Monday, May 3, 2010

ADHD's of the world, unite and let the symptoms take over!

I wanna read this book. My eyes graze the words on the page. It's not working. I'm taking the action, but the comprehension isn't there. The message of the author isn't strong enough to penetrate the blockage of distraction. I'm onto something. Facebook: a medium to reach out to the world when nobody will answer the phone. Not that I've attempted to call anyways. I need to confess. I have to state my state. Back to the book. Junkies in Chicago with car trouble shooting up with safety pins and something in a shoe while holed up in a jail cell. -What time is it?- Thought line: Dammit. Another eight hours. 10:06. Make a private phone call on the train? (glance around the car) Did that girl just look away? I always see her on the train. Hmm. Damn book! From Chicago to St. Louis. Distraction: Did I bring any lunch or cash today? Am I quit? Or am I smoking right now? Okay I'm smoking. Do I have enough? Yes. (sigh of relief from fear of not enough) "North Concord/Martinez." I'll try reading this book later. Everyone's either bummed or posting writing lame spiritually motivational crap. Where's the funny? Gimme a good story. -What time is it?-

- Eric Was Here -

Friday, April 30, 2010


So here's the deal, I don't exactly have a precise image or idea of god, but it's days like today that help me realize that there's something out there.

I hit up the Bike shop around the corner from my house this morning on my way to work. I wasn't too excited about having to buy a new wheel, so I was already kinda in a mood.

I'm riding from Berkeley to MacArthur Bart, you know, some excercise. By the time I get to Oakland, my rear wheel is rubbing up against the rear fork!

Immediate resentment. Those c*********s! They didn't tighten the rear wheel enough! Then thoughts of what I'm gonna say when I call them to give 'em a piece of my mind. You know, what are they gonna give me for free? I want my money back! Don't they know who I think I am?!

So I hit up a couple convenience stores to ask if they have wrenches. Nobody's got one. How inconvenient! So as I'm stewing in my fury, I had a realization. I hate feeling this way. This anger shit's for the birds.

I look toward the sky and say aloud: "God, or whatever's out there, give me a new angle on this thing. This isn't who I wanna be."

As I'm standing on Sacramento street, my situation hopeless, I light a smoke. I look to my right and there's Hispanic fellow getting out of his pickup. No way, right?

I approach him and as I'm asking him for help, pointing to my bicycle, he hands me the tool he already had in his hand. An adjustable wrench.

A few minutes later as I'm riding off on my merry way, the question comes to me: "Does god provide me with tools to make my life easier when I seek him/her/it/them?"

- Eric Was Here -

Monday, April 5, 2010


So it's Saturday night, and I arrive at Macarthur BART station coming from North Concord on my way home from work.

At thus particular station, to transfer one must go downstairs to the concourse and back upstairs to the other platform. This takes about a minute with a bicycle (the new love of my life).

Being courteous, and following protocol, I look for the car with the smallest number of people. I end up at the last car and proceed to enter the car.

I get the front tire in and then bam! The doors begin to close. I look left to the train operator with confusion. I motion to open the door and the doors seal shut and away they go into the dark and I'm left there all alone.

Who am I gonna freak out on at BART? What's the 800 number again? Where's the attendant? I'm gonna get a free ride somehow! I'm gonna be compensated!! These are the thoughts that crowd into my head. I'm going to explode!!! Someone will pay for what's been done to me!

Fuming, I march right downstairs to give someone a piece of my mind. Then come the thoughts of a blissful relapse on cigarettes. Oh how a smoke would just fix everything right now.

Paradigm shift: What if there are people on the train with greater needs than I? What if the moment not wasted on reopening the doors for me meant a kid got to see his Mom or Dad that much sooner? How vain can a guy be? Who am I to feel so entitled? I'm like the guy who calls the cable company trying to get HBO for free because I feel the need to hold the world and it's people accountable for a human mistakes.

Maybe I'm on to something. As a result of the resentment at BART and the racing thoughts about smoking, I rode like hell up California St. from MacArthur BART to north Berkeley. Then had a cigarette upon arrival.

It's an everyday occurrance I'm sure and really no big deal, but it's kinda fun to ponder the thought process from "How could you do this to me?" to "Maybe someone will benefit from my inconvenience."

Cigarettes: 1, Eric: 0.

Location:Briarwood Way,Walnut Creek,United States

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Back off!

So check this out. There are certain rules that apply to the men’s bathroom. This is for those of you who aren’t aware. These rules are “unspoken” rules.

First of all, when a man enters the restroom, NO TALKING ALLOWED!!! I’ll talk shit to dudes if they’re my good friends, but if I don’t know the dude who’s urinating next to me, I’m not trying to have a dick-in-hand conversation.

