Today was strung together so cohesively, it felt absolutely scripted and lacked the arbitrariness of typical days. I'm referring especially to what happened after work. I ran into Lisa at the grocery store. She told me she was getting together with Luke Warm before he moves out west in a couple of weeks. I had heard rumblings about this. Lisa was surprised I didn't know. I was, too, but not really - something unknown to me has torn my relationship with Luke Warm asunder and the fact that I hadn't been made privy to the news was to be expected, hoped against, but expected. I wondered if Foley would be able to enlighten me about the situation. A minute or two after the thought, he texts me. I text back asking if he wants to get together for coffee at True Grounds. He texts back that he's already there. We meet up. We talk briefly about Luke Warm's impending departure before he changed the subject. Don't think he wanted to talk about it. And, from this point hence, neither do I. Doesn't feel very good having it present.
I came home and called Mara. She was feeling anxious about a guy she just started seeing. I tried to help her through it, while feeling just a little more lonely. There's little chance of us getting back together, but you know how it goes. We talked a little and she had another call. She thought it might be him. I'm happy for her. Things change, dynamics shift. I just wish things would fall right for me more often. One of those days. At least I've been feeling better. There's that.
I need to work on music. I've got to get my ass proactive and book some shows. And find other people to play with. It's been years since I've been in a band. I miss the interaction.
Tomorrow is Friday. This weekend has to be better than last weekend. If it isn't,......whoah, Nellie!
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Into this house we're born, into this world we're thrown
I am fast on the road to recovery. In fact, I only had one visit to the bathroom today of the type I've grown accustomed to. I was starting to feel better yesterday, but my stomach was still a gurgling mess. This morning I woke up with........AN APPETITE!!
I walked into the kitchen and there was Janelle spreading blackberry jam on toast. The bread and jam were courtesy of our friend Tracy, who Janelle had just visited. It looked and smelled so good that it took me a second to realize what was happening. She offered me some and I obliged. I made an egg, too. So good.
Having an appetite was progress, but I was still feeling frail. It was to be expected. Currently, I'm feeling pretty good. I've been craving and eating grapes all day. Anything thirst quenching has been nectar to me. Had another Italian ice this afternoon. So satisfying, I almost cried when I reached the end of the cup. Really, I did.
In the parking lot at work today, I spotted a pile of pennies on the ground. My first inclination was to collect the booty, but then I realized it wouldn't be worth it. There looked to be only about twenty or thirty pennies, hardly worth the effort of bending over and picking them up. Better to have a child, to whom twenty or thirty pennies would be a big deal, acquisition them.
Okay, I'm off to watch The Wire in bed.
I walked into the kitchen and there was Janelle spreading blackberry jam on toast. The bread and jam were courtesy of our friend Tracy, who Janelle had just visited. It looked and smelled so good that it took me a second to realize what was happening. She offered me some and I obliged. I made an egg, too. So good.
Having an appetite was progress, but I was still feeling frail. It was to be expected. Currently, I'm feeling pretty good. I've been craving and eating grapes all day. Anything thirst quenching has been nectar to me. Had another Italian ice this afternoon. So satisfying, I almost cried when I reached the end of the cup. Really, I did.
In the parking lot at work today, I spotted a pile of pennies on the ground. My first inclination was to collect the booty, but then I realized it wouldn't be worth it. There looked to be only about twenty or thirty pennies, hardly worth the effort of bending over and picking them up. Better to have a child, to whom twenty or thirty pennies would be a big deal, acquisition them.
Okay, I'm off to watch The Wire in bed.
Monday, July 26, 2010
I was sick of food, so I stopped eating
Below, you'll find a long-winded, bloated post about something best reserved for a sentence or two, maybe a paragraph. It's not pretty stuff. You've been warned.
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I think it would be safe to say that your weekend was better than mine. Odds are, it was much better. I woke up Friday morning feeling as if I'd taken a handful of sleeping pills the night before. I could barely get out of bed. My muscles ached. From the previous day's yoga? I hoped so. Then, as the day progressed, I developed a throbbing headache and felt so lethargic I could barely keep my eyes open. There was a lot of work I needed to do; otherwise I would have gone home early.
By the time I left work, I felt even more lousy. My stomach was upset; I had some diarrhea at work, looked like I was in for more.I was hopeful, though, that whatever it was traveling through my system, would not take it's time about it. Still, on my way home, I called my dad and told him I might not be up for our scheduled visit on Saturday. There were multiple social events I feared I was going to miss out on, one of which was my friend Jessica's going away party.
That night stunk, but in light of what was coming, it was a walk down a country lane. The worst part was the fever. Once that settled in, I knew I was fucked. I had about three layers of blankets over me, despite it being at least ninety degrees outside. And when I'd have to get up and use the bathroom, I shivered uncontrollably. It was surreal. Everyone else had their air conditioners on; I was tempted to put on the heat. I didn't get much sleep that night.
The constant and unrelenting diarrhea began sometime after midnight, joining forces with the fever. I hoped this bug was like one of those severe thunder showers that are intense but short lived. It wasn't. I estimate that I made hundreds of trips to the bathroom over the course of the weekend. That is not an exaggeration. I could not leave the house, I could not do anything.
Spira saved my life and brought over some supplies for me, which included tp, Gatorade, and bananas. A simple act, perhaps, but one that was very much appreciated. Glad she was around. Liquids were the key; with my body not keeping anything down, it was key that I remained hydrated. Hence the Gatorade and its electrolytes.
Saturday night was more of the same. I couldn't do anything except rush to the bathroom. The thought of eating anything was appalling. A little rice, a saltine or two, a bit of banana was all I could stomach. If I slept that night it was only in short increments; the bathroom required my attention at least once every ten or twenty minutes.
Sunday arrived with more of the same, minus the intense fever. I spent the day feeling gross. Most of the weekend, my room smelled like meat and paint (Rich had fried up some bratwurst or some shit the day before and Janelle had just painted the cupboard) and my body felt over taxed and greasy.
When it became apparent that I wasn't getting any better, I called Marcy and left her a voice mail venting my concerns about coming to work today. I had taken some documents home with me that needed to get on record today in Cambridge. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to manage it. She needed the heads up.
As it happened, I ended up going to the registry this morning. I got a solid three hours of sleep last night and I was only pissing out of my ass only about twice an hour, so I figured I'd suck it up and give it a go. I was confident I would be in and out of the registry. I was wrong.
