Fifteen local residents, serving as the neighborhood association's board of directors, sat on brown metal folding chairs on the basketball court of a community recreation center, poised with the task of approving 2014's calendar of events. Eleven of them made carefree small talk, chatting about friends and family, occasionally trying to engage the other four people, whose statements were typically curt and disinterested. The meeting began on time.
"Alright folks, we're all busy, so let's get started and just get through this. Only one change from last year's events schedule, so not a lot to discuss. Did everyone review the calendar I emailed out this week?"
"Mr. Chairman, sir."
"Yes, John?"
"Before we vote on 2014, a few of us would like to reexamine the flat rate."
The Chairman rolled his eyes. The new, annual, flat membership rate for the community center had been heavily debated and finally approved at their last meeting. He shook his head. "No, John. Sorry, but we've been through that and it's done. We're here tonight for one reason only, and that's to finalize this year's events calendar."
"Well, I'm afraid we can't do that. We," he held out his hand and motioned toward three friends in attendance, "don't wanna vote on anything without either repealing that new policy altogether, or at least adding some new stipulations. For example-"
"John I said no to you already," the Chairman interrupted, "that's old business and it's done and it's not why we're here. We can't go backwards. Let's just stick to tonight's agenda." The Chairman's ten supporters spoke up in agreement, and the room's volume rose momentarily.
"Well if that's how you feel, then fine, but I can tell you that the four of us are all going to abstain, and you won't get the eighty percent minimum mandate to approve the calendar."
The Chairman frowned. The others looked at him, confused, and wondered what exactly John meant. "What's he talking about?" asked Bob.
"Come on, John, you can't be serious. Ha, good one! You wouldn't actually hold our community calendar hostage because you don't like our new membership fee structure, would you? Especially now that we've already notified everyone of the new system and sent out 2014 dues collection forms?"
"Not a joke, Mr. Chairman. We're serious. Reopen the dues discussion or no calendar approval. The rec center will be shut down indefinitely."
"But John, families rely on this place for after school care, music and art classes, youth sports, Saturday evening socials, fundraisers, heck we already have two weddings tentatively scheduled for next year! Would you really shut all of that down just because you didn't win your fight against flat rate open enrollment?"
"Sure we would. The four of us are members of this community and members of this board just like you, and we don't want everyone having access to every event in this place like we're some kind of soup kitchen."
The Chairman felt his anger rising and thought of Master Yoda, trying unsuccessfully to calm himself. "You elitist bastard. I don't know how you and your cronies ever got on this board to begin with. All you do is sit around at your high priced coffee shop and play your big money card games all day, you sons of bitches-"
"Mr. Chairman, please," said Bob, "that's unproductive. Let's try to figure this out."
John was all smiles at this point, pleased to have rattled the board leader's nerves.
The Chairman took a deep breath. "You know what, I don't see us getting anywhere tonight. Let's table this vote and have a meeting same time next week. Between now and then, I hope at least one of you will change your mind and come off this silliness. It's not silly, in fact, it's mean-spirited."
"Fine, Mr. Chairman, have it your way. But don't expect anything different to happen next week." John and his three coffee shop buddies left the room all at once, leaving the Chairman, Bob, and the others still seated and somewhat shocked.
"Can he really do this, Alvin?" one of the others asked the Chairman.
"Our bylaws state we need 80% board approval for the annual calendar, but this vote's always just been a formality. It's never been an issue. A motion to amend the bylaws would open a big can of worms. Between now and next week, let's just see if we can get one of them to come over to our side. Joey, you're friendly with Alan's partner in that new restaurant, right?" Alan was one of the three board members on John's side. "See if you can put on some pressure through your friend – if we get Alan's vote, that's all we need."
They sat around a while longer and cursed the coffee shop gang, plotted other ways to exert some influence, then went home to their families and told their wives all about the evening's drama. Within a few days, the entire neighborhood would know that the community center might close down for a year. Most adults pointed fingers, while most kids just tried to understand why their parents couldn't get it right.
Showing posts with label Yoda. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yoda. Show all posts
Yoda Dreams
Sometimes Yoda appears in Joseph's dreams. Sometimes by surprise and other times, Joseph thinks, by his own design, as if he summons these somnolent visions through his own concentration, his own intrigue.
This morning he awoke perplexed, last night's visit from the Jedi Master more vivid than those past and entirely unprovoked. Joseph found himself in an orchard, strolling tree lined aisles, collecting apples into a bottomless cart. Suddenly Yoda stood before him and Joseph thought perhaps he came to slice Empire apples with his light saber. Or maybe he was just running from Disney.
