Rich ran away and hid from me again this morning. The set up was the same as usual: I made my way to the kitchen after coming down the stairs and saw the back of Rich practically dive into his room. This time I quickened my pace and almost came within a couple of feet of him before his door closed hard in my face.
I saw that he left behind a glass of Pepsi. I shook my head and smiled. He's not always this skittish, which leads me to believe he's a binge scaredy-cat, if there is such a thing. After the incident, I thought of Native American names for him, like He Who Rides The Backs Of Shadows or House Phantom. One of these days, if I'm feeling mischievous, I might just follow him right into his room and yell "Gotcha, son!" That will teach him.
--
It was a low-key weekend. I went for a run with Spira yesterday, but she was feeling mopey and her knee was starting to act up, so it was abbreviated. We managed close to two and a half miles. I drove home and decided I wanted to run some more, so I decided to travel my old route, which I gave up last spring.
I was curious to know the distance of the route, as I never carried a pedometer with me when I used to run it. Turns out it was about 1.4 miles. I ran the whole distance at a pretty strong clip. I used to get winded on that route and would walk portions of it. It was beneficial seeing how much progress I've made over the last several months. I had just run over two miles and I tackled this jaunt like it was nothing. I like progress; I'm a big fan.
Spira and I watched a shitload of The Office last night. I had originally suggested driving over to Lexington and catching a showing of Happy Go Lucky at the local theater. Spira vetoed the idea, so we ended up just hanging at her place.
Today, I don't plan on doing much of anything. I already went out to the grocery store and will probably do a little laundry later on, but other than that it's lazy town for me. I will put a significant dent into The Streets of Laredo, which has been a great read, and will consider watching Owning Mahoney.
I finished another book yesterday: Memoirs of a Monster Hunter, by Nick Redfern. A decent read, though not much meat to it. He spent as much time bragging about how much he drinks and how hot his wife is as he did discussing his Fortean pursuits. So one more book down, dozens more to go. I'll get there.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Oh, Mickey, what a pity, you don't understand, you take me by the heart, when you take me by the hand
A longer hiatus than I intended. I had two posts almost completed but I couldn't make them sing. They will sit dormant until such time when I'm inspired to finish and release them. I may, like Brian Wilson did with the aborted Smile album back in the day, release some of what I wrote in subsequent posts. I make no promises.
Thanksgiving was fine, if not a little strange. The day started off great: I went for a four mile run through the streets of Somerville and had energy to spare when I made it back to my house. Originally, Spira had intended to join me, but she woke up late and had to get ready to go to her cousin's house.
I showed up at my grandmother's house about ten minutes late, but it seemed like I was really late. Everyone else was there and most of the appetizers had already been eaten. I winced when my brother in law told me how good the stuffed mushrooms were.
My grandmother now sleeps in the dining room because she has trouble getting upstairs to her bedroom, so we ate dinner in the adjoining living room. Two long tables were pushed together and, upon inspecting the little cards placed at each setting, I saw that, for the first time ever, there was assigned seating. I didn't think too much of it.
Whenever everyone was seated, however, I noticed that my family occupied one table and my Aunt and Uncle's family, with my grandmother at the head, occupied the other. And both families talked among themselves as if. I tried to make conversation with my cousins, but they were all tilted away from me and immersed in their conversations.
At one point during the meal, I went out to the kitchen and joined my mother at the sink. "What's that all about?" I asked in reference to the seating.
"I have no idea", she said "but I think it's pretty ridiculous". She was visibly irritated and I half-regretted bringing up the subject at all, though I knew she had already been stewing over it.
Back at the table, I heard my grandmother ask my aunt why the families were separated. I listened intently for her response, knowing she was the one who had mapped out the seating arrangement. Unfortunately, I couldn't hear her response, which sucks because I couldn't think of a valid reason why the families would be separated and was hoping I'd hear one.
After dinner, which as far Thanksgiving meals go, was about a B-, most of us retired to the other living room off the kitchen. And mingled, much to my relief. I didn't see any reason why the two families should be at odds, but the whole dinner experience made me wonder if there was something going on that I wasn't privy to.
My aunt is laid back and kind, with a great sense of humor. Why she arranged the seats the way she did may never be revealed, but something was going on, to be sure. When some of us went back to the dining room for dessert, the separation of families occurred again, though this time without the aid of the placement cards.
My mother, above the din, made a few remarks about the set up. It was sad, the whole thing. I thought about how festive and warm our family gatherings had been in the past. My sister, who I just spoke to earlier tonight, told me that, before my arrival, everyone was really quiet, as if there was nothing left to talk about.
The affair wasn't as bleak as I make it out to be. After dinner, my niece ,Colleen, sang Goodnight, Irene, for us, ending with an elaborate bow that set us all to laughter. And I had a great conversation with my cousin Megan about our dislike of Jon and Kate, Plus Eight and whether Bindy Irwin is a phony. Hearing that, my sister leaned in and whispered that my niece, Kiley, who loves Bindy Irwin and finds her shows informative, was listening. I tried to cover by saying "You know what? I think that Bindy Irwin is one of the most genuine and intelligent kids on TV right now!". I don't know if Kiley picked up on that.
So Thanksgiving, though a little odd, wasn't so bad. Later on that night, Kreg and I played Star Wars: Battlefront on my PS2, like a couple of twelve year olds. A fitting end to a day devoted to giving thanks.
--
Today, I practiced yoga and felt wonderful afterwards; not a collection of parts, but a single, flexible, entity. I look forward to tomorrow's run.
I just made some Kappo Ma (sic), the Greek dish Spira taught me to make last year, and one that I've mastered and, if I do say so myself, improved upon. I'll be bringing her some later on. I'll also be bringing over my Netflix dvd, Poltergeist, a movie I loved growing up, but haven't seen in a while. I hope I have awful nightmares tonight.
Thanksgiving was fine, if not a little strange. The day started off great: I went for a four mile run through the streets of Somerville and had energy to spare when I made it back to my house. Originally, Spira had intended to join me, but she woke up late and had to get ready to go to her cousin's house.
I showed up at my grandmother's house about ten minutes late, but it seemed like I was really late. Everyone else was there and most of the appetizers had already been eaten. I winced when my brother in law told me how good the stuffed mushrooms were.
My grandmother now sleeps in the dining room because she has trouble getting upstairs to her bedroom, so we ate dinner in the adjoining living room. Two long tables were pushed together and, upon inspecting the little cards placed at each setting, I saw that, for the first time ever, there was assigned seating. I didn't think too much of it.
Whenever everyone was seated, however, I noticed that my family occupied one table and my Aunt and Uncle's family, with my grandmother at the head, occupied the other. And both families talked among themselves as if. I tried to make conversation with my cousins, but they were all tilted away from me and immersed in their conversations.
At one point during the meal, I went out to the kitchen and joined my mother at the sink. "What's that all about?" I asked in reference to the seating.
"I have no idea", she said "but I think it's pretty ridiculous". She was visibly irritated and I half-regretted bringing up the subject at all, though I knew she had already been stewing over it.
Back at the table, I heard my grandmother ask my aunt why the families were separated. I listened intently for her response, knowing she was the one who had mapped out the seating arrangement. Unfortunately, I couldn't hear her response, which sucks because I couldn't think of a valid reason why the families would be separated and was hoping I'd hear one.
After dinner, which as far Thanksgiving meals go, was about a B-, most of us retired to the other living room off the kitchen. And mingled, much to my relief. I didn't see any reason why the two families should be at odds, but the whole dinner experience made me wonder if there was something going on that I wasn't privy to.
My aunt is laid back and kind, with a great sense of humor. Why she arranged the seats the way she did may never be revealed, but something was going on, to be sure. When some of us went back to the dining room for dessert, the separation of families occurred again, though this time without the aid of the placement cards.
My mother, above the din, made a few remarks about the set up. It was sad, the whole thing. I thought about how festive and warm our family gatherings had been in the past. My sister, who I just spoke to earlier tonight, told me that, before my arrival, everyone was really quiet, as if there was nothing left to talk about.
The affair wasn't as bleak as I make it out to be. After dinner, my niece ,Colleen, sang Goodnight, Irene, for us, ending with an elaborate bow that set us all to laughter. And I had a great conversation with my cousin Megan about our dislike of Jon and Kate, Plus Eight and whether Bindy Irwin is a phony. Hearing that, my sister leaned in and whispered that my niece, Kiley, who loves Bindy Irwin and finds her shows informative, was listening. I tried to cover by saying "You know what? I think that Bindy Irwin is one of the most genuine and intelligent kids on TV right now!". I don't know if Kiley picked up on that.
So Thanksgiving, though a little odd, wasn't so bad. Later on that night, Kreg and I played Star Wars: Battlefront on my PS2, like a couple of twelve year olds. A fitting end to a day devoted to giving thanks.
--
Today, I practiced yoga and felt wonderful afterwards; not a collection of parts, but a single, flexible, entity. I look forward to tomorrow's run.
I just made some Kappo Ma (sic), the Greek dish Spira taught me to make last year, and one that I've mastered and, if I do say so myself, improved upon. I'll be bringing her some later on. I'll also be bringing over my Netflix dvd, Poltergeist, a movie I loved growing up, but haven't seen in a while. I hope I have awful nightmares tonight.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Got a flaming heart, can't get my fill
I used to like watching News Radio when it was on, and one episode in particular, the one I'm providing a link for, really tickled my funny bone. Check it out if you have a sense of humor and like to laugh.
http://www.hulu.com/watch/6892/newsradio-daydream#s-p8-so-i0
http://www.hulu.com/watch/6892/newsradio-daydream#s-p8-so-i0
So take your hat off boy, when you're talking to me, and be there when I feed the tree
Just came back from a long run, probably my longest yet. And, aside from waiting to cross streets, I didn't stop once. Tomorrow, I will take a break from exercise and let my body recover. Pretty much every day over the last couple of weeks I've been out running or practicing yoga. Yes, tomorrow off and then on Thanksgiving, before we head to our familial destinations, Spira and I plan on going for a doozy of a run. That way, we can overeat later on without feeling too guilty about it.