I won't go into why it took so long, but I was there almost two hours. Should have taken twenty or thirty minutes tops. Fortunately, my stomach took it easy on me and I didn't have to visit the restroom. I actually started feeling better.
I didn't go into work. I'm still pretty ill. All weekend, my barometer for how close I was to recovery was picturing various food items. I figured that as soon as I found one that was even slightly appealing, I could be rest assured that I was on the road to recovery. I pulled out the big guns: pizza, crepes, spinach pie, ice cream, cookies. Nothing stimulated my taste buds. This morning, however, the idea of a eating a bagel wasn't so nauseating to me. Progress, son!
Being at the registry so long left me dehydrated. I should have brought something to drink with me, but hindsight is twenty twenty. I hit the grocery store afterward, picked up some liquids and found the most perfect thing on God's green earth, something that stimulated every ounce of my being: Italian ice! I had some when I came home and it was a transcendent experience. The best thing that's happened to me in days.
Whatever I've got, is a mean son of a bitch. I feel a bit better, but my stomach is still gurgling constantly, the bathroom is still a common sight, I still feel frail, and I have a near zero interest in food. Even my libido is shot to hell. Ah, nothing like being sick in the summer. Nothing like it.
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I think it would be safe to say that your weekend was better than mine. Odds are, it was much better. I woke up Friday morning feeling as if I'd taken a handful of sleeping pills the night before. I could barely get out of bed. My muscles ached. From the previous day's yoga? I hoped so. Then, as the day progressed, I developed a throbbing headache and felt so lethargic I could barely keep my eyes open. There was a lot of work I needed to do; otherwise I would have gone home early.
By the time I left work, I felt even more lousy. My stomach was upset; I had some diarrhea at work, looked like I was in for more.I was hopeful, though, that whatever it was traveling through my system, would not take it's time about it. Still, on my way home, I called my dad and told him I might not be up for our scheduled visit on Saturday. There were multiple social events I feared I was going to miss out on, one of which was my friend Jessica's going away party.
That night stunk, but in light of what was coming, it was a walk down a country lane. The worst part was the fever. Once that settled in, I knew I was fucked. I had about three layers of blankets over me, despite it being at least ninety degrees outside. And when I'd have to get up and use the bathroom, I shivered uncontrollably. It was surreal. Everyone else had their air conditioners on; I was tempted to put on the heat. I didn't get much sleep that night.
The constant and unrelenting diarrhea began sometime after midnight, joining forces with the fever. I hoped this bug was like one of those severe thunder showers that are intense but short lived. It wasn't. I estimate that I made hundreds of trips to the bathroom over the course of the weekend. That is not an exaggeration. I could not leave the house, I could not do anything.
Spira saved my life and brought over some supplies for me, which included tp, Gatorade, and bananas. A simple act, perhaps, but one that was very much appreciated. Glad she was around. Liquids were the key; with my body not keeping anything down, it was key that I remained hydrated. Hence the Gatorade and its electrolytes.
Saturday night was more of the same. I couldn't do anything except rush to the bathroom. The thought of eating anything was appalling. A little rice, a saltine or two, a bit of banana was all I could stomach. If I slept that night it was only in short increments; the bathroom required my attention at least once every ten or twenty minutes.
Sunday arrived with more of the same, minus the intense fever. I spent the day feeling gross. Most of the weekend, my room smelled like meat and paint (Rich had fried up some bratwurst or some shit the day before and Janelle had just painted the cupboard) and my body felt over taxed and greasy.
When it became apparent that I wasn't getting any better, I called Marcy and left her a voice mail venting my concerns about coming to work today. I had taken some documents home with me that needed to get on record today in Cambridge. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to manage it. She needed the heads up.
As it happened, I ended up going to the registry this morning. I got a solid three hours of sleep last night and I was only pissing out of my ass only about twice an hour, so I figured I'd suck it up and give it a go. I was confident I would be in and out of the registry. I was wrong.
I won't go into why it took so long, but I was there almost two hours. Should have taken twenty or thirty minutes tops. Fortunately, my stomach took it easy on me and I didn't have to visit the restroom. I actually started feeling better.
I didn't go into work. I'm still pretty ill. All weekend, my barometer for how close I was to recovery was picturing various food items. I figured that as soon as I found one that was even slightly appealing, I could be rest assured that I was on the road to recovery. I pulled out the big guns: pizza, crepes, spinach pie, ice cream, cookies. Nothing stimulated my taste buds. This morning, however, the idea of a eating a bagel wasn't so nauseating to me. Progress, son!
Being at the registry so long left me dehydrated. I should have brought something to drink with me, but hindsight is twenty twenty. I hit the grocery store afterward, picked up some liquids and found the most perfect thing on God's green earth, something that stimulated every ounce of my being: Italian ice! I had some when I came home and it was a transcendent experience. The best thing that's happened to me in days.
Whatever I've got, is a mean son of a bitch. I feel a bit better, but my stomach is still gurgling constantly, the bathroom is still a common sight, I still feel frail, and I have a near zero interest in food. Even my libido is shot to hell. Ah, nothing like being sick in the summer. Nothing like it.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Singles going steady
You might have gotten the idea from reading this blog that, in addition to being totally cool and ultra hip, I have my geeky tendencies. It's true - I do, and I'm not going to curl up in a ball and get all morose over it. And neither should you. I like the fact that I have a geeky side; it denotes intelligence, a healthy imagination, and a fierce, almost overwhelming, sexuality. Okay, maybe that last bit is slightly less than accurate, but I digress. What I'm trying to say is I'm in love with Leigh Butler.
Obviously, I need to provide a little back story to illustrate how my being a bit of a geek (in addition to being totally cool,ultra hip, and - I forgot to include this before - pure as the driven snow) and this mysterious Leigh Butler relate. For that, we'll have to venture back to high school, when I was a young, impressionable, and less wizened, lad. The world was my oyster.....
Stifle that yawn! You needn't worry, I'm not going to drag this out. I'm going to be quick, see? Think I'm fibbing? Watch me.