The diminutive green sage approached and walked beside him.
"Joseph," said Yoda, "everything you need, here you have. Food," he pointed at the apples, "shelter," he pointed to a rickety wooden shack off in the distance that Joseph hadn't noticed, "and the sky."
"The sky?" asked Joseph. "Yoda, don't you mean clothing. Food, shelther, and clothing, right? Aren't those the three basic needs?"
Yoda laughed. "Oh, yes, a smart one you are. Of course, clothing you need. Yes, clothing. But the sky too, you need. Without the sky, there are no clouds. Without clouds, there is no rain. Without rain, there is no food."
"By that logic, you can't only mention the sky. Don't forget the sun, dry land, etc."
"Yes, Joseph! And also something else there is, or should say I, someone else."
"What are you getting at, Yoda?"
"For Jedi, forbidden, love is. But for you, without it, lost, you will be."
"I'm not ready to commit, Master Yoda, please, don't push me."
"Okay, Joseph, back off, I will. Other suggestions for you I have."
"What suggestions?"
"First, a new cart for your apples, you must get. So from your labor, some apples you will have."
Joseph watched himself pick an apple and drop it into his bottomless cart, watched the apple fall through and land on the grass.
"Second, Joseph, you must wake up."
And in that instant Joseph awoke, perplexed. He spent most of the morning that followed searching for meaning. When he told Annabeth about the dream, he mentioned the apple cart, but left out the part about love.
This morning he awoke perplexed, last night's visit from the Jedi Master more vivid than those past and entirely unprovoked. Joseph found himself in an orchard, strolling tree lined aisles, collecting apples into a bottomless cart. Suddenly Yoda stood before him and Joseph thought perhaps he came to slice Empire apples with his light saber. Or maybe he was just running from Disney.
The diminutive green sage approached and walked beside him.
"Joseph," said Yoda, "everything you need, here you have. Food," he pointed at the apples, "shelter," he pointed to a rickety wooden shack off in the distance that Joseph hadn't noticed, "and the sky."
"The sky?" asked Joseph. "Yoda, don't you mean clothing. Food, shelther, and clothing, right? Aren't those the three basic needs?"
Yoda laughed. "Oh, yes, a smart one you are. Of course, clothing you need. Yes, clothing. But the sky too, you need. Without the sky, there are no clouds. Without clouds, there is no rain. Without rain, there is no food."
"By that logic, you can't only mention the sky. Don't forget the sun, dry land, etc."
"Yes, Joseph! And also something else there is, or should say I, someone else."
"What are you getting at, Yoda?"
"For Jedi, forbidden, love is. But for you, without it, lost, you will be."
"I'm not ready to commit, Master Yoda, please, don't push me."
"Okay, Joseph, back off, I will. Other suggestions for you I have."
"What suggestions?"
"First, a new cart for your apples, you must get. So from your labor, some apples you will have."
Joseph watched himself pick an apple and drop it into his bottomless cart, watched the apple fall through and land on the grass.
"Second, Joseph, you must wake up."
And in that instant Joseph awoke, perplexed. He spent most of the morning that followed searching for meaning. When he told Annabeth about the dream, he mentioned the apple cart, but left out the part about love.
Reconnaissance
As Joseph jumped up the subway steps at City Hall, he marveled at how long it’d been since he last set foot near Rittenhouse Square. One could live an entire lifetime between Northern Liberties and Fishtown, he thought.
Even now he only came this way out of necessity, on a rescue mission he feared would become nothing more than reconnaissance, said fear stemming from the following text message exchange with Annabeth after she didn’t answer either of his calls:
Joseph: When you coming to JB?
Annabeth: Probably not but come to McG!
JB stood for Johnny Brenda’s. A bar stool there having cushioned Joseph’s backside for the previous three hours, he and Garret and Suki waiting to hear from Annabeth about when she’d be joining them, Joseph felt toasty during his midnight trek on the Market-Frankford line. At first Joseph thought McG meant McGillin’s, but then he remembered that Billy was a smoker, so it had to be McGlinchey’s.
Joseph strode through McGlinchey’s doorway and spotted them right away through the smoke filled haze. They sat in a booth on the left side of the bar, Annabeth beside Billy, a young guy with long hair Joseph had met a few times seated across from them. Joseph cringed, swallowed his pride, and sat next to the guy whose name he’d never remember.