A decent weekend. On Saturday, I had just finished doing yoga, when Marie, my landlord, knocked on the door. She is sweet, but she's a talker. And she tells the same stories, usually ones about her health, every time you see her. At one point, while telling me about her stay in the hospital when she was younger, she said, "And you know what I saw, lying in bed all by myself? The Sorrowful Mother." I reacted with a nod, as if she had told me she bought some red peppers at the market, but in my head I was thinking, Wow, wasn't expecting that! I took advantage of the opportunity to ask her if we could keep a dog in the house, knowing that if I didn't, I was going to have to call her about it and, consequently, have to hear her stories again.
She waved a hand at me and said "Oh, I don't mind if you get a dog. I love dogs." That was a relief, because the only way I could get Janelle to move in when Craig leaves, depended on whether dogs were allowed because she, well, has a dog.
When Craig had announced he was moving out, Janelle was on my wish list as a replacement, but it just didn't seem feasible for a variety of different reasons. So, I focused my attention elsewhere until recently, when it became apparent that there was a chance, albeit a rather small one at the time, that Janelle could be moving down here.
I was still doubtful, though, mostly because of the dog situation. I still hadn't asked Rich if he'd be ok with one and, even if he was , there was still Marie to contend with. Rich said he wouldn't mind a dog in the house, which was a mild surprise; he had mentioned getting a cat at one time and having a dog in the house would effectively put an end to that idea. When I asked about it, he said, " Well, I'd like a cat someday, but whatever, I'm cool with a dog, and I'd rather have a roommate at this point."
After getting the green light from both Rich and Marie, I was eager to call Janelle and see if she was still interested. It seemed to me that this was meant to happen. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Four months ago, if you had asked me what the chances were of Janelle becoming a housemate, I'd say they were pretty low. But life, as mundane as it can often be, can still surprise.
I spoke with Janelle and she's on board! It's such a relief knowing I'll be living with someone I'm close with and have known most of my adult life. And I'm down with Zico, her pooch. It's been too long since I've lived with a dog.
There is more to write about, but it's getting late and I'm tired. Tomorrow, I'll part two this mother fucker with tales of crappy poets, anger at Spira, my attraction to an utterly distasteful woman, family battles, Tibetan food and stolen leftovers, and much, much, more. Stay tuned, bitches!
A decent weekend. On Saturday, I had just finished doing yoga, when Marie, my landlord, knocked on the door. She is sweet, but she's a talker. And she tells the same stories, usually ones about her health, every time you see her. At one point, while telling me about her stay in the hospital when she was younger, she said, "And you know what I saw, lying in bed all by myself? The Sorrowful Mother." I reacted with a nod, as if she had told me she bought some red peppers at the market, but in my head I was thinking, Wow, wasn't expecting that! I took advantage of the opportunity to ask her if we could keep a dog in the house, knowing that if I didn't, I was going to have to call her about it and, consequently, have to hear her stories again.
She waved a hand at me and said "Oh, I don't mind if you get a dog. I love dogs." That was a relief, because the only way I could get Janelle to move in when Craig leaves, depended on whether dogs were allowed because she, well, has a dog.
When Craig had announced he was moving out, Janelle was on my wish list as a replacement, but it just didn't seem feasible for a variety of different reasons. So, I focused my attention elsewhere until recently, when it became apparent that there was a chance, albeit a rather small one at the time, that Janelle could be moving down here.
I was still doubtful, though, mostly because of the dog situation. I still hadn't asked Rich if he'd be ok with one and, even if he was , there was still Marie to contend with. Rich said he wouldn't mind a dog in the house, which was a mild surprise; he had mentioned getting a cat at one time and having a dog in the house would effectively put an end to that idea. When I asked about it, he said, " Well, I'd like a cat someday, but whatever, I'm cool with a dog, and I'd rather have a roommate at this point."
After getting the green light from both Rich and Marie, I was eager to call Janelle and see if she was still interested. It seemed to me that this was meant to happen. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Four months ago, if you had asked me what the chances were of Janelle becoming a housemate, I'd say they were pretty low. But life, as mundane as it can often be, can still surprise.
I spoke with Janelle and she's on board! It's such a relief knowing I'll be living with someone I'm close with and have known most of my adult life. And I'm down with Zico, her pooch. It's been too long since I've lived with a dog.
There is more to write about, but it's getting late and I'm tired. Tomorrow, I'll part two this mother fucker with tales of crappy poets, anger at Spira, my attraction to an utterly distasteful woman, family battles, Tibetan food and stolen leftovers, and much, much, more. Stay tuned, bitches!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Candy came from out on the island, in the back room she was everybody's darling
Ellen asked if I was allowed pets in my apartment. "I'm looking into whether we can have a dog, but I'm pretty sure we can keep other animals", I replied.
"Well, the reason I asked is because I'm trying to find a home for a guinea pig".
"He has a comb-over like Donald Trump", Ann said.
Ellen nodded. "It really looks like he does. I was just telling Ann. So would you be interested?"
I tried picturing a guinea pig that looked like Donald Trump and came up short. I like guinea pigs, but I like my pets to have bigger personalities. It's why I love dogs so much. I'm sure, though, that if I took The Donald off Ellen's hands, I'd discover, after living with the critter for a while, that his personality was big enough. But, I'm not in the market for a guinea pig, so I said, "No offense to The Donald, but I'm going to pass." Then I pointed at Ellen and said "You're fired" and everyone laughed. Ok, nobody laughed. Are you happy now?
--
All day, mundane actions, like typing numbers into the computer or putting a folder in a drawer, provoked images that exploded in my head like a tommy gun's report. Everything connected;total deja vu. I can't remember any of the images --- they faded just as soon as they arrived --- but they had significance to the present moment. Beyond that, I can say no more; there are certain aspects of life that cannot manage the terrain of the written word.
--
Had a dream in which I was walking to Union Square with Spira and Mandy, the dog of my youth. We were about to pass Mara's place, when I decided I'd see if she wanted to come with us. As I approached her door, I saw through her window that she was dressed for a night on the town. Her sister came into view. I overheard them discuss the lecture they were about to attend.
I didn't bother knocking on the door and rejoined Spira on the street. As we walked, I grew worried over the fact that Mandy was without her leash. I nearly panicked, thinking of all the ways her roaming free could end badly. Spira noted that there were a lot of dogs around us not wearing their leashes and told me not to be too concerned about her welfare.
I disregarded her advice and bent over and grabbed Mandy's collar. My arm became the leash and, as we walked, I felt better, but I got the sense Mandy was dissappointed that I didn't trust her.
We reached our destination, which was Bluff Creek, California, where the famous film of Bigfoot was shot. Because it was a dream, I wasn't too put off by the fact that Bluff Creek was easily housed within Union Square.
We signed up for a tour of the creek bed where Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin happened upon Bigfoot and history was made. Spira and someone else we were with, I forget who, took Mandy and began the tour. I stayed behind.
I woke up feeling I had just taken a bizarre class in the art of letting go.
"Well, the reason I asked is because I'm trying to find a home for a guinea pig".
"He has a comb-over like Donald Trump", Ann said.
Ellen nodded. "It really looks like he does. I was just telling Ann. So would you be interested?"
I tried picturing a guinea pig that looked like Donald Trump and came up short. I like guinea pigs, but I like my pets to have bigger personalities. It's why I love dogs so much. I'm sure, though, that if I took The Donald off Ellen's hands, I'd discover, after living with the critter for a while, that his personality was big enough. But, I'm not in the market for a guinea pig, so I said, "No offense to The Donald, but I'm going to pass." Then I pointed at Ellen and said "You're fired" and everyone laughed. Ok, nobody laughed. Are you happy now?
--
All day, mundane actions, like typing numbers into the computer or putting a folder in a drawer, provoked images that exploded in my head like a tommy gun's report. Everything connected;total deja vu. I can't remember any of the images --- they faded just as soon as they arrived --- but they had significance to the present moment. Beyond that, I can say no more; there are certain aspects of life that cannot manage the terrain of the written word.
--
Had a dream in which I was walking to Union Square with Spira and Mandy, the dog of my youth. We were about to pass Mara's place, when I decided I'd see if she wanted to come with us. As I approached her door, I saw through her window that she was dressed for a night on the town. Her sister came into view. I overheard them discuss the lecture they were about to attend.
I didn't bother knocking on the door and rejoined Spira on the street. As we walked, I grew worried over the fact that Mandy was without her leash. I nearly panicked, thinking of all the ways her roaming free could end badly. Spira noted that there were a lot of dogs around us not wearing their leashes and told me not to be too concerned about her welfare.
I disregarded her advice and bent over and grabbed Mandy's collar. My arm became the leash and, as we walked, I felt better, but I got the sense Mandy was dissappointed that I didn't trust her.
We reached our destination, which was Bluff Creek, California, where the famous film of Bigfoot was shot. Because it was a dream, I wasn't too put off by the fact that Bluff Creek was easily housed within Union Square.
We signed up for a tour of the creek bed where Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin happened upon Bigfoot and history was made. Spira and someone else we were with, I forget who, took Mandy and began the tour. I stayed behind.
I woke up feeling I had just taken a bizarre class in the art of letting go.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
If my soul has a shape, well it is an ellipse, and this slap is a gift, because your cheeks have lost their luster
A productive day, at least by my standards. We're going to lighting round this post because it's late and I'm tired. So here's the rundown, and I'm sure you're smacking your lips in anticipation over what awaits you. Let's kick out the jams, mother fuckers! No sense putting this thing off.
Lightning round:
I woke clear-headed, trying to piece together the fragments of a dream I had about me and Obama hanging out.
Made a couple of eggs, added tomato-based marinade with cauliflower, garlic, and sweet potatoes.
Went to work, marveling on the highway at all the shitty drivers.
Worked. Overheard Therese, the mild-mannered and endearingly flaky woman of our group, say this to Ellen & Ann: "Oh, we used to screw all night but when I found out it wasn't very good for my heart, I decided we should cut down." Ann announced, probably for my benefit, because I was RIGHT THERE when Therese said it, that maybe a different topic of conversation was in order. I was amused at the whole thing.