1. In high school, I was introduced Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time novels. I was very much into epic fantasy, especially stories stretched out over several books. I saw Eye Of The World, the first book in the WOT series, at a local book store, and, after reading the back flap, purchased it immediately. It ran close to a thousand pages, but I devoured it in a few days. I went out and purchased the second book in the series, then the third, etc., and read each ravenously.The series, one long, continuous story, is still ongoing. Jordan passed away before he could complete the final book; it has since been taken over by Brandon Sanderson, an established, popular, author, who is working from notes Jordan left behind. Off the top of my head, I think when it's all said and done, there will be thirteen or fourteen books total. And these are FAT books, son!
2. As a consequence of there being so many fat, bordering on obese, books in the series, you forget a lot of stuff as a reader. To remedy that, I and many other readers, have reread the books prior to a new one being released. I'm currently on my third go round for at least half of the books (Shoot, maybe I'm geekier than I projected! I need to go watch a football game or--nay, and-- go to a strip club). I discovered a woman named Leigh Butler is doing the same (rereading the series, that is: not watching football and visiting a strip club).
3. Through TOR's website (TOR is the publisher of the books), I've been reading Leigh's chapter by chapter account of her thoughts and feelings on the books. According to her, she's reread the series about seven times, making her way more of a geek than me. What she does is first summarize the chapter she reading, then she offers commentary on it. I didn't expect such good writing on her part. Insightful, witty, and irreverent, her prose has enchanted me. And, thus my claim that I'm in love with her.
See, that wasn't bad. I admit, it wasn't as quick as advertised, but I got you up to speed without being too much of a long-winded prick. Back to Leigh butler. I'm in love with her for a few reasons. First off, the fact that she's even familiar with Jordan's books, is a huge plus. Secondly, her writing, while not hiding her geekdom, indicates someone who's cool, funny, and probably cute. Lastly, because she has yet to post a picture of herself, I'm able to let my imagination determine what I'd like her to look like. And in my mind we share the same interests. What's that, Leigh? You'd rather watch a Herzog movie with me than go sip martinis with your dull-witted, lemming-like, coworkers? And you want to discuss the merits of Yes's seminal album, Close To The Edge? Alright, Leigh Butler, you're on. Are you serious about each and every one of my songs melting your heart and blowing you mind? Well, now you've gone and made me blush. Get over here and kiss me on the lips.
Rereading the Wheel of Time has been a thoroughly satisfying experience thus far, my mostly fantasy-derived crush on Leigh Butler notwithstanding. Granted, I'm still on the first book and have a long way to go, but I'm totally digging it. From page one onward, I've been reminded what a great writer Jordan was. Such a multi-layered, complex, and lived-in world he created, and in the thick of that grandiosity, that ambition, he managed to make it a truly human, truly intimate, affair. In other words, he didn't lose sight of what was most essential: story.
My discovery of Leigh Butler's re-read diary has been icing on the cake, an added bonus. I love the fact that after every chapter, I can go consult someones thoughts concerning it. A fellow traveler. Oh, pre-Internet Kevin, how deprived you were! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to spend some quality time with Mr. Jordan and my freshly acquired, soon to be betrothed to yours truly, WOT confidant .
Obviously, I need to provide a little back story to illustrate how my being a bit of a geek (in addition to being totally cool,ultra hip, and - I forgot to include this before - pure as the driven snow) and this mysterious Leigh Butler relate. For that, we'll have to venture back to high school, when I was a young, impressionable, and less wizened, lad. The world was my oyster.....
Stifle that yawn! You needn't worry, I'm not going to drag this out. I'm going to be quick, see? Think I'm fibbing? Watch me.
1. In high school, I was introduced Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time novels. I was very much into epic fantasy, especially stories stretched out over several books. I saw Eye Of The World, the first book in the WOT series, at a local book store, and, after reading the back flap, purchased it immediately. It ran close to a thousand pages, but I devoured it in a few days. I went out and purchased the second book in the series, then the third, etc., and read each ravenously.The series, one long, continuous story, is still ongoing. Jordan passed away before he could complete the final book; it has since been taken over by Brandon Sanderson, an established, popular, author, who is working from notes Jordan left behind. Off the top of my head, I think when it's all said and done, there will be thirteen or fourteen books total. And these are FAT books, son!
2. As a consequence of there being so many fat, bordering on obese, books in the series, you forget a lot of stuff as a reader. To remedy that, I and many other readers, have reread the books prior to a new one being released. I'm currently on my third go round for at least half of the books (Shoot, maybe I'm geekier than I projected! I need to go watch a football game or--nay, and-- go to a strip club). I discovered a woman named Leigh Butler is doing the same (rereading the series, that is: not watching football and visiting a strip club).
3. Through TOR's website (TOR is the publisher of the books), I've been reading Leigh's chapter by chapter account of her thoughts and feelings on the books. According to her, she's reread the series about seven times, making her way more of a geek than me. What she does is first summarize the chapter she reading, then she offers commentary on it. I didn't expect such good writing on her part. Insightful, witty, and irreverent, her prose has enchanted me. And, thus my claim that I'm in love with her.
See, that wasn't bad. I admit, it wasn't as quick as advertised, but I got you up to speed without being too much of a long-winded prick. Back to Leigh butler. I'm in love with her for a few reasons. First off, the fact that she's even familiar with Jordan's books, is a huge plus. Secondly, her writing, while not hiding her geekdom, indicates someone who's cool, funny, and probably cute. Lastly, because she has yet to post a picture of herself, I'm able to let my imagination determine what I'd like her to look like. And in my mind we share the same interests. What's that, Leigh? You'd rather watch a Herzog movie with me than go sip martinis with your dull-witted, lemming-like, coworkers? And you want to discuss the merits of Yes's seminal album, Close To The Edge? Alright, Leigh Butler, you're on. Are you serious about each and every one of my songs melting your heart and blowing you mind? Well, now you've gone and made me blush. Get over here and kiss me on the lips.
Rereading the Wheel of Time has been a thoroughly satisfying experience thus far, my mostly fantasy-derived crush on Leigh Butler notwithstanding. Granted, I'm still on the first book and have a long way to go, but I'm totally digging it. From page one onward, I've been reminded what a great writer Jordan was. Such a multi-layered, complex, and lived-in world he created, and in the thick of that grandiosity, that ambition, he managed to make it a truly human, truly intimate, affair. In other words, he didn't lose sight of what was most essential: story.
My discovery of Leigh Butler's re-read diary has been icing on the cake, an added bonus. I love the fact that after every chapter, I can go consult someones thoughts concerning it. A fellow traveler. Oh, pre-Internet Kevin, how deprived you were! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to spend some quality time with Mr. Jordan and my freshly acquired, soon to be betrothed to yours truly, WOT confidant .