There’s the type of guy who comes in the restroom when I’m taking a leak and he’s trying to get close. It’s not a sexual thing; it’s not even a gay thing.

Here’s a scenario: I enter the bathroom and hold the door for a coworker. I don’t know the guy, so I don’t wanna talk to him. Courtesy is my only intention. In this particular bathroom, there are three urinals. Again for the sake of courtesy I take the one on the right which is lower to the floor, and designed for a shorter man. I take aim and am prepared to let loose when all of a sudden this guy steps to the middle urinal! What the fuck?! Get outta here ya creep!! These are the thoughts racing through my head as I hold my composure trying to keep a straight face, desperately trying to squeeze out even a drop to combat my now shy bladder.

Then it happens.

“Boy, thank goodness it’s Friday, huh? T.G.I.F. Ha ha!”

“Huh. For sure.” I respond awkwardly. In my head I’m yelling at him “Thank God it’s - FUCK OFF SO I CAN PEE!”

So it’s like this. If there are three urinals, stay away from the middle one. I’m not gonna get into the ones that don’t have partitions. That’s a whole other “What were the builders of this establishment thinking?” type of discussion.

I could go on for days about this stuff, but I just wanted to get this item out. The Men’s room is not a place to meet new people and make new friends!

- Eric Was Here -

Saturday, March 13, 2010


It's 7:45 am and I'm trying to fall back asleep. I can't do it. All I can think about is this new bike I got the other day. I got it from a friend for $30 and it needed a little bit of fixing so I took it to the shop around the corner from my house yesterday morning.

The shop doesn't open on Saturdays until 9:00 am so I've got all this time on my hands now. It's a "beach cruiser." All I can think about is how excited I am to go for a bike ride. I've been asking all my friends who have bikes if they wanna do a night bike ride because I work during the day.

Tonight after work my Dad wants me to come out to Vallejo to meet his new "girlfriend," but I'd rather be riding my bike. Because of the "meet" I'll need my car after work so I have to drive to work. I'd rather take BART and ride my bike. I have to go work my normal 8 hour shift. I'd rather be riding my bike.

I guess what I'm getting at Bay Area is this: Live with childlike enthusiasm. I'm twenty five and all I wanna do is check out on bike rides.

Monday, March 8, 2010


So, I'm sitting in a meeting on Saturday morning trying to follow the presentations on agenda items at the Pacific Region Service Assembly. The meeting ends at 9:15 and I proceed outside for some fresh air amongst the smokers. I approach a pack of three older gentlemen armed with their canes and their handlebar mustaches.

Eric: "Can I bum a smoke?"

Old Dude: "Sure, but watch out, they're all natural."

Eric: (fake smile, light cigarette) "Thanks."

I'll back up a little. During the meeting my thoughts are extremely combative and arguable. Almost as if my thoughts are like a shark and a whale having a debate while swimming through the oceans of my imagination.

Shark: "Hey you should hella go smoke. It's been hella long."

Whale: "Don't do it. Think about what we're trying to be."

Shark: "Cigarettes are hella good."

Whale: "I agree, but after even one cigarette you've got that smokey taste in your mouth. Ew."

Shark: "Remember the feeling of the smoke hitting you in the chest. How it tastes. Mmm."

Whale: "Fuck man! You're right. We can just quit cold turkey tomorrow."

It's so amazing. I love the taste, the feel, the harshness, the smootheness, everything about this experience. The feeling of the nicotine going to my head and I feel a care free sense of tranquility. Immediately following the first cigarette, I proceed to bum another one. It doesn't have the same effect. It's almost kinda gross. That is, so I'm told, what happens when one smokes crack cocaine. This action is repeated with the intention of feeling that original feeling of "Ahh."

This all occurred two days ago. This time what I'm doing different is no nicotine. I haven't had any nic-gum or any patches.

How to end the thought?

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

4 minutes until the next train.

So this is an interesting little pocket ego I've found here. A friend on facebook recommended I start a blog.

Knowing nothing about such things, I set out on learning everything I could about said blog. I looked through the app store and found nothing but pay apps that were seemingly created only for people who already knew what they were doing.

How convenient that I already had a gmail account to prepare me for the setup of yet another "account" for which I'll have to remember yet another user name and password.

I now have a blog!

I feel retarded when I've just completed the finishing touches on my "profile." Then the ultimate question: Mercedes: "How do I find it?" Eric: "Uhh...I dunno."

So if you're reading this, that means in the future (between the time when this, is being [for me now] or was [for you] written and now) I'll have learned more and probably told you how to find me.

So I originally wanted to mention something about BART, however I've "had my nose in," so to speak" this iPhone app for the last 16 minutes.

Oh well whatever. Consider this what I think of the blog world so far. Confusion. And what about content? What does one write about on a blog? I guess I could get crazy and read some other fellows blog.

How to end a though?