Came home and practiced yoga. I've recently gotten back into it; this past weekend was the first session in months. I hope to keep it up.
Not having much food for dinner, I went to Market Basket. Usually it's like a piranha feeding frenzy, but tonight it wasn't that packed and shoppers behaved themselves. Left with a weeks worth of groceries, all on the cheap. Got to watch the spending these economically uncertain days.
Home. Put groceries away. Cut up vegetables and chicken for my first attempt at making Brium (sic, I'm sure), a dish Spira's made for me before.
It was late when I began dinner: around nine o'clock. I never eat that late, but you've got to be flexible, right? The food was ok, but lacked something essential.
After dinner, went out to my car and saw a few thugs walking past my house. They were large and thickly muscled and carried themselves with the swagger of those familiar with brutality. One of them looked at me. I didn't like being looked at and let him know.
"Is there something I can help you with, you god-damned piece of shit? If you're looking for your sister, I had her last night. Tonight, she's with your garbage man, though I'll bet she's too sore to do much but lie there and whimper. You know, because of all the trauma I put her through last night."
The thugs stopped in their tracks. The one I addressed walked towards me menacingly and said "What did you say, bitch? I'm gonna knock you the fuck out, talking about sister like that!"
"And once I'm knocked out, you going to rape me, lady boy?", I said. "If you're looking for a piece of ass tonight, why don't you and your two twink friends toss each other around like a Cobb salad back at your place and Leave. Me. Alone."
"I don't like you", I continued. "You're a collection of weak-willed, dumb and ugly cunts. And I ought to slap you around a bit for getting my ire up at this time of night, but I'm busy. And important. Too important to even consider you as worthy of my attention. So shoo, little ones, and return to your cribs. If I see you again, I'm going to kill you."
I'll be honest: I thought I was in for a beating or worse. They looked like they were a little miffed at me, and I didn't blame them. Know what, though? They walked away without incident! They just shook their heads and walked away. That was more than luck, my friends -- that was divine intervention. I should be at the hospital or the morgue right now. I think I ought to start going to church.
Speaking of church, I'm reminded of what Studs Terkel said: "An agnostic is nothing but a cowardly atheist." I like that line.
A productive day. Now, I shall unwind.
Lightning round:
I woke clear-headed, trying to piece together the fragments of a dream I had about me and Obama hanging out.
Made a couple of eggs, added tomato-based marinade with cauliflower, garlic, and sweet potatoes.
Went to work, marveling on the highway at all the shitty drivers.
Worked. Overheard Therese, the mild-mannered and endearingly flaky woman of our group, say this to Ellen & Ann: "Oh, we used to screw all night but when I found out it wasn't very good for my heart, I decided we should cut down." Ann announced, probably for my benefit, because I was RIGHT THERE when Therese said it, that maybe a different topic of conversation was in order. I was amused at the whole thing.
Came home and practiced yoga. I've recently gotten back into it; this past weekend was the first session in months. I hope to keep it up.
Not having much food for dinner, I went to Market Basket. Usually it's like a piranha feeding frenzy, but tonight it wasn't that packed and shoppers behaved themselves. Left with a weeks worth of groceries, all on the cheap. Got to watch the spending these economically uncertain days.
Home. Put groceries away. Cut up vegetables and chicken for my first attempt at making Brium (sic, I'm sure), a dish Spira's made for me before.
It was late when I began dinner: around nine o'clock. I never eat that late, but you've got to be flexible, right? The food was ok, but lacked something essential.
After dinner, went out to my car and saw a few thugs walking past my house. They were large and thickly muscled and carried themselves with the swagger of those familiar with brutality. One of them looked at me. I didn't like being looked at and let him know.
"Is there something I can help you with, you god-damned piece of shit? If you're looking for your sister, I had her last night. Tonight, she's with your garbage man, though I'll bet she's too sore to do much but lie there and whimper. You know, because of all the trauma I put her through last night."
The thugs stopped in their tracks. The one I addressed walked towards me menacingly and said "What did you say, bitch? I'm gonna knock you the fuck out, talking about sister like that!"
"And once I'm knocked out, you going to rape me, lady boy?", I said. "If you're looking for a piece of ass tonight, why don't you and your two twink friends toss each other around like a Cobb salad back at your place and Leave. Me. Alone."
"I don't like you", I continued. "You're a collection of weak-willed, dumb and ugly cunts. And I ought to slap you around a bit for getting my ire up at this time of night, but I'm busy. And important. Too important to even consider you as worthy of my attention. So shoo, little ones, and return to your cribs. If I see you again, I'm going to kill you."
I'll be honest: I thought I was in for a beating or worse. They looked like they were a little miffed at me, and I didn't blame them. Know what, though? They walked away without incident! They just shook their heads and walked away. That was more than luck, my friends -- that was divine intervention. I should be at the hospital or the morgue right now. I think I ought to start going to church.
Speaking of church, I'm reminded of what Studs Terkel said: "An agnostic is nothing but a cowardly atheist." I like that line.
A productive day. Now, I shall unwind.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden
Ran four and a half miles tonight. From my house, through Union Square, and back; a steady, assured pace. Longer runs provide mental challenges. The mind invests itself in your failure out of a lack of anything better to do. It whispered the multitudinous ways in which I'd fail and sag to the earth like wet cardboard, but I gave it no authority over me. No small victory. Right now, I am a Titan. Right now, my heart beats fierce challenges to future obstacles, saying in its language I am not easily reckoned with.
--
Marcy was going over some new procedures with Sharon and me this morning. She began by telling us how much she appreciates our hard work. "When you're here, you work, and I couldn't ask for anything more", she said. It was nice to hear.
Rich has given up coffee. The other day I noticed his coffee maker was missing from the pantry. Last night, I told him I thought either he'd rid himself of his addiction or had grown more committed to it and brought the coffee maker into his bedroom where he'd have even easier access to it. Sounds like I was being funny, but I wasn't --Rich has his peculiarities and adores coffee the way my grandmother adores her grandchildren. So, yeah, I could picture him brewing a pot on the nightstand next to his bed while he's all snuggled up and warm under his quim-crusted blankets.
Just kidding about the blankets. I'm sure he cleans up after himself once the dust settles and his blood is down. But with what? A question worth pondering, but not here, not tonight.
He told me he was starting to get migraines drinking coffee and had to quit the habit. He was not pleased about it. The guy has been alcohol free for a few years and coffee was his last guilty pleasure. "But I can't abide migraines, so the coffee had to go" he said as if he was telling me he had to take his beloved dog out back and shoot it. Poor guy, but he'll be better off in the long run.
Riddle:
Who has a pure heart, makes all the beautiful babies say "holla", and is going to blow this joint and watch the Celtics play the Knicks?
Me, bitches!
--
Marcy was going over some new procedures with Sharon and me this morning. She began by telling us how much she appreciates our hard work. "When you're here, you work, and I couldn't ask for anything more", she said. It was nice to hear.
Rich has given up coffee. The other day I noticed his coffee maker was missing from the pantry. Last night, I told him I thought either he'd rid himself of his addiction or had grown more committed to it and brought the coffee maker into his bedroom where he'd have even easier access to it. Sounds like I was being funny, but I wasn't --Rich has his peculiarities and adores coffee the way my grandmother adores her grandchildren. So, yeah, I could picture him brewing a pot on the nightstand next to his bed while he's all snuggled up and warm under his quim-crusted blankets.
Just kidding about the blankets. I'm sure he cleans up after himself once the dust settles and his blood is down. But with what? A question worth pondering, but not here, not tonight.
He told me he was starting to get migraines drinking coffee and had to quit the habit. He was not pleased about it. The guy has been alcohol free for a few years and coffee was his last guilty pleasure. "But I can't abide migraines, so the coffee had to go" he said as if he was telling me he had to take his beloved dog out back and shoot it. Poor guy, but he'll be better off in the long run.
Riddle:
Who has a pure heart, makes all the beautiful babies say "holla", and is going to blow this joint and watch the Celtics play the Knicks?
Me, bitches!
Monday, November 17, 2008
I haven't a reason left in my head to not go away
Okay, I'll give it a shot, but it's not going to be pretty. I predict what follows will be lacking in structure, due specifically to the state of laziness I've found myself in. But, your guess is as good as mine, so let's spit it out and see how much sticks.
Now that I've lowered expectations, I can freely and without guilt be an irresponsible writer. You can debate amongst yourselves whether I've ever been a responsible writer; I'm moving on to the next paragraph.
Which is about apples. I talked with my sister earlier in the evening and she told me the story about my mother and apples.
A few ago at my grandmother's house, my sister had brought a bag of apples for my grandmother that her family had picked. My mother asked my sister where her apples were. She said this with a smile, but, according to my sister, it wasn't genuine.
Not long after, my mother brought the subject up again. "So no apples for me?". Again, said with a smile.
My sister is not a fan of confrontation and didn't respond. My mother asked her again later on why she didn't get any apples. My sister was irritated, but felt a response, no matter how it was framed, would get her into an argument with my mother. She held her tongue.
My mother is wonderful. I lover her deeply. However, she is sometimes given to irrational behavior. To wit: this apples nonsense. My mother doesn't like apples, plain and simple. I've known her all my life. I lived in her body for a while before I came into this world. In all that time, I've never seen her eat one apple. Not whole, in a pie, in the form of sauce, in juice. She does not like apples. Yet she was disappointed when she wasn't gifted with any at my grandmother's house.
Yeah, I know this isn't about apples. But, at least for me, it is hilarious. When my sister told me about it, I couldn't stop laughing. She laughed, too. Unfortunately for her, she has these type of encounters with my mother fairly often and has a harder time than I do finding the humor in them. I, thankfully, have a simpler, friendlier relationship with my mother. We sorted through the mind games by the time I graduated high school.
--
One time, I couldn't decide between two books, so I purchased them both. I thought to myself, "I'm going to buy the fuck out of these!" That was the exact line. I was energized by my decision and that's what popped in my head. I just wanted to share that with you in case you needed convincing that, despite having a pure heart, I'm kind of a dork.
--
I read from Blood Meridian and Streets of Laredo last night. Both are very good so far. I'll make quick work of them.
