Buttafuocco, Ginsberg, and ME!

I was living roughly 35 miles to the east of Manhattan --the cultural center of the world. It's about an 45 hour ride to Manhattan from my old house in Long Island in the middle of the night. Normally during a weekday, it would run nearly two hours. In the late 80's/early '90's I thought I was God's gift to women. The sensitive, nerdy type of women. I had a fetish for the libraian types with the big horn-rimmed glasses. I found out, plain and simple, I was a dork!

I had the 34 inch waist and a hair helmet gleeming with gel and mousse. Yes, I even had hair spray-- but that is when I HAD hair! Of course, Mom doted on me, I was living with her at the time. And it was sad, because I wanted to be the so called "cool guy" I had the denim going on. My jacket and pair of 501's was like armour, and I was the "acid washed knight".I remember my mom stopping me on my way to school: "You are not wearing THAT outside! God, your pants are so tight they can see your RELIGION!". Granted I was not Jewish but New York State has a circumcision law so who can tell the difference? I was cool! On weekends I worked at Wendy's in a polyester outfit, so going to school in "normal clothes" was freedom for me. Ahhh, being young in Long Island!

Now since I was in the vincinity of NYC, you would think I seen my share of celebrities. Not really, I had brief brushes of celebrity in my time when I lived in Long Island. I bumped into Dom DeLuise when I was 7, but I was 7 it wasn't like Joe Namath or Tom Seaver or "The Fonz" or anybody like that., so I didn't remember that much. Believe it or not at Wendy's, I've seen more celebrities than anywhere else.

I remember in the fall of 1991, some large guy ordered a Classic Combo with a Diet Coke in the drive thru. All I remember was this fat guy driving a brand new Corvette (fire-engine red). He also had on a jacket with the then current SNL logo on it, and he had this sandy hair waving in the breeze. The kicker was the glasses, mirrored to the point that you were at the funhouse at an amusement park. It was a Wil Wheaton/"Stand By Me" moment: when he was the only one who saw the deer while everyone was sleeping and not tell anyone. And this "SNL guy", Hell of a nice man, had the mildest of manners and said thanks for keeping it "low-pro". I still didn't know what his name was. That night, I came home and watched SNL right at the beginning; that was when it was pretty funny. Must have been a slow night, I'm usually not back from Wendy's by 12:30-1AM and no one wanted to go to the diner that night. As I was watching this skit on SNL there was this fat guy cavorting around, he looked recognizble. I realized it was Chris Farley that ordered a Classic Combo! I didn't tell Mom about it either who was watching SNL with me, she would usually reply "Oh." and continue complaining about my pants being too tight. In fact this is my first time saying this about my brush with Farley. I'm 44-- I'm not out for the attention anymore.

In August of 1992, I remember seeing Joey Buttafuocco coming into Wendy's. The guy strutted in like he was a the Godfather himself! He had a walk that I can do better improv-ing then explain it with words. But he had Mary Jo with him! This was right after the whole Amy Fisher thing. Mary Jo was just released from the hospital and had paralysis on one side of her face. And she was just sitting there eating her Chicken Combo with her kids. Joey had a Big Classic and a baked potato. The biggest no-no one can do at a Wendys was weasing food from the salad bar. You can only order a salad. At the time, we offered salads from the salad bar--All you can eat! But again you needed to buy a specialized container to place the food in. When someone weased food, we tell them to buy the salad first, and if they didn't stop, buy, or comply and acted unruly we'd call the police. Joey Buttafuocco finished his baked potato with bacon and cheese. With bits of bacon and potato skin, he went up to the salad bar, and plopped a heaping serving of chocolate pudding on top of the bacon and potato guts! This would even make Bill Cosby gag! My manager, very good one and worked strictly by the book, decided NOT TO ACT. She decided to put away her "food police" uniform away. It was friggin Buttafuoco! Butafuocco and his family, left the restaurant and people went back to their seats they were in before the Buttafuoccos arrived. Some left the store with food in hands when the Buttafuoccos came in.

