FireVaney's

11/24/96:  You think a triple shot of espresso is stimulating? Pour a can of Jolt over a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. The mere thought bulges the eyes, eh? The trick is to do it by mistake. Intoxication helps. Are you a man? If so, do you ever leave home with a dollop of shaving cream hanging off the lobe of an ear? I don’t mean on purpose. You catch glances from fellow pedestrians as you stride toward the train. You assume you’re having a good hair day. But then you hear a little girl whisper, “Mommy, is that man foaming at the ear?” Instead of taking the hint, you rationalize that this kid is talking about the Mighty Morphin Power Ranger toy in her twin brother’s hand. You forget that denial can eclipse the sun. On the train, an attractive woman takes the seat opposite yours. She looks at you and smiles. What with your good hair, could this be your lucky day? Has your natural animal magnetism reached its zenith? Everything is possible in this moment. Her smile is a gift. At last, have you

 11/19/1996: You wouldn’t believe the truth. That’s why we’ve got to bedizen it with special effects, million dollar marketing campaigns, and celebrity endorsements. Volcanoes are little more than the acne of the earth. When one erupts, it’s just God giving a good squeeze. Earthquakes happen when the world has a heart attack. That is unless they’re the result of sphere-fisted blackbelts whacking their hands against the sidewalk. Typhoons are earthly sneezes. An avalanche is a runny nose. A blizzard is a dandruff problem. A parking lot is a bald spot. A lake is water retention. It is. People are the lice of the planet, but lice with character. (And, no, I don’t mind offending lice with that last remark. Methinks lice would appreciate the comparison. If you can provide evidence that one single louse feels differently, I will consider modifying my position.) My room is so messy, it’s like a Toys “R” Us exploded. * I toot the horn because it’s there. There needs be no motivation other tha

 11/19/1996; 11:27 A.M. (APPROX.); ARABICA LOVE CAFÉ: Today I watched a man chop a block of ice in half with his bare hand. The block, in its original form, had been the size of a thick phone book—nay, three thick phone books—nay, three thick phone books and a hardcover edition of Webster’s 1957 New International Dictionary, 2nd Edition, Unabridged. I tell you it was thick, this block. The man who halved said block of said size was unharmed. Clearly, the Force was strong with this one. The decision to split the ice block was, seemingly, unpremeditated. You might say the block invited, lured, summoned his hand. If it was lonely, this block, then it was lonely no more, for now it had a twin. It had become twins. Why this block of ice was lying on the counter beside the cash register in the first place remains, at this writing, a mystery. My question to Sir Ice Slasher was not, “Why?” No, instead I asked, “How?”  “I clear my mind,” he told me, “and create an invisible sphere around my han

ALSO ON NOVEMBER 18, 1996 : Lately, FireVaney’s had the afternoons off. He makes plans—detailed plans, practical plans, ambitious plans—but ends up sleeping the rest of the daylight away. Waking from a long afternoon nap feels like somebody’s splashed the back of his head with a bucketful of mostly melted ice. A depressive fog settles over and seeps into his matter—which was gray to begin with. Lying there, sofa-sprawled, he tells himself, aloud, to heed the words of Pascal: “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” There, on his back, he repeats the aforementioned quote louder and louder until he’s shouting it up at his cracked ceiling. FireVaney feels bad for letting Pascal down. Aside from not sitting quietly, simply sitting up seems something of a challenge.  FireVaney can’t finish anything he begins, unless it’s a pizza. He starts all these projects—things that will propel him out of the world of professional cup stamping and into the