Image for post
Image for post

My cat Meester Nice Guy died last Sunday. I was helping a friend down the street fix some closet shelving. I was gone for 3 hours to come to find he was gone. He hadn’t been acting weird or anything up to the night before, so I’m not sure what caused his death. I had a socially distanced dinner with my parents who I hadn’t seen in months, so I had to get to BARC so they could dispose of his body.

I’m really sad and didn’t know I’d ever be here, grieving a cat. I’ve been missing him all week. …


Image for post
Image for post

I don’t have a Hurricane Harvey story. As is a typical thing for me: I had somewhere else to be. About a week after the rains stopped and enough of the waters receded, I got into my brother’s white suburban and drove to Telluride, Colorado.

The goal was to participate in the Imogene Pass Run, which basically was running the 17 miles from Ouray to Telluride. The only hitch is that there’s a pesky 13,000-foot point in between. 10 miles up, 7 miles down.

So, I left Houston and Harvey behind.

I took my time driving there but rushed to get somewhere above sea level. Ouray & Telluride are above 7,500 feet, so acclimation to that elevation was the plan. …


Image for post
Image for post

I’m not someone who watches sports. It’s not really for me. For someone who grew up always playing some type of team sport and lives as active a lifestyle as I, it does seem kind of odd that I usually have very little to say on the subject nowadays. Guess I was never *into* the consumption of sport. Just the production of it. Anyway.

But I was young once. And I’m not a totally checked-out person.

What Kobe Bryant Left Behind

I remember Kobe Bryant growing up. He had a coolness and a flair and he seemed like a god on the basketball court. …


Image for post
Image for post

In the 14th century, Pope Benedict XI sent a letter to Giotto di Bondone, Florentine painter, architect and sculptor, requesting a drawing to demonstrate his skills for a potential commission at St. Peter’s Basilica.

As the story goes, Giotto walked over to a canvas, dipped his brush in red paint and proceeded to draw a circle without the aid of a compass. He handed it to the Pope’s courier as a sample of his mastery and then told him to bugger off. The circle was perfect.

The story symbolizes the simplicity and majesty of being able to draw a perfect circle freehand. As humans, we are imperfect. Creating a circle or a disk or a sphere requires the utmost precision since every degree of the circle is an important component in creating that constant radius. Compared to a square, which is 4 straight lines, a circle is infinitely more complex. …


Image for post
Image for post

I waited in my office behind my desk with my back to the door when I heard a few knocks on it. Through the sliver of window to the left of the door, I saw his right arm wearing a tweed jacket with a blue-faced watch with a stainless steel band. I remained still as I slowly spun my chair back to face the door. I just watched his right arm since I had nothing else to watch. It just hung there expectantly while I watched my breath hoping he couldn’t hear me through the inch-and-a-half wooden door. It was times like this that I was glad to have foregone the pine door for oak. …


Image for post
Image for post

She’s staring at me in the eyes, asking, pleading with me to tell her the complete truth. For once. How did she get here so fast? It usually takes 35 minutes to get here from her place. But she got here in 20 minutes after we hung up.

7:00 in the morning on a Saturday. I guess there was no traffic. And she had to have been speeding. A lot.

A shame, really, because I needed more time to get my story straight.

“So,” she trails off, “are you going to tell me what happened last night?”

As soon as I had opened my front door, she marched directly to my bedroom, asking if my roommate was home. He wasn’t. She looked in my room, my closets, in the bathroom. And then she walked to my roommate’s room, looking for clues, confirmation of her biggest fear of infidelity. Or at least a fear. There wasn’t. …


Image for post
Image for post

He’s doing the thing where he’s the aspirational pastor of the Capitalists’ Gospel according to the American Dream in the age of the Millenial Hustle.

* * *

FRIEND: I’m not sure why you’re meeting with your own subcontractors. Don’t you think putting hours into your chosen means of income is beneath you? I mean, you’re a really smart guy from a pedigreed background and the mere fact that you exist should mean that you never have to worry yourself with the due diligence owed to ensuring your stream of income never dries up?

FA: Despite the fact that I lived an uppper-middle-class existence growing up in the rough hinterlands of West Houston, I tell myself that I come from nothing. But more than deluding myself that I come from nothing, I make sure that everyone knows how I’m Horatio Alger-ing the fuck out of my hustle. So, no matter how complex or mediocre a task may seem, it’s not beneath me. And I make sure I spew this aspirational petite bourgeoisie pabulum both online and offline so my friends know exactly how humble I could be. I may not humble, but I don’t have to be if I am always popping bottles. …


Image for post
Image for post

I found some underwear underneath my truck. The eastern sun barely even poking its head out of the slumberous stitches of its almighty comforter wrapped up in the west. Boxer-briefs that were not in good repair, mind you. They were a pair of underwear forgotten behind the dryer for years. A sock under the couch. A quarter at the bottom of a shoe box.

It was a pair of underwear that had circumnavigated the universe since the Cretaceous Era, only to plummet to Earth right on an early Monday morning, crash-landing underneath my truck’s front right fender between my vehicle and the western wall of my house. …


About 10 minutes prior to receiving the frantic call from my stepmom, I was listlessly laying about the pool on a self-selectedly lazy Sunday afternoon. I had called in a pizza for carry-out and realized I should probably begin the long slog to my vehicle parked outside my sister’s fancy apartment complex. My empty stomach was doing that thing it does where it hurts from intaking a heavy-handed triple serving of alcohol over a short period of time. Some would call this a normal physiological reaction. I consider it one of my many weaknesses.

I charge my phone in the cigarette lighter while I step inside to retrieve the soon-to-be-free ‘za from Pizza L’Vino. My order’s not ready, so I sit down. I notice they sell beer. Knowing beer will resolve my alcohol-guided stomach cramps, I grab six. It’s only 3:00 pm, so what’s the harm. …


Don’t let the swamp seep into your celebration

Image for post
Image for post

Face it. It’s been a rough year for America. Not only are we now on the other side of a contentious and storied presidential election cycle, there was no barometer that correctly gauged the outcome. But now, it’s been a few weeks and we need to focus on ourselves and ours.

This is your friendly compass to guide you through the craggy cliffs of your kinsfolk convocation.

You’ll never convince them of your position and they won’t convince you. Don’t stir the pot of putrid sentiment if you don’t need to.

Some guiding principles are patience, attentiveness, and mindfulness as you read the below discussion items, specifically tailored to what you need now. …

About

Martnehz

I do things. Huge nerd otherwise. Interested in all types of media & creative-ish forms of expressions. Rawr!!

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store