Lewis Elder

Ugly arm.

[lewiselder]

dude your arm sucks!

we back!

it’s been about a year since the last post. i’m consistently averaging about 1 post a year. that’s a lot, right? 

hope this blog posts finds ya’ll well. not much is different in my life besides everything. ralph has gotten ever cuter, sweeter, and nicer. random anecdote but i actually did some 1v1 sessions w/ a dog trainer, but ended up cancelling the remainder when i started to freak out and realize i loved his personality and didn’t want it to change. moral of the story: abandon therapy and become your absolute worst. 

anywayyyyy - i’ve had 2 very arm-core things happen to me in the past few weeks. bad news for me is good news for ya’ll. i get my day ruined and ya’ll get something to read on the toilet in between actively giving yourself adhd by watching misinformation on tiktok for 90 minutes. 

*whispering* actually, i kind of like when this crazy shit happens to me bc i get to write about it and feel ~special~ :^D

today, we’re gonna cover the first story. i hope to be consistent enough to write up the other story soon. no promises. 

Dude, your arm sucks!

picture this, it’s mere weeks ago - fathers day 2023 - beautiful, scenic sunday weather. handsome clouds with chiseled jaws and just the right amount of buccal fat hang expectantly in a baby blue sky. i’m in a wifebeater with a mullet. 

as ya’ll surely know, i grew up without a dad (as did most of my friends shout tf out to ya’ll) and so i obviously don’t do anything special for father’s day. on this particular father’s day, my friend and i were going to go for a nice walk with ralph, but first we decide to stop by the starbucks next to my apartment.

my friend runs in to order the coffees. i stand outside with ralph, leaning against the side of the building. 

now i’ve heard a lot of words in my 30 years. i’ve heard them put together in all sorts of combinations to form all types of sentences. smart sentences, dumb sentences, long sentences, short sentences, sentences about crypto even. but i was about to hear a sentence i’d never heard before. 

from out of absolute fucking nowhere i hear, 

“dude! your arm suuucks!”

lmao

what

i look up from watching some instagram story of someone i’ll never see in person again for the rest of my life even if we both live to be 1,000, to see a tall, skinny dude standing next to me. his mouth half open, half smiling

i’m literally standing in shock, mostly perplexed and processing, my tiny golden dog who has some of the worst dog anxiety on the planet quakes beneath my feet. 

“what?” i manage to spit out through a half laugh

“dude yeah man, your arm sucks!”

i stare at him like:

if i recall correctly, he introduced himself as Rick at some point during this interaction, so i’ll refer to dude as Rick (have you ever said the name Rick to yourself like 5x? that can’t be a real name. it’s barely even a sound. rick. rick. rick. rick. rick. yeah get fucking real bud)

rick: “nah man see that’s just how i approach life. we gotta just be upfront with one another and then we can move forward from there. like now we’ve addressed it and so we can move on”

PLEASE NOTE: rick was not as well spoken as i am making him sound. while this is largely accurate, i’m paraphrasing from memory. pls add in 70% more incoherence to whatever i say he said  

and i gotta hand it to rick, he was hilarious. it’s awesome pseudo-intellectualism filled with ersatz empathy.

me: O_O

rick: yeah man like look, my leg used to suck 

*rick pulls up one of his pant legs, exposing the lower half of his leg*

now i can’t tell ya’ll his leg didn’t suck bc it definitely fucking sucked but it looked normal to me, albeit gross and dirty

me: bro pull your pant leg down lol

rick: *pouting* fine, but im just saying now that we got it out of the way we can be friends on a real level

me: i don’t think friendship is in the cards for us man. bro i need you to keep it moving

i should mention that, while this is a lot of text, this is maybe 20 seconds of real life interaction, and at this point it becomes clear to me that rick is at least semi-homeless and likely not totally together mentally. this colors strongly how i interacted with him going forward, because idk man what am i gonna get into a fist fight with a houseless dude who is likely high or drunk rn?

sensing my withdrawal from the conversation and my waning interest in friendship, rick resorts to an especially strange move. 

rick: nah man lemme get a real good look at it and we’ll get through this

rick bends down and puts his face maybe 6 inches from my arm, his bloodshot eyes wide as dinner plates

me: *recoiling* alright man see now im really about to beat the shit out of you if you don’t get the fuck on 

rick (as if i just lit a firework during a fancy dinner party): woah fuck ok man, fine. trust me your legs are as big as my waist, i know you could beat my ass. but i might be able to out run you in a straight line spring *chuckles to himself* but obviously you’re a strong guy

at this point, rick starts walking away still kind of talking about how i look strong. he opens the door to starbucks and heads in. he’s their problem now. 

mind you, starbucks is packed so it’s taking forever for my friend to get the drinks. 

maybe 40 seconds later the door to starbucks flings open

rick is back, baby!

“would a cigarette make it up to ya?”

me: lol brother i don’t smoke

rick: yeah me neither *lights cigarette in his mouth* 

we stand there almost shoulder to shoulder like old lovers who’ve run out of things to talk about but just like to enjoy each others company

rick: man you know what show my kids love?

me: what show rick

rick: inspector gadget man, you ever seen it?

me: yeah man that’s pretty old, i’m surprised that’s still on

rick: yeah they love it. you know who you remind me of? Dr. Claw. he’s the villain but he’s a badass. his arm sucks too. 

me: rick...

rick: im just saying man like obviously this shit has just made you tougher in life man. you’re jacked man, i hope my kids grow up to be like you

me: rick, brother, its fathers day, shouldn’t you be with your kids

rick, speaking more to god than to me: *softly* it’s fathers day

me: i’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess their mom has custody

at this point it’s felt like rick and i have been on this island together for a fucking eternity. seasons have changed, wars have risen and subsided, babies have been born and gone to college and decided to hit the snooze button on life by then going to grad school. 

i’ve literally had relationships shorter than this. not that i don’t enjoy talking to my old buddy rick, but man what i wouldn’t give for him to walk away, or for this starbucks to blow up, or for me to be assassinated. something, anything. 

FINALLY, my friend comes outside with the fucking coffees

she walks up to us perplexed

me: alright man i gotta go now 

*i start walking away*

rick: *smoking his cigarette that didn’t make it up to me and following us as if we’re all in the world’s worst band headed to practice together* aw yeah see now we were just talking about how his arm sucks and -

now i can’t have this fucking dude come walking with us, and i’d mostly been a good sport to him up to this point with the exception of when he tried to do a gynecological exam on my left arm

me, turning and getting into ricks face: ok i’m seriously gonna smack the fuck out of you if you don’t walk away right now

the 2nd threat seemed to do the trick. 

rick muttered some random shit under his breath before finally using his formerly sucky leg to saunter off back towards starbucks.

good night, sweet prince

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I should say that at no point was I really going to fight Rick. He was clearly unwell, but the only way to really get him to leave was to threaten him. During the entirety of the interaction I was more amused and annoyed than mad (save for when he bent down and put his face in my arm). 

It did however bring me back to a place I spent the majority of my time when I was younger. My experience growing up disabled was one fraught with the preservation of what little pride I had. When I felt someone disrespected me, the overwhelming sense of obligation to do something about it (fight them, argue back, whatever) was one of the strongest driving forces of my formative years. And to be honest, feeling as if you have to fight and claw for the sense of pride most able-bodied people get to inherently enjoy is a tremendously heavy burden to carry. 

One of the reasons I so relate to people who have some type of outward presenting marginalized identity, whether they’re Black or Brown or disabled or non-gender-conforming or whatever, is because it’s such an insanely specific experience to have people come up to you and say the absolute wildest shit possible. And they expect there to be no consequences from their actions, which is such a motherfucking frustrating dynamic to experience. It’s hard to explain to someone who’s never gone through it. 

Anyway, that’s pretty much it. I haven’t seen Rick since. I do wish him the best, as I know he had good intentions. And while him and I ultimately weren’t able to enjoy a Newport together like he wanted (but Rick doesn’t smoke), he did give me an interesting story to add to the collection. 