But all that aside, my biggest brush with Celebrity was talking with Allen Ginsberg. Okay, here it goes. In April of 1990, I was taking my English Lit 202 class at SUNY Farmingdale to finish my A.A. degree before I went on to my four year. I was in my early 20's and I thought taking this class would get chicks. That and I thought this would be my chance to be the "great writer" and continue onto SUNY Stony Brook, a nearby four year school to major in English. This was part on my goal to be the intellectual badass as I thought I was!

I was doing a report on Dylan Thomas. My 202 Lit class was based on the works of famous British writers. Dylan Thomas reached me more than anyone to me at that time. We finished the "Woodsworth Circle" and the Bronte Sisters, then Yeats (we never touched Wilde)- most (not all) of which was bleary, dull, and even depressing! I can read Ozymandias in a dentist's chair and not even know I was having a root canal! We then went into the mid 20th Century, and Thomas offered some light into the bleak. His poetry was the basis of all the heavy, more modern stuff that was cool at the time: Ginsberg, Kerouac, Williams, et. al. I make it a tradition to read "A Child's Christmas In Wales" around the seasons, because I still feel chills down my back (good ones), and that would get me amped up for Christmas.

And then I saw the poster ; Allen Ginsberg was doing his reading of his poetry collection, "The Big Red Book" known by his readers. It was also on the same week that my Thomas paper was due. And Ginsberg's reading was two days before the paper was due. Then I thought, "hmm-- Ginsberg was around early enough when Thomas was doing his stuff." The wheels were turning in my head. "If I can speak to Ginsberg after his reading during his signing section, maybe I can get some really cool pertinent information on Thomas!" I congratuated myself to the point I can only see "A"'s."Easy F***ing A! F***ING AYYY!" I said to myself, loud enough so only I can hear it. Okay, maybe the "F***ING AYY" part was audible. But I knew I was going to ACE this paper!

So here I was the "Acid Washed Knight" in due battle with the Literary Prince of the Junior College Kingdom. I seen my fair maiden in the crowd I liked. It was a deadhead girl who sat in back of my class who was kinda cute...but she had a BOYFRIEND! But I was gong to impress her and all the chicks with this "A" paper! I'll frame it, No I WILL PUBLISH the f***er!
So I go in the lecture hall and there's Allen! And there was something I didn't know, I did not realize that he was gay! I have never really read his stuff. I always thought "Supermarket In California" was about his crush on Marilyn Monroe, no it was Walt Whitman! Then he want onto his thing with his lovers-- but then the good part, DRUGS! Al liked the spliff as much as he liked Wally! Of course most the crowd ran out, because no one understood. But strangely I did. Goddammit it was about the SIXTIES and the "Beat Generation": political upheaval, civil rights, good music, DRUGS, hippies, and MORE DRUGS! That and I was destined to get my ACE paper all done!

The reading ended, the ones that stayed had a little wine & cheese (ALL FREE!) gathering at the grounds of the President's House. And there he was, selling his books for $60 a pop. Ginsberg wasn't cheap! There was a little "Q and A" section during this soiree. A small crowd gathered at the table, Ginsberg was sitting at the table signing. I went to the crowd as a defensive back joining in to help the front seven push back the fullback from getting a first down. The questions went on, and then the stragglers vanished. I soon realized it WAS MY TURN. I anxiously asked my question, and then I affixed onto his eyes. His eyes, weathered with age and DRUGS looked through hi bi-focals and focused on ME! One thing ran through my mind: "Is he looking at my CROTCH?" Damn, you can see my "religion" with these things on! I shoulda wore some looser pants! But I went on:"Mr. Ginsberg, when you started out in Greenwich Village, did you ever ran into Dylan Thomas and what inluence he had on your poetry?

Ginsberg then smiled at me. Instead of a perverted old man looking at my crotch, it was literature looking at me face to face. A voice of wisdom came from the face with the bespectacled eyes. "Ahhh, THOMAS" he said. "Yeah, I knew him, and God what a magnificent writer! Drunk as Hell, though!". He then went into his story about Dylan Thomas:

