Monday, May 31, 2010

You showed up with a black eye, looking to start a fight

I've kept that last post up, despite it being, at times, a sprawling, whiny, mess. First off, let me say I didn't do a good job articulating myself, at least as it concerns me feeling that I don't matter to people. I've had a good night's sleep, practiced yoga, had some eggs, and am enjoying some coffee as I type this. I am in a better position to be articulate.

I do think that I matter to people. I guess what I was trying to get at, unsuccessfully, was that because of my position, my being untethered, as I put it, I'm not really in any one's immediate sphere of importance. And by anyone, I'm referring to people with families and other responsibilities that occupy their attention. And while it's sometimes a bummer to be so free-floating, it's often a great, freeing thing. When you're answerable only to yourself, there's bound to be some fun involved.

To conclude the topic, I'll stress two things in reiteration: 1. I have accepted, embraced, my current position, which is entirely a singular one. 2. Like with anything, it has its pros and cons.
--

On to Food, Inc. I knew what to expect going into it. I'd heard from multiple sources how disturbing, yet enlightening, the documentary was. I watched it yesterday and knowing what to expect didn't lessen the impact. It was disturbing. It was enlightening. It should be viewed by any one who eats food.

We are in the midst of the age of centralization and, unless we change things, our society will crumble. We see centralization in government, in media, in food distribution, in just about everything. As a result, a small, single digit, percentage of people horde the wealth and power, while the average citizen becomes more and more marginalized, insignificant. Our masters are cold and reptilian and do not have our best interests in mind. Don't believe me? Well, for starters, watch Food, Inc. Then watch Enron: The Smartest Guys In The Room. Then watch some Democracy Now. Then....wait a minute, I don't think I need to convince any of you, you're my readers, you are smart.

Back to Food, Inc. Watching it motivated me to change how I buy food. I knew it would; I needed a strong enough impetus. Today I bought eggs from cage-free, hormone free, vegetable fed, chickens. I rarely eat meat these days, but from now on when I do, I will be conscious of the meat I buy. The way they raise and slaughter these animals is a crime against nature. There is no reverence, no appreciation, no connection to them what so ever. The terror they experience is enormous. A crime against nature. Nothing less.

From Roger Ebert's review:

The next time you tuck into a nice T-bone, reflect that it probably came from a cow that spent much of its life standing in manure reaching above its ankles. That's true even if you're eating the beef at a pricey steakhouse. Most of the beef in America comes from four suppliers. The next time you admire a plump chicken breast, consider how it got that way. The egg-to-death life of a chicken is now six weeks. They're grown in cages too small for them to move, in perpetual darkness to make them sleep more and quarrel less. They're fattened so fast they can't stand up or walk. Their entire lives, they are trapped in the dark, worrying.

All of this is overseen by a handful of giant corporations that control the growth, processing and sale of food in this country. Take Monsanto, for example. It has a patent on a custom gene for soybeans. Its customers are forbidden to save their own soybean seed for use the following year. They have to buy new seed from Monsanto. If you grow soybeans outside their jurisdiction but some of the altered genes sneak into your crop from your neighbor's fields, Monsanto will investigate you for patent infringement. They know who the outsiders are and send out inspectors to snoop in their fields.

Food labels depict an idyllic pastoral image of American farming. The sun rises and sets behind reassuring red barns and white frame farmhouses, and contented cows graze under the watch of the Marlboro Cowboy. This is a fantasy. The family farm is largely a thing of the past. When farmland comes on the market, corporations outbid local buyers. Your best hope of finding real food grown by real farmers is at a local farmers' market. It's not entirely a matter of "organic" produce, although usually it is. It's a matter of food grown nearby, within the last week.

It will be less convenient and a little more expensive, but I'm going to change the way I buy food. I hope someday enough people follow suit and we can see the return of actual farmers who won't disrespect and pollute the food we ingest.
--

Happy Memorial Day!

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Paint the black hole blacker

Back from Mara's birthday party. Kind of went as I expected. It was held at her friend Dave's house and there was a good sized group of people in attendance. Mara had called me earlier in the day, asking if I'd mind picking up some beer and ice, in addition to Jessica, who had just run a half marathon earlier in the day on a sprained foot. I acquiesced.

I picked Jess up around six and we stopped at the liquor store. We have a good rapport-- she's really easy going with a good sense of humor -- and I was glad she was coming with me to the party. Without her there, I anticipated, correctly, I think, I'd have less fun. And, looking back, I was definitely right. We didn't spend the entire party together, but we were in each other's company enough for Mara to comment on it at least a couple of times later on in the evening. A bit of jealousy, but every time I attempted to interact with her, she was distracted by someone or something that begged her attention. Considering it was her party, I wasn't surprised or put off by that.

It was nice party. I'm glad for Mara that her family and friends, just about every one of them, showed up. I had as much of a good time as I figured I would beforehand, which is why I aligned myself with Jessica. I don't generally drink much alcohol, but tonight I had more than a few beers. All planned out. At the liquor store, Jessica and I determined we'd be the only ones drinking, so we may as well make a go of it.

I was finished my fourth beer and I still hadn't met a few of Mara's relatives. I represented myself well. I was affable, relaxed, inquisitive, funny; I don't think I made a bad impression on anyone. Yet....

Well, look, here's the deal: I'm at that point in my life when being single and untethered is most definitely not the norm. Most people at the party were there with their significant other and kids. As I say, I represented myself well, but at the end of the day, I'm the guy going home alone. I'm the guy who is untethered in every sense of the word. I lack connection to most people.

I was fine with that tonight. I drank more than a few beers, had decent conversations, and here I am. Oh, and I spent some quality time with little Sabrina. She serenaded me with a few songs on the ukelele. Sabrina is about three years old and lives down the street from me. The first time I met her, about a year ago, she fell in love with me (if you're up for a little digging, you can read about it in a post I published around that time)

Yes, I'd like to matter to someone, but, that is my reality -- I don't really matter to most people I know. I'm embracing it, looking at it as liberating, and that is that. I guess it's kind of depressing, now that I've re-read the above, but I'm not going to let it get me down.