--
I pulled my first dream-inspired prank last week. I'm not even sure it classifies as a prank, maybe I should have called it a psy-op. Anyway, in the dream I had placed a chair at the foot of my stairs. On it I had taped a piece a paper that had "Wait" written on it in big, black letters. The idea was for Craig to see it upon waking and wonder, in his post-slumber haze, what the hell it meant.
About a week later, I wrote "Wait" on a piece of paper, taped it to a chair, and placed it at the bottom of the stairs. Then I went to work. All from a dream! How exciting! I'm fucking like Nostradamus, or some shit.
I never heard back from Craig about the chair. I kind of figured he wouldn't respond. Doesn't matter; I felt great just doing it. Try it sometime, readers. Make a friend or family member wonder what the fuck is going on downstairs.
Wait!
Now that I've lowered expectations, I can freely and without guilt be an irresponsible writer. You can debate amongst yourselves whether I've ever been a responsible writer; I'm moving on to the next paragraph.
Which is about apples. I talked with my sister earlier in the evening and she told me the story about my mother and apples.
A few ago at my grandmother's house, my sister had brought a bag of apples for my grandmother that her family had picked. My mother asked my sister where her apples were. She said this with a smile, but, according to my sister, it wasn't genuine.
Not long after, my mother brought the subject up again. "So no apples for me?". Again, said with a smile.
My sister is not a fan of confrontation and didn't respond. My mother asked her again later on why she didn't get any apples. My sister was irritated, but felt a response, no matter how it was framed, would get her into an argument with my mother. She held her tongue.
My mother is wonderful. I lover her deeply. However, she is sometimes given to irrational behavior. To wit: this apples nonsense. My mother doesn't like apples, plain and simple. I've known her all my life. I lived in her body for a while before I came into this world. In all that time, I've never seen her eat one apple. Not whole, in a pie, in the form of sauce, in juice. She does not like apples. Yet she was disappointed when she wasn't gifted with any at my grandmother's house.
Yeah, I know this isn't about apples. But, at least for me, it is hilarious. When my sister told me about it, I couldn't stop laughing. She laughed, too. Unfortunately for her, she has these type of encounters with my mother fairly often and has a harder time than I do finding the humor in them. I, thankfully, have a simpler, friendlier relationship with my mother. We sorted through the mind games by the time I graduated high school.
--
One time, I couldn't decide between two books, so I purchased them both. I thought to myself, "I'm going to buy the fuck out of these!" That was the exact line. I was energized by my decision and that's what popped in my head. I just wanted to share that with you in case you needed convincing that, despite having a pure heart, I'm kind of a dork.
--
I read from Blood Meridian and Streets of Laredo last night. Both are very good so far. I'll make quick work of them.
--
I pulled my first dream-inspired prank last week. I'm not even sure it classifies as a prank, maybe I should have called it a psy-op. Anyway, in the dream I had placed a chair at the foot of my stairs. On it I had taped a piece a paper that had "Wait" written on it in big, black letters. The idea was for Craig to see it upon waking and wonder, in his post-slumber haze, what the hell it meant.
About a week later, I wrote "Wait" on a piece of paper, taped it to a chair, and placed it at the bottom of the stairs. Then I went to work. All from a dream! How exciting! I'm fucking like Nostradamus, or some shit.
I never heard back from Craig about the chair. I kind of figured he wouldn't respond. Doesn't matter; I felt great just doing it. Try it sometime, readers. Make a friend or family member wonder what the fuck is going on downstairs.
Wait!
I'm so tired, I don't know what to do
I was all set to write, but I've lost the drive. It happens. Maybe I'll report back later when, hopefully, I'll feel revivified.
Seacrest out!
Seacrest out!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
In a sky full of people, only some want to fly
Spira and I had a fairly lengthy run this morning. We didn't attempt any hills like we usually do, but we made up for it in increased distance. Her pedometer told the story of a run that covered slightly over a mile. That story was fiction; I'm certain we ran over two miles, probably three. I meant to gauge the distance in my car afterwards, but I needed to go home, shower, and head over to Mara's.
Spira and I spent most of the weekend together. We ran Friday night, hung out at my place yesterday, and another run this morning. She is still getting over the break up and needed the company. Yesterday, we watched a ton of dog shows back-to-back on Animal Planet. I was convinced my dreams would be infested with canines, but they were not. Instead, I dreamt of Pea Eye, Call, Augustus,Deets, and other members of the Hat Creek Outfit. I had finished Lonesome Dove prior to Spira's arrival and the story hung heavy with me all day and into the evening.
As bittersweet as it was finishing the book, I will be reading its sequel, The Streets of Laredo, beginning tonight whenI finish writing this. After that I will read Blood Meridian, by Cormac McCarthy, and then return to McMurtry, and read Dead Man's Walk and Comanche Moon, the two prequels to Lonesome Dove. That is the plan, anyway. I think, because of the high quality involved, it won't take me very long to do.
I've already, since the inception of my decree to finish the unread books in my collection, completed a few, and I think, by winter's end, there will only be a handful left to read.
Mara and I watched Human Nature on her laptop today. It was a good film, bizarre and warm. That's what you get when you pair Michel Gondry with Charlie Kaufman. The rest of our time together was spent eating french toast in her kitchen and taking a nap on her couch. Mara's always good for a nap.
Need to post an ad on Craig's List for a roommate. I'm confident we'll find someone compatible, though, ultimately it's always a crap shoot. We will see.
Spira and I spent most of the weekend together. We ran Friday night, hung out at my place yesterday, and another run this morning. She is still getting over the break up and needed the company. Yesterday, we watched a ton of dog shows back-to-back on Animal Planet. I was convinced my dreams would be infested with canines, but they were not. Instead, I dreamt of Pea Eye, Call, Augustus,Deets, and other members of the Hat Creek Outfit. I had finished Lonesome Dove prior to Spira's arrival and the story hung heavy with me all day and into the evening.
As bittersweet as it was finishing the book, I will be reading its sequel, The Streets of Laredo, beginning tonight whenI finish writing this. After that I will read Blood Meridian, by Cormac McCarthy, and then return to McMurtry, and read Dead Man's Walk and Comanche Moon, the two prequels to Lonesome Dove. That is the plan, anyway. I think, because of the high quality involved, it won't take me very long to do.
I've already, since the inception of my decree to finish the unread books in my collection, completed a few, and I think, by winter's end, there will only be a handful left to read.
Mara and I watched Human Nature on her laptop today. It was a good film, bizarre and warm. That's what you get when you pair Michel Gondry with Charlie Kaufman. The rest of our time together was spent eating french toast in her kitchen and taking a nap on her couch. Mara's always good for a nap.
Need to post an ad on Craig's List for a roommate. I'm confident we'll find someone compatible, though, ultimately it's always a crap shoot. We will see.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Take the long way around the sea
It was Deb's last day today. We had a little going away party for her in the afternoon. We had Pad Thai and, at one point, Deb announced she was going to eat in the break room downstairs and asked if anyone wanted to join her. I declined because I was almost through eating. I noticed nobody else spoke up. I saw Therese leave the room with her and figured she'd be joining Deb.
About twenty minutes later, I was coming out of the bathroom and saw Deb leaving the break room by herself. I felt bad that she sat by herself at her own party and told her as much. If I had known that Therese wasn't with her, I would have joined her. She wasn't upset, but I still felt lousy.
Again, Ann was talkative with me. Even more so than yesterday. I don't know, maybe she's figuring out how much I bring the rock.
When it was time for her to leave, Deb couldn't hold back the tears. Jeff and Tim each gave her a big hug and I did as well a few minutes later. My desk was right next to her's and when I started she helped me learn the ropes of the job with patience and humor. Luke Warm says she laughs at everything and he's pretty much right. "Oh, boy, the copier is jammed" (laughter); "That guy never returned my call, the jerk!" (laughter); "My husband is having an affair with the babysitter" (laughter, only this time it's coming from me). I guess what I'm trying to say is that Deb isn't a downer. She will be missed.
--
I called my parents while I was stuck on 93 on my way home from work. It had been a few weeks since we last spoken. My mother gave me a bit of a guilt trip about it. I think she did this because she hasn't spoken to my sister in a while, either. I made sure to tell to her that I was fairly certain her phone had the capacity to make outgoing calls in addition to receiving them.
--
Before bed, I listened to an interview with Dr. Jeff Meldrum, the Bigfoot researcher. I fell asleep about ten minutes into it, which sucked because it was a riveting ten minutes. I'll give it another shot tonight. I love Jeff Meldrum. He is on my best and brightest list, joining Roger Ebert, Werner Herzog, David Ray Griffin, George RR Martin, and Charlie Kaufmann. There are others, but if you want to know who they are, it's going to cost you a five spot. Hey, it's the economy.
--
A death, not the one I was expecting, just occurred in Lonesome Dove. It was poetic and sad the way it was rendered. It stuck to me a while after I read it. I've got about fifty or so pages to go. Maybe tonight.
About twenty minutes later, I was coming out of the bathroom and saw Deb leaving the break room by herself. I felt bad that she sat by herself at her own party and told her as much. If I had known that Therese wasn't with her, I would have joined her. She wasn't upset, but I still felt lousy.
Again, Ann was talkative with me. Even more so than yesterday. I don't know, maybe she's figuring out how much I bring the rock.
When it was time for her to leave, Deb couldn't hold back the tears. Jeff and Tim each gave her a big hug and I did as well a few minutes later. My desk was right next to her's and when I started she helped me learn the ropes of the job with patience and humor. Luke Warm says she laughs at everything and he's pretty much right. "Oh, boy, the copier is jammed" (laughter); "That guy never returned my call, the jerk!" (laughter); "My husband is having an affair with the babysitter" (laughter, only this time it's coming from me). I guess what I'm trying to say is that Deb isn't a downer. She will be missed.
--
I called my parents while I was stuck on 93 on my way home from work. It had been a few weeks since we last spoken. My mother gave me a bit of a guilt trip about it. I think she did this because she hasn't spoken to my sister in a while, either. I made sure to tell to her that I was fairly certain her phone had the capacity to make outgoing calls in addition to receiving them.