All in all, not my worst father’s day.

if u read this far i owe u a cigarette

[lewiselder]

I’m 79 and my husband still loves me - 2 short stories

well motherfucking well

i know that ain’t who i think it is! 

unfortunately, it’s exactly who you think it is.

the last time i added to this was the summer before covid. that was, what, summer 2019? so about 150 years ago. i’m out of practice, so if the writing in this is shittier than the other ones, forgive me and fuck you, you write it then! nah jk but it will be worse but hopefully not too much worse

what a motherfucker of a time to be living in! truly a shit show all around. but i hope if you’re reading this, that you are doing well.

covid largely meant that, for a while, my interactions with people were limited, which in turn meant way fewer arm stories. now that we’ve all resigned to getting literal SARS multiple times a year, things have picked up steam over the past 6-8 months. 

and you know what that fucking means! 

it means i’ve had some real day ruiner interactions that result in written content that 20 people read on the toilet!

so without much further ado, let’s dive right the fuck in! we’re gonna do 2 short (i can’t like be held legally accountable for saying short and then them not being that short, can i?) stories, so we have a lot to cover today

1) big stupid balding corny soft ass werido fuckface loser

alright lol. so this story is something that happened just last week and then again today (writing this on June 12th), so very recent. 

every sunday morning i play pick up basketball. there’s a 9:30 game and a 10:30 game. i usually play in both. it’s essentially a YMCA style league with varying skill levels. if you know me, you know that there are very few things in life i do for, “fun.” i am not a fun person. i’m a productive person, a hard working person, but not a fun one. i’m working on it. however, i do really have fun hooping.

last week i didn’t play because i had tweaked my hamstring the week before. my friend jake still went. he comes back from playing and goes, “man you’ll never guess what happened”

he tells me that while at basketball, he starts talking to some guy on his team -we’ll call this guy Baldy for reasons we will discuss momentarily.  

Baldy tells Jake he just moved to Portland from Austin, Tx. Jake, who used to live in Austin, is like oh nice, I lived in Austin for a number of years. Baldy continues on. After a few comments, he says something along the lines of:

“Man I played basketball recently with a guy with one arm. He shot a lot and he was making em, but I don’t know if those are the best shots, ahaha yeah man Portland is a weird city”

Jake tells me this. Turns our I had (obviously) recently played with this guy. I remembered him. He’s a tall white dude with the tattoos of an edgy barista, thinning hair, and big barback energy. very cool! He seemed to me to be the flavor of white guy where he probably really loves camping and also might later murder his wife and kids. Does that make sense? 

Now, I’m used to ppl mentioning having played ball with a guy with one arm, that doesn’t bother me. 

What fucking bothers me is:

1) so even if I make shots, it’s not a good shot because...why? and 

2) Portland, an entire motherfucking city, is weird because...I fucking exist within it? That’s why Portland is weird? Because I get my weird ass up at 7:30am every Sunday morning (kind of a weird time to wake up and on a weird day too, idk), drink some weird fucking coffee, put on my weird pants one weird leg at a time, and drive my weird ass across this weird city to make some weird and purportedly ill-advised shots? Ok!

Ok! OK! Alright!

Jake didn’t necessarily see the issue at first, but I was pretty fucking mad immediately. This dude, a virtual stranger to me, went to Jake, a legitimate stranger to him, and used me as fucking small talk? And to talk shit??? 

Baldy! I know you don’t have much going on in whatever insurance salesman hell your life is, but I’m gonna need you to bone up on some other subjects over the next lonely IPA you drink in your ugly 1 bedroom apartment while googling, “tattoo ideas, original, not feathers” and “best hairstyles for thinning hair”

I’ve heard they are doing wonderful things in the world of hair restoration! You could perhaps start there! “Man so yesterday I finally decided to try Hims...” - there! I already gave you a nice, easy start! It is clear to me why your extremely thin hair and suicidal hairline seem to be doing everything they can to escape being close to your brain.

Soooooooooo, fast forward to this week, my hamstring is all healed up! And guess who’s been on my mind! 

That’s right - Baldy has! And guess who I see at the gym. I’ll give you a hint: he has a forrest tattoo on his forearm (don’t know if he actually does but seems near impossible he wouldn’t) and hair as whispy as a rolling field of wheat. 

After the games, I go up to Baldy

[now, as always, the dialogue below is somewhat paraphrased, but it was super recent so it’s as close to accurate as i’m going to get]

Me: “I heard that you, a stranger to me, go up to other strangers and talk about me to those strangers?”

Baldy: *very very caught off guard* “Oh uhhh yeah I mean, sorry man I just, [idk he said some other shit here apologizing]”

Me: “Don’t ever fucking talk about me. Why would you talk about me? That’s some fucking weirdo, loser shit. What kind of weirdo does that? Talks about someone they don’t know to someone else they don’t know?”

Baldy: [hair falling out everywhere] “yeah i said i’m sorry, you don’t ever talk about people you play with?”

Me: “Uhhh not like that I fucking don’t. It’s not my responsibility that you don’t have shit else going on in your life to talk about but I need you to find a new ice breaker. Don’t ever fucking talk about me again man”

Baldy: [general uncomfortable stammering] “alright man i’m sorry i won’t”

And that’s pretty much it. I just stared at him a little and then packed my shit and left. 

I have a lot of crazy shit happen to me, and while this doesn’t have the WOW factor of some other stories, this particular one has made me so fucking mad. 

For some weirdo hipster to run his fucking mouth about me to a complete stranger, when him and I have literally had 0 real interactions, to insinuate that because he saw me and interacted with me that Portland is a weird city (which, hey man I also lived in Austin for 2 years) is the type of shit that should get you punched in the fucking head.

But, much to my absolute chagrin, I am almost 30 and I am “mature” and “in therapy” and have a “career” and so I can’t punch this guy in the fucking face. All I can do is embarrass him in front of some random people and hopefully make the rest of his day way worse, just like he did mine.

This thin scalped man tied together a comment about an entire city being weird to me just literally existing while doing the same activity as him. I’m also pretty sure he shot like 4-12 from the field today lol but those were all great shots!

I don’t know. Just fucking leave people alone, man. It sucks because really, what the fuck can I even do? If you have any real marginalized identity (not you, white guy with painted nails!) you no doubt know this feeling all too motherfucking well. 

Even after confronting him (which yo, I did not want to do - it’s fucking nerve wracking and uncomfortable but I feel like I literally have to) I feel so unsatisfied. I have equitable justice blue balls. But that’s part of maturity, I fucking guess. 

Anyway, that’s it. Fuck that dude. I’m sure I’ll see his stupid ass next week.

2) I’m 79 and my husband still loves me!

now, i have 2 other recent stories. one is insane, and one is just kind of quirky and light hearted. I figured we should round out the above hate fest with something a little more light hearted, so we’re gonna go with the latter and thankfully, I have just the thing!

this happened about, oh idk, 3-4 weeks ago. i was at the gym, headphones on and head down, when a very old woman with a walker kind of snuck up behind me trying to get by. i immediately moved out of the way, but i noticed she was trying to say something to me. 

i take out my airpods and turn to face her. she is very, very old looking. she has maybe 2 teeth, is dressed in one of those old lady grandma style gowns, and is using a walker like i mentioned.

she starts by saying, “you’re really strong! you don’t let that stop you” *motions to my arm*

her voice is literally like a whisper. like, she’s not whispering intentionally, but her voice is so soft it’s like i’m imagining i’m hearing it more so than actually hearing it. 

she also speaks almost painfully slowly. it’s like there’s a toll booth in her mouth and each word has to settle its debt before being allowed to escape.

i say oh thanks and smile. 

she then goes, “you have pretty eyes”

i’m like ok well that’s new lmao new gym compliment unlocked!

i say thanks, and she continues, “you’re doing a great job. you really are. don’t stop. just don’t stop. i’m 79 and i’m here! tell your mom you’re a good kid. she must be so proud of you.”

i’m just kind of smiling and saying thank you over and over at this point. she’s very sweet, albeit a little all over the place topic wise.

“i died once 3 years ago”

my interest is suddenly renewed!

“my husband caught my head before it hit the floor!”

wow, i say, oh my gosh!

“i hurt my husband when i died. he had to be home alone for a month! but I couldn’t do anything about it because I was in a place with a white light. I didn’t know if I was going or coming!”

well i’m so glad you’re still here!

“me...too...i bet your mom loves you. i have 5 children, 1 adopted 4 kids he found in a dumpster!”

wait he found 4 kids in a dumpster??

“people need to know there are consequences of having sex!”

totally but wait can we go back to that part about the dumpster

“i’m just so proud of you. you’re very special.”

[long pause as we look deep into each others eyes, hers cloudy with either wisdom or cataracts, mine undoubtedly baggy and bloodshot] 

“heh! but hey, i’m 79 and my husband still loves me!”

that’s honestly pretty impressive. i think we’d all be pretty lucky to have that.