I'm done. This post was typed hastily and under the influence of several beers. If you've found incoherent and distasteful, I'm sorry for that, but at least you'll have found consistent with my other posts. Should I have waited until my faculties had returned to publish a post? Fuck, no. Warts and all, is what I say. Can't always be pretty talk about flowers and rainbows. No, sometimes you've got to go at it more than a little inebriated.

I'm sure I've left a bunch out, in fact I know I have. I haven't mentioned Rich's odd behavior this weekend, nor have I mentioned my viewing of Food, Inc., a documentary I'm really glad I saw (thanks, Leigh, for reminding me). Hopefully, I will devote a some space to it in a subsequent [post.

I know the above business about not mattering to anyone sounds like depressed whining, and maybe it is, but I'm not really depressed about. I just see it as the truth. My reality is that I'm perpetually single, I don't have a family of my own, and most of my friends I see infrequently. Have to it embrace it until it changes, and something, my gut, tells me it will soon enough.

Ok, by. I've gone ahead and delivered a drunken, irresponsible post. I'm going to publish it and be done with it. I'm sure it's a rambling mess, stocked to the gills with grammatical and spelling errors.

So be it. I've committed fouler sins.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Amelia, it was just a false alarm

I sit at night, on the porch, alone but not lonesome. The breeze, the cool air; each a wish fulfilled. I sit and feel blessed. Little sleep these past two days - too hot! too hot!The twin trees on either side of the road to my left are broadcast in slate vivid glow. I wonder why I've hardly noticed them before. I filter out so much.The air stirs, another cool surge. I am content.

People walk by, I witness. Under the moon and the yawning maw of sky powdered with teeth, they are more like me than ever before. They are brothers and sisters, there is communion. I know when the day returns and I am out among them, I will feel less kinship. Under the sun and sky with no secrets and no depth, I will forget what I remembered.

Anon
.

I close my eyes. I might fall asleep. I am at ease, I clear my mind. Thoughts arrive, slower but potent. I consider my future. I wonder what I'll do. These are uncertain days, they infect me with fear and make me feel small.

But not so much, not so much....

Out here, right now, I see more joy than sorrow. I see peace. Will it be so? I close my eyes. Yes, I believe it will be so.


I read some, I look around, I think, I meditate. It's time to go inside. I will sleep through the night.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

What else can I write, I don't have the right

I predicted correctly: today flew by and it was a scorcher. It's still 83 degrees and it's after 7. I never made it to the office today. I got an early start and did some recording in Cambridge, took care of some business at the registry and Land Court in Boston, and then hit the registry in Cambridge again to tie everything up in a nice, neat, bow. And then, in the afternoon, I walked over to the dentist, came home, and practiced yoga in the heat. Like yesterday, I am a tired man. Is there not one of you who feels sympathy for me?
-
Feeling tired notwithstanding, I'm in good spirits, like I am every single second of every day (Not exactly true, but remember: my heart is pure). The sun is out, the sky is blue, it's beautiful, and so are you (forgive my lapse into song, but as I said, I'm in good spirits.)I'm coming down from the all the Lost activity, even though I just riffed on the phone with Spira about it, but that's not such a bad thing.

Kate, because I just remembered you left me a comment and believe I'll forget to respond once I finish this post, I'll first thank you for the insightful feedback before I go about the business of answering the questions you posed.

Your questions (paraphrased because I don't have them in front of me):

1. Why didn't I address the possibility of more Lost?

(I take "more Lost" to mean movies, TV spin offs, that type of thing, so my response will reflect that assumption.) I didn't address it because there was so much Lost flotsam splashing around in my head that I simply forgot to wonder, at least while writing that post. I'm not sure if there will be any movies or TV shows/specials down the pike. I hope there will. If there was ever a show, especially considering how this one ended, that begged to be revisited, this is the one.

2. Who would win in a fight: Baby Boy Z or an ocelot?

Look, I appreciate the question, really I do; I've even considered it myself, many, many, times. The thing is, in order for me to approach it thoughtfully, I have to imagine Poochy Bottoms engaging in violent behavior with an ocelot, and you know what - to go there would leave a vile taste in my mouth. I've seen too much of Zeekers the lover, the renaissance dog, in action, especially this past weekend, when he got all romantic with Missy, the lovely greyhound, who is now his boo.

Here's the deal: yes, Baby Boy Z would massacre the ocelot - I am sure of that; he is very strong and quick - but what's the point of picturing him in a fight, with its attendant blood, howls, and growls? No, Zico is as gentle and kind as Santa Claus's gentler, kinder, uncle. I must hold fast to that image.

3. Which were better action figures: Star Wars or G. I. Joe?

Thanks for asking. No one ever asks me that. I have to go with Star Wars, if only because Star Wars had way more of an impact on me than G.I. Joe. The G.I. Joe action figures were higher quality, though. You could bend the arms and legs and the packaging was cool, too, with awesome bios of the characters on the back that got you all pumped up to play some Joe. I played with both, so, you know.... win, win for me.

There you go, Kate.
--
I finished reading Drood over the weekend. I liked it quite a bit, especially Dan Simmon's writing style, which is above average. I moved on to Joe Abercrombie's Best Served Cold, a deliciously gory and often humorous tale of revenge set in the world of his prior books. I've also been reading The Picture of Dorian Gray at work and Meister Eckhart sermons before bed. Once I'm through with Abercrombie, I'll read Lord Dunsany's The King of Elfland's Daughter.
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I leave you with an anecdote from this morning. I was waiting for my turn to go through the metal detector at the courthouse in Cambridge t - there were about two people ahead of me - when the guy in front of me started acting like a dick to the security guard.

Even before it was his turn, this guy, most likely a lawyer or a judge, by his suit and disposition, started muttering to himself about how preposterous it was to have to go through this nonsense. It never takes more than a minute or two to go through this security check; I have no idea why this man was so irked. Well, actually I do have an idea: he was a self-absorbed dick.

When it was his turn, he walked through the metal detector, which promptly started beeping. The guard walked over to the him and asked if he had anything in his pockets as he applied a wand to him.