--
Before bed, I listened to an interview with Dr. Jeff Meldrum, the Bigfoot researcher. I fell asleep about ten minutes into it, which sucked because it was a riveting ten minutes. I'll give it another shot tonight. I love Jeff Meldrum. He is on my best and brightest list, joining Roger Ebert, Werner Herzog, David Ray Griffin, George RR Martin, and Charlie Kaufmann. There are others, but if you want to know who they are, it's going to cost you a five spot. Hey, it's the economy.
--
A death, not the one I was expecting, just occurred in Lonesome Dove. It was poetic and sad the way it was rendered. It stuck to me a while after I read it. I've got about fifty or so pages to go. Maybe tonight.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
All of a sudden these days, happy throngs, take this joy wherever, wherever
Every Celtics game so far this season has had the atmosphere of a playoff game. Teams are gunning to take down the reigning champs but, so far, only Indiana has been able to do so. Tonight, the champs played the Hawks -- a young, competitive, team that had not lost a game all season. The Truth's game winning shot with only a half second left to play, ended, in dramatic fashion their winning streak.
--
I have minimal energy tonight. I went for a run earlier that left my body feeling taxed. All I feel like doing right now is getting under the covers and reading from Lonesome Dove. Last night, I finished Fatal Vision, a well-written account of the Macdonald murder case that encompassed two decades. Slowly, slowly, I am whittling away at the pile of books I need to finish.
--
Ann was talkative with me today. That is because yesterday I wrote that she has been shy around me . The Universe likes to keep me on my toes.
--
This morning, after Dianne had used the scanner, a device that eats paper like Jared eats Subway, I said "Wow, Dianne that was a smooth scan you had!" Her eyes widened and she smiled.
"What?"
Judging by her mildly shocked reaction, I realized that she thought I had said something different. "I was just commenting on the fact that your scan went smoothly. It didn't devour your paper."
"Oh, uh, yeah, you're right", she replied.
From the other room, Marcy said "I thought you said what smooth skin she had. I thought ' Ok, that's a little inappropriate.'
Everyone had a laugh about it, but inside I kind of wish I did tell Dianne she had smooth skin, because she does and probably would have enjoyed being told that. Maybe next time.
--
I have minimal energy tonight. I went for a run earlier that left my body feeling taxed. All I feel like doing right now is getting under the covers and reading from Lonesome Dove. Last night, I finished Fatal Vision, a well-written account of the Macdonald murder case that encompassed two decades. Slowly, slowly, I am whittling away at the pile of books I need to finish.
--
Ann was talkative with me today. That is because yesterday I wrote that she has been shy around me . The Universe likes to keep me on my toes.
--
This morning, after Dianne had used the scanner, a device that eats paper like Jared eats Subway, I said "Wow, Dianne that was a smooth scan you had!" Her eyes widened and she smiled.
"What?"
Judging by her mildly shocked reaction, I realized that she thought I had said something different. "I was just commenting on the fact that your scan went smoothly. It didn't devour your paper."
"Oh, uh, yeah, you're right", she replied.
From the other room, Marcy said "I thought you said what smooth skin she had. I thought ' Ok, that's a little inappropriate.'
Everyone had a laugh about it, but inside I kind of wish I did tell Dianne she had smooth skin, because she does and probably would have enjoyed being told that. Maybe next time.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
In the sun, in the sun I feel as one
I had in mind a different post than the one you're going to read. That is because my mind is scattered like buckshot and wants to do other things. What I wanted to write, an endeavor I may or may not ever get to, would have required a keen focus, a liberal amount of derring do, and a broad palette of ideas. I don't have it in me tonight.
What I can offer you is an idea that just came upon me: Spam haiku. Earlier tonight, as I was checking off the new spam emails I wanted to delete, I noticed that some of the subject lines had the look of poetry to them. I could use this to my advantage, I thought. Rather than feel repulsed, like I would with cockroaches, every time I see new spam, I could, while not fully ridding myself of my hatred for it, at least take away something positive.
Love the nature
View natural tits
It migrate
That was the first one that caught my attention. See what I'm talking about? Spam haiku, son! Here's another one that, I think you'll agree, touches the soul with delicate precision.
A young cutie
Is swallowing a big black hose
Is munitions
Don't bother trying to derive meaning; it'll arrive when you're ready. For now, just ride the waves of bliss the words provide. Feels good, doesn't it? Here's one more to launch you straight into the navel of ecstasy.
Brush her teeth
With your love instrument
Do inaccurate.
I most certainly will. Paul Stanley couldn't have said it better.
--
At work the other day, it came to me how shy Ann can be. She was is in front of Ellen's desk dancing-- no, more casually swaying in time with, the music coming from the radio (which reminds me of something irritating I think I'll mention further down). As she was doing this, I entered the room. I must have surprised her because, once she was alerted to my presence, she stopped swaying and gave me an embarrassed look.
She is not a wall flower, but I've noticed she doesn't often make conversation. She's involved and assertive if you engage her in one, though. This means that on the days I'm not feeling very talkative, it's likely there won't much, if any, interaction with Ann. I'm ok with that.
I'm in no rush to, and I'm not sure I ever will, pursue something with her. Matters would accelerate if I was more driven regarding her, but I'm not and so they won't. But my life isn't a romantic comedy-- though if it were, I would want it to be like You've Got Mail -- and people don't always pair up, even if they're compatible. So, we'll see with Ann and anyone else that catches my fancy.
--
Before I end this, and shortly I will, I just want to get something off my chest. For years, I've been hearing that Dishwalla song, "Tell Me All Your Thoughts On God", and I just want the world -- God, too -- to know how shitty I think it is. I don't care to get into the numerous ways the song makes me ill because I don't want to feel nauseous the rest of the night. I just need to vent a little.
Must have been mid afternoon
I could tell by how far the child's shadow stretched out
He walked with a purpose
In his sneakers, down the street
He had many questions
Like children often do
He said,
"Tell me all your thoughts on God"
"Tell me am I very far?"
"You're not very far from getting a slap in the face, you little fuck" is the only reply that child would get from me. Fuck you, Dishwalla! Leave the profundity to those who know what to do with it: the writers of spam haiku.
What I can offer you is an idea that just came upon me: Spam haiku. Earlier tonight, as I was checking off the new spam emails I wanted to delete, I noticed that some of the subject lines had the look of poetry to them. I could use this to my advantage, I thought. Rather than feel repulsed, like I would with cockroaches, every time I see new spam, I could, while not fully ridding myself of my hatred for it, at least take away something positive.
Love the nature
View natural tits
It migrate
That was the first one that caught my attention. See what I'm talking about? Spam haiku, son! Here's another one that, I think you'll agree, touches the soul with delicate precision.
A young cutie
Is swallowing a big black hose
Is munitions
Don't bother trying to derive meaning; it'll arrive when you're ready. For now, just ride the waves of bliss the words provide. Feels good, doesn't it? Here's one more to launch you straight into the navel of ecstasy.
Brush her teeth
With your love instrument
Do inaccurate.
I most certainly will. Paul Stanley couldn't have said it better.
--
At work the other day, it came to me how shy Ann can be. She was is in front of Ellen's desk dancing-- no, more casually swaying in time with, the music coming from the radio (which reminds me of something irritating I think I'll mention further down). As she was doing this, I entered the room. I must have surprised her because, once she was alerted to my presence, she stopped swaying and gave me an embarrassed look.
She is not a wall flower, but I've noticed she doesn't often make conversation. She's involved and assertive if you engage her in one, though. This means that on the days I'm not feeling very talkative, it's likely there won't much, if any, interaction with Ann. I'm ok with that.
I'm in no rush to, and I'm not sure I ever will, pursue something with her. Matters would accelerate if I was more driven regarding her, but I'm not and so they won't. But my life isn't a romantic comedy-- though if it were, I would want it to be like You've Got Mail -- and people don't always pair up, even if they're compatible. So, we'll see with Ann and anyone else that catches my fancy.
--
Before I end this, and shortly I will, I just want to get something off my chest. For years, I've been hearing that Dishwalla song, "Tell Me All Your Thoughts On God", and I just want the world -- God, too -- to know how shitty I think it is. I don't care to get into the numerous ways the song makes me ill because I don't want to feel nauseous the rest of the night. I just need to vent a little.
Must have been mid afternoon
I could tell by how far the child's shadow stretched out
He walked with a purpose
In his sneakers, down the street
He had many questions
Like children often do
He said,
"Tell me all your thoughts on God"
"Tell me am I very far?"
"You're not very far from getting a slap in the face, you little fuck" is the only reply that child would get from me. Fuck you, Dishwalla! Leave the profundity to those who know what to do with it: the writers of spam haiku.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Yesterday a morning came, a smile upon your face
Luke Warm came over to record with Craig yesterday, and Spira, feeling the anguish of a fresh break up and needing the calming presence of friends, came by in the afternoon. It was a day spent with some of my favorite people.
While Craig and Luke Warm recorded in his bedroom, I hung out in mine with Spira, doing my best to be a patient listener as she vented her feelings about her defunct relationship with Seany Boy. I won't go into the details of the break up, except to say that in the end it was probably just a matter of when the relationship was going to end. "If", unfortunately, never really factored into the equation. Of course, for all I know they could have reconciled by the time you read this. If so, good having you back, Seany Boy. If not, well it was nice knowing you.
In the afternoon, we got some take out from Yoshis. Spira and I had some black dragon --- not much of a surprise there --- Craig went with some beef teriyaki that he gave a big thumbs up to, and Luke Warm had a dish with such an unnatural, at least to my western eyes, array of vowels and consonants I'm not going to bother trying to spell it. Just know that it had tofu and a bunch of vegetables and looked like a Greek salad if you glanced at it quickly. Binbidibobybiback? Oh, hell, I don't know.
After dinner, I sat with Spira in the living room while the lads finished recording. I put in a dvd of The Office, figuring she needed some cheer to counterbalance the melancholy. She laughed heartily more than once, so I considered the gambit to be a success.
When the guys were done recording, Luke joined me in the living room to watch the second half of the Celtics game. Spira headed home not long after. I felt bad that she was not having a very good day, but she needed to go through it. She'll be alright; she's a resilient little shit.