“yes!..and...[contemplative sigh] it’s just so nice to walk around“ 

as those words slowly crawled out, she said them with a soft, satisfied grin, one that can only exist in the absence of doubt

and that was pretty much the end of the interaction. i agreed and gave her a warm smile. she gave me one back before making her way back across the gym. 

i still see her at my gym a couple times a week. she’s still 79, and as far as i know, her husband still loves her. he fucking better, or a man with pretty eyes whose mom must be proud of him is going to come cave his chest in.

no introspective arm analysis on this one. all kind old ladies get to do and say whatever the fuck they want to me (unless they say something super crazy i guess lol) and i’m usually grateful for the interaction on some level. 

and she’s right. 

through all the absolute nuclear bullshit that life entails, through all the big stupid balding corny soft ass werido fuckface losers, through the pain and grief, heartbreak and anxiety, it’s honestly just so nice to walk around

here’s 2 pictues of my dog, ralph

*youve unlocked 1 free unsolicited compliment or insult if you read this far - your choice*

[lewiselder]

are you following me? a short, dumb story

helloooooooo

i know i know i know.

but lewis! your last post was only like 2 weeks ago and you usually wait 8 ridiculous months between posts!

i know dude but this dumb thing happened yesterday and i thought it was funny, so here i am logging into tumblr. 

let’s get straight to it.

i’m back in STL for a couple weeks to visit my mom and grandparents and cat. it’s hot and humid and beautiful. i love st louis so fucking much! 

ted drewes! gooey butter cake! chocolate drop cookies from missouri baking co! gus’s pretzels! companion bakery! nelly doing backflips in that vid where he beats allen iverson in a half court shot contest (yes that is a real video and it is incredible and never forget charlamagne tha god said the only celebrity he ever thought might really beat his ass on air was nelly). 

so this was yesterday, july 25th, a wednesday. i had spent the day working in a coffee shop and then went to the brentwood ymca to workout. i’m sitting on a bench in the Y between sets, and this middle aged white dude comes up to me.

guy: “are you following me?” 

me: *looking up from my phone* wat

guy: *in an over emphasized teehee jokey joke tone* are you followin’ meee?!

me: *scrunching up my face*

me: *again* wat

guy: *doing about the jokey-est voice fucking humanly possible and adding in some comedic hand gestures for emphasis* 

heh are you followin’ me?! are ya stalkin’ meee?!

me: dude do i know you?

guy: *face dropping a little* oh heh heh, no! i was in the coffee shop earlier! and now i see you here...

me: ohhhhh ha okay. yeah bro im a lot more recognizable than you are lol. 

when i said this, he had a good 2 seconds where he looked exactly like that lady thinking of math meme

yes that classic! he did that exact face.

guy: *in much lower voice*  heh aw yea- azsexrdcf gkl... *mumbles unintelligibly and just turns around and walks away lol*

that was it! close curtains. throw roses.

i wanted to write about this one because it was so simple, short, and i really found it funny.

this guy saw me, lewis, a person with a clear cut distinguishing physical feature [my arm for new readers >_>] and made a subconscious mental note. later, he saw that same person (me, lewis) with that same clear cut distinguishing physical feature in a second location!

woah! he must’ve thought. 

and in this guy’s NPC ass head, he assumed, well i remember that guy, so he must remember me too! 

wrong! 

sorry, buddy. unlike me, for better or for worse, you do not stick out. i couldn’t pick you out of a lineup. if you went missing, i would have accidentally told the cops i’ve never seen that man before in my life! you look like everybody. i didn’t see you, i didn’t notice you, and i sure as hell didn’t remember you. shit i’m sitting here right now, less than 24 hours later, and i can’t remember what you look like. 

i watched him have this realization in real time. 

multiple times a year i have people whom (does whom go here or is it who?) i’ve never met come up to me in the most random situations and tell me they remember me from X. we played baseball against you in 4th grade! i had a class with you in college! you tried to fight my friend during a rec league basketball game!

being physically disabled can be exhausting for a multitude of reasons. but one of the perks, besides the fact that i pre-board airplanes with impunity, is that i am indeed unique. my arm, and consequently the body sack it’s attached to, is seared into the mind grapes (if you get that reference hit me up right the fuck now to collect your prize) of thousands of people all over the world, from ymca to shining ymca. 

it’s simultaneously one of the annoying and rewarding parts of being physically disabled. depends on the context and my mood and how recently i’ve eaten a cookie.

anyway, that’s it. 

no, random generic background character guy, i don’t remember you and i’m not following you.

if anything, you’re following me. 

*if you read this far and you’re ever in STL i will legitimately give you all of the city’s best spots and secrets, pls do hmu*

[lewiselder]

fuck the Bagel Boss guy: physical abnormalities & dating

hey! 

well, here we are. here the fuck we are. 

it’s been what? 7 months from the last post? yikes, lewis. nice consistency there buddy. 

if you can’t tell by the title, this post is about the Bagel Boss video. if you haven’t seen it, here it is:

https://twitter.com/oliviabradley88/status/1148958211531268099

while we don’t know what triggered this guy’s meltdown, we see the result. for anyone who can’t view the video - a short, middle aged white dude in a polo shirt and shorts is screaming at onlookers in a Bagel Boss (i’m assuming this is some east coast nonsense version of an Einsteins bagels). i will refer to him as the ‘bagel boss’ from here on out.

he yells about how women on dating sites say that men under 5 feet should be dead. “women in general have said that on dating sites! you think i’m making that shit up?!” he yells about how everywhere he goes he gets the same fucking smirk, with the biting lip. 

a guy tells him to stop and he says a truly incredible line: “shut your mouth! you’re not god, or my father, or my boss!”

from there, it’s just him cussing back and forth until a dude comes out of nowhere and tackles him lol.

ANYWAY, i wasn’t planning on writing but then i saw this video. this dude has obviously dealt with (i’m being a little lenient here with the use of ‘abnormality,’ but) a physical abnormality for most of his life - being short. 

i saw a lot of different takes. some people saying fuck him. some people saying they feel bad for him. some takes in the middle. 

as someone who has actually existed, dated, loved, and eaten bagels for 26 years with a considerable physical abnormality / deformity, i felt compelled to chime in. 

*spoiler alert* the correct response is: fuck that guy! fuck the bagel boss. 

this entire blog was created to shed light on the crazy shit that happens when you’re physically disabled. how people treat you. shit they say to you. how it makes you feel.

i want to tell you why you shouldn’t feel bad for the bagel boss and i’m going to make a case for it.

i’m not a professional writer and i’ve never written on a current topic like this, so bear with me. i’m kind of thinking out loud here. thinking out quiet? thinking out tumblr.  

1. yeah dude, it sucks

unfortunately, i do understand, to an extent, where the bagel boss’s rage is coming from. being physically abnormal is, most of the time, trash. some people really do treat you like shit. that stuff digs into you and makes these little perforations of self-doubt that either expand or contract over time. at face value, i get that. i get that he’s probably had people say mean things to him and those things have hurt his feelings and every day he struggles with his confidence and sense of self. at that very basic level, i get it and it does indeed suck.

2. but that’s no fucking excuse 

annnnnnnnd enough empathy.

yeah, it does suck. but that’s not a fucking excuse to be a giant (metaphorically giant), scary weirdo. you’re short, homie. ok. next? i know plenty of short dudes. dudes shorter than you who are cool and who generate plenty of sexual interest from women. it’s not your height, my dude, it’s you. turns out not a lot of women dig the, right-on-the-brink-of-a-murder-suicide vibe. your short stature may drive away some prospects, but if this video is any fucking indication, your height is likely your most redeeming quality.

if obtaining sexual desirability is your #1 goal, you might have to make some changes big fella. being physically abnormal may mean you have to try harder. take off that fucking lands end polo, those fucking dickey shorts, and those ugly ass Brooks running shoes. put on some clothes that don’t make you look like a chunky 4th grader on picture day. 

if you want to be desired en masse, you’re going to have to care about this surface level, trivial shit. don’t not fucking try and then get mad, dude. if you read this bagel boss, hit me up and i’ll have you looking like lebron on the sidelines of summer league in 48 hours. or i’ll hit up Ian (hitmayng) who actually knows fashion and we’ll get you into some vetements or w/e the fuck kids are wearing now.