"It was 1950, I was doing a reading at this pub by the Square (Washington Square in NYC's Greenwich Villiage). I was leaving when I saw Thomas stumbling in through the door. "Hey Ginsberg" he said, "You got thirty bucks I can borrow?" I then asked what the Hell he needed it for? "There's this broad on 14th street that wants $20 for a throw (sex) and she'll throw in her girlfriend in for another ten!"
Normally I wouldn't do this, but he had some gigs and he was good for the money... Aww Hell, I didn't care, so I gave him forty and told me to leave the Hell alone tonight. So I was still at this pub and two hours later I saw Thomas hanging onto the front door bleeding and his jacket was torn.
I looked at Thomas and said, "Jesus, Dylan: what the Hell happened to you?" Then Thomas said "You shoulda seen it Ginsberg, I met that girl near the Bowery and she had her friend with her. It turned out they were a couple of dykes and they beat me up and took the forty dollars." Then Thomas said: "Shit, I need a drink, you got another five dollars I can borrow?"

The crowd started to laugh, I mimicked laughter. How in the friggin' world am I going to work this in the paper? Later, in the computer lab I winged it the best I can. Somehow I put the whole part in, angry lesbians and all. I then had a hard time putting this in the Index section. This was not from a book, so how I'm going to work it in. At the end I wrote "a personal interview with Allen Ginsberg". I was a little nervous, I thought the dialogue might get me in trouble-- but I knew it was going to work! I got the paper back and I GOT A "B+"! I went to the professor, I thought the angry lesbian thing was a little much. I asked her what she thought about the paper." Oh, Brendan" She replied" it was a great paper- you caught the true essence of Dylan Thomas. There was ONE thing that bothered me though." "What was that?" I said pretending I didn't know. She then said" You didn't index one book properly". I was a little befuddled --"What book was that?" I asked .She then said" "There's this line from this one book you had that was very funny, also I never heard of this book before-- "An Interview With Allen Ginsberg". I felt like I got hit with the dummy truck on that one. I then explained that I spoke to Ginsberg after his reading on campus the other day and I had a hard time putting that in. "Wait a second, you TALKED to Allen Ginsberg about Dylan Thomas?" In her eureka moment, she shouted out: "That is ingenius! I'm sorry I gave you a "B+" you deserve a higher grade." She then took out her red pen and maked a higher grade.... AN "A" MINUS!

My brushes with celebrity were unique to say the least. I have realized through the years that celebrities are very much like everybody else-- their days in the lights only reveal vulnerabilities which makes celebrities fragile. No matter who we are, we are all human. Whoever we bump into and what stories we have with the "rich and the famous" end up interwoven in our lives. In the end, do we worship them? Do we envy them? Or in some of the cases, do we feel sorry for them? But then we ask about ourselves-- is being famous a happy accident or an accident waiting to happen?