"Yes", he said, with a condescending sneer, "My glasses."

"Ok, can I see them?"

The man inched closer to the security guard's face. "I just told you what I had in my pocket. Why do you need to see them?"

I should note here that I've dealt with this security guard hundreds of times and despite being ornery at times (he kind of has to: he's bald, with a bulldog's face), he's mostly been even tempered and fair. Even if he wasn't, even if he was just a flat out prick, he did not deserve the treatment he was getting from this uptight prima donna. I think he's a decent guy, but he also seems to be the kind you don't want to piss off. I say this because I saw him pissed off this morning.

"Sir, can you please take out your glasses so I can see them? I'm just doing my job."

"Does this make you feel superior, screwing around with me like this?"

"Sir, just let me do my job. Please." (Uh oh - water's starting to boil)

"It seems you think your job is to screw around with people who would like nothing better than getting on with their business."

(Full boil. That kettle started to sing!) "Ok, you're done. Get out of my sight."

"What is your problem?"

Here's where it almost looked like they were going to throw down. The security guard got in the man's face, I'm talking no more than an inch away, and said, loudly, "I said you're done. Get the fuck out of here before I bounce you out of this building!"

The man backed away, but only a little bit. Less, I think, out of courage, but more out of a bloated sense of entitlement. This man looked like he's never, not once in his life, had dirt under his fingernails. Nor did he appear to be someone who considered more than a handful of people his equals.

"Alright, I'm going. Don't be surprised if you're the one leaving the building. I have a mind to report you."

"Fine!" He's yelling now. "Go get a judge and bring him down here. Have him kick me out. Go get him, asshole!"

Whew! All this went down in front of about fifty or so people. The man went on his way and the security guard went back to work, muttering about cocksuckers and assholes.

Later in the day, when I returned to the courthouse, I asked the security guard if the man ever followed through on his threat.

"I would have knocked that fuck out if he did!"

You know, I think he probably would have.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Headstart on the frog, the deer, and the dog

It is Monday. I am tired. There's your Haiku for the month. Indeed, I am tired; I ended up falling asleep around three thirty this morning. Can't blame the late bed time entirely on the final episode of Lost, but watching it contributed mightily to the situation, to be sure. When it ended at eleven thirty, I promptly scoured the web for fan opinion (uniformly unfavorable and reactionary) and word from the people involved with the show (nowhere to be found except on The Jimmy Kimmel show, which was, not surprisingly, more about the funny than extrapolating on plot points, etc.).

I think I trolled the Internet the way I did primarily because I wasn't sure I how I felt about the episode. I'm still not entirely sure. It affected me, it stayed in my head all day. Isn't that the true service of art, though - to shake us up, to stir the blood? Sure, a lot of the show's mysteries were not solved - for example, we still have no idea what the island, arguably the show's main character, was - but the the episode was so well rendered, so poetic, that I wasn't, and still am not, too bothered by that fact.

Initially, I thought the lack of revelations, the lack of a big payoff, was a kind of slap in the face to the hardcore fans, the ones who devoted many an hour theorizing and hypothesizing about the show. Those fans, probably the majority of the show's viewers, were less attracted to characterization than they were to speculating about the supernatural/scientific labyrinthine elements. Each new puzzle lobbed at them was a nugget of gold. They were devoted, they clamored to the last episode with gleeful zeal; they wanted answers, son! They didn't get them, at least not the ones they wanted.

As I say, I initially felt as if that was a slap in the face to these devotees. I bet they had no problem with the the ending itself, but the lack of closure in other key areas of the show, well, I bet that hurt them deep. I imagine they slept less than I did, and less comfortably. Did the the writers sell them short intentionally? Were they just a bunch of dicks fucking with the heads of their loyal fans?

No, I don't think so. I've come to the conclusion that the writers, rather than deprive their fans, actually did them a great service. By leaving a lot of questions unanswered, they've enabled the die-hards to keep theorizing, their bread and butter, long after the show has aired. Ten years from now, people will still be wondering why Miles wasn't at the church at the end and why the man in black was never named.

I'll miss the show, I already do. I plan on eventually, perhaps soon, watching the show from start to finish. I don't think there will be another show like it for a long while.
-
Yes, I am tired. I've got a busy day tomorrow. I predict two things: it will fly by and the heat of it will be stifling. We'll see. In the meantime, it's the Celtics game for me.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

So take your true loves down to the river, and I will watch you here on the corner

Today was a much better day. The weather was glorious, I didn't have to drive through any dilapidated cities, and, well I guess that's enough to make it better than yesterday.

There were some guys working outside near the windows of my office with a radio playing. It was loud enough that we kept ours off so there wouldn't be a cacophony of competing sounds. At one point, Therese got up and started fiddling with the radio. "Why can't I turn this down?" she asked with a puzzled expression. Sharon and I looked at each and smiled.

"The radio has to be on for that to happen", I said with a barely concealed grin.

"What do you mean? Oh, wait... the music is coming from outside!"

That's our Therese.

There's a woman in our building who leaves paper towels on the floor near the door, much to the frustration of the women in our office. Apparently she's germ-phobic and can't bring herself to touch the door handle with her bare hand, so she grasps it with a paper towel and drops it as she exits. She probably doesn't know that there are way more germs on the door handle leading into the bathroom.

The ladies in my office have never caught the litterer in the act, but they all suspect the blond, pregnant woman who works for the chiropractor. The other day, as I was coming out of the men's room, Blondie was coming out of the ladies room. Guess what she had in her hand? Yup, she was carrying a paper towel. That didn't make her guilty, but it made her the leading suspect, especially since Therese had put up a note in the ladies room asking whoever was leaving paper towels on the floor to stop not two days prior.

Yesterday, I saw her again, paper towel in hand. She's definitely the one, though it's never been made clear to me why everyone suspected her in the first place. Process of elimination? Perhaps. Well, at least, in her own way, she's complying with Therese's request. Did I mention she's very attractive? Well, she is, but why does her appearance matter so much to you?
--

I practiced yoga and went for a run today. And then I went to the laundromat and did some laundry, stopping over at Starbucks and reading from Drood while I waited. I'm bushed. Was going to work on music, but I think I'll take my cue from last night and veg out. Leigh, get another Corona ready - I could use one.