3. you hate women

flat out. you hate women. you have taken your self-consciousness, your self-doubt, your self-hate, and transformed it into blind misogyny and a hatred of women.

men love to hate women. it is one of our last true unrequited passions. dudes with physical abnormalities like to use women as the scapegoat for the way ableism and lookism negatively affect their lives. 

i have struggled with this myself. when i was a teenager and young adult, i was filled with anger and resentment at the mere idea of women rejecting me for my arm. in reality, i have had girlfriends since i was 14, and women have been overwhelmingly loving and supportive to me in ways i do not come close to deserving. but for some reason, even while dating, i was still filled with that resentment. i was using women as a scapegoat for ableism as a whole, and it took years and years of unlearning to realize what i was doing and to correct it. it’s something i am still actively working on both in practice and through therapy. 

women aren’t obligated to like you, bagel boss. they aren’t obligated to overlook your height. they aren’t obligated to love you for you. they aren’t obligated to do shit. 

fortunately, in reality, many women wouldn’t give a shit about your height. trust me. i have a physical deformity and am living proof of that. but you’re a massively scary scumbag who’s one burnt bagel away from having a freezer full of missing women’s scarves. 

4. i’ve dealt with the same shit, big dog

like this whole post alludes to, i’ve dealt with similar shit. one of my most infamous arm stories, which i haven’t written about but one that many of my friends know, is about the time i went to a party in high school. some girl thought i was cute and started kissing me, but when i took my jacket off and she saw my arm, she started walking in circles around me, pointing at my arm and yelling, “what the fuck WHAT THE FUCK is this a JOKE???” 

that one fucking hurt lol. i’ll probably carry some scar tissue from that to the grave.

but you know what, even after that (and a number of similar incidents) am i in a fucking wendys reading out a manifesto on how i hate all women and all 2 armed men? no tf i am not, bagel boss. 

5. get over yourself and get help

in conclusion, stop it. ableism sucks. lookism sucks. but you are caught in a homegrown disease. the call is coming from inside the house. i hope you go to therapy, but i doubt you will. i hope you realize women aren’t your enemy, nor the problem. i hope you understand that with enough cognitive behavioral change, you could find a woman who likes you, who thinks you’re handsome, who really appreciates everything you are. but you won’t make those changes. and so you’ll never feel that love. and that’s fair.

i’ve had women scoff at me. i’ve had men scoff at me. but i’m still out here growing, loving, being loved, and all that other corny shit. i’m still busting rich san francisco teenager’s asses at basketball twice a week with 1.5 arms.  

you could be liked, be dated, and be loved, too. but you never will be. 

and it’s not because of your height. 

sincerely,

a dude with a probably harder to deal with physical abnormality lol 

i’ll get your rebounds for 10 min while you get shots up if you read this far

[lewiselder]

stay motivated man! and other miscellaneous short stories

hey! hey.

dude. it’s been 7 months since the last story. it doesn’t feel like 7 months. or does it? i guess it does. 

how are ya’ll? seriously, if you read these, hit me up, tell me how you are. or don’t! either way, i hope today was a slightly better version of your other days. 

i wrote the last post from a coffee shop, deep in Austin, Texas on a sunny Saturday morning. i write this from a loud, smelly New York apartment on a cold November night. i honestly feel out of practice, as if i haven’t used my writing muscle in too long. each word feels like a small stretch. 

looking at my list right now, we’ve knocked out 6 of 24 stories. today we’ll knock out another 3. don’t worry though, these stories are like self-regenerating roaches. once you think you’ve killed one, suddenly 2 more appear, and that first one you thought you killed abruptly sputters alive and runs off, only to have leveraged your attack as some combination of playful jousting and data reconnaissance, learning your moves for next time. you know the type. 

enough about living in roach york. like i said, today we’re gonna do 3 short stories. these are 3 things that have all happened in the past couple months. all were quality material, but maybe didn’t have enough content to warrant a full post for each. now let’s make like top 15 rapper of all time (@ me if you want to lose an argument you fucking opp), young jeezy and let’s get it.

1) DO YOU HAVE FEELING?

let’s set the scene: it’s this past september. a groggy lewis schleps along on a cracked sidewalk one saturday morning, dodging the little dog shit landmines that are littered across the city. 

quick aside: one time, i swear to my fucking mom and good arm this is true, i was walking home from the gym here and i passed a plastic bag, out of which spilled a toilet seat that appeared to be covered in shit. no fucking bullshit. not a whole, old toilet. just a toilet seat, covered in shit, half inside a plastic grocery bag. i don’t know how or why or who destroyed that toilet seat, decided: yeah this is fucked, unattached it from their toilet, put it into a c-town shopping bag, and threw it onto the sidewalk, but that existed and it happened and i saw it and i’ll be damned if i don’t tell the world my story.

ok. but i’m walking to the gym. all of a sudden this girl is walking next to me. she’s probably around my age - 20′s-ish. looks kind of sporty - gym clothes and gym bag. 

she pulls up alongside me and hits me with a quick verbal driveby.

lady: *looks down at my arm, looks up at my eyeballs* “wow, do you have feeling?”

bop bop bop!

me: uhhhhhmmmm haha yeah, i do

lady: wow! that’s amazing. does it hurt? (if you guys remember from previous posts, i get asked this a lot)

me: ah, no it doesn’t hurt

lady: *kind of smirking in the way one does when they watch a magician pull off a mildly interesting card trick* that’s so impressive! seriously!

me: *thinking: wait, how am i impressive? does she go to my gym? does she know i’m going to the gym?* 

then i realized i was holding my phone in my left hand me: ooooo *looks down at own left hand, admiring it’s impressive holding ability* thx

lady: sheesh, you’re so talented

me: yeah haha gotta hold your phone yaknow

and that was pretty much it. we went back and forth for a couple of these, but she could tell by the way i was responding that i wasn’t into it. after her last comment, she kinda fumbled awkwardly and was like uhhhhh ok well have a nice day! i told her the same. then we walked in the same direction, more or less stride in stride, for the next 3 blocks, avoiding eye contact. 

then i took my impressive ass to the gym, after which i went to the pizza place next door and bought my talented self some garlic knots because life is short and garlic knots are good and cheap.

2) Blessings

ok so full disclosure, this one is gonna be super fucking short. this was actually just a few weeks ago.

it was a thursday night and i was walking to the gym. i was about a block away. now, you may or may not know this, but new york has a lot of people in it, so when you walk, there’s a lot of other people walking too. and of all those fucking lots of people, i happened to pass this fucking guy.

a middle aged man, kinda short, kinda round, is coming my way in the opposite direction. when he’s about, idk, 10 feet in front of me, i notice him stop walking. 

i look up at him. he’s standing there, staring blatantly at my arm. then, he starts saying something. at first, i’m not sure if he’s talking to me, to himself, or to the bluetooth earpiece i’m sure he was wearing. (i didn’t see a bluetooth earpiece but you know how sometimes you can just tell?)

it takes me a second but i kind of hone in on what he’s saying. he has a pretty thick Jamaican accent but i can make out a few things.

“Jesus bless....God...heal, love...”

it was a fucking prayer. 

oh and he hit the sign of the cross too. that was a good context clue. 

anyway, i looked at him, he looked at my arm, god looked at us both. i passed, he prayed, god goded. 

fin.

3) Stay Motivated!

now, as you may be able to tell by the title of this post, this story is my favorite one. this is actually my favorite interaction i’ve had in a minute. it’s not all that shiny, crazy, or intricate. but it’s fucking amazing. it’s the kemba walker of arm stories. shout out kemba and that 60 piece he just dropped while wasting his career in Charlotte. 

anyway - my job requires me to fly to Madison, WI (where my company is headquartered), once every few months. UW-Madison is where i went to college. if you’ve never been, it’s a fairly small town of about ~250k people.

madison airport is truly tiny. never in my 5 years of undergrad had i been because i was far too poor. that, and i was in a committed, monogamous relationship with Megabus. 

*turns to look at framed picture of megabus resting upon windowsill* 

like i said, i have to go to madison every few months. this incident was just last month in October. by some stroke of luck, laguardia has direct flights to madison. 

so i take the flight, land, get off the plane.

now, you know how when you leave the like, terminal part of the airport to go to baggage claim or leave entirely, there’s always some security guy or cops there? that part where it’s like, NO RE-ENTRY. yeah, so i’m about to get to that part.

sitting there is one singular cop / airport security guy, honestly, not sure which he was, not sure if there’s a difference, not sure i fucking care. but there’s some guy in a beige button up and a batman utility belt. he’s essentially perched on a stool, just greeting people as they exit. 

mind you, this is deeeeeep midwest, so the niceties are heavy. 

as the people in front of me walk past him, he’s just kind of doing the “close your eyes and shoot” equivalent of politeness. 