Dante, The Angelic Demon Cat

Before you read this, yeah this is about my cat who died three years ago this week. You've probably read several articles in Parade Magazine and Reader's Digest about people mourning their dead pets. This might be an exception to all the rules. This is not going to be a depressing wordy story with the "Oh whoais me" comments and sappy dialogue. My cat was not depressing at all. In actuality, he was a very positive cat and would surprise the heck out of people. He was part of the conversation. At times, even now, he is the conversation.
Dante was born October 28, 2004 in a trailer located in the boonies of North Carolina. Black from head to toe, he looked almost demonic. Even before he opened his eyes, he was casted out by his five littermates. He was the sore thumb of the group. The only one who really accepted him was his mother, Oreo. Oreo was a minute black and white cat who of course looked similar to Dante. Yet, Oreo unfortunately passed away 5 and half weeks after the kittens were born from an immunodeficiency virus. Dante was given away to a family nearly the same time. Meanwhile, I was interested in Courtney, who was Dante's sister. Courtney is the perfect little kitty, she has Seal Point features and a bobbed tail. She was the exotic beauty in the group of assorted cats. All the other kittens had attractive features, with the exception of the lowly black kitten.
A couple of months passed by as the kittens matured. It was down to three kittens. I set my sails towards aquiring Courtney. For some reason, the black kitten made his return to my friends' trailer, back to four. The black kitten, once named "Midnight", was displaced by his adoptees and unnamed. My friends gave me a packaged deal: Courtney will come with the black cat and their two brothers whom I called the "Dover Boys" (in which both "Dovers" would eventually become adopted by my neighbor who lived across the street). The kittens' real names were Ghost and Snowball, but they always were together like two prep buddies in high school.
Knowing I will be stuck with the black cat, I tried to think of a name for him. He just attempted to raid my friend's refigerator in which he liked to break into. My one friend and I looked down on the black kitten, by now a small cat. The black cat stared up at us with his yellow-green eyes piercing through the the black sillhouette. It was a look of guilt mixed in with hunger and deceit. The word "Dante" mysteriously was uttered from our mouths. Although virtually innocent, he had a sinister look about him. Looking at his greenish-yellowy eyes, he had the "feed me, dammit" look about him. He also had the "I am going to kill you and take over the world" look. He was a mysterious soul, almost oblivious-- such as a "Divine Comedy".
So by the spring of 2005, I had the princess kitty and the demon cat. I just was happy to be down to two cats. I was sweated out by my landlord, but his daughter just adopted "the Dover Boys" so I was just glad that I wasn't kicked out. The Dover Boys now renamed "Yum-Yum" and "Kokomo". The Dovers were like the tennis playing preps of the cat world. Both had the Siamese features of Courtney and were well formed and well defined. Dante was a scrawny black shadow of a cat and stuck out in contrast with the rest of the cats in the neighborhood.
Dante could fight though, he needed to. He mixed it up in the nearby fields around the renovated garage I lived in. One time he fought on the front porch, defending his sister and his master. There was this one cat, a beaten down grey and white tabby who always called him out. Dante's inexperience showed and he had his clock cleaned. The Dover Boys across the street also got whipped by the grey and white cat.Yet as time flew by, Dante grew a little stronger and became a flat out street cat despite living indoors. One time in January, 2006, he limped in my apartment looking ran down. I was looking for the grey and white cat who bothered him. I saw him run through the back yard also limping, it was the last I've seen the grey and white cat. Strangely, Courtney looked concerned, cleaning Dante and following him around. Dante looked beat and then I became concerned. I drove him to veterinarian fearing he broke his front leg. The good news was nothing was broken, however he had the same virus that took the life of his mother.
I was given antibiotics for Dante as well as a "doom and gloom" synopsis of what his future could've been. The vet said if the antibiotics didn't work, he would get the needle. There was something about Dante that would not die--it seemed he wanted to get better. And he did in a span of 24 hours. He then became an indoor cat due to his "snipping". He had this unbounded energy, he not only improved, he started this zest for life. I then sent Courtney to the vet to get tested, she was negative. My neighbor took the Dovers to their vet they were negative. Dante was positive, he was truly the outcast.
Taking in the doom and gloom outlook regarding Dante, I could have put him down right there at the vet. Yet, he rebounded and became a new entity. He was the only cat I knew that had a "screw 'em all" attitude. Let's face it, he was all in black, he was socially excluded, and his name was Dante--- he was a GOTH KITTY! Speaking for myself and my fellow geeks who went through unbounded shit in High School and was always get passed over in social circles, don't we ALL feel for Dante? I'd realized I had my share of the Courtneys, the Dover Boys and the grey and white bully who lived down the street who always pick fights. I guess we are all Dante!
Every day passed was like a victory for Dante. Then his personality set in. He was relentless in his eating. One time I had a 12" sub that I left out for work. Mistakenly, I left the sub at my apartment. By the time I came back home, the entire sub was consumed. The only thing remained was the paper the sub was wrapped in and a few shreds of lettuce. Courtney must have helped but Dante, I swear, jumped up on the counter rubbed his face into mine in which I smelled his salami breath!
Months pass by, then it was a couple of years. I recently moved to a new apartment in "the big city" with a population of 45,000. I left the small town and left the Dover Boys across the street behind. Last Christmas, my mother came from Florida to visit me. Courtney mainly hid from everyone, so she was no help. Dante not only greeted Mom at my door, but she kept my Mom's spot on the couch nice and warm. Everytime my Mom got up to get coffee, Dante would sit in her place until she came back. Dante also perched regularly at the front window doing some bird watching. He also meowed when I left to go to my friend's apartment or do laundry. He would sit at the window meowing every chance he saw me getting out of my car or walking to/from my apartment. He wanted ALL the fun of outside, and wanted to go outside real bad! Once in a while, he escaped only to roll on the nearby sidewalk or in the garden nearby. The cat loves to roll in dirt. Well, he lost his two best friends (not the Dover Boys, but his buds between his legs) so like there is something else to do, right? He also invented a new sport, stalking and hunting my printer everytime a paper came out. Before his passing, I had some lollipops (or suckers) sitting near the computer desk. Dante noticed this and knocked them over so Courtney can play with them. Everytime I would put the lollipops on a shelf, he would knock them down. And don't ask me what he would do if he seen a plastic bag on the floor!
Then reality set in. During mid-November 2008, I noticed Dante getting short winded and lethargic. This was a little peculiar for Dante, since he was always energtic and full of life. That morning, I was awaken by Dante's heavy breathing like he was having an asthma attack. I knew it was part of the doom and gloom story the vet gave me back in Janurary of 2006. Later the same morning, I took him to the vet only to be greeted by could be's, should be's, and a possible $200 dollar bill for an X-Ray and exam. I was given antibiotics, a duiretic (for fluid in the lungs), a "good luck", and a bill for $59. I knew his time has come, and then it hit me. I was in a Dollar General looking for air fresheners and garbage bags when a wave of tears came towards me. I ducked in the houseware isle and started sobbing in front of the $7.50 can openers. I'm an imploder and it would sink in but fade away quickly. A short, quiet sob later (along with a bursted blood vessel in my eye), I decided to throw in the towel. The weekend slipped by and Dante was still sick, I ran out of options. I called the nearby animal control shelter to make it quick and painless. I discovered that the local animal control, did not "do" euthanasia.Yet, they gave me a number to a nerby vet that was far more reasonable and closer by.The new vet was much more fair than my usual vet. Yes, there was the "few dollars more" mantra ,and there were stronger antibiotics Dante could've used. The fact was that Dante's Feline Leukemia came to a head. He had pneumonia due to complications from the FeLV. It was time.
The gambling days were over-- Dante already achived his goal, outliving the expectaions of sceptics, even outliving his own goal. In the four years he lived, he put in a good ten. I remember the new vet looking at me and said "I bet he lived a good life". So true, Dante beat the odds. Dante was an overachiever and was damn proud of it! I held his front paw and held it like a hand. I then said "I love you, man!" like a surfer dude would say to another. I chose not to remain to be there and therefore didn't see him go, I might break more blood vessels in my eyes. For some reason, I can hear Bruce Springsteen's "Thunder Road" playing in my head. It was like Dante was giving me a subliminal message that everything was going to be all right complete with a Clarence Clemmons sax solo.
Now I had people come up to me, and asked me why didn't I have the vet put him down back in '06. He was alive and he was given a chance to live. Dante kicked ass when he was alive. Dante had soul, Dante was soul!