Before I end this, I want to pose a question that's been vexing me. How is it that clothes wrinkle in the same places after a wash? For example, one of the pockets on a shirt I own always bends upward in the same place after it comes out of the dryer. Are these wrinkles the equivalent of cowlicks? Are they encoded in the clothing's DNA? Hmm.... See what a deep thinker I am? Please, if you have an answer to this profound question, leave a comment so that I can sleep again.

Namaste, bitches.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

I wish I had more friends like yours, that wouldn't close the social doors

I'm trying to decide whether I should go for a run. I'm 50/50. Though it's gray, gloomy, and drizzly outside, and despite the fact that I feel sullen and deflated after arriving home from Worcester, perhaps my least favorite city in MA, a run may be the elixir I need to bring back some pep. My GPS brought me back the hard way; I think I went through at least fifty sets of lights. It was a long, squirmy, ride. Should have stuck to the highways. Whatever. I'm home.

I think I will skip the run. I'm due for a day off and, besides, I was up late last watching the Celtics manhandle the Magic. Mara watched with me. We watched the penultimate episode of Lost before switching over to the game. What a great show; I will miss it dearly. The final episode is Sunday. It will be bittersweet, I'm sure. I predict many viewers will not be happy with the ending. This is a show that thrives in mystery. The ending, unless we're left hanging, will be final. No more mystery. People are bound to be disappointed. The show has been too good, too inventive, for the ending to be sucky, at least as far as I'm concerned.

I'm not going to lie to you: I'm gassed and think I better stop this. I'm having trouble focusing and I'm sure I'm committing all sorts of grammatical and other writerly (See, I'm so foggy, I'm not even sure if that qualifies as a word) errors. My apologies.

I had more to say, and who knows, if I get a second wind later, I'll add to the post. For now, I think it's best I succumb to the vegetative state that's enshrouding me.

Monday, May 17, 2010

I hope that I don't fall in love you

A feeling of unease stuck to me all day, it's source a stew of multiple worries, fears, and frustrations. Nevertheless, today wasn't a bad day. The weather was glorious, work went rather well, I went for a run. I'll get past the unease.
-
Saturday night, I hung out with Spira at her place. We talked a bit, then took Missy out for a long walk in the park, where we listened intently to the frogs chirping in the little pond by the path. I brought along the toy megaphone Spira had bought after seeing one of her students with one and had fun using the pitch-shift function. Missy enjoyed it more than I did, though. Every time I spoke into the toy, Missy would wag her tail and come over to me. I was her Pied Piper.

The initial plan that night was to hang out with Mara. She had called earlier in the day asking what I was up to that evening. We made plans to hang out. She called me later on and told me she and Jessica were going to order in some food and then Jessica and a friend were going to a cocktail party. "So I'll be free when they leave, probably around eight thirty or so", she said.

She called me back in a couple of hours and told me that even though she hadn't been invited to the cocktail party Jessica was going to, if Jessica got the okay from the host, she'd probably end up going.

"Is that okay?"

"Sure", I replied. I meant it - she's been trying to get out more and meet new people, particularly guys, and she should seize the opportunities when they arise. I'm not in the business of holding her back. Still, I couldn't help adding, "So, unless something better comes along, and it might, we'll be hanging out later".

I suppose that may have been unfair of me to say, but it was the truth. Look, it doesn't stroke the ego when you get bumped, even when you understand the logic of it. I should note that Mara had mentioned to me early on that it was possible she could have a chance to attend the party, so she didn't exactly break plans with me, she just found something she'd rather do. Fine. I wasn't distraught; more than anything, and I told her so, I wanted her to cement her plans soon so I could make plans of my own before it became too late. And, yes, I was a little pissed, but I bet she would have been, too, if I'd done the same to her. Should I elect to engage in a little tit for tat, I'll have my chance at vengeance. Don't worry, the worst I'll probably do on that front is pull her hair. Worked on my sister, growing up.
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I'm going to see Rufus Wainwright at the Boston Opera House in August. I had been aware that tickets were on sale, but never got around to doing anything about it. The other day, Spira sent me an email with an attached notification from Ticketmaster that tickets were on sale. I figured she was just letting me know he was playing. Talking with Janelle about the upcoming show, I found out she was going with Spira and Pam. "Damn, I missed out!" , I said.

"She got one for you, too."

Come to find out, Spira did a heroic thing and got me a ticket, even when I didn't respond to the email about the show. Evidently, I didn't read it carefully because in it she asked if I was interested in going, and if I was, she'd purchase the tickets. She told me later that she got me a ticket because she knew I'd forget to do anything about it. I don't know if that's exactly true or not, but Spira gets a virtual high five for this one. And, as an added bonus, my ticket is on her as a birthday present. High five!

I'm really excited about this show. I'm smitten with the new album and according to Rufus, this is going to be his most intimate, scaled down, tour yet. Awww, yeahhhh!
-
Off to other things. Just finished watching The Machinist (heavy stuff), will work on some music, and maybe, just maybe I'll finish Drood, but I don't think so. I'm close, but not that close.

Sayonara, bitches.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Even now at your window, I am in the dark beside you

When I was much younger, probably around the age of five, my neighbor Jason and I set out to find Candy Land. We were convinced, I think by his mother, that it was located somewhere in the woods that cradled our street. Jason's mother packed us a lunch, handed us walking sticks, two empty sacks (you know, for all the candy we were going to acquisition),wished us well, and set us on our way towards the dead end of the street where the path into the woods awaited us. This was serious business, no one had ever been able to find Candy Land, not the world's most formidable explorers, no one. We were modern Conquistadors and Candy Land was our El Dorado, only we weren't going to come up empty handed like our historic counterparts.

