1. Wednesday, February 19, 2003

    the phone is ringing 

    the email is flowing, the hits are breaking records, even the la times reporter who i sorta dissed is writing me nice things, and i show up to go to work to save the world and the lack of respect just totally blows my mind.

    i was polishing chopper one, detailing it, making sure everything was perfect. perfect is the only standard that we deal in at the xbi. no one admits to it because they know it’s ridiculous but they dont ever correct you if you say it, and its not like they dont love correcting you. but perfect is what they want and perfect is what i give them and do they tell me that i did a perfect job last week, or yesterday, or today?

    no. it’s only things above and beyond that gets that sort of “praise”, and since theres nothing over and above perfect, i get no praise.

    whatever.

    all i want to do is fly the bird and take out the bad element.

    it barely pays for anything outside of food and lodging, but money has never driven me. it’s always been fun thats moved me, and for awhile, keeping the mean streets of the city of angels safe was fun for me.

    some of the big wigs at the agency called me into a conference room this afternoon. there was a report made out about me. it wasnt good.

    we dont think youre taking your post very seriously.

    i thought they were talking about the fact that i installed an mp3 player in chopper one. a sweet 100 gig jobber.

    but no. they were upset at the tshirts i was wearing.

    i said, im in a helicopter. who can see me?

    they said, its a red flag. plus its a bad example for the younger guys.

    my gwar tshirt only instilled fear in those who ever saw me running out of a flying car to come beat their sorry asses. they werent buying it. they wanted me to wear a tight tucked-in black shirt. i said, if i wanted to dress like a bartender, i would be a damn bartender.

    other night i was in front of hundreds of people. strangers. i said stuff and they laughed.

    at work, nobody laughs.

    not one fucking person.

    they told me they didnt trust me, or respected me, they told me that it would take a long while until they did. a long while of being perfect and taking on a ton more responsibility.

    what youre doing right now, they said, is a very little peice of

    and one of them took his thumb and forefinger and made a motion like he was taking a flea by its wings and removing it from the corner of his desk.

    i forget what the rest of what the other guy said.

    all i know is i have been working my fucking ass off and some guy was saying that it wasnt good enough, and it was little.

    men know what the word little means.

    it doesnt mean, fucking a tony, we love you.

    29. john m.

    30. joh3n

    and i walked past the barbershop as i made my way to the busstop, and thought about the many times that they made a comment about my afro.

    and an hour later i had no hair on my head.

    none.

    mad pony