“have a nice day!”

“enjoy madison!”

“good morning!”

etc etc. all along very similar lines. 

then, it’s finally my tun to pass the greetings troll and his bridge of etiquette. 

so i’m walking past him and...

“...ok man! stay motivated!”

wut 

lol

that was what i got!!!! not good morning, not welcome to madison, not have a good day. 

i got, “OK MAN! STAY MOTIVATED!”

which is so motherfucking incredible i still can’t get over it. this fucking airport cop and his airport cop brain had like 2 seconds to process what should have been a routine greeting, saw my arm, and audibled to, “FUCK THIS RANDOM GUY NEEDS TO STAY MOTIVATED BC THAT ARM SHIT CANNOT BE EASY! I BETTER TELL HIM.”

and that’s it. sorry, i kinda drew that out. but holy fuck i love that one. i could write another 1000 words on the subconscious prejudices that were at play in his hat wearing ass head, but i won’t. it’s too beautiful a moment to spoil with over-analysis and critical theory.

god, what a fucking moment. 

and you know what, airport security guy from oconomowoc who eats the same cheese sandwich every day at the airport ancora coffee and who’s living in a town that’s 50 miles from where he was born and frozen solid 8 months out of the year, you stay fucking motivated, too. 

i know i will.

stay motivated, ya’ll!

 *a free 1 dollar pattie from the Haitian bakery near my apt if you read this far*

[lewiselder]

lewis vs kids

like the world’s foremost degenerative gambler once said, “i’m back.” but enough about michael jordan. holy shit. it’s been almost a year since my last post. the thing is, nothing arm-related has happened to me in that time. 

HAHAHAHA *laughing trails off* 

i’m playing. i’ve just been slacking. how have you guys been? i hope you’ve been good! or, well, i hope at least medium. 

man, a lot has happened in the in-between. i have a different job. i’m still in austin but moving in a couple weeks. i’ve bought shoes. i’ve sold shoes. i’ve started eating oranges. a lot has also stayed the same. i still don’t own a pair of jeans. i’m still not wearing no fucking button up shirts. still doing anxiety ridden push ups at 3am. still laying in bed every night googling pictures of doughnuts. such is life. 

there are a bunch of stories i still need/want to tell you. i keep a rolling tab in my phone and we’ve knocked out 4 of 19. today we’re going to ease back into things with 2 short stories with one overlapping theme: kids. did my title give it away?

kids! everybody fuckin loves kids. kids kids kids. so nice! so sweet! so pure! may god in his all knowing, arm designing wisdom bless the youths. 

i like kids. 

however. 

kids don’t have filters. this is one of the reasons you cornballs love them. this is one of the reasons i’m still a little more on the fence. obvious physical disfigurements and young, full of wonder children are a volatile mix.  we’re going to do 2 real quick stories, one from the past and one from the present, to demonstrate. let’s get weird.

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#1 - AHHHHHHH!

my junior year of college i pledged Phi Beta Sigma. part of the, uh, joining process (Phi Beta Sigma is a non-hazing organization) was volunteering at the local Boys and Girls club where an older Sigma brother worked as a director (shout out Josh!). face value, this is a pretty sweet deal. volunteering is good, kids are cool, and this was certainly a welcomed reprieve from the rest of the joining process.  

however. (this the same however from before ^ good dude, but moves around a lot)

like i may have mentioned, i have a disfigured left arm. me and my disfigured left arm (and my 4 line brothers) took the bus out to the Boys and Girls club for our first session. mind you, this is wisconsin in like, february, so we’re all in multiple layers of coats and hoodies and all that shit. 

so, we get there, meet up with Josh, get shown around, meet some kids, yadda yadda. now, at this point we’re starting to step into a very nuanced part of my life. one of the reasons i don’t like wearing layers of clothing, or jackets, or button ups, is because i’m not a goofy cornball, but also because long sleeves often mean my left arm is covered and more or less camouflaged. this means i enter some place and the other humans in that place see me and process my existence as one thing. then, i have to go through the fucking shit awful experience of removing the camouflage and re-presenting myself as far from that original thing. people’s responses vary from really shocked to really fucking shocked (they don’t vary). this sucks 1000% of the time. actually one of my biggest arm stories is about this exactly. we’ll get there another day. 

ANYWAY, we start hanging out with some of the kids to get to know them. eventually i get hot (shout out all my fellow thicc n sweaty folx). i make the decision to remove my camouflage. i take my jacket off and almost immediately this young boy, probably around like idk 10?, we were playing ping pong with let’s out a shout.

AHHHHHHH!

him: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR ARM? 

me: ahhhhh yeahhhhh it’s a birth defect man. i was born with it

him: (again) AHHHHHHH! 

me: hmmmmm

him: AHHHHHHH! YO PUT IT AWAY

me: this is fun

him: OH MY GOD YO PUT IT AWAY PLEEEEEASE PUT IT AWAY PUTITAWAYPLEASEPUTITAWAY

me: well shit

i tried to talk with dude but he was pretty out of pocket and was not listening. i eventually just put my jacket back on. i did not go back for the next volunteering session lol. 

#2 - Shhhh, Katy STOP

this one’s from a few weeks ago. it’s a lot less outrageous than the previous story, but it will bring up an interesting point.  

i was at a coffee shop near my crib on a saturday afternoon. this is april in austin, tx (the kissing dogs in the mouth capital of america) so no jacket camouflage for lewis. 

i’m sitting next to a mom and her daughter. the daughter quickly notices that i’m wearing very rare raging bull 5s. she asks me how much i got them for. i tell her $260 shipped in vnds condition! she says no fucking way dude great pick up. we do a mid-air high five while throw some d’s blasts in the background, shout out rich boy. always shout out rich boy.

the end!

ok. maybe that’s not exactly what happened. 

maybe she noticed my arm and backed away. maybe she started whispering to her mom. maybe i heard her say, 

“what’s wrong with his arm??? does it hurt??? do you think he’s mad???” 

i remember the mad one made me lol. i’m more mad that every day people choose to wear birkenstocks but yeah, 6 of one, half dozen of the other. 

her mom, more conscious of the fact they were 30 inches from the man they were talking about than the daughter was, was beginning to hit a state of suppressed panic. i couldn’t hear all of what they were saying, but the mom was desperately trying to get her to be quiet. eventually culminating with a louder than intended, 

“Shhhh, Katy STOP.”

Katy did indeed stop. the mom took a big sigh of relief and a big gulp of coffee. I stared straight ahead thinking about how $260 shipped for raging bull 5s is a fucking lick. a. fucking. lick.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that’s it. Important to note that I wasn’t mad at the kids in either story. They’re kids. My arm looks a lot different than theirs do. I get that. I wasn’t thrilled with the first dude, but ah, what are you gonna do. I’ve spent most of my life coping (whether through jokes, fighting, writing, whatever) with the othering that comes with being disfigured/disabled. 

I think what I want to end this post on is the question of how do you teach your kids to treat people with disfigurements or disabilities. Seriously, how the fuck. I’m actually asking because I’m really not sure. I’ve seen parents encourage their kids to come right up to me and ask. That’s like, ok, but also pretty presumptuous and kind of bogus. What if I don’t want to talk to you or your sticky handed kid. I (or anyone) should have the right to not be bothered just because you’re curious. I’ve seen parents tell their kids to shut all the way the fuck up. This is fine too. Tbh, I kind of appreciate those parents. Tho, is that just shutting down what could be a developmental moment? I don’t know. 

I will tell you that I don’t miss being a kid. I’ll never connect with people who long for the days of their childhood. Being disfigured as a kid is fucking hard. Like, really fucking hard. I have the marks on my hands (and probably the deep-seeded emotional trauma) to prove it. Like an ex-gf’s mom once said to me when meeting her for the first time (she was a physical therapist and somehow noticed this upon shaking hands), “oh you’ve broken a few of your knuckles before, huh?” Life is much better as an adult. 

I don’t plan on having kids, but if I did, how would I teach them to treat disabled people? And at what point would they realize their father is different? Will it be when some kids at school start giving them shit about their father with the little arm? Then my burden has become theirs through no fault of their own. 

Idk. I don’t have the answers, Sway (2014 was fun, wasn’t it?). Just tell your kids, your little cousins, your friends and family, not to be dicks. I know that’s reductive, but yeah idk man just don’t fucking suck. And try your best to make others around you suck less, too. 