We came up empty handed, but you knew that already. We probably spent about twenty minutes in the woods before we became bored and went home. Looking back, I can't help feeling a little miffed at Jason's mother for lying to us about the existence of that fabled place. And why did she let two boys fresh out of nursery school venture off into the woods unattended? Back then, I guess, people were less paranoid, thankfully so, about danger lurking in every busy street, in every silent corner. For all I know, and, now that I think about it, she probably followed us on our adventure, ensuring our safety. She lied to us, yes, but her intentions were benign. And, I'm just throwing it out there, but what if she was being truthful? What if Queen Frostine and the Molasses Swamp were just around the bend? Perhaps we gave up to soon. Well, now I have a new number one regret in life.

Those woods. I spent a lot of time in those woods. They weren't too expansive, one could never truly get lost within them, but they were deep enough where your imagination could lead you to believe you were far away from civilization. I went looking for Bigfoot in those woods; took Mandy, the dog of my youth out there for many a playful romp; saw two girls lying on a flat rock sunbathing topless ( no, I didn't linger); and sought tearful refuge in it's comforting embrace during troubling times.

It's come to pass that the woods have become depleted. New houses with manicured lawns have eaten it up like cancer, leaving only small patches of forested land. Ah, but that's progress, right? This past thanksgiving, in search of a lost dog, I walked the woods. I felt like I was in a graveyard; everything seemed dead and forgotten. Maybe I was just projecting my irretrievable past onto it. Anyway, probably due to my past association with those woods and the apparent archetypal imagery they offer, I've been dreaming about them for most of my adult life.

In my dreams, those woods have served as a portal to another place, which, as close as I can figure, is probably what we call Heaven, or at the very least, another, more preferable, mysterious world. I don't have these dreams frequently, maybe two or three times a year, but when they occur, I invariably wake up wondering at the vast mysteries of life.

I had one the other night. I was with a group of friends and the vibe I got was that it was the last day of a camping trip and everyone was going for a hike, or perhaps relocating to another site in the woods. At first, our location was foreign to me, but then it transformed and we were in my parent's backyard, the woods looming over us. There were a few people in the group I didn't recognize. One of them was a woman I felt a connection with. She was a big reason I was eager to join the expedition into the woods.

As everyone was milling about, making sure they had everything they needed, I realized I had left a few things in the house. As I made my up to it, I ran into my brother in law, who came into the house with me. I asked him if he and my sister would be coming with us. He said he needed to stay behind with his mother, who he told me was sleeping in my bed. I wasn't pleased that I wasn't asked if that was alright. The thought of a sick, aging, woman occupying my bed made me uncomfortable, I was afraid I would catch whatever she had. I didn't dwell on it too long, however; I had places to go.

I ran into my mother, who was hanging garish strings of beads in the porch. I didn't bother asking her if she'd be coming with us; I knew she wouldn't be, which made feel a little sad. I found my shoes and made my out of the house, waving to my dad, who was standing outside one of the windows.

I rejoined the group just as they were heading off into the woods. Someone gave me a pamphlet to read. There wasn't much to it, save a few cryptic passages. I can't quote directly, but most of it was unsettling. It spoke of the decline of our civilization, about how, because of greed, separateness, and the absolute, pervasive evil in our world governments, life was about to become much, much, worse for everyone before it got better. I had the distinct impression the little trip we were embarking on had much to do with what I read and was probably one way. We weren't going to be coming back.

It was a beautiful day, the birds were singing, every one's mood was light, but the undercurrent was bittersweet. When I woke from the dream, right after I read the pamphlet, I spent the next several hours thinking about death and how foreign and cold, yet somehow beautiful, known, and exquisite it is. The grand paradox.

I don't know if the dream was about death. It could have been about change, about shedding the past. I don't know for sure, but the older I get, the more death surrounds me. My grandmother is in the hospital again, my parents are almost seventy, no one is getting younger. It can't be avoided, death. Everyone owes a life. Everyone. Jung wrote that we should start preparing for death when we reach our thirties. I agree. Something so huge, so monumental, cannot be swept under the rug forever. We deny it, we distract ourselves from it - it frightens us - but it needs to be regarded.

I wonder, when I'm called away from this mortal coil, if my journey will begin, not through a dark tunnel towards the light, but through the woods of my youth and of my dreams; a packed lunch and walking stick in hand.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Marlena under Foster Grants, she's under cover from the dawn's advance

The Bruins just blew a 3-o lead in tonight's game and consequently blew a 3-0 lead in the series, something that's only happened a handful of times in professional sports. Ever. Heading into the playoffs, not much was expected of this team. Die hard fans were so disenchanted with them, they were hoping they didn't make the playoffs at all. When they did, and when they started playing so well they were hardly recognizable, and when they advanced out of the first round, fans started to believe again. Not much was expected of them, everything was gravy, and there was only one way to ruin the good feelings: blow a three game lead. Bruins fans have just been let down again, but like any victims of abuse, they will take the team back into their loving arms. They always do (I say they because, though I kept an eye on the team all year and watched most of their playoff run, I broke up with The Bruins years ago during a season in which the organization made a lot bad mistakes, the biggest and most painful being the Joe Thornton trade. I still cringe when I summon those dark, dark times.)

I had a feeling they were going to lose, so I read some Meister Eckhart with the game on mute, looking over every once in a while to see if they were playing well. They hardly ever were, so I focused on reading and drinking coffee. I'm not too distraught over the loss, especially since the Celtics schooled the Cavs last night and have advanced to the semifinals. After the game, the sports media locusts swarmed all over Lebron James. They skewered him good, even though he didn't have that bad a game, and questioned his heart, his mettle, his drive, you name it. They dissected every word he said and searched for hidden meanings. I heard Michael Holley say on the radio the other day that those in the sports media shouldn't read too deeply into what athletes say. More often than not, they say what they mean. I watched Lebron's press conference after the game. He was well spoken, direct, even-tempered. Most of the sports media, however, thought otherwise. To them, he had become a selfish, ego maniacal, quitter, and all around bad guy. They prop you up, and they tear you down.
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I wanted to write about a dream I had and how it got me pondering death and change, among other things, but it's getting late and I'm gassed. I want to watch The Office and perhaps 30 Rock or Lost and read some Drood or Meister Eckhart. Perhaps tomorrow at some point I'll write about that dream. In preparation, I suggest you get at least twelve hours of sleep and brew a potent pot of coffee. This one could be a yawner.