--
I went to Olympia Sports this afternoon to buy a pedometer. I was hesitant to go there because of the aggressive sales staff, but I was tired and had already gone to a couple of places looking for one. I was hoping for a smooth experience.
The salesman assisting me was initially pretty laid back and helpful, but once I had decided on a pedometer and began paying for it, he started in with the hard sell. Paying for it took on a whole new meaning.
I thought I was in the clear, but the rat-faced bastard just couldn't keep his maw shut.
"Would you like to save 10% on your purchase today?", he asked as he rang me up.
You just had to do it, didn't you, you little fuck? "Nah, I'm all set."
"Are you sure? You'd be saving money. It's really simple to--"
Am I sure? I'm sure until I inform you otherwise! How dare you question me, worm? "Uh, really I'm all set. Just the pedometer."
"Alright, but this is part of our--"
"All set, thanks"
"--rewards program. You'd get a bunch of--"
"No thanks"
"coupons in the deal. Really, you don't want to check it out?"
What I want to do is make you kneel before me in obeisance. What I want to do is command you to shut the fuck up after declaring that I am your master in all things and my every wish is your command. And then, before I leave the store, I want you to round up every god damn coupon in the store and cram them up your pasty ass. "Uh, no thanks -- like I said, just the pedometer."
I left the store determined never to set foot in there again. Listen, I've worked in retail and know this guy, like the others I've dealt with, was just doing what he was taught to do, which is the hard sell. Still doesn't change the fact that I want to tear the throats out of these punks when they get pushy with me. Ah, but you know the feeling, don't you?
--
Almost done Lonesome Dove, though I probably won't finish it tonight; the C's are on and I'd like to work on some music. And with that, I'm out of here, bitches.
While Craig and Luke Warm recorded in his bedroom, I hung out in mine with Spira, doing my best to be a patient listener as she vented her feelings about her defunct relationship with Seany Boy. I won't go into the details of the break up, except to say that in the end it was probably just a matter of when the relationship was going to end. "If", unfortunately, never really factored into the equation. Of course, for all I know they could have reconciled by the time you read this. If so, good having you back, Seany Boy. If not, well it was nice knowing you.
In the afternoon, we got some take out from Yoshis. Spira and I had some black dragon --- not much of a surprise there --- Craig went with some beef teriyaki that he gave a big thumbs up to, and Luke Warm had a dish with such an unnatural, at least to my western eyes, array of vowels and consonants I'm not going to bother trying to spell it. Just know that it had tofu and a bunch of vegetables and looked like a Greek salad if you glanced at it quickly. Binbidibobybiback? Oh, hell, I don't know.
After dinner, I sat with Spira in the living room while the lads finished recording. I put in a dvd of The Office, figuring she needed some cheer to counterbalance the melancholy. She laughed heartily more than once, so I considered the gambit to be a success.
When the guys were done recording, Luke joined me in the living room to watch the second half of the Celtics game. Spira headed home not long after. I felt bad that she was not having a very good day, but she needed to go through it. She'll be alright; she's a resilient little shit.
--
I went to Olympia Sports this afternoon to buy a pedometer. I was hesitant to go there because of the aggressive sales staff, but I was tired and had already gone to a couple of places looking for one. I was hoping for a smooth experience.
The salesman assisting me was initially pretty laid back and helpful, but once I had decided on a pedometer and began paying for it, he started in with the hard sell. Paying for it took on a whole new meaning.
I thought I was in the clear, but the rat-faced bastard just couldn't keep his maw shut.
"Would you like to save 10% on your purchase today?", he asked as he rang me up.
You just had to do it, didn't you, you little fuck? "Nah, I'm all set."
"Are you sure? You'd be saving money. It's really simple to--"
Am I sure? I'm sure until I inform you otherwise! How dare you question me, worm? "Uh, really I'm all set. Just the pedometer."
"Alright, but this is part of our--"
"All set, thanks"
"--rewards program. You'd get a bunch of--"
"No thanks"
"coupons in the deal. Really, you don't want to check it out?"
What I want to do is make you kneel before me in obeisance. What I want to do is command you to shut the fuck up after declaring that I am your master in all things and my every wish is your command. And then, before I leave the store, I want you to round up every god damn coupon in the store and cram them up your pasty ass. "Uh, no thanks -- like I said, just the pedometer."
I left the store determined never to set foot in there again. Listen, I've worked in retail and know this guy, like the others I've dealt with, was just doing what he was taught to do, which is the hard sell. Still doesn't change the fact that I want to tear the throats out of these punks when they get pushy with me. Ah, but you know the feeling, don't you?
--
Almost done Lonesome Dove, though I probably won't finish it tonight; the C's are on and I'd like to work on some music. And with that, I'm out of here, bitches.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
I dreamed of 747's over geometric farms
I just had to make a change in the music I was listening to. I was a couple of songs into AC/DC's Back in Black, but it didn't fit the atmosphere I wanted to convey, so I switched over to Travelogue, Joni Mitchell's orchestral leap into the sublime. It was the right choice. It's late Sunday morning, the one time of the week when one's tastes should be refined. It's a time for quiet reflection, NPR, coffee, jazz, the paper. And Joni Mitchell. I'm sure Craig, who's fast asleep in the next room, appreciates the change in music.
--
I got a call from Spira as I was on my way to the grocery store yesterday morning. She wasn't feeling very well -- a little bit of heartache -- and asked me to come over and help her work through her malaise. So, after getting my groceries, I grabbed a couple of lattes at Starbucks and headed over to her apartment.
It was evident, after talking with her a while, that she would benefit from a run. She was tense and her mind furiously orbited the events that led her to this depressed state. She needed the healthy distraction a run would provide. Earlier in the week, I had mentioned to Spira that I wanted to expand the geography of my runs. One place I had in mind was the Middlesex Fells Reservation over in Medford. "We're going to the Fells for a run", I told her yesterday. "I can't think of a more suitable elixir."
So to the Fells we went. Neither of us had been there before, even though it's close by. I had heard about it from Sara, who had gone there on a first date and gotten lost within it's grip. When we got there we approached a sign that had a map of the area. We picked a trail that looped around a series of small lakes back to our starting location. I silently hoped we wouldn't share Sara's fate.
It was a great experience. We walked, ran, and hiked at various intervals. It was a satisfying, almost transcendent, feeling being out in the woods and away from the city. At one point, deep into our trip, I noticed a profound change in Spira's physiology. She was enjoying herself.
We almost got lost thanks to poorly marked trails, but we made it out okay. As we approached my car in the parking lot, Spira announced, after consulting her pedometer, that we had travelled nearly five miles. It was only last week when we marveled at running three miles. I offered up a high five (My policy regarding high fives, by the way, is to distribute them only after legitimate accomplishments. You will not see me high fiving someone over the fact that Pepsi has a new-look logo or because I had just expelled an impressive bowel movement). It was one of the more rewarding workout experiences I've ever had. I basked in the memory of, and its implications, for the rest of the day.
--
I've decided, because money is tight, but more because I was really getting ahead of myself, to lay off purchasing books for a while. I have a lot I need to finish and many I haven't even started. For the past few weeks, I've put some effort into remedying the problem.
To that end, I finished reading Watchmen the other day. Kind of a disappointment, truth be told, though there was much to like about it. I wasn't thrilled with the illustrating and for such a convoluted plot, it didn't seem to have much substance. I say that with some doubt, however. I'm not sure it's a very fair assessment because, although the story didn't resonate with me as much as I hoped it would have, doesn't mean it lacked substance. Anyway, whatever the cause, I came out the other end of the book feeling a little robbed of what could have been.
I'm almost done reading Lonesome Dove, a book I've been savoring for the last several months. I hope to finish it over the next week. It's such a good read that I know it will be a bittersweet experience when I reach the end. O' Augustus, I know of your fate --some asshole posted it on a web page I visited -- but I somehow believe, by sheer force of will or imagination, I'll be able to save you. So naive.
And there are other books that beg my attention. I hope I have the sack to read a good many of them before I break down and buy another book. We will see.
--
It is approaching one o'clock and I was just informed by Craig, who has just awoken from his slumber, that Luke Warm is scheduled to make an appearance here today. I better go freshen up. Have to look and smell good for the guests. Especially one as dreamy as Luke Warm.
--
I got a call from Spira as I was on my way to the grocery store yesterday morning. She wasn't feeling very well -- a little bit of heartache -- and asked me to come over and help her work through her malaise. So, after getting my groceries, I grabbed a couple of lattes at Starbucks and headed over to her apartment.
It was evident, after talking with her a while, that she would benefit from a run. She was tense and her mind furiously orbited the events that led her to this depressed state. She needed the healthy distraction a run would provide. Earlier in the week, I had mentioned to Spira that I wanted to expand the geography of my runs. One place I had in mind was the Middlesex Fells Reservation over in Medford. "We're going to the Fells for a run", I told her yesterday. "I can't think of a more suitable elixir."
So to the Fells we went. Neither of us had been there before, even though it's close by. I had heard about it from Sara, who had gone there on a first date and gotten lost within it's grip. When we got there we approached a sign that had a map of the area. We picked a trail that looped around a series of small lakes back to our starting location. I silently hoped we wouldn't share Sara's fate.
It was a great experience. We walked, ran, and hiked at various intervals. It was a satisfying, almost transcendent, feeling being out in the woods and away from the city. At one point, deep into our trip, I noticed a profound change in Spira's physiology. She was enjoying herself.
We almost got lost thanks to poorly marked trails, but we made it out okay. As we approached my car in the parking lot, Spira announced, after consulting her pedometer, that we had travelled nearly five miles. It was only last week when we marveled at running three miles. I offered up a high five (My policy regarding high fives, by the way, is to distribute them only after legitimate accomplishments. You will not see me high fiving someone over the fact that Pepsi has a new-look logo or because I had just expelled an impressive bowel movement). It was one of the more rewarding workout experiences I've ever had. I basked in the memory of, and its implications, for the rest of the day.
