asked, and when she decided that I hadn’t been drinking, I opted to just go with the flow. Nonetheless, she mentioned to me that I could get a drinking ticket simply by being in the presence of underage drinkers, and that I ought not to do that anymore. She said she would let us all off without tickets if we got straight in a cab and went straight back to Boulder, so of course we called the cab and had the driver take us to a diner in Denver instead.

At the diner we all enjoyed a boring meal while drunk-off-his-ass guy cleared his system in the bathroom. I drank a lot of water, which I think somehow got me more drunk than I had been before. Then the girl and I went outside and smoked a lot of cigarettes. It was kinda fun. We heard from people who actually got to stay at the club for the whole evening that the place was totally dead that night anyway. So we didn’t really miss out on anything. If I’m not blacklisted from the club now, I haven’t really lost anything from the whole experience.

So now that I’ve had my wonderful worldly close-call-with-the-law experience, I am officially “cool.” I mean, how awesome is it to be caught drinking underage at a club where almost everyone there is at least five years older? Yea, it’s not really cool at all. But I don’t quite feel like a lozer. I just feel normal. And I’m okay with feeling normal. So I guess that, overall, it was a comfortable evening.

January 15, 2004

what ya lookin 4

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 4:27 pm

Conversation between Matt Pizzuti and Online Stranger;
By means of AOL Instant Messenger Service
4:22 PM. January 15, 2004. Doorm room. Dell laptop computer.

Stranger: what ya lookin 4

Me: probably not the same as you

Stranger: cool

Me: but feel free to ask me anyway

Me: because I know you’re going to, just to be sure

Stranger: i wanna have some hott fun

Me: yea, we’re not really on the same page here

Me: i’m more of the get-to-know-each-other-first type

Stranger: cool

Me: is that everything?

Stranger: yep

Me: okay

End conversation
4:25 PM. January, 15, 2004. Dorm room. Dell laptop computer
WHAT YA LOOKIN 4

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