I know, I'm a shameless self promoter.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

This is the strangest life I've ever known

I went in to work early this morning so that I could record some documents for a law firm next door. Time was of the essence, or so we were told. The idea was for me to come in, grab the documents and head up to Nashua, where they needed to be recorded. When I arrived, they hadn't been delivered to our office yet. Finally, an hour and a half later, they showed up. And I took flight.

My time at the registry was gratifying. Part of it had to do with the fact that the staff made my life a lot easier by helping me out of a couple of jams , the details of which I won't bore you with. Linda being flirty didn't hurt, either. And the coup de grace was running into my aunt and uncle (really my dad's cousin and his wife, but they've always been more like my aunt and uncle).

I was sitting at one of the computers in the research working very, very hard, because that's what I do at all times, when I felt a hand on my shoulder followed by "Kevin? Oh my God, it is you!"

I turned around and saw Linda and Steve and couldn't believe it. They live in Harvard, MA, I see them maybe once or twice a year. Running into them at the Registry of Deeds in Nashua, NH, was pretty effing random. They were tracking down the chain of title for a bit of property they were about to purchase. I did the work for them - only took a few minutes - because the computer system up there is a nightmare for the uninitiated and they would have been there forever trying to navigate it. Linda was thrilled at her good fortune at running into someone who could help them and offered to take me to lunch. I would have taken them up on the offer, especially since they're easygoing, affable, people, but I was on the clock and needed to finish up some work. Strange seeing them there, but I'm glad I did.

Leaving the registry, I called my mom to tell her about what happened. At first, she thought I was calling in response to the email she sent me this morning. "Nope, didn't get your email. What's up?", I said.

"Well, Nana's in the hospital. She fell down and fractured her pelvis." Bad news. Not ten minutes earlier, Linda had asked me how my grandmother was doing. I told her, truthfully, that she was doing great, better than ever. Guess I spoke too soon.
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Yesterday, I came home from work, did some yoga, and then left to see Foley's band play at Block 11 in Union Square. I stopped at Mara's place first to drop off a check Foley had asked me to give her and ended up hanging out with her roommate Jessica for a bit (Mara was at school). Block 11 was only a mile or so up the street; I figured I still had time to see the band. I was wrong. I misjudged. When I arrived at the coffeehouse, the band was packing up. Fuck! I thought another band was playing before them. Nope. Oh, well. I apologized, helped them pack up their gear, grabbed a coffee to go, and headed home.
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The Celtics game tonight should be interesting. The C's pulverized Lebron and company last game so bad that the next day everyone in the sports media was hollering about how much Lebron blew it. Many took it further and declared Lebron a perennial loser and phony. As much as I want the Celtics to win, I think the reaction to Lebron's poor play has been way too overblown. It's one game, people. I predict, and I hope I'm wrong, Lebron is going to play out of his freaking mind tonight. Like I said, I hope I'm wrong. If the Celtics win, they move on to Orlando and Cleveland goes home. And Lebron will most likely have seen his last game in a Cavs uniform. Tonight will be a nail biter. After the Bruins decided to blow a three game lead in their series against Philly, I don't think my pure heart can take two game sevens. The Celtics need to win tonight.
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And with that, I leave you. To quote Ice Cube, one of Hip Hop's elder statesmen, today was a good day.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

It's all you need, so believe me honey, it aint a crime to be good to yourself

I guess it's a good problem to have, but I've reached a log jam of sorts with recording. I've got a welter of songs I can put down, but my progress is slow. Since I purchased my 8-track, I've done a lot of recording, but nothing is complete. Frustrating, but I'm plugging away.

I'm not going to lie to you - Paranormal Activity spooked me a bit, enough that it affected my sleep pattern. Mind you, I wasn't trembling under the covers like Shaggy, or his pal, Scooby Doo, but I did tend to be hyper-sensitive to any noise I heard. Spira, who has had her own paranormal issues and is a world class chicken baby when it comes to scary movies, should definitely not watch this film, though I must admit I'd love to convince her to watch it with me just so I can get off on watching her get scared. I know, I'm a cruel man, but remember: my heart is as pure as the driven snow.

Most "scary" movies don't scare me much. To this day, The Exorcist and Rosemary's Baby creep me out. The Blair Witch Project spooked me a bit, too, but that was more of a one trick pony I think (I'll find out soon if I'm correct. I bought it on DVD a couple of years ago for like three bucks and still haven't watched it. I'll have to do something about that). The Shining used to scare me, but when I watched it recently, I still found it unsettling, but it didn't leave me with that heavy dark feeling the way the aforementioned movies do.

For a movie to have a shot at spooking me, it should be as realistic as possible, and by realistic I mean the presentation and not the subject matter. And don't show and tell me everything; give away as few secrets as possible. Our imaginations can conjure far worse frights than what we see on the screen. That's why Jaws was so effective. Paranormal Activity would have been a joke if its demon was visible, was known. And the more we knew about it, the less scary it would become. In one regard, the movie worked because the main characters and, by extension the viewers, had no idea what it was exactly that was terrorizing them. It's hard to rationalize something beyond our ken. So, yes, I was a bit spooked by the movie, despite the kind of lame ending (I won't spoil it, but, while it wasn't bad, I wish they would have gone with the alternate ending that was on the DVD. It was a much braver and more appropriate choice)

The Celtics are on. Rondo's performance in the Mother's Day game was jaw dropping, but I think Lebron and company are going to bring the pain to the C's tonight. I hope I'm wrong. I thought the Bruins were going to clinch their series against the Flyers, but they played undisciplined, lazy hockey and lost the game handily as a result. I'd hate for them to blow a three game lead and lose the series. That would make me feel all sorts of lousy.

Man, have I been horny. I won't say anything beyond that, but it needed to be said. Really? It needed to be said, you ask? Ok, you got me: it didn't need to be said, but I said it and you're just going to have to deal with it. You can ignore it, try to help me in some way (remember I'm straight, gentleman), or be disgusted at how crass and immoral I am. I suggest you shoot for all three options.