“Hi,” he managed a smile as he waved at them all.
Annabeth looked in his direction, a devilish face, cigarette between her left index and middle fingers. Billy exhaled and shook Joseph’s hand. The young guy, who’d been jabbering away as Joseph joined them, said, “Yo dude,” and then kept talking. Music blared, an old Velvet Underground tune, Lou Reed’s voice floating indiscriminately among the crowd, through the smoke.
When the kid stopped to breathe, Joseph said, “I’m gonna grab a drink, anyone in need?”
Billy answered, “I think we all could use one.” The others nodded. “Shot and a beer, you choose.”
A tall, slender bar tender with tattoos in various places, the one of a diamond on her left breast in particular catching Joseph’s unwitting eye, asked, “What can I get you?”
“Four Miller Lites and four shots of Jameson.”
He paid the fifteen bucks he owed and left a five dollar tip, carried the drinks back to the booth in two trips.
“Thank you much,” Billy said.
“Yeah, thanks dude,” the young chatterbox offered.
“Since when do you smoke?” Joseph asked Annabeth.
“From time to time,” she said airily.
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Joe.”
Joseph caught a smirk on Billy’s face.
“Excuse me,” Annabeth said as she rose. She looked back at Joseph and winked as she entered the Ladies room.
The music changed and now Nick Lowe sang, ‘Cruel To Be Kind.’
Raising his shot glass, his Yoda tattoo purposefully visible to the others, Joseph indicated for them to raise theirs. The three men threw back their Jamesons.
“So Billy,” Joseph managed to start before the kid could talk again. “You head back to Chicago at all?”
“Naaahhh,” Billy drew out. “No way to get back. Besides, Philly’s been too much fun.”
The long haired kid stayed quiet for a refreshing few moments and Joseph heard the music say, ‘it’s a very very very good sign’ just as Annabeth returned from the restroom.
She sat and pushed her shot over to Joseph. “You want mine too?” She asked. “I don’t need this.”
The whiskey went down the hatch and Joseph felt his buzz kick up a notch, watched an anthropomorphic red glass ashtray throw a punch across Billy’s face. He knew then it was time for him to head home.
“Well I was just in the neighborhood so wanted to stop in for a drink, but I gotta go.”
Annabeth eyed him quizzically, knowing he’d actually just been four neighborhoods away.
Goodbyes were said and Joseph hoped he’d catch the train before it stopped running for the night, save the eight dollar difference between that and cab fare. He decided not to call Annabeth for a few days, give her a little space.
(Listen to the original version of Nick Lowe's 'Cruel To Be Kind' here. For a live version performed with Wilco last month, click here.)
Even now he only came this way out of necessity, on a rescue mission he feared would become nothing more than reconnaissance, said fear stemming from the following text message exchange with Annabeth after she didn’t answer either of his calls:
Joseph: When you coming to JB?
Annabeth: Probably not but come to McG!
JB stood for Johnny Brenda’s. A bar stool there having cushioned Joseph’s backside for the previous three hours, he and Garret and Suki waiting to hear from Annabeth about when she’d be joining them, Joseph felt toasty during his midnight trek on the Market-Frankford line. At first Joseph thought McG meant McGillin’s, but then he remembered that Billy was a smoker, so it had to be McGlinchey’s.
Joseph strode through McGlinchey’s doorway and spotted them right away through the smoke filled haze. They sat in a booth on the left side of the bar, Annabeth beside Billy, a young guy with long hair Joseph had met a few times seated across from them. Joseph cringed, swallowed his pride, and sat next to the guy whose name he’d never remember.
“Hi,” he managed a smile as he waved at them all.
Annabeth looked in his direction, a devilish face, cigarette between her left index and middle fingers. Billy exhaled and shook Joseph’s hand. The young guy, who’d been jabbering away as Joseph joined them, said, “Yo dude,” and then kept talking. Music blared, an old Velvet Underground tune, Lou Reed’s voice floating indiscriminately among the crowd, through the smoke.
When the kid stopped to breathe, Joseph said, “I’m gonna grab a drink, anyone in need?”
Billy answered, “I think we all could use one.” The others nodded. “Shot and a beer, you choose.”
A tall, slender bar tender with tattoos in various places, the one of a diamond on her left breast in particular catching Joseph’s unwitting eye, asked, “What can I get you?”
“Four Miller Lites and four shots of Jameson.”