For Dante 10/28/04- 11/17/08, you will always be my "nunu".

An Introspect In Retrspect

I guess we go through various changes in life to the point we adapt to another identity; Picasso had his "periods"; a la his "Blue Period", "Green Period" and so on; David Bowie went through many characterizations during his career such as "Ziggy Stardust", "The Thin White Duke", and currently David "I'm a friggin' millionaire and even if I do a polka album and I wear a Chicken Costume, I'm still a friggin' millionaire!" Bowie. Like Bowie and Picasso, I guess we're all chameleons of time in some sort. I too been through many personas in my life.

I'm rifling through all the people I have met and known in the past 40 plus years. There are clusters and groups of people that I knew in a certain point of my life. For example, in my early teenage years, I was painfully shy-shy to the point I had panic attacks if I was seen in public. This lasted for a few years until my late teens-early 20's when the panic attacks stopped but I was still pretty shy. I also had my bouts with adolescent awkwardness between 15-17. Also going to Special Ed. didn't help me going up the social ladder either. With the indifference from the so-called High School hierarchy and the big scary-ass world around me, I became "The Angry Young Man". And my "Angry Young Man" phase lasted from 19-20ish to when I was 26. Then, between 26-30, I went into the "Not As Angry But Still Kinda Bitter Young Man" phase (let's see if Billy Joel can come up with a song with THAT!). The Brendan that you see today started back from when I turned 30. Three days after my 30th birthday, a revelation came to me. That was the day I found the meaning of the phrase "I don't give a shit"! If someone was to f--- up their life and I intervene to help him/her out, the only thing I'm getting for helping out was either half or all credit for someone else's f--- up!