No, I won't elaborate on the details concerning my being "in heat". Instead, I'll go off quietly and dump about fifty pounds of ice in the tub and cool off. And then, having shocked the life out of my libido, I'll watch some Celtics a new and duller man.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

I believe in freedom, freedom is apparently all I need, but who's ever been free in this world, who has never had to bleed in this world?

Went to my grandmother's house for Mother's Day. There were plenty of mothers there, to be sure, and plenty of children running about. With the inclusion of my aunt and uncle who flew up from PA, nearly the entire extended family was present. A good time, better than the last get together, but still, I'm the oddball in that lot. After talking and thinking about conformity and how it suffocates the artist recently, I didn't feel so bad. A lonelier, bumpier, ride through life, but far less ordinary and confining.

Yesterday, I picked up the Jonsi record, Buffalo Springfield's sophomore effort, and a wonderful surprise: the new album by Rufus Wainwright. Without hesitation, I grabbed a copy. I first heard him at a record store years ago. There was a listening station there where you could sample select new artists. I plopped on the headphones, read a brief description of who this Rufus Wainwright person I was about to listen to was, and pressed play. I didn't know what to expect. After the first song, I took off the headphones and immediately set about purchasing the CD. I had been blown away by what I heard.

I listened to that album, his debut, exclusively for months. The songwriting, his voice, the instrumentation - everything - spoke to me in a way music hadn't spoken to me in a long time. I spread to the word about Rufus to everyone I thought would like him. A majority of them did. To this day, Janelle and Spira are still big fans. I listened to that album constantly. I wore that son of a bitch out.

I awaited his subsequent albums with an eagerness I rarely exhibited with other music. A new Rufus offering was a big deal to me. I liked some better than others, sometimes I wished he'd chosen another direction with a song or two, but always, always his albums never failed to deliver. So when I discovered he'd put out a new one without me knowing about it in advance, I was thrilled.

I listened to it a couple of times yesterday. Just piano and vocals and a more somber tone than his last couple of albums. He recorded it while his mother, his best friend, was dying of cancer.

Late last night, as I lay in bed about to go to sleep, I reached for my iPod and listened to it again, figuring I'd fall asleep during the first song or two. Nope. I made it all the way to the end, wide awake when I got there.

This is a special album. I'm astounded at how advanced his songwriting has grown. He's on top of his game in every conceivable way. I predict I'm going to be learning much from this album for a long time to come. All Days Are Nights : Songs For Lulu it's called, and I'm enchanted.
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Hung out with Spira last night. We got some Brazilian food, talked, and watched some 30
Rock episodes. She asked me if I'd take Missy, her lovely greyhound, out for a walk tomorrow and feed her. I consented. As I left, the two ladies accompanied me, as it was time for Missy's last walk of the night. It was freezing out and I was wearing shorts and flip flops. I walked with them for a bit before the cold and stabbing wind became too much.

"No, don't leave yet", Spira said. "I have to show you wear Missy poops."

"Does it really matter where she poops?", I responded through chattering teeth.

"Yes, she has a particular place she likes to go. C'mon, don't be a baby."

"Easy for you to say, all bundled up. How far ahead is this 'particular place' ?"

She pointed to a position about a hundred feet ahead. "We take a right at that little hill", she said.

No, you take a right at that little hill, I thought. I'm getting into my car and cranking the heat.

And you know what? That's exactly what I did.


The End.

Friday, May 7, 2010

Rejoice, rejoice, we had no choice

Met up with Janelle at the House of Blues last night to see Jonsi perform. Jonsi is the front man of Sigor Ros, a band I like very much, and has been touring in support of his first solo album. We had box seats in the balcony and, man, what a show! At the rear of the stage, there were hung diaphanous screens on which animated images, that seemed to be pulled directly from someones archetypal dreams, were projected. Wolves hunting; owls and butterflies in flight; flames devouring the screen (So realistic: shades of that terrible night club fire in Rhode Island); gray, bleak, forests: All rendered in deeply moving artistic fashion.

Great show! Loved the music, the visuals, everything. The last song was a cathartic wash of sound and visuals. The music, delicate and spacious at first, slowly built in intensity until the entire hall was saturated in feedback, white noise, howling wind and lighting. Very intense and something I won't too soon forget.

Seeing the show was all Janelle's idea. Having been working less hours lately, money has been tight. Spending money on the show would have cramped my wallet's style a bit, but Janelle bought me a ticket as an early birthday present. Very sweet of her. Any of you interested in doling out early birthday presents my way, I'm not adverse to the idea at all. Bring 'em on, folks.

Driving home afterward, safely distanced from the post Red Sox game calamity, my GPS became frazzled at all the dopey twists and turns and lights and one way streets and work crews and on ramps and off ramps that occur almost all at once in Boston. It had been spot on every time I'd used it prior, but the city was too much for her. One minute it was calmly telling me where to go and the next minute it shuts up and some weird, fuzzy map of the city appeared on the screen. Look, I'm not angry or disappointed: Boston's a hell of a dizzying city to drive around in and has unnerved the best of us. You're still my boo, GPS.
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It's Friday night, but I'm staying local. Why? Bruins, Celtics, The Office, recording music, Lost, and Baby Boy Z.

That's why.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

All I want is the truth, just give me the truth

By my tally, I almost got into about eight car accidents today. I had three close calls on my way to work, three more while driving to Lowell and Nashua, and at least four more on my way home. Most were just bad luck situations; I couldn't really fault myself or the other drivers. What the fuck? Oh, and I got a $120 speeding ticket. I am absolutely going to contest it. No, not the best day for driving, but I'm in one piece, so, you know, it could have gone a lot worse. Needless to say, I don't plan on doing any driving tonight lest I tempt the fates too much.