Life is weird and stressful but it has doughnuts and cool grey 11s so i think it mostly evens out. Talk to ya’ll soon. Shout out Rich Boy.

*1 free donut if u read this far*

[lewiselder]

Seaworld

hey. long time no arm story. sorry for being such a flaky writer. but don’t fret, the universe has given me plenty of gems in the past couple months. i also haven’t even gotten to older (arguably crazier) stories from high school and college and such. 

but today. today we’re gonna talk about how i almost got in a fight with a group of older Asian men at Seaworld, San Diego. 

THE CONTEXT: 

a couple years back, circa 2014, I was contacted by a mom and her son, William. William was (is) a young boy with a disabled right arm. Off the top of my head, i can’t remember the technical diagnosis. Basically his arm is shorter and his hand is very small, without any bones in it. Through the magic of the internet, and perhaps some sprinkling of fate, William had found my songs/videos. There is no fucking way I’ll be able to articulate here how much this meant to me (and still does), so I’m not even going to try. But, it will always be one of the biggest and most beautiful things in my life. Anyway. His awesome and super badass mom, Carrie, reached out to me. I sent William a pic of me performing from a show in STL (shout out Cory) and wrote some stuff on the back. 

For the next couple of years, I followed William’s life via his mom’s Facebook. He kept listening to my songs, and occasionally I would get a picture from his mom of him watching one of my videos. Dope. 

THE SET UP: 

Flash forward to the near present. In an attempt to quell the ever pressing anxiety attack of OHMYGODYOUHAVEDONENOTHINGWITHYOURLIFEYOUHAVENTSEENSHITORDONESHITORBEENSHITYOUAREAFAILURE i decided to use my newfound income and take a trip. an old partner of mine used to talk about how much she loved San Diego and spoke of it as some quasi-paradise. “Ok Lewis,” i thought, “go see san diego.”

So I take days off work, book tickets and an airbnb, and go to San Diego. I actually went to Denver first for a few days to kick it with Eli and his ego (shout out Eli). That was super dope, but unfortunately, we were around too many dope and good people (shout out Assetou) and so no good arm stories :(

I say goodbye to Eli. I really do love that dude, and I continue on to SD. 

Turns out, William and his family stay only about an hour away from SD. His mom and I make plans to have a day where we can all hang out. Awesome! 

THE DAY OF: 

On my, idk, 3rd day there, I link up with William and his mom. This day starts off with a crazy hipster dude legit YELLING at me while I’m with William and his mom. The dude is going, “HEY MAN, I’VE SEEN YOU SOMEWHERE, WHERE HAVE I SEEN YOU????” - over and over with an increasing amount of aggression. “I don’t know where you’ve seen me breh but I definitely don’t recognize you.” This angers him, but we drive off. I wonder if he actually had seen me somewhere before. That’s the gift and the curse of being deformed/disabled. MFs really do remember me from Tuesday, October 17th, 3:47PM, at the Dunkin Donuts on Canal in Chicago where I ordered a medium black coffee and 2 sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches and paid with a blue debit card and coughed twice but only covered my mouth once and.........you get the idea.

Any who, we let William pick: Legoland or Seaworld. William says Seaworld. Seaworld it is, and off we go. We get there, cop tickets, I buy a cookie the size of my head, William pets some like eels or something, talks me into petting them, I pet the like eels or something, realize I probably just contaminated my cookie with deadly eel-itous, weigh the pros and cons of becoming radioactive eel man, eat cookie anyway. 

The day is dope. The weather is perfect, the sun is out, my skin burns clean off, William is awesome, my Bred 1s become mostly fish based, his mom and I chat a lot about growing up with a disabled arm, we see lots of stuff. 

Dope. 

But then, lol.

THE PART YOU WANT TO READ ABOUT:

So, the last activity we do is this sightseeing ride (the Skytower, i just googled it) where you board this big, encased ride that lifts you way into the air, from which you can see the whole city and everything. You get it. 

So we’re in line for the ride. William’s mom and I are chatting, William is being a kid and just kinda looking around, lost in his own thoughts. In front of us is this group of middle aged Asian men. They’re all kind of talking and minding their own business. But there’s this one dude. This one dude at the back of the pack, near us. 

I notice he’s looking at William. He’s looking at William with a big, goofy smile painted across his face. William is holding a stuffed seal I had bought him earlier and kind of switching it from arm to arm. The old dude starts kind of giggling while looking and smiling at William. He turns and makes a comment to another one of the dudes near him. They weren’t speaking english so I don’t know what he said, but based on his body language, I could guess. 

At this point, I’m side eyeing this dude fucking hard. Obviously he’s already on some super bogus fuck shit to laugh at a little kid with a disability. I can feel myself boiling. Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd then,

Then the dude takes a step or so towards William. With that same fuck ass smile on his fuck ass head, he reaches a hand out and tries to lift William’s right sleeve up to get a better look at his arm. 

Nah.

That’s when I lose it. I grab the dudes arm and push it away. I step close to this fucking dude. Like every story so far, I don’t remember exactly what I said here, but it was something along the lines of, 

“YOU BETTER GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HIM AND TURN THE FUCK AROUND.” 

I raise my arm and snap in his face and point the other direction and tell him to look the fuck over there. I don’t know if he spoke english or anything but based on my body language, he could guess. William’s mom kinda jumped forward to be like, “Woah woah Lewis it’s okay, it’s okay.” William is too deep in his own world to even really notice what’s happening. 

The dude doesn’t really say much, he still has kind of a goofy smile on his face, but he turns around and looks the way I told him to. He definitely hit the, oh tee hee oops lemme just play this off real smooth. 

I apologize to William’s mom. She’s super cool about it. She jokes about William getting to see his hero go to jail. lol. When it’s our turn to board, we realize we’re supposed to go sit right next to these dudes. Thankfully, William’s mom intervenes and asks if we can sit elsewhere. Thank god for moms man.

-----

We board the Skytower. We shoot up 320 feet into the air. I sit next to a kid with a disfigured arm, who looks up to me, who I was ready to fight for. The ride rotates slowly. It’s a clear day. I look out onto a city I never thought I’d see, next to a person I never thought I’d meet. It’s about 5pm. William holds onto the stuffed seal I bought for him.  The sun poses for us over the San Diego skyline.

i’ll buy you 1 shot of espresso if you read this far

[disgustinganimals]

[lewiselder]

super duper kyle

sxsw. the big music/film/tech/anything festival i had heard about for years. i’m not particularly big on festivals, but i found out the last show was going to include Lil Uzi Vert in the lineup. now when i say i love lil uzi, i fucking LUV lil uzi. him, young thug, hov, and jay electronica are about the only 4 artists i’d actually pay to see. 

the show was billed as, “make trap great again” and featured Gucci Mane as the headliner. hands up if you were around for the chicken talk and traphouse days. i used to listen to “Stick Em Up” off hard to kill while working out. (fun fact: most of the hard to kill album, and some of trap house, was prod by zaytoven and yet he didn’t gain mainstream name recognition until the past few years. never give up kids.)

i went to the concert with my homie hassam. i actually shouldn’t have been able to go, but my friend jake was kind enough to give me his ticket because he knew how big of an uzi fan i am. shout out jake man. 

hassam and i waited for hours outside in the texas heat and the texas sun with the texas smells and the texas folks. we were in line about 5:30 and got let into the outdoor venue at 8. the concert went till 2. 

we stood through no less than 3 hours of 2 goofy fucking white dudes called “it’s the real” ????? who were the hosts???? they danced on stage and shit, calling themselves mr cop shooter, aka mr dont give a fuck aka mr we really do fucking ruin everything. idk. i legit thought it was like satire until hour 5. fuck those dudes. FUCK those dudes. FUUUUUUCK those dudes. 

anyway. it was hot. i had a sweat towel. it earned it’s keep that night. the dude i was standing behind had a picture of sprite and lean as his phone background. tight. 

the first few performers were bad. then cardi b, definitely a huge celebrity crush of mine, did a dope performance. that was tight. then more shitty openers. 

i’m no festival kid man. i have an apartment with a/c, a toilet, shower, couch, bed, tv, liquids, solids, all types of shit, and tbh idk why yall like decimating your legs, shoes, and ear drums for this kind of shit. but to each their uncomfortable own. 

so i stand, shoulder to fuckin shoulder, with lean boy and another dude who looked like seth rogen, couldn’t have been more than 5′5″, and who popped his shirt off on like the 2nd fucking act, leaving me to brush up against his soft, freckled (i hope they were freckles) sweaty torso for 5 hours. 