He paid the fifteen bucks he owed and left a five dollar tip, carried the drinks back to the booth in two trips.
“Thank you much,” Billy said.
“Yeah, thanks dude,” the young chatterbox offered.
“Since when do you smoke?” Joseph asked Annabeth.
“From time to time,” she said airily.
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Joe.”
Joseph caught a smirk on Billy’s face.
“Excuse me,” Annabeth said as she rose. She looked back at Joseph and winked as she entered the Ladies room.
The music changed and now Nick Lowe sang, ‘Cruel To Be Kind.’
Raising his shot glass, his Yoda tattoo purposefully visible to the others, Joseph indicated for them to raise theirs. The three men threw back their Jamesons.
“So Billy,” Joseph managed to start before the kid could talk again. “You head back to Chicago at all?”
“Naaahhh,” Billy drew out. “No way to get back. Besides, Philly’s been too much fun.”
The long haired kid stayed quiet for a refreshing few moments and Joseph heard the music say, ‘it’s a very very very good sign’ just as Annabeth returned from the restroom.
She sat and pushed her shot over to Joseph. “You want mine too?” She asked. “I don’t need this.”
The whiskey went down the hatch and Joseph felt his buzz kick up a notch, watched an anthropomorphic red glass ashtray throw a punch across Billy’s face. He knew then it was time for him to head home.
“Well I was just in the neighborhood so wanted to stop in for a drink, but I gotta go.”
Annabeth eyed him quizzically, knowing he’d actually just been four neighborhoods away.
Goodbyes were said and Joseph hoped he’d catch the train before it stopped running for the night, save the eight dollar difference between that and cab fare. He decided not to call Annabeth for a few days, give her a little space.
(Listen to the original version of Nick Lowe's 'Cruel To Be Kind' here. For a live version performed with Wilco last month, click here.)
Saturday Drew
Drew knew he should be drinking water, not beer, but this didn’t stop him from smiling after the first big gulps from his Darkside Imperial Belgian Stout. Even Master Yoda would enjoy this Darkside, he thought, as the beer’s deep flavors lingered in his mouth, the subtle bit of dark chocolate taste.
He was the first of his Casa soccer team to arrive at Kraftwork, their usual destination after Saturday games.
A girl on the other side of the bar reminded him of one he dated during college, and he wondered what he’d be doing right now if things had worked out differently. Not with the girl, but with soccer, if he’d kept at it.
It’s not the lure of playing before a crowd or seeing his name in lights, that’s not the part that mattered to him, not what he feels he missed. It’s just about whether he could’ve been better, could’ve fulfilled his promise.
Stop all the second guessing, he told himself after a long swig from his beer. It’s so easy to blame the present on the past, to fixate on irreversible decisions while today’s clock ticks.
A couple of guys from Drew’s team arrived together and he ordered a round. What may have been will remain unknown, but the beer tasted good after a game.
He was the first of his Casa soccer team to arrive at Kraftwork, their usual destination after Saturday games.
A girl on the other side of the bar reminded him of one he dated during college, and he wondered what he’d be doing right now if things had worked out differently. Not with the girl, but with soccer, if he’d kept at it.
It’s not the lure of playing before a crowd or seeing his name in lights, that’s not the part that mattered to him, not what he feels he missed. It’s just about whether he could’ve been better, could’ve fulfilled his promise.
Stop all the second guessing, he told himself after a long swig from his beer. It’s so easy to blame the present on the past, to fixate on irreversible decisions while today’s clock ticks.
A couple of guys from Drew’s team arrived together and he ordered a round. What may have been will remain unknown, but the beer tasted good after a game.
Annabeth
Annabeth rolls onto her back and looks up into the perfectly clear blue sky. Some days, she thinks, nature just demands that we be outside. No specific purpose necessary. A breeze blowing through her hair and the sun warming her body are enough, today.
Two young men walk down Frankford Ave and she hears them laughing aloud, one punches the other and runs a few steps ahead and they call each other names until they're out of sight. A pregnant young woman pushes a giggling toddler around in a stroller. An octogenarian couple walks gingerly to the former Neumann Medical Center on the corner, now an assisted living facility. Annabeth watches them all.
She sits up and pulls her knees to her chest and then sinks down again onto her back, stretches her arms and legs as far as they'll go, like that famous da Vinci drawing, enjoying the feel of Palmer Park's cool grass against her bare arms and lower legs.
Many a male poker player assumes she deals cards for a living because she wants to meet him. She’s accustomed to being hit on just about anywhere she goes.