Going to watch the Bruins pretty soon. Sports-wise, this is my favorite time of the year. I've got both the Celtics and Bruins in the playoffs and since basketball and hockey are my favorite sports, I'd be watching the playoffs if those teams weren't in it. Soon will come the dog days, when only baseball will be present. Yawn. It's sacrilege around these parts not to be a rabid Red Sox fan, but I'm not. I appreciate the team and the sport of baseball, but I just don't have the time or the inclination to devote the time and energy necessary to be a full fledged fan. Plus, hockey and basketball are way more fun to watch (Easy, Red Sox Nation- still your hand! Not everyone has the same zeal as you. I still love you, though).
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That song I've been working on, the one I recently wrote about having a breakthrough with, well, it's coming along, but the going is slow. I'm trying to craft some lyrics that I'm happy with, but it's taking some time. I'm like Def Leppard with their Hysteria album. Hopefully, though, it won't take me six years to complete this song.

You're a prayer uncoiled slow
I want to see your skyline grow

The summer breaks, the summer bleeds
I've got a pair of summer eyes to read

That's what I've got so far. Maybe tonight inspiration will wash over me.
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Last night I watched Public Enemies, Michael Mann's biopic about John Dillinger. I've always enjoyed Mann's films, even though they often border on being too slick for my tastes, but with Public Enemies, he brought his craft to new heights. There was so much visual poetry in this film that, if I didn't know better, I would have bet Baby Boy Z and my pure heart that I was watching a Terrence Mallick offering. Great cast, too. Johnny Depp - need I say more?
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Back to baseball. I find it disturbing that so many people are either nonplussed by, or completely in support of, that kid being tazed for running onto the field at a Phillies game. I just watched the clip. There were four or five guys chasing him as he zigged and zagged like a merry dufus. Did he need to be tazed? Really? Seems to me they could have easily apprehended him -- it's not like it's never been done before - and avoided frying his insides. Did the punishment fit the crime?

Our society is so hyper-vigilant about being politically correct to the point where almost every week someone is apologizing for one ridiculous thing or another, but when it comes to physical violence, like tazing, well, that's fine. The fucker probably deserved it, we say. Can you spell desensitization? (Actually, I almost had to spell check it myself). I don't know, maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I should be tazed.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Sometimes I feel like I've been tied to the whipping post, good lord I feel like I'm dying

I am tired and hot and a little hungover. My motor skills have been lagging behind all day, just a fraction of a second, but enough to be noticeable. With that in mind, this may be a disjointed, plodding post. We shall see.

I went to two gatherings yesterday. The first was a Jack and Jill for Jaegan and April, who are about to get married in a couple of months. Leading up to the event, I had more than a few people give me a puzzled look when I told him where I was going. "What's a Jack and Jill?", they asked. I'd never been to one myself, but I assumed most other people had been. Evidently, I was wrong.

I had a good time. The event was held at The Peddler's Daughter, an Irish pub adjacent to a canal up in Nashua. Shortly after Janelle and I arrived, I walked up to the bar to get a beer. The bartender didn't appear to be that busy, but it took her a while to come over to me. In the meantime, I got an earful from the barfly sitting next to me. Always an iffy proposition, engaging in a conversation with a talkative drunk when you're completely sober. Fortunately, this young man was affable and lucid enough to carry on a decent conversation, but I wasn't there to see him and when the bartender brought over my beer, I was set to hightail it out of there. The bartender made that difficult for me by walking away before I could pay her. That meant more time with my new, chatty friend. A minute or two later, when I finally caught her attention and said "Can I pay for this?", she came over and swiped my money and gave me a look as if I had just called her a wretched whore. I probably should have just walked away without paying, but my pure heart wouldn't have it.

It was nice seeing my New Hampshire friends. Good people, every one of them. Around five, Janelle and I left and made our way back to the city so that we could sneak into Spira's condo and set up for the surprise party we were throwing her. Janelle had done most of the prep work and organizing, but we had help from Kat and Pam and Brad, who kept Spira away from the house while we set up.

Everything worked out well. A good amount of people showed up and Spira was genuinely surprised when she walked in the door. She had a great time. So did the rest of us. Well, all of us except one woman, who's identity I won't reveal here in the off chance she someday reads this. She ended up passed out in the bathroom for a long time. I was surprised at her rapid decline; she seemed fine enough to me when I was talking with her, but it's not always easy to determine when someone is half, or all the way, in the bag. A few of us made up a little bed for her and she ended up crashing there instead of going home. Good choice.

Aviv saved me from sharing the same fate. I had poured myself a tall glass of one of Janelle's tasty mixed drinks and was about halfway through it when he pointed out that there was a lot of alcohol in the drink and that maybe it would be a good idea, especially since I would be driving later, to pace myself. I'm such a neophyte when it comes to mixed drinks that I most certainly would have polished off the drink and maybe another one before I realized that I was hammered.

After the party, I stayed up with Rachel, who crashed at our place, until about four thirty in the morning. She had a wedding to shoot at eleven this morning; I bet she would have rather stayed in bed. She's a trooper, though, and doesn't let a little lost sleep debilitate her. Rachael is one of my favorite people and I'm glad she came down.

It was disappointing to both Janelle and I that several people who could have come to the party, people who go a long way back with Spira, elected not to bother. And one individual, who I thought was still close with Spira, even though he's cut a good number of the rest of us out of his life for reasons known only to him, didn't even have the inclination to respond to the invitation we sent out.

Look, I'm not oblivious to the fact that there are inevitable shifts in dynamics in friendships, especially ones that have lasted a long time. I know that some people aren't as close with Spira as maybe she, or other people, think they are. That's fine, it's what happens in life. It's just that there were a few excuses for not going that were downright lame. This was her 40th birthday party, a bigger deal than other birthdays for many people, and it would have been nice to see more of an effort. Fortunately, I won't have to deal with this situation, because the world will end long before I turn 40. At least that's what my astrologist told me.

It was Open Studios in Somerville this weekend. Every year, local artists open up their homes or studios to the public and display their work. This morning, I walked over to Vernon Street, where Mara and Jessica each have studios, and paid a visit. I hung out with Mara for a bit and then made my upstairs to see Jessica. We hung out for a while - she was hungover, in rougher shape than me and was praying for the day to wrap up quickly. I told her I would take an extra long nap in honor of her. And you know what? I did. What a good person I am. Is sainthood in my future?

You bet.