--
I've decided, because money is tight, but more because I was really getting ahead of myself, to lay off purchasing books for a while. I have a lot I need to finish and many I haven't even started. For the past few weeks, I've put some effort into remedying the problem.
To that end, I finished reading Watchmen the other day. Kind of a disappointment, truth be told, though there was much to like about it. I wasn't thrilled with the illustrating and for such a convoluted plot, it didn't seem to have much substance. I say that with some doubt, however. I'm not sure it's a very fair assessment because, although the story didn't resonate with me as much as I hoped it would have, doesn't mean it lacked substance. Anyway, whatever the cause, I came out the other end of the book feeling a little robbed of what could have been.
I'm almost done reading Lonesome Dove, a book I've been savoring for the last several months. I hope to finish it over the next week. It's such a good read that I know it will be a bittersweet experience when I reach the end. O' Augustus, I know of your fate --some asshole posted it on a web page I visited -- but I somehow believe, by sheer force of will or imagination, I'll be able to save you. So naive.
And there are other books that beg my attention. I hope I have the sack to read a good many of them before I break down and buy another book. We will see.
--
It is approaching one o'clock and I was just informed by Craig, who has just awoken from his slumber, that Luke Warm is scheduled to make an appearance here today. I better go freshen up. Have to look and smell good for the guests. Especially one as dreamy as Luke Warm.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
How can you smile and forecast weather's getting better if you've never let a girl rain all over you
I called Spira on my way home from work to see if she was up for a run. She did not pick up. Maybe she's being a chicken baby, I thought, and is petrified of being out in the rain. Either way, I'll razz her about it the next time we talk. I'd be shirking my duty as a friend if I did otherwise.
I, however, was not a chicken baby; I braved the elements and went for a run. Whenever I passed someone all bundled up under an umbrella, I imagined they either thought I was an idiot or a dedicated athlete when they saw me in shorts, a couple of shirts, and baseball cap. The truth lies somewhere in between, I think, slightly favoring the idiot side of the equation. It was a good run, though; it means a lot that I'm willing to exercise in less than ideal elements.
--
I ran into Ellen in the parking lot as I was coming back from break yesterday. I've had similar encounters with her before and every time we meet she uses the occasion, almost as if we planned it ahead of time, to complain about the job. Yesterday it was "I don't blame Deb for leaving. I wake up every day debating whether I should come in."
I do not share her view of the job. I've worked in some absolutely crummy places, with some terrible, maladjusted people. I've worked in conditions so cold I once resorted to stuffing paper towels in my boots to warm up my feet. More than once I've had my physical well being threatened at a job. Christ, I bet everyone I know shares similar and probably worse experiences. So, yesterday, when Ellen told me she's never been in a work environment as toxic as this one, I thought of perspective and how it shapes us.
You see, my job, compared to some of the beauts I've had, is hardly what I consider to be toxic. When Ellen said that, images of Jeff thanking us for doing our jobs as we leave every day appeared in my mind. Already, they've bought me lunch more times than my last few jobs combined. No, this job is not toxic. If Ellen truly believes that it is, then she must have worked at some pretty comfy places and should consider herself blessed.
--
Well, I'm about done with you. I'm going to watch last night's episode of The Office, the funniest show on TV, past and present. Bold claim, huh? Later on, I'll probably regret making it, even though history may prove that I'm right.
Before I leave you, I'd like to welcome Janelle, one of the loveliest people I've ever known and a fine writer, to this site. I've posted a link to her page in the sidebar--I hope she doesn't mind-- and I encourage you to check out her writing because, as many of you already know, you're in for a treat. I don't know how frequently she'll post, but I'll be checking in daily and will devour whatever she offers.
And one more thing about my dear friend. Though I see her little these days, I think about her often, with fondness and admiration. She is one of the few people I'd go on a long road trip with because I know we'd have some meaty, thoughtful conversations. Her well is deep, my friends. And this speaks to why I love her so much and why I eagerly anticipate reading her work on a (hopefully) consistent basis.
I will now, after discovering that The Office didn't air a new episode this week, set my sights on finishing The Trials of Henry Kissinger.
I, however, was not a chicken baby; I braved the elements and went for a run. Whenever I passed someone all bundled up under an umbrella, I imagined they either thought I was an idiot or a dedicated athlete when they saw me in shorts, a couple of shirts, and baseball cap. The truth lies somewhere in between, I think, slightly favoring the idiot side of the equation. It was a good run, though; it means a lot that I'm willing to exercise in less than ideal elements.
--
I ran into Ellen in the parking lot as I was coming back from break yesterday. I've had similar encounters with her before and every time we meet she uses the occasion, almost as if we planned it ahead of time, to complain about the job. Yesterday it was "I don't blame Deb for leaving. I wake up every day debating whether I should come in."
I do not share her view of the job. I've worked in some absolutely crummy places, with some terrible, maladjusted people. I've worked in conditions so cold I once resorted to stuffing paper towels in my boots to warm up my feet. More than once I've had my physical well being threatened at a job. Christ, I bet everyone I know shares similar and probably worse experiences. So, yesterday, when Ellen told me she's never been in a work environment as toxic as this one, I thought of perspective and how it shapes us.
You see, my job, compared to some of the beauts I've had, is hardly what I consider to be toxic. When Ellen said that, images of Jeff thanking us for doing our jobs as we leave every day appeared in my mind. Already, they've bought me lunch more times than my last few jobs combined. No, this job is not toxic. If Ellen truly believes that it is, then she must have worked at some pretty comfy places and should consider herself blessed.
--
Well, I'm about done with you. I'm going to watch last night's episode of The Office, the funniest show on TV, past and present. Bold claim, huh? Later on, I'll probably regret making it, even though history may prove that I'm right.
Before I leave you, I'd like to welcome Janelle, one of the loveliest people I've ever known and a fine writer, to this site. I've posted a link to her page in the sidebar--I hope she doesn't mind-- and I encourage you to check out her writing because, as many of you already know, you're in for a treat. I don't know how frequently she'll post, but I'll be checking in daily and will devour whatever she offers.
And one more thing about my dear friend. Though I see her little these days, I think about her often, with fondness and admiration. She is one of the few people I'd go on a long road trip with because I know we'd have some meaty, thoughtful conversations. Her well is deep, my friends. And this speaks to why I love her so much and why I eagerly anticipate reading her work on a (hopefully) consistent basis.
I will now, after discovering that The Office didn't air a new episode this week, set my sights on finishing The Trials of Henry Kissinger.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
I had money, and I had none, but I never been so broke that I couldn't leave town
Again, I'm going to beg off offering my pearls of wisdom regarding the election. I just can't; not tonight. I will offer slightly more, however, than I did in yesterday's post, which should be easy because I didn't offer a damn thing. So here goes: Obama is President; I can carry up to an ounce of Marley but I can't buy or sell it (Is that progress or a bizarre-as-fuck lateral move? I do not know); an alarming amount of people -- I'm sure of it -- cast their votes without knowing where their candidate stood on the issues; Obama may prove to be our damnation, for all we know, but at least he's easier on the eyes and ears than the demon leaving office. And that makes all the difference.
--
Saw Changeling with Mara tonight. Initially, when we were deciding on a film to watch, she thought this one was Charlie Kaufman's latest, and sold it to me as such. Being a big Kaufman fan, I enthusiastically voted in favor of seeing it. Well, when I was checking movie times, I read a quick synopsis of the film and discovered that Charlie Kaufman had nothing to do with this film, but Clint Eastwood, who directed and scored it, had plenty. Clint, or Easty as I like to call him, is no slouch, so I wasn't too devastated about the mix up.
It was very well done. Long, though. I was starting to feel a little fidgety after the two hour mark (it ended twenty minutes later), but I think if I watch it in a different setting, I'd react differently. So here's the story, and it was a true one.
Woman (Angelina Jolie) in 1920's California discovers her son is kidnapped. Cops recover boy, only he's not the woman's son. Cops, trying to elevate a shoddy reputation and not wanting their work to look sloppy, insist that the boy is indeed her son. Woman refuses to accept their claim and for her troubles gets tossed into a sanitarium.
You're correct in thinking that doesn't sound very funny. Don't let that prevent you from seeing it, though-- it's meant to be a drama and not a hilarious comedy. Check it out.
--
Saw Changeling with Mara tonight. Initially, when we were deciding on a film to watch, she thought this one was Charlie Kaufman's latest, and sold it to me as such. Being a big Kaufman fan, I enthusiastically voted in favor of seeing it. Well, when I was checking movie times, I read a quick synopsis of the film and discovered that Charlie Kaufman had nothing to do with this film, but Clint Eastwood, who directed and scored it, had plenty. Clint, or Easty as I like to call him, is no slouch, so I wasn't too devastated about the mix up.
It was very well done. Long, though. I was starting to feel a little fidgety after the two hour mark (it ended twenty minutes later), but I think if I watch it in a different setting, I'd react differently. So here's the story, and it was a true one.
Woman (Angelina Jolie) in 1920's California discovers her son is kidnapped. Cops recover boy, only he's not the woman's son. Cops, trying to elevate a shoddy reputation and not wanting their work to look sloppy, insist that the boy is indeed her son. Woman refuses to accept their claim and for her troubles gets tossed into a sanitarium.
You're correct in thinking that doesn't sound very funny. Don't let that prevent you from seeing it, though-- it's meant to be a drama and not a hilarious comedy. Check it out.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Meet the new boss, same as the old boss
Went for a run with Spira earlier this evening. It was a good one. We did close to three miles, which included a couple of steep hills, and probably could have gone more. I was really proud of Spira; she never complained once and she really pushed herself.
Even though winter is fast approaching, I'm planning on stepping up my game and significantly increasing my running distances. By spring, I hope to be ready to enter myself in a few races. Short ones, though. Baby steps, baby!
I've got things to do and I'm going to squash the bug that is this post. I thought to throw in my two cents regarding the election, but all my change is silver, which is to say I'd be writing all night -- can't do this thing small. Now, I know you feel like I've deprived you of something deep, significant, and abiding --- and I have---but, trust me, you don't want to hear it tonight. I'd be what the youngsters call a "buzz-kill" and I'm pretty sure you're still mid-coitus with your candidate du jour. No need for me to get involved.