FINALLY we got to some decent performers. ot genasis was tight, pnb rock was tight, ty dolla sign was fine, kap g was tight, meek mill was...there.

and then we had kyle. super duper kyle. super duper why is he in a show called make trap great again kyle. i know like, a third of that iSpy song and his verse off of ‘wanna be cool.’ that is my entire library of knowledge on super duper kyle. he actually seems very nice and i would probably fuck with his stuff if i listened. 

so he comes on stage and greets the crowd. he was a pretty good performer. he jumped around and did some choreographed dances with his dj that were cool. but then he wanted more. 

he wanted to go in the crowd.

now i was in the second row of people, super close to the stage. like i said, the guy in front of me was lean guy and next to me was seth rogen. i am not tall by any standard, but i happened to be significantly taller than both of these guys. i’m assuming that’s why super duper kyle choose me. 

super duper kyle ran up to the railing separating the crowd from the stage. i think he articulated that he was about to go in the crowd, but i don’t entirely remember. then i see an index finger. an index finger attached to a hand, attached to a wrist, attached to super duper kyle. pointing at me. 

super duper kyle says, “you’re gonna help me!”

now at this point i’m thinking he’s going to jump on me to start a crowd surf. 

no. he wanted more. 

he wanted to WALK on the crowd.

super duper kyle puts his hand out and i put my right arm out. we grab hands. then there’s this kind of, pause. it was then that i realized what super duper kyle wanted. 

super duper kyle goes, “Put your other hand out!”

uh oh.

i raise my left arm to a horizontal level for him to walk on. he looks down. i wish i could sell prints of his face in that moment. i will never forget it. 

he’s realized he’s made a mistake. he raises his head and we look at each other. 

mind you this all happened in the course of like, idk, 8 seconds. unless you were me or hassam or super duper kyle you probably didn’t realize what was happening. 

but there i am. in a packed concert venue. on the last night of sxsw. hand in hand, eyes locked, with super duper kyle. he looked down again at my left arm. it was an incredible moment. it was jordan hitting the jumper on byron russell. it was vince carter jumping over frederic weis. it was AI stepping over tyronne lue. 

it was beautiful. it was celestial. it was awkard. as fuck. lol.

after a couple seconds of just staring at each other, kyle quickly turned his attention to the people to my left. he found some able hands and proceeded to do his crowd walk. 

i was embarrassed but, once again, i was able to promptly switch to, OH THIS IS GONNA GO FUCKING PERFECT IN THE BLOG!!!!! so thank ya’ll. thank ya’ll. thank ya’ll.

now, i didn’t notice this at the time. but hassam had the video on snapchat. super duper kyle, while starting to walk on the kids next to me, actually turned his head back at me and said, “thank you.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

any who. that’s it. Uzi was super tight to see live. not a great performer but i didn’t care. gucci did about a solid 15 minutes instead of the hour he was slated for. meek mill came out with a fucking cast on his arm. 

and i got to meet super duper kyle. i would argue, intimately. i seriously doubt either one of us will ever forget that moment. 

and to super duper kyle, no worries man. thank you for a cool performance and thank you for saying thank you. 

that’s it. super duper.

next time, prayer guy returns. 

if you read this far, tell me your favorite shoes you’ve ever owned

[lewiselder]

the old couple at the airport

i’m well aware the first 2 entries to this were pretty extreme, fist in your face stories. not every one will be. some will be shorter. some will be boring-er. this is an example of one that doesn’t include a seance or hypothetical grisly butcher scenes. 

like i’ve mentioned, i live in Austin, Texas currently, but am originally from St. Louis. during Christmas time i flew back to see my mom and grandparents. i also spent a few days in new york with my homie Cory. shout out Cory. it was my first time ever seeing new york. shout out new money. 

i had my return flight from St. Louis back to Austin on like January 5th. it was snowing that day. i have always loved snow. idk why. anyway, i made it to the airport, through security, and to my gate. i was posted at the gate when an elderly couple sat down across from me. i was only paying half attention to them while i looked out the big ass windows at all the snow i don’t get in texas. the old man got up and went to a Ted Drewes stand in the airport. for those not from nelly’s home, Ted Drewes is a frozen custard place in the Lou. it’s pretty famous and actually delicious, so if you’re ever there, stop by. 

so the old guy gets the ice cream and brings it to his wife. i watch the lady try to scoop some out, but it’s rock solid. then, this macgyver mf pulls out a plastic knife and starts cutting the ice cream. no lie lol. dude was cutting the ice cream with a knife so his wife could have some. 

i think the beating shoe box where my heart should be grew a couple sizes in that moment. 

as i watch him slice and dice frozen liquid for his life partner of i’m assuming no less than 106 years, i’m thinking what a wonderful little couple they are. 

the end.

jk.

i decide to get up and go to starbucks. when i come back with my coffee, about to sit back down in my seat, the elderly woman, mouth full of knifed ice cream, says to me, “you know, i think it’s really great.”

i didn’t say anything right away and she continued, “i just think it’s great that you’re out here with your hand. you’re just....you’re doing it.”

“oh uh haha,” i say. “just gotta keep doing it yaknow”  - now idk if this is exactly what i said here, but it was something to that effect. (i really need to pay more attention to my responses to this stuff bc every story so far has had this disclaimer)

then knifecream nancy follows with, “do you know christ?”

aw come on man

i say, “uh kinda i guess, i’m definitely familiar.”

she goes, “well you’re my brother in christ, do you know that?” 

me, “oh haha, thank you”

her, “(again) you’re my brother in christ. god bless you.”

me, “thank you”

inner me, “girl.... >_>”

i watched her finish her benihana’d ice cream and made uncomfortable intermittent eye contact for the next 20 minutes. then i took my brother in christ ass self and boarded the plane in shoes that cost more than my ticket. i grabbed a window seat to watch the snow fall.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

idk if i should put like, another wrap up here. i feel they’re all basically saying the same shit. it’s just interesting to know that some people really think my dumb ass being at the airport is a feat of strength and a testament to the power of the human spirit. i lowkey just had work on monday. but w/e. she should see me bench. 

i’ll see ya’ll next time. 

a free scoop of protein powder if you read this far. 

[lewiselder]

the prayer

my first post about the trainer happened around October. i wrote that entry on Wednesday, February 22nd. this particular event happened the next day. 

the next day. Thursday, February 23rd. 

I texted a couple people about it - Ian, Dana, Jake. i wasn’t sure what to do with it. i was legitimately worried if i posted about it right away that it might seem like i’m bullshitting. instead i’m taking it as a sign. from, uh, (god?) that making this, uh, (blog?) was a good idea. so thanks, guy who i’m about to roast in detail. 

SO, it was Thursday of last week. i had gotten off work a little early and went to the gym.

yeah...the same fucking gym lol

maybe there’s something to be said about Lifetime Fitnesseses. fitnesseses? fitnesseses. or maybe there’s something to be said about the kind of people who can afford a gym that is at least $70/month. probably the latter. 

but i dye grass. so i’m at the gym, in the beginning sets of squatting. from the corner of my eye i notice a dude near me who looks like he’s trying to get my attention. i do every gym go-ers favorite move - stop what i’m doing, take my sweaty headphones off, and turn to dr distracto. 

doctor distracto MD says to me in a syrupy voice, “Are you using this?” - referencing a bench near my squat rack. 

i say no. 

distracto, DDS then says, “hey man we met in the locker room yesterday.”

one armed handsome hero, “oh yeah, i remember...how’s it going?”

***FLASHBACK***

the night before i was getting my shit out of the locker before going home. a dad and his teenage son were using a locker next to me. i had seen them at the gym a few times before. i mostly recognized them because the teenage son always wore these old adidas crazy quick joints that Tim Duncan and John Wall wore in like 2013. 

^^^these ones. notice how i capitalize Tim Duncan and John Wall but not doctor distracto phd. also notice The Big Fundamental’s face here - not entirely dissimilar to mine whilst conversing with professor distractathon. 

any who. this dad ass dad (aka distracto - keep up) and his son ass son are next to me in the locker room. dad ass dad just kinda slides in my ear DMs with a quick, “i see you here a lot.” 

“yeah, i’m here too much” - my standard response to that comment, which gets a laugh like 65% of the time. 

dad ass dad goes on to introduce himself as will (i think). nice name there, will. he made a couple random comments about idk, the fucking gym or whatever, pretty small talk-y. then we part ways. 