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Declare independence, don't let them do that to you
A short post. A pretty good day, but I feel like I've got hell hounds on my trail. Sometimes I wonder if it's possible for my life to get better, to reach an optimal state. I'll find out, I guess.
Watched The Assassination of Jesse James the other night. It was good. No complaints, really. A quiet film, overall, and well acted. Also saw It Might Get Loud, the documentary of a summit between Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White. Mostly just talking shop about guitars and jamming, but who needs more? Inspired me to devote more time to my craft, which in addition to writing songs, is bringing joy to every single person I encounter. In case you didn't know.
Funny how things happen, and I'm referring to the whole sphere, the oeuvre, if you will, of our lives. From a hindsight point of view, I wonder if the me of fifteen years ago would be happy about the state of my life as currently constituted. Probably not, but I take no offense. Life 'aint easy; I knew it then, and I for damn sure know it now. Ah, but it has it charms, it does.
Off to watch The Pineapple Express. Been meaning to see this movie for a while; been on my Netflix que for months. I stumbled upon it last night on TV and got hooked right away. I had to force myself to stop watching it because I wanted to practice. The director of the movie - shoot, I forget his name already - directed George Washington, a beautifully rendered drama. The fact that he made a drugged out comedy action adventure with Seth Rogan and James Franco intrigued me right away. I'll let you know how the rest of the film is.
Watched The Assassination of Jesse James the other night. It was good. No complaints, really. A quiet film, overall, and well acted. Also saw It Might Get Loud, the documentary of a summit between Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White. Mostly just talking shop about guitars and jamming, but who needs more? Inspired me to devote more time to my craft, which in addition to writing songs, is bringing joy to every single person I encounter. In case you didn't know.
Funny how things happen, and I'm referring to the whole sphere, the oeuvre, if you will, of our lives. From a hindsight point of view, I wonder if the me of fifteen years ago would be happy about the state of my life as currently constituted. Probably not, but I take no offense. Life 'aint easy; I knew it then, and I for damn sure know it now. Ah, but it has it charms, it does.
Off to watch The Pineapple Express. Been meaning to see this movie for a while; been on my Netflix que for months. I stumbled upon it last night on TV and got hooked right away. I had to force myself to stop watching it because I wanted to practice. The director of the movie - shoot, I forget his name already - directed George Washington, a beautifully rendered drama. The fact that he made a drugged out comedy action adventure with Seth Rogan and James Franco intrigued me right away. I'll let you know how the rest of the film is.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
But in the morning I woke up and found my house was bright
I awoke from a dream this morning that left me feeling a little melancholy. All I remember from it is arriving home, the sun shining brightly, and encountering multiple people, friends and friends of friends, working on several different projects (painting, staining, etc.). Everyone was in a good mood. Even Rich, who is low key even at his happiest, was animated to the point of exuberance. It was a nice scene to walk into. So why so sad? I suspect it has to do with what happened earlier on in the dream, the content of which I don't remember. Maybe for the best. So here I am now, doing my best to shake the cobwebs off of me.
Speaking of Rich, I just walked in on him as he slept. Our wireless router is in his room and when we lose our Internet connection it needs to be reset. This means either having him do it, or doing it ourselves if he's not present. I went downstairs and knocked on his door. It was a good, solid, knock. No response. To be sure, I knocked again; I didn't want to walk in on him doing anything.....unseemly. I waited a minute or two longer and knocked again, this time calling his name as I did. No response. All right, then, I'm going in.
I opened the door and was about halfway in the room when I saw a quilt-covered lump on his bead. Vaguely, I noticed I had a Sir Richard Attenborough type of narrative broadcasting in my head. The Rich, native to the north east region of the United States, often sleeps late into the day. It prefers to do so on its side, wrapped tightly in a quilt or blanket.
I backed slowly out of his room. It is best not to disturb a sleeping Rich. If startled, they may lash out, and the consequences could be severe. I closed his door and wondered why he didn't hear the loud knocking and his name being called. The morbid side of me wondered if he was dead. It's possible, but I think he's alive. Anyway, if he's dead, it may be for a while until we know for sure. You know, because of the smell of decay. Anyway....
I was scheduled for a run today, but I'm going to follow the lead of God, and rest. It is the sabbath, readers. It's been so hot and humid the last couple of days. I went for a run after work on Friday and the second half of it was brutal. It took almost every ounce of my will to complete it. Today looks to be even hotter and more humid. I don't want to kill myself out there. Janelle would be short two roommates(I'm starting to really believe Rich is dead. Maybe I should go hold a mirror to his face).
Last night, Spira and I went to check out the ArtBeat festival that's been going on in Davis Sq. this weekend. We arrived too late. The street sweepers were in effect and all the booths and tables were gone. We were looking forward to sampling some good food, but, alas, we were shit out of luck. We had MissyTthe Dog with us, so we couldn't eat in inside somewhere. We opted for Mr. Crepes, which is always, I say always, a good time. There, we were able to eat outside. People walking by stopped and petted Missy The Dog. Some asked if it was ok, some didn't. I like knowing there are a lot of dog lovers out there.
After we ate, Spira wanted ice cream, so I waited outside JP Licks with Missy The Dog while she waited in line. We walked around the little plaza. We listened to a guy performing a set of mostly Neil Young covers. He didn't have a great voice, but his singing was impassioned. He did a ragged, but pretty, version of Harvest Moon, a song that always gets me. Multiple people approached me and asked if they could pet Missy the dog. She loved the attention. I hatched a plan to borrow her every so often for the purpose of meeting women. Hey, I've got to try something, right?
Listening to one of my favorite albums. It's a collection of songs, or more devotionals, by Marquis de Tren and Bonnie Prince Billy, called Get On Jolly. It is one of the warmest, spiritually-nourishing, and beautiful albums I've ever heard. From Allmusic's review:
Credited to Marquis de Tren and Bonny Billy, Get on Jolly is performed by Will Oldham along with Dirty Three member and Tren Brother Mick Turner. With words adapted from Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), a Nobel Prize-winning poet from India, Oldham sings in a somber, yet expressive mode, giving an air of sacredness to the effort. Turner's low-key accompaniment, meanwhile, provides a loose, meandering minor-key backdrop.