Well, the C's are on and I've got laundry to do and some ice cream to eat. Cheers.
Even though winter is fast approaching, I'm planning on stepping up my game and significantly increasing my running distances. By spring, I hope to be ready to enter myself in a few races. Short ones, though. Baby steps, baby!
I've got things to do and I'm going to squash the bug that is this post. I thought to throw in my two cents regarding the election, but all my change is silver, which is to say I'd be writing all night -- can't do this thing small. Now, I know you feel like I've deprived you of something deep, significant, and abiding --- and I have---but, trust me, you don't want to hear it tonight. I'd be what the youngsters call a "buzz-kill" and I'm pretty sure you're still mid-coitus with your candidate du jour. No need for me to get involved.
Well, the C's are on and I've got laundry to do and some ice cream to eat. Cheers.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Remember it's true, dignity is valuable, but our lives are valuable too
A short post tonight. I'm about to finish watching Gates of Heaven, which so far is very good, and I want to hear the rest of Ted Gunderson's interview with Noreen Gosch that I started last night before I fell asleep. This means I don't have time to convey to you how boring my day was. Don't panic : I predict there will be plenty more like it.
Ann looked so pretty today that I was in danger of her catching me checking her out. You may think that on some level I wanted to get caught. And you would be correct, only that level is buried beneath the one labeled "chicken shit", which does not want Ann to have even the slightest notion that I'm into her. As evidenced by the fact that I've more than once secretly wished for my coworkers to realize that Ann and I would be a great couple and commence to playing matchmaker, I'm not too prideful to accept a helping hand, however. Who knows, it could happen. People love playing matchmaker.
Ok, I'm out. Told you it was going to be a short one.
Ann looked so pretty today that I was in danger of her catching me checking her out. You may think that on some level I wanted to get caught. And you would be correct, only that level is buried beneath the one labeled "chicken shit", which does not want Ann to have even the slightest notion that I'm into her. As evidenced by the fact that I've more than once secretly wished for my coworkers to realize that Ann and I would be a great couple and commence to playing matchmaker, I'm not too prideful to accept a helping hand, however. Who knows, it could happen. People love playing matchmaker.
Ok, I'm out. Told you it was going to be a short one.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Dreams are nothing more than wishes, and a wish is just a dream you wish to come true
I got to visit with "N" yesterday. She has been going through rehab and is living in a half way house in Worcester. She's there during the week and leaves on the weekends. Yesterday, Spira picked her up and brought her to Somerville. I met up with them in the afternoon at Spira's apartment. It was good seeing N; she looked healthy and was in good spirits.
Spira was going to drive her to her mom's place in Newburyport and N asked if I'd like to come along for the ride. I told her I'd be honored to, and N replied that we could make the drive naked. We all laughed and she told us that she had done that before when she was in her late teens and regaled us with the story. It bears repeating.
She had been in a car drinking with a few male friends behind a stadium one night. One of them suggested they take their clothes off and, thick with drink, they all did, thinking it was a brilliant idea. They were enjoying their nakedness when they saw someone staggering out of the woods towards the car.
When the figure got close, they saw that it was a woman with torn clothes and a bleeding mouth. In a panic, she told them she had just been raped by four guys in a van and barely escaped. As she told them her story, she realized that everyone was naked. She must have wondered, coming upon a stray car filled with three guys and one girl, and all of them nude, whether she had left one rape scene for another.
N ended up being a witness in the subsequent trial. It wasn't to be a smooth affair. One of the guys who was in the car with N had told the police an entirely different break down of events than N witnessed. When she asked him why he lied, he told her that the girl who got raped deserved it because she was a prostitute. He became the star witness for the defense.
To complicate matters even further, this guy's uncle happened to be one of the cops who investigated the rape. And both of them were friendly with the defendants, having grown up in the same town. Consequently, N was subjected to harassment by her so-called friend, his uncle, and numerous other friends of the defendants.
In the end, N stuck to her story and the accused each received a four year sentence. They got off easy. When they got of jail, N had the misfortune of running into a couple of them when she was waiting tables at a restaurant in a nearby town. They bullied and threatened her on more than one occasion.
Thinking back on the experience, N was amazed at how convoluted and bizarre the whole affair was. She concluded the story by telling us that the fact that she was in a car full of naked people was brought up by one the defense attorneys. And because the story had been picked up by the national media, the whole country, she laughed, knew about it.
N has led a very interesting life.
We drove her to mom's, said our goodbyes, and later, back at Spira's place, we talked for a bit before Spira kept nodding off during one of my riveting monologues. As she prepared for bed we made plans to meet up in the morning for a run.
I ended up staying up mega late reading from Top of the World, Peter May's new tome about the Celtic's improbable and triumphant season last year. I had bought the book earlier in the day and by the time I called it a night, I was almost finished reading it. Great book!
Daylight savings was my friend and gave me an extra hour to sleep this morning. After breakfast, I surfed the net for a bit over coffee and then, after finding out from Spira that she was going to get some groceries before our run, I did some laundry and started cleaning my room.
Our run was relaxed. I was energetic and really wanted to push it, but Spira wasn't feeling up to it. I ended up at various intervals running ahead and then back-tracking to Spira. This was a good compromise: I was able to add some vigor to the run while still managing to spend most of it with Spira, at her preferred pace. It's good having a running partner. We plan on doing it again in a couple of days.
I've noticed that whenever Spira introduces me to someone new, they'll always say something like "Oh, you're that Kevin! I've heard a lot about you." And often, when I'm present, she'll speak glowingly about me to whomever we're with. Sometimes it's a little embarrassing, but only because I don't want them to think I'm a cocky son-0f-a-bitch without any modesty, who not only only agrees with these sentiments, but perhaps even put Spira up to expressing them. But that's just me being squirmy. In the end, it illustrates to me what a good friend Spira is. The fact that, in spite of my shortcomings, she speaks of me with pride and affection, means a lot. So much, in fact, I have trouble putting it into words. I love her. Those three will have to suffice.
I had intended to set some goals today. Some short term, some long. I was set to put these goals into writing, but I never got around to it. I will, though, just not sure when. I was productive today, though, so I don't feel as if I was useless layabout.
With that, I'm signing off. I'm going to watch Errol Morris' Gates of Heaven, a documentary about people's attachments to their pets, or The Trials of Henry Kissinger. We'll see which one gets the call.
Spira was going to drive her to her mom's place in Newburyport and N asked if I'd like to come along for the ride. I told her I'd be honored to, and N replied that we could make the drive naked. We all laughed and she told us that she had done that before when she was in her late teens and regaled us with the story. It bears repeating.
She had been in a car drinking with a few male friends behind a stadium one night. One of them suggested they take their clothes off and, thick with drink, they all did, thinking it was a brilliant idea. They were enjoying their nakedness when they saw someone staggering out of the woods towards the car.
When the figure got close, they saw that it was a woman with torn clothes and a bleeding mouth. In a panic, she told them she had just been raped by four guys in a van and barely escaped. As she told them her story, she realized that everyone was naked. She must have wondered, coming upon a stray car filled with three guys and one girl, and all of them nude, whether she had left one rape scene for another.
N ended up being a witness in the subsequent trial. It wasn't to be a smooth affair. One of the guys who was in the car with N had told the police an entirely different break down of events than N witnessed. When she asked him why he lied, he told her that the girl who got raped deserved it because she was a prostitute. He became the star witness for the defense.
To complicate matters even further, this guy's uncle happened to be one of the cops who investigated the rape. And both of them were friendly with the defendants, having grown up in the same town. Consequently, N was subjected to harassment by her so-called friend, his uncle, and numerous other friends of the defendants.
In the end, N stuck to her story and the accused each received a four year sentence. They got off easy. When they got of jail, N had the misfortune of running into a couple of them when she was waiting tables at a restaurant in a nearby town. They bullied and threatened her on more than one occasion.
Thinking back on the experience, N was amazed at how convoluted and bizarre the whole affair was. She concluded the story by telling us that the fact that she was in a car full of naked people was brought up by one the defense attorneys. And because the story had been picked up by the national media, the whole country, she laughed, knew about it.
N has led a very interesting life.
We drove her to mom's, said our goodbyes, and later, back at Spira's place, we talked for a bit before Spira kept nodding off during one of my riveting monologues. As she prepared for bed we made plans to meet up in the morning for a run.
I ended up staying up mega late reading from Top of the World, Peter May's new tome about the Celtic's improbable and triumphant season last year. I had bought the book earlier in the day and by the time I called it a night, I was almost finished reading it. Great book!
Daylight savings was my friend and gave me an extra hour to sleep this morning. After breakfast, I surfed the net for a bit over coffee and then, after finding out from Spira that she was going to get some groceries before our run, I did some laundry and started cleaning my room.
Our run was relaxed. I was energetic and really wanted to push it, but Spira wasn't feeling up to it. I ended up at various intervals running ahead and then back-tracking to Spira. This was a good compromise: I was able to add some vigor to the run while still managing to spend most of it with Spira, at her preferred pace. It's good having a running partner. We plan on doing it again in a couple of days.
I've noticed that whenever Spira introduces me to someone new, they'll always say something like "Oh, you're that Kevin! I've heard a lot about you." And often, when I'm present, she'll speak glowingly about me to whomever we're with. Sometimes it's a little embarrassing, but only because I don't want them to think I'm a cocky son-0f-a-bitch without any modesty, who not only only agrees with these sentiments, but perhaps even put Spira up to expressing them. But that's just me being squirmy. In the end, it illustrates to me what a good friend Spira is. The fact that, in spite of my shortcomings, she speaks of me with pride and affection, means a lot. So much, in fact, I have trouble putting it into words. I love her. Those three will have to suffice.
I had intended to set some goals today. Some short term, some long. I was set to put these goals into writing, but I never got around to it. I will, though, just not sure when. I was productive today, though, so I don't feel as if I was useless layabout.
With that, I'm signing off. I'm going to watch Errol Morris' Gates of Heaven, a documentary about people's attachments to their pets, or The Trials of Henry Kissinger. We'll see which one gets the call.
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