Spicy Carrot Juice

There are things I've done, that I'm glad I've done, that I never wanted to do. I had no desire to take statistics or physical anthropology in college – glad I did. I had no want to ever drink carrot juice or know what a radish is. Vegetables are for rabbits. I eat meat and steak is the meat I eat when I can get it. I walked into Jason Richardson's kitchen years ago. He was making carrot juice. He got me to drink a shot of it, the way you get a drunk friend to drink a bar mat shooter – the one with every spilled drink in the club and a good dose of cigarette ash. I drank the carrot juice. I loved the carrot juice. I became a juicer. To jazz it up, I've been adding radishes to the mix in recent months. As a kid, I wanted to eat spicy food about as much as I wanted to calculate standard deviation in stats class. I learned about spicy from Ryu, Shu-Yin and Sei Iwai in a Port Jefferson sushi bar during high school. They got me to eat sushi and back then, raw fish was not a thing - at all. I can still see Ryu smirk when he got me to swallow a marble of wasabi off a chopstick. Pain, wonderful pain. I loved the spice with yellow tail and every sashimi that followed. Life is better, having tried new things. I've gratitude for being carried forward. Glad , I've done things I didn't want to do.

Best Burger

On route to the best burger in New York, I rode my razor push scooter. I wanted to ride wild in the dark down sidewalks. It was the bald man's feeling of wind blowing in the hair – kind of an amputee's ghost limb experience. I wiped out. Skinned a knee and embedded gravel in my palms. Felt like the13-year-old George bleeding from the knee and too young and dumb to care. Scooting to the subwaystation, It occurred to me I had Brooklyn sidewalk dirt in my cut – wino urine for sure. The smart move went to a pharmacy and got Hydrogen peroxide. It isn't supposed to sting - It did. Fall off the horse, get back on. I scooted to the best cheeseburger in New York - $16. It came with an American flag stuck deep I the bun.

The romantic as a life tool

Look closely, you may be looking at van Gogh's ear. It's the best remark from my favorite movie- Basquiat – it's good advice. I believe in the romantic as a life tool. I think without kind gestures like flowers or notes on napkins, we'll all go mad staring into the big ugly. Life's unfortunate events will eat us up, drive us to self-destruction. I see romantics leaving message everywhere for everyone. On the long beach boardwalk, I saw flowers left for someone. Perhaps the flowers were there to commemorate a loved one lost at sea or maybe they were a message left for a lover lost in life's ocean. They could have been left by a man for a woman he could not approach for all the complicated reasons that separate lovers. I know for certain, the medium is the message – here is love for you. Have it.