Today, I will work on music. I will also read from The Eye of the World, a book I've read a couple of times already, but it's so good on so many levels that it's always fresh. And, you know what? I may go into Davis Sq. and see myself a little Inception. Failing that, I may watch The Assassination of Jesse James.... We'll see.
Speaking of Rich, I just walked in on him as he slept. Our wireless router is in his room and when we lose our Internet connection it needs to be reset. This means either having him do it, or doing it ourselves if he's not present. I went downstairs and knocked on his door. It was a good, solid, knock. No response. To be sure, I knocked again; I didn't want to walk in on him doing anything.....unseemly. I waited a minute or two longer and knocked again, this time calling his name as I did. No response. All right, then, I'm going in.
I opened the door and was about halfway in the room when I saw a quilt-covered lump on his bead. Vaguely, I noticed I had a Sir Richard Attenborough type of narrative broadcasting in my head. The Rich, native to the north east region of the United States, often sleeps late into the day. It prefers to do so on its side, wrapped tightly in a quilt or blanket.
I backed slowly out of his room. It is best not to disturb a sleeping Rich. If startled, they may lash out, and the consequences could be severe. I closed his door and wondered why he didn't hear the loud knocking and his name being called. The morbid side of me wondered if he was dead. It's possible, but I think he's alive. Anyway, if he's dead, it may be for a while until we know for sure. You know, because of the smell of decay. Anyway....
I was scheduled for a run today, but I'm going to follow the lead of God, and rest. It is the sabbath, readers. It's been so hot and humid the last couple of days. I went for a run after work on Friday and the second half of it was brutal. It took almost every ounce of my will to complete it. Today looks to be even hotter and more humid. I don't want to kill myself out there. Janelle would be short two roommates(I'm starting to really believe Rich is dead. Maybe I should go hold a mirror to his face).
Last night, Spira and I went to check out the ArtBeat festival that's been going on in Davis Sq. this weekend. We arrived too late. The street sweepers were in effect and all the booths and tables were gone. We were looking forward to sampling some good food, but, alas, we were shit out of luck. We had MissyTthe Dog with us, so we couldn't eat in inside somewhere. We opted for Mr. Crepes, which is always, I say always, a good time. There, we were able to eat outside. People walking by stopped and petted Missy The Dog. Some asked if it was ok, some didn't. I like knowing there are a lot of dog lovers out there.
After we ate, Spira wanted ice cream, so I waited outside JP Licks with Missy The Dog while she waited in line. We walked around the little plaza. We listened to a guy performing a set of mostly Neil Young covers. He didn't have a great voice, but his singing was impassioned. He did a ragged, but pretty, version of Harvest Moon, a song that always gets me. Multiple people approached me and asked if they could pet Missy the dog. She loved the attention. I hatched a plan to borrow her every so often for the purpose of meeting women. Hey, I've got to try something, right?
Listening to one of my favorite albums. It's a collection of songs, or more devotionals, by Marquis de Tren and Bonnie Prince Billy, called Get On Jolly. It is one of the warmest, spiritually-nourishing, and beautiful albums I've ever heard. From Allmusic's review:
Credited to Marquis de Tren and Bonny Billy, Get on Jolly is performed by Will Oldham along with Dirty Three member and Tren Brother Mick Turner. With words adapted from Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), a Nobel Prize-winning poet from India, Oldham sings in a somber, yet expressive mode, giving an air of sacredness to the effort. Turner's low-key accompaniment, meanwhile, provides a loose, meandering minor-key backdrop.
Today, I will work on music. I will also read from The Eye of the World, a book I've read a couple of times already, but it's so good on so many levels that it's always fresh. And, you know what? I may go into Davis Sq. and see myself a little Inception. Failing that, I may watch The Assassination of Jesse James.... We'll see.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
I took her on a simple trip to see her husband's family, and on the way upon her hip, was laid my head down gently
Let's talk about Mel Gibson. Sound like a good idea? Alright, then, let's proceed. I don't watch TV and I don't visit websites like TMZ, so I'm telling you right off the bat my knowledge of the situation is limited. I have heard the tapes that have been released, those equally incriminating and disturbing artifacts of a man unhinged, and I think they're all I need to get a handle on the situation. I'm betting Access Hollywood isn't going to illuminate me any further.
A couple of days this week, I've listened to talk radio's analysis of Gibson-gate and the reaction's been pretty much what I expected. There were callers that thought what Gibson said and allegedly did was an affront to decency and moral integrity and there were those who thought the same, but with the caveat that he was driven to such extremes by a woman who knew how to push his buttons. No one sided with him wholly.
To the assertion that Gibson was driven to such extremes, I suggest that each of us is responsible for our thoughts and deeds and that no one can make us think or act a certain way. You may feel very strongly that something outside of yourself is manipulating you, but the truth is we manipulate ourselves. Let's say on Monday you come home from work with a pounding headache and all you want to do is lie down. Your mate starts talking about remodeling the kitchen. In your head you may be thinking, "You are really annoying me. Please leave me alone. I don't care about the damn kitchen". Saturday comes along, you've had a great night's sleep, the weather is beautiful. Your mate serves you a delicious breakfast. As you eat, he or she brings up the kitchen again, only this time you're more receptive. "You know, redoing the kitchen is not a bad idea. We should get on this." Nothing changed between Monday and Saturday except your outlook. This isn't rocket science, but it supports what I'm saying. Back to Mel.
Some callers, all men, with the above-stated belief, added that Mel's ex (I don't know her name) probably deserved what she got, although to them there was a distinction between deserving to be abused and actually being abused. If there's a distinction, it's slight. Anyone who says someone deserves to be killed, shot, hit, whatever....isn't that far away from actually doing any of those things. To wit: when Mel's ex scolded him for hitting her while she held they're baby, he replied that she deserved it. Back in the day, when Ralph Cramden cocked his fist and said, "To the moon, Alice!", everyone laughed. Imagine how that would play these days. Maybe not so funny.
I don't know how Mel is going to recover, publicly speaking. He already had one racist tirade under his belt and now, with these tapes, he's really gone off the deep end. His actions were inexcusable, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel some compassion for him. As terrible as the things he said are, to me they were coming from a man in a lot of pain. His ragged breath, the outbursts - none of it came from someone on top of his game. I can't help but feeling for the guy, and not just because I like think he's a good actor and director.