A guy with tattoo sleeves walks his Rottweiler across the small park and for a moment she thinks it's that bartender guy with the Yoda tattoo. She's surprised by a feeling of disappointment when she realizes it's not him. After all, he's just another drunk dumb enough to ask her back to his apartment within hours of meeting her, even after she'd given him her number and made it clear he should call her some other time.
She picks at the grass in front of her and throws it. What would she do if he calls, she wonders? The bar was crazy that night and when a couple of meaty dudes became belligerent over nothing at all, she loved the way he handled it, staring at them calmly, somehow displaying great strength in his passivity. She didn't take him for the type to pursue her so aggressively after last call when she’d stuck around waiting for her sister to stop talking to that Garret guy.
If he's at Drew's party Saturday night, she decides, she'll consider letting him talk to her.
She rolls over onto her chest and rests her chin upon her knuckles, smiles and waves back at a young boy and girl who pass.
Two young men walk down Frankford Ave and she hears them laughing aloud, one punches the other and runs a few steps ahead and they call each other names until they're out of sight. A pregnant young woman pushes a giggling toddler around in a stroller. An octogenarian couple walks gingerly to the former Neumann Medical Center on the corner, now an assisted living facility. Annabeth watches them all.
She sits up and pulls her knees to her chest and then sinks down again onto her back, stretches her arms and legs as far as they'll go, like that famous da Vinci drawing, enjoying the feel of Palmer Park's cool grass against her bare arms and lower legs.
Many a male poker player assumes she deals cards for a living because she wants to meet him. She’s accustomed to being hit on just about anywhere she goes.
A guy with tattoo sleeves walks his Rottweiler across the small park and for a moment she thinks it's that bartender guy with the Yoda tattoo. She's surprised by a feeling of disappointment when she realizes it's not him. After all, he's just another drunk dumb enough to ask her back to his apartment within hours of meeting her, even after she'd given him her number and made it clear he should call her some other time.
She picks at the grass in front of her and throws it. What would she do if he calls, she wonders? The bar was crazy that night and when a couple of meaty dudes became belligerent over nothing at all, she loved the way he handled it, staring at them calmly, somehow displaying great strength in his passivity. She didn't take him for the type to pursue her so aggressively after last call when she’d stuck around waiting for her sister to stop talking to that Garret guy.
If he's at Drew's party Saturday night, she decides, she'll consider letting him talk to her.
She rolls over onto her chest and rests her chin upon her knuckles, smiles and waves back at a young boy and girl who pass.
Tuesday Morning Joseph
Sunlight, pouring in already for a few hours through the tattered old wooden window frame, meets his face as he rolls over onto his left side, and his eyes open slowly. A milky white haze swirls into the rectangular shape of the window and he turns away from it back over to his right, looking for the girl whose name escapes him. She’s not there.
Chest down on the bed now, face implanted in a pillow, he rubs his temples and thinks about how the night ended. His head hurts but it’s nothing severe and he’s used to waking up this way. Dry mouth demanding of water forces his legs up and over the side of the bed so his feet touch the area rug covering his room’s refinished hard pine floors. Slight dizziness, lightheadedness as he stands, vision slowly becoming clearer; he opens his door and waddles to the right and then the left around a corner and into the open kitchen of his two bedroom apartment, his roommate no doubt still asleep.
Shirt off, boxers barely on, he looks himself over, feeling his abdominal muscles to be sure they’re still there, concerned he’ll eventually awake one morning to a gut, considering the amount he drinks, sure the development of said gut is not some gradual process but rather an overnight occurrence when he’s had too much to drink, or perhaps somehow he’ll fail to notice it growing until it’s too late, though he checks for it each morning habitually. He holds out his arms, elbows bent, and looks at the tattoo sleeves on each, the vine-like designs woven around various images, settling his eyes on the approximately two inch by three inch portrait of Yoda. The girl last night complimented him on the likeness of Yoda, surprising him because typically women laugh at the little green Jedi’s face and, if anything, make fun of him for it. The girl last night thought it was cool. He opens the fridge and takes out a pitcher of filtered water and pours himself a pint, drinking it all down and then refilling the glass.
He carries a full glass of water back to his room and takes another long swig and then places it on his cherry wood end table, purchased on Craigs List like the rest of his furniture. Crawling back into bed, now he’s sure the girl did not accompany him to his apartment after he shut down the bar, but he cannot remember why not.
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