this guy i went to high school with was on television today. the discovery channel.

it seems he is building satellites for NASA or some other company. he seems to really enjoy it. at least they edited the interview that way.

hes working on some sort of mars walker, i think. i missed the beginning. wouldnt that be a job. part of history, probably.

not like me. not just another fast-walking, loud-talking, eyes-to-the-ground yuppy. hes more than that.

that why hes on television and not me.

hey remember that story about the guy with the dye? the man who likes to sneak down and pour some ink into the river?

he was found dead this morning. in an alley off washington.

sad really, he was a good guy. choked on his own vomit, it seems. he always did like to drink.

heres to you friend. rest easy.

‘i was going to be a paleontologist once.’

“well why didnt you do it?”

‘i dont have the patience. that, and i didnt have the grades.’

“patience takes time.”

‘that was the problem.’

i was watching old videos the other day. i brought one with me when we came to chicago. i sat down with a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate and remembered.

it was 1988 again. first video camera. i was amazed at the technology. it recorded pictures and audio – and we could afford it.

we used the camera a lot that year. my parents taped everything, and i am so happy they did. we rode bikes, we played kickball, we danced in the living room with orange carpet and brown wood paneling. dinas voice squeaked, dana pouted, and i posed for the camera. we were best friends, only friends.

the tape jumps, scratches, and comes back on. five years later. high school footage of a dance. maybe homecoming. cheap suits and cheaper smiles. mom doesnt seem so happy, or maybe she is and she is just nervous. nervous about letting go.

i dont really cry, but i do tonight. im happy. i am now and i was then. i dont regret anything ive done, which is amazing. ive had a good life.

the video camera sits on the chair now, and it points out to me and my family. there we are, all the same, all a bit older. our friendship has wained, but we still remember.

my mom looks at us right at the end, right before the tape snaps off. she just seems so proud. she smiles and jokes with my dad.

the tapes clicks off and the tv buzzes. i get up and walk to the the glass door overlooking the snow covered pines and leafless oaks. 1988 was a good year.

i met this kid today, his name is allan.

allan and i were talking in the lunch forum at the mall, a place i rarely go. mostly because it is expensive. also because it is crowded.

but back to allan. allan is ten. allan is also autistic. well, at least this is what he tells me. i can hardly understand some of what he says. he has a lisp that keeps him from pronouncing certain words. but the rest i understand.

he is here with his mom, who he loves. his stepfather told him he needed new clothes, no more rags. i can tell he doesnt like him. i dont like him either.

allans mom is in a ‘girl place’, which i can only assume to be the bathroom or some perfume and lingerie store. i nod in understanding. ive been there before.

i walk with allan for a few minutes, and i wonder how i was when i was his age. i never talked. i never absorbed as he is. ive never seen eyes so wide, soaking life in. i wish i could do that.

we parted at dairy queen. his mom was back, and she was calling him. i wanted a blizzard with m&ms.

“guhbuh duhtin.”

‘goodbye, allan.’

did you know they dye the chicago river green? of course you did.

did you know the guy who dumps the first barrel of dyes name is jerry? you didnt?!

i met jerry. he works at the red rooster downtown. he is a nice guy. rather round, rather loud. we talked about things, but i was hungry. so i dont remember much. except the dye story. hes quite proud.

‘i thought the mayor did that or something. someone a bit more..irish.’

“well, its not like i do it legally, you hear? i sneak down there and dump some. ive been doin it for years.”

sena talked to tyler on the phone last night. our dog. he sounded nervous, which wasnt suprising as he was always a bit on the edge, even when we had him here in chicago.

of course talking to him made her instantly sad. i can understand. i miss him too.

“can we bring him back when we go to ohio?”

‘we are moving. you know. i dunno if that would be a good idea.’

“but i..i really dont have anyone to talk to all day long.”

‘well..’

“its okay.”

‘we will see.’

sandy and i talked on the phone the other day. she misses her boyfriend, hes in california for the year. some sort of military service. something i know nothing about. at least i listen.

sandy misses him a lot, i can tell. she talks about how she wishes he was there. how she wishes they could dance together more often. how insecure she is about their stability. its a lot of talk.

i told her i am coming home soon, and we will have to do something. she is distracted, but i make the offer nonetheless. i know i wont see her.

i skip over the phone wire, say goodnight, and hang up. i hope i helped a little. at least i listen.

some spanish guy emailed me asking if i liked ‘hot fanitja pants’.

of course i quickly replied with my approval.

“who do you write your entries for? they arent very well written.”

‘well, i mostly do it for fun.’

“but you sound so stupid.”

‘oh.’

“no offense.”