It's important to understand that each of us is capable of anything. A lot of the people calling in to the shows I was listening to would disagree vehemently. Many said things like, "I would never, not in a million years, treat my wife like that!" Really? Sure, you don't intend to, but you might lose your shit someday. You may come upon hard times. You may lose your composure. You may drink too much. You may lash out. It's possible that Mel Gibson has always been this out of control, but I have trouble believing it. The likelihood that I'll pull a Gibson someday is virtually nonexistent, but it could happen. We are all of us capable of anything. Good or bad. Heck, even Jesus lost his cool when he and Peter beat James to within an inch of his life. Man, did they stomp his ass!
--
The weekend approaches. I am glad. Today found me a bit lethargic, probably because I went for a vigorous run yesterday and then stayed up well past my bed time. After work, I practiced yoga and made a delicious salad. I am revitalized.
Watched The Blind Side last night. Thought it was going to be a lot better than it was. It was so formulaic and corny, so awfully corny, that I ended up fast forwarding through bloated scenes of football games and by-the-numbers montages. Sandra Bullock was good, but did she deserve an Oscar? Sure, why not. Want to see a great, uplifting, sports movie? Watch Rudy.
I'll leave you with this. While in the men's room at the registry in Salem the other day, a guy came in and said, "Hey, is this where all the dicks hang out?". At the time, I was a little creeped out, but I've since found the humor in what he said. Just figured I'd share that with you.
A couple of days this week, I've listened to talk radio's analysis of Gibson-gate and the reaction's been pretty much what I expected. There were callers that thought what Gibson said and allegedly did was an affront to decency and moral integrity and there were those who thought the same, but with the caveat that he was driven to such extremes by a woman who knew how to push his buttons. No one sided with him wholly.
To the assertion that Gibson was driven to such extremes, I suggest that each of us is responsible for our thoughts and deeds and that no one can make us think or act a certain way. You may feel very strongly that something outside of yourself is manipulating you, but the truth is we manipulate ourselves. Let's say on Monday you come home from work with a pounding headache and all you want to do is lie down. Your mate starts talking about remodeling the kitchen. In your head you may be thinking, "You are really annoying me. Please leave me alone. I don't care about the damn kitchen". Saturday comes along, you've had a great night's sleep, the weather is beautiful. Your mate serves you a delicious breakfast. As you eat, he or she brings up the kitchen again, only this time you're more receptive. "You know, redoing the kitchen is not a bad idea. We should get on this." Nothing changed between Monday and Saturday except your outlook. This isn't rocket science, but it supports what I'm saying. Back to Mel.
Some callers, all men, with the above-stated belief, added that Mel's ex (I don't know her name) probably deserved what she got, although to them there was a distinction between deserving to be abused and actually being abused. If there's a distinction, it's slight. Anyone who says someone deserves to be killed, shot, hit, whatever....isn't that far away from actually doing any of those things. To wit: when Mel's ex scolded him for hitting her while she held they're baby, he replied that she deserved it. Back in the day, when Ralph Cramden cocked his fist and said, "To the moon, Alice!", everyone laughed. Imagine how that would play these days. Maybe not so funny.
I don't know how Mel is going to recover, publicly speaking. He already had one racist tirade under his belt and now, with these tapes, he's really gone off the deep end. His actions were inexcusable, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel some compassion for him. As terrible as the things he said are, to me they were coming from a man in a lot of pain. His ragged breath, the outbursts - none of it came from someone on top of his game. I can't help but feeling for the guy, and not just because I like think he's a good actor and director.
It's important to understand that each of us is capable of anything. A lot of the people calling in to the shows I was listening to would disagree vehemently. Many said things like, "I would never, not in a million years, treat my wife like that!" Really? Sure, you don't intend to, but you might lose your shit someday. You may come upon hard times. You may lose your composure. You may drink too much. You may lash out. It's possible that Mel Gibson has always been this out of control, but I have trouble believing it. The likelihood that I'll pull a Gibson someday is virtually nonexistent, but it could happen. We are all of us capable of anything. Good or bad. Heck, even Jesus lost his cool when he and Peter beat James to within an inch of his life. Man, did they stomp his ass!
--
The weekend approaches. I am glad. Today found me a bit lethargic, probably because I went for a vigorous run yesterday and then stayed up well past my bed time. After work, I practiced yoga and made a delicious salad. I am revitalized.
Watched The Blind Side last night. Thought it was going to be a lot better than it was. It was so formulaic and corny, so awfully corny, that I ended up fast forwarding through bloated scenes of football games and by-the-numbers montages. Sandra Bullock was good, but did she deserve an Oscar? Sure, why not. Want to see a great, uplifting, sports movie? Watch Rudy.
I'll leave you with this. While in the men's room at the registry in Salem the other day, a guy came in and said, "Hey, is this where all the dicks hang out?". At the time, I was a little creeped out, but I've since found the humor in what he said. Just figured I'd share that with you.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
I want to be as deep as the ocean
Practiced yoga after work, followed by some pasta and tofu (I'm one of those oddities that not only likes tofu quite a bit, but can eat it plain and uncooked. If you've just thrown up in your mouth, I'm sure it's not the first time it's happened while reading my blog). Prior to that, all I'd eaten was an orange and a little cottage cheese. I brought some yogurt to work, but never got around to eating it. It would have helped if I had remembered to bring a spoon with me, but I'm not sure I would have eaten it even if I had. Getting over a stomach issue or, as Janelle calls it, crummy tummy. Food hasn't been top of the list.
So how and when did I get sick? The how I'm not sure of, but the when was Monday morning around five o'clock. I couldn't get to the bathroom fast enough. I was there for a while, sick and shivering, before I made it back to bed and caught a couple of hours of sleep. When my alarm woke me, I wasn't feeling very well at all. I could have gone to work, I think, but it's been a while since I've taken a day off, so I did. After I got off the phone with Marcy, I promptly fell asleep for a few hours. I slept like the dead. I had a long, involved dream about what it would be like, realistically speaking, if I had sex with a particular someone I know. It was a cautionary tale, and I'd do well to heed its message, but it was kind of cool at the same time getting to fool around with this person.
The day before was spent at Tracy and Ray's cookout up in NH. I didn't eat too much, but I did have a couple of burgers which, because I very rarely eat red meat, may have contributed to my stomach malaise. It may have been that Tracy and Ray intentionally poisoned me. I'll have to conduct an investigation.