***FLASH FORWARD***

so i’m at the squat rack in the middle of asking will (maybe it was bill?) how it was going after he mentioned we had met last night. then bill (phil?) hits me with what, in my life, is the conversational equivalent of an off ball screen you never see coming (but i kinda always see it coming)

phil (gill?) - gill goes: “so how long have you been dealin’ with that?” - sort of gesturing with his chin at my arm. 

me: “uh kinda a while lol i was born with it.” 

willbillphilgill aka distracto aka dad ass dad, in his slow, southern, lawn chair with a bud light voice goes: “Would you mind if i prayed with you?”

lol uh

i said something like - uh, well i don’t really pray...

dad ass dad kinda cuts me off there and goes: “i’ll lead it”

“okay” i say, interested as to what was about to happen. dad ass dad then clasps my right hand in a kind of like, white guy dap stance. 

so i’m standing there. hand in hand with some middle aged texan. in the middle of a lifetime fitness. at 4pm on a thursday. while his teenage son stands next to us. 

then this motherfucker really begins a prayer. it went something like this. 

Dear God. We ask that you heal Lewis here. May he be healed with all of your grace, mercy, and love. All this we ask of you, Lord. Thank you. Amen. 

qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm

i quickly felt the holy spirit wash over my poor, withered husk of an arm. yes lord!

nah but i did get to smell his fucking meat breath. 

now mind you this is the day after i’ve started a blog to chronicle, oh i don’t know, THIS EXACT SHIT lol. so him and i release our caucasian clasp. i kinda laugh and say thanks. i don’t remember what he said but it wasn’t much. him and his son wander off, presumably to go reconvene with the other missionaries scouring the gym floor for lepers in need. 

ps - i wonder if this guy and the trainer would have a spirited argument about science vs religion? ROBOT ARM! NO - GOD ARM! NO, ROBOT ARM! NO...

-------------------------

so i stand there. shocked? angry? happy? i was definitely well aware that this was fucking perfect for the project i had just undertaken. so, if nothing else, this blog has already turned what would have been an otherwise unpleasant experience into a (prettygoddamnoffensive) silver lining. big ups to the six, three of which are me in different states of mania, of ya’ll that will read this. srsly. ty. 

so. yuh. the day after i write about that fucking god damn trainer, this happens lol. 

honestly, i was a lot less mad at this guy than i was at the trainer. i really don’t know why. maybe because this dude wasn’t as ready to slice me up, or maybe i was just in a better mood. obv not great that he sees my arm as a disease to an otherwise healthy young man, but.... 

ALSO - gotta address the handicapped elephant in the room which has to be - what exactly did this dude mean/think would happen when he said “heal.” like, is god boutta catch me asleep one day and i just wake up with like 2 regular arms lol??? 2 elbows and 10 fingers and all that bougie shit??? 

man then i’d be just like ya’ll. 

yuck. 

jk - i’ll take one order of elbow pls. 

but anyway. so another instance of austinites being boooooold as fuck. i’m starting to miss the “that ain’t my fucking problem” attitude of St. Louis *swoons* i think a lot of this shit is just more evidence of how dehumanized people with disabilities are. like, son, you wouldn’t go up to some dude with glasses and pray to god for his sight to be restored, would you? but for some reason, every fuckin texan with eyes and a pulse seems to think they have the moral obligation to put their fuckin brisket scoops (hands) on me and offer me their help, advice, and now prayer. 

also, if this is what dads are like, i’m really not missing out on shit. 

so. idk. i guess ball’s in your court @God 

ps if u read this far, i’ll buy you a taco

[lewiselder]

the trainer at the gym

i moved to Austin, texas in june. for a job. the job is borning. i am boring. the job is more boring. (but it pays well) anyway. i had always heard folks from texas, or southern states in general, were a jolly people filled with pork belly and southern hospitality. 

survey says: kinda. idk. i’ll tell you one thing - people in austin are certainly bold as fuck. not necessarily in a good way. important to note that austin is a heavily gentrified, hipster and young, swanky professional type crowd. probably not representative of all of texas, but nonetheless.

so there’s your context. oh and i have a disabled/deformed left arm. not like a cute one that rounds off just before the hand or at the elbow. my arm is short, twisted, backwards, with a claw like, 3 fingered hand hanging off the end. it is not something you see everyday. unless you’re me i guess. or my coworkers. 

ANYWAY - i like to lift weights and i do so for between 2-3 hours 5-6 days a week. i joined a pretty fancy gym down here - a lifetime fitness to be exact. i pay 70 fuckin bucks a month for this health club. but, it has all the weights i need, 2 backetball courts, and is 24 hours - so i pay it. 

there’s this one dude at the gym, i won’t say his name, but he’s a trainer. he offered to spot me while squatting a few times and i was honestly a little annoyed, but i appreciated the offer and i indeed needed a spotter for my heavier sets. 

it became a sort of quasi gym friendship. you probably know the type. we would say wut up and engage in casual chit chat from time to time. 

a couple weeks into our relationship this man comes up to me and starts talking. he starts talking about my arm. this i’m used to and it usually consists of some “wow ur so inspirational” type shit. 

but nah

no

nuh-uh

this man

this

fucking

dude

this is what this dude says to me. this grown man with a job and a bi-weekly income and a mother, father, some type of transportation, a favorite food and a favorite color says to me.

he says: “have you ever considered just cutting that thing off?”

bruh lol

me: “wut”

him: “yeah like, chopping it off and getting a prosthetic or something”

me: “uh idk man that sounds....complicated (?? one of many words i could have used there)”

him: “oh man it’s probably not that complicated, technology is crazy now, they can do all kinds of stuff!”

me: “aw yeah that’s true man, but uh idk that would probably be expensive, plus it’s my arm, plus like...”

***now here’s where i made the mistake of trying to use a rational argument with this bloated crepe face ass instead of realizing anyone who has known you only a few weeks and casually suggests you chop a whole ass part of your body off is probably not the right person to use logic against***

crepe face ass: “NAH MAN, IT’S EASY - PLUS YOU’D BE SO MUCH MORE OF A BEAST! SERIOUSLY MAN LOOK INTO IT!” *eyes shimmering with childlike wonder of helping me become 1/6th robocop*

me: honestly idk what i said here, probably just more of like ‘but bro i don’t think that’s as easy as you’re making it seem’ 

crepe face ass: NAH BRO - YOU KNOW WUT, I’LL LOOK INTO IT FOR YOU! DON’T WORRY MAN I’LL LOOK INTO IT!

*****this is where the conversation effectively ended so that crepe face ass could presumably go google “ROBOT ARM” so i wouldn’t have to. what a weight off my back. 

now i’m not sure but i’m pretty sure i could hear my soon to be bloody stump of an arm looking up at me like “so ur not gonna hit this mf huh?”

crepe face ass walks away - a soft smile on his face after a long 7 minutes of helping a poor crippled boy realize his robotic potential. i sit there on the bench, shocked, muscles slowly getting colder and stiffer. i think i messaged steve about it. 

---------------------

so that’s more or less it. this real ass human being suggested i frankenstein my shit in hopes that apparently free, fully functional robotic prosthetic technology that, and i can’t emphasize this enough - does not fucking exist yet, will help me deadlift 45 extra pounds.

it felt weird. my arm is a part of my body. it’s the same arm my mom had to cope with, had to teach me how to tie my shoes with. it feels and aches and stretches and scratches and picks shit up and puts shit down and goes around your girls shoulder (i kid). and this dude was so quick, so quick, to just suggest i cut that mf right off. like it wasn’t part of me. like i wouldn’t feel it. like i wouldn’t have to know that the lower half of my arm was being processed down or put with whatever happens to other now unusable, discarded body parts. idk. that feels shitty to be dehumanized like that in such a blatant way. 

woo - ok - that was long but we made it. this is the first installment. if you actually read this far i will venmo you 50 cents. anyway - that sucked. but. at least at the end of the day. i’m not a grown man. working at lifetime fitness. telling a 23 year old kid who is 1.5x my size to chop his arm off. 

and then i left the gym and went home to my newly fat bank account. yuuugghhhh.

[lewiselder]

i made a tumblr in 2012. i used it thrice. now i will use it to record and chronicle all the weird shit that happens to me because of my arm. or at least that’s the goal.

it’s some wild shit tbh

[lewiselder]

take a listen

[lewiselder]

The problem with perception is a lesson is subjective.

John Vietnam

[lewiselder]

I finally have a Tumblr. The sky is falling.

I don't even know how to make more than 1 post. This is problematic.