In 1997, I had a friend whom I trusted who was in the same graduate program as I was. We were good friends but I wouldn't say the best of friends. We were both going for our Master's degrees at a college in Buffalo,NY. In this program, like other Graduate degree programs, everybody was competitive--everybody had causes. Both my friend and I had our eyes set on this gleaming (and fleeting) prize. I graduated the program before my friend did, though in my last semester, things got tougher. It wasn't the grades, nor the work, even though the work wasn't easy and good grades you had to work for twice as hard as an undergraduate. The center of the Master's program was comprised of what we called the "in crowd". The 'in crowd' like most other in crowds were pretty much "party people" You had people from their early 20's up to their early 50's (including our PROFESSORS!) laughing it up obliviously till kingdom come at some local townie bar. My friend and I, who came from similar backgrounds, kept ourselves outside Party Central. At the time, my friend had a girlfriend that he had dated for  awhile. He was pretty open about her when I first met him, he voiced his future with her; marriage, kids, and so on. As the semesters rolled on, and our internships and projects got intense, so did my friend. He became protective over his girlfriend, to the point that he did not want to bring her up in conversation. In fact, I haven't met her, only in pictures. Later in our friendship, my friend did not even want me to meet her-something was going on. At the same time, I had people from my program coming up to me, some were part of the 'in crowd' telling me they feel sorry for "my problem"- though it was never specified what my "problem" was. Another person, pretty much a stranger, came forward and said, "...it's okay, we can talk about it..." TALK ABOUT WHAT!?! I knew my friend, whom I trusted, stirred the pot and made up stories about me. I confronted my friend about this and all he came on like he knew nothing but then concluded with this question "Can you tell the difference between love and lust?" The strangest thing was I knew the answer-- I realized that preserving the values that were instilled in me, my integrity as a human on Earth came out of love. I then realized the "Gleaming Prize" that me and my friend were going for-a $50,000 job with all the benefits such as people worshiping the ground you walk on, a tenure made possible by stabbing your friends in the back, and just being "popular" was all the things that came from lust. When I mean "lust", I don't mean it in a biblical sense but something that is fueled by anger and resentment that gives you a false sense of power and control. My friend and I got into a heated argument in which he called me some names (including "sellout" -the irony). I pretty much told him to "F--- off" As he retaliated by threatening to kick my ass (and this was a 31 year old Grad student BTW), I stepped out the door- I lost a friend, but my integrity became intact. I decided to help those who only ask for it, if I do a favor, I would like something back, a "thank you" would do-thank you very much. And I pretty much stop stepping in the quicksand that came from my friends' problems. On June 27, 1997, three days after my 30th birthday, the "new" Brendan was born-I officially stopped taking life seriously or at least tucking other people's problems under my arms. Four years later, I recieved a phone call --it was my "friend" whom apologized for what he did back in Grad School-- but I did not know if I was ready for it yet. I "accepted" his apology, but I never really accepted it. I pretty much yessed him and we said we'll meet somewhere to talk about it, but it never happened. Obviously, I wasn't prepared for the call. If he called now I probably be a little more receptive and I would admit, I will most likely air out my own shortcomings from back then.

I never got that $50K gig, but I got steady work in the past 15 years. With all the flaws that came with it, I'm still very proud of my education. I never got into an "in crowd" but you can say I started my own. All the grapevines were cut down in my life. And I'll admit in my past, I have stirred the pot simply for the sake of survival. I deeply apologize if I stepped on some backs through the years, especially those whom I worked at Wendy's with (you know who you are, and again, I'm sorry!). I now realize that to survive is merely to exist. I had my moments of glory, I also had my moments of despair, we all do I guess. In the past 13 years, I still have my causes, but I try to keep myself ahead of my causes. Life is too short to count yourself out.

And several things happened-- I actually SMILE once in a while! I did a lot of traveling and relocated myself three times in my life. I even got LAID several times!!! (for those who knew me back then- picturing me get laid, or even smiling on my own volition was hard to imagine!) So for those who haven't seen me in the past 15-20 years, I'm not the same guy I used to be. I'm happy with the progress with my life, even though I'll admit was overachieved, but I guess I'm blessed.