The gathering was fun and, dare I say, nurturing. I didn't know everyone there, but most of the attendees were people I've known for a while and love being around. Ray had two grills and a TV going. The TV was for those of us hanging outside who were interested in the World Cup final between Spain and The Netherlands. A few of my friends have connections to Holland and rooted for them; Janelle and I were in the minority as Spain fans, and took our share of abuse leading up to the game. Which made Spain's victory all the more sweet.
A fine gathering. I wish it lasted longer. It is always the way of things when we get together. To be among friends is a blessing. For those of you who don't care about the sentimental crap and want the dirt, to that end I'll answer "no" to the following questions:
1. Did you get drunk and vomit all over yourself or someone else?
2. Were there hash brownies present?
3. Did you make out with anyone ?
4. Did you take a shower with anyone?
5. Did you play spin the bottle?
6. Was there a fist fight?
7. Did anyone break down in tears at any point?
8. Were people gossiping about each others outfits?
9. Did anyone pass out?
10. Was anything stolen?
There you have it. Still, despite all of the above not happening, it was a good time. Really, it was.
--
I've watched some movies in the last few days. They are:
1. Shutter Island. Very well done. The score and some of the cinematography reminded me of The Shining. The only downer for me, and it wasn't much of one, was knowing fairly early on how it was going to end. Should have, on some level, been nominated for an Oscar or two.
2. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. Based on a popular trilogy of books I've never read, this import from Sweden was also well done. As a mystery, it fell a bit short, but the characters were compelling and the acting was top notch. Hollywood is planning a remake. I shiver at the thought.
3. Walkabout. I've wanted to see this film for a long time. Made in 1971, it tells the story of a brother and sister who, after experiencing some horrific business with their father, end up getting lost in Australia's outback. An aboriginal boy on a Walkabout discovers them and helps them survive. The film was more layered than I expected going in. I liked it quite a bit and I'm glad I saw it. Didn't take the easy way out when it could have. Hollywood would have made it a feel good rated G affair, which, isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it would have missed the point by a mile.
I'm about to watch The Messenger. Hear it's good. I'm about to find out.
So how and when did I get sick? The how I'm not sure of, but the when was Monday morning around five o'clock. I couldn't get to the bathroom fast enough. I was there for a while, sick and shivering, before I made it back to bed and caught a couple of hours of sleep. When my alarm woke me, I wasn't feeling very well at all. I could have gone to work, I think, but it's been a while since I've taken a day off, so I did. After I got off the phone with Marcy, I promptly fell asleep for a few hours. I slept like the dead. I had a long, involved dream about what it would be like, realistically speaking, if I had sex with a particular someone I know. It was a cautionary tale, and I'd do well to heed its message, but it was kind of cool at the same time getting to fool around with this person.
The day before was spent at Tracy and Ray's cookout up in NH. I didn't eat too much, but I did have a couple of burgers which, because I very rarely eat red meat, may have contributed to my stomach malaise. It may have been that Tracy and Ray intentionally poisoned me. I'll have to conduct an investigation.
The gathering was fun and, dare I say, nurturing. I didn't know everyone there, but most of the attendees were people I've known for a while and love being around. Ray had two grills and a TV going. The TV was for those of us hanging outside who were interested in the World Cup final between Spain and The Netherlands. A few of my friends have connections to Holland and rooted for them; Janelle and I were in the minority as Spain fans, and took our share of abuse leading up to the game. Which made Spain's victory all the more sweet.
A fine gathering. I wish it lasted longer. It is always the way of things when we get together. To be among friends is a blessing. For those of you who don't care about the sentimental crap and want the dirt, to that end I'll answer "no" to the following questions:
1. Did you get drunk and vomit all over yourself or someone else?
2. Were there hash brownies present?
3. Did you make out with anyone ?
4. Did you take a shower with anyone?
5. Did you play spin the bottle?
6. Was there a fist fight?
7. Did anyone break down in tears at any point?
8. Were people gossiping about each others outfits?
9. Did anyone pass out?
10. Was anything stolen?
There you have it. Still, despite all of the above not happening, it was a good time. Really, it was.
--
I've watched some movies in the last few days. They are:
1. Shutter Island. Very well done. The score and some of the cinematography reminded me of The Shining. The only downer for me, and it wasn't much of one, was knowing fairly early on how it was going to end. Should have, on some level, been nominated for an Oscar or two.
2. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. Based on a popular trilogy of books I've never read, this import from Sweden was also well done. As a mystery, it fell a bit short, but the characters were compelling and the acting was top notch. Hollywood is planning a remake. I shiver at the thought.
3. Walkabout. I've wanted to see this film for a long time. Made in 1971, it tells the story of a brother and sister who, after experiencing some horrific business with their father, end up getting lost in Australia's outback. An aboriginal boy on a Walkabout discovers them and helps them survive. The film was more layered than I expected going in. I liked it quite a bit and I'm glad I saw it. Didn't take the easy way out when it could have. Hollywood would have made it a feel good rated G affair, which, isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it would have missed the point by a mile.
I'm about to watch The Messenger. Hear it's good. I'm about to find out.
Friday, July 9, 2010
It's hard to keep my soul on the ground
Just experienced a pretty major set back the other day. I felt fairly devastated, but I've gained some perspective since that initial shock and am thinking more positively. Still trying to wrap my head around it, though. When I found out, I was devastated, yes, but also defiant. In the early evening's humidity, I went for a hard, vigorous run. I alternated between cursing God and telling myself I was going to get through it with as much conviction as I could muster. Running helped significantly; I released a lot of self pity-generated energy and, most importantly, made a statement that I was not going to shut down because of some bad fortune. No, I hit the pavement hard, pushed myself through the heat and humidity and birthed that perspective I spoke about.
As I said, I'm better today. I give myself credit, I feel proud. No one knows about what happened, I'm handling it myself. Mind you, not for any reason other than not wanting to give it any more airtime, so to speak, than was necessary. I was already thinking about it a lot and unproductively; I didn't want to dredge it up again in conversations, especially when I wasn't in the best frame of mind to heed counsel. Despite the fact that I'd love to move on from this situation post haste, I'm not against sharing it. Just not now. (This is not me advocating keeping one's problems to one's self, by the way. Don't go that route - it'll give you a coronary. Express every feeling to the fullest, even if it means people think you're emotionally unstable. And, stay in school, kids.)
--
I spent most of the day in Salem at the registry of deeds. Not a fan of driving through that city, with its maze-like infrastructure, but the registry is the best one I've been to in almost every way; however unsettled the drive rendered me, it didn't take long, once I was there, to relax. The place is the day spa of registries.It's right on the ocean. It's roomy. The staff are devoted to customer service (even says so on the wall leading into the place). There's an ATM. They even have their own cafeteria! Very accommodating and relaxing. I'm pretty sure there's a spa somewhere on the property. The nurturing environment was ideal, especially because I had some convoluted stuff I had to get on record, not to mention a few title searches that went back to the early 1900's. I managed to accomplish most of my tasks before quitting for the day. Glad to be home.
--
Watched When You're Strange, a fabulous documentary on The Doors, and ranks as one of the best rock documentaries I've seen. Narrated by Johnny Depp, it tells the tale of the band using plenty of archival footage and plenty of music. Very well done. I would have had multiple orgasms over this film when I was in my late teens/early twenties. I loved the band so much and wanted to be Jim Morrison. I bought all their albums, read every book, and watched every video. They were such a strange band, which was why I loved them so much. Their influence is present in my own songwriting, though most people don't pick up on it. I still plan on covering Indian Summer, one of the prettiest songs I've ever heard.
Just discovered The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is on Netflix's Watch Instantly. Been wanting to see that for a while. Also on Watch Instantly: Factotum, another film I've been meaning to watch. In the mail, I just received Shutter Island. May end up watching some movies in the coming days.
--
I think I've had the score of almost every World Cup game spoiled for me before I got to watch them. This past game between Spain and Germany was spoiled for me the second I went on Facebook after work. I had avoided every media outlet that day; I was proud of my diligence. I arrived home from work excited to watch the game. I went online, only to check mail and visit Facebook. Big mistake. I wish people would issue spoiler alerts before they post the outcome of these games. Well, it's kind of a moot point now that we're near the end, but still. Hopefully, I'll be able to watch the final game without knowing the score in advance.
--
Breaking news: I just made the switch from boxers to boxer briefs. Been a long time coming. I like the idea of boxers quite a bit, but they're often a pain to wear, especially during exercise. They bunch up, they twist. No good. They are, however, much better than thongs and tighty whities, which, thankfully for me, I got out of the habit years ago when my girlfriend saw me wearing them, frowned and said, "We're going to have issues if you keep wearing those. Makes me think of my dad." Fine with me. I made the transition to boxers without a complaint. Hell, I even went commando for a while, which, despite its inherent dangers, was a liberating, comfortable experience.
One thing about tighty whities and why adults wearing them is kind of wrong. I've recently developed a theory that the reason for this is because they too closely resemble diapers. In this arena, that of men's undergarments, women want their men to be men, not overlarge babies in cloth diapers. I am sure of this. The images tighty whities conjure, whatever they may be, cannot be anything other than creepy, at least as it pertains to me, and most other men in my age range wearing them. Anyway, I've moved on to boxer briefs, and you know what? I'm digging it.
--
Shortly, I'll be going for a run. It's been so hot lately, I've had to wait until the early evening to go. Kind of nice. Last outing, I saw a lot of rabbits. So cute. When I was young, I caught one with my bare hands. Took me a while, but I caught it. Kept it in a box for a few hours before releasing it. The rabbits I encountered on my run were not skittish. I actually had to sidestep a few of them, as if they were city pigeons. Those, I could have caught easily, even if I was on crutches. They were everywhere. Baby Boy Z would have been thrilled to the point of over stimulation. All those bunnies just waiting to caught! Where to start?
Who knows. I know where to finish, though, lads and lasses. I'm out this piece!
As I said, I'm better today. I give myself credit, I feel proud. No one knows about what happened, I'm handling it myself. Mind you, not for any reason other than not wanting to give it any more airtime, so to speak, than was necessary. I was already thinking about it a lot and unproductively; I didn't want to dredge it up again in conversations, especially when I wasn't in the best frame of mind to heed counsel. Despite the fact that I'd love to move on from this situation post haste, I'm not against sharing it. Just not now. (This is not me advocating keeping one's problems to one's self, by the way. Don't go that route - it'll give you a coronary. Express every feeling to the fullest, even if it means people think you're emotionally unstable. And, stay in school, kids.)
--
I spent most of the day in Salem at the registry of deeds. Not a fan of driving through that city, with its maze-like infrastructure, but the registry is the best one I've been to in almost every way; however unsettled the drive rendered me, it didn't take long, once I was there, to relax. The place is the day spa of registries.It's right on the ocean. It's roomy. The staff are devoted to customer service (even says so on the wall leading into the place). There's an ATM. They even have their own cafeteria! Very accommodating and relaxing. I'm pretty sure there's a spa somewhere on the property. The nurturing environment was ideal, especially because I had some convoluted stuff I had to get on record, not to mention a few title searches that went back to the early 1900's. I managed to accomplish most of my tasks before quitting for the day. Glad to be home.
--
Watched When You're Strange, a fabulous documentary on The Doors, and ranks as one of the best rock documentaries I've seen. Narrated by Johnny Depp, it tells the tale of the band using plenty of archival footage and plenty of music. Very well done. I would have had multiple orgasms over this film when I was in my late teens/early twenties. I loved the band so much and wanted to be Jim Morrison. I bought all their albums, read every book, and watched every video. They were such a strange band, which was why I loved them so much. Their influence is present in my own songwriting, though most people don't pick up on it. I still plan on covering Indian Summer, one of the prettiest songs I've ever heard.
Just discovered The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is on Netflix's Watch Instantly. Been wanting to see that for a while. Also on Watch Instantly: Factotum, another film I've been meaning to watch. In the mail, I just received Shutter Island. May end up watching some movies in the coming days.
--
I think I've had the score of almost every World Cup game spoiled for me before I got to watch them. This past game between Spain and Germany was spoiled for me the second I went on Facebook after work. I had avoided every media outlet that day; I was proud of my diligence. I arrived home from work excited to watch the game. I went online, only to check mail and visit Facebook. Big mistake. I wish people would issue spoiler alerts before they post the outcome of these games. Well, it's kind of a moot point now that we're near the end, but still. Hopefully, I'll be able to watch the final game without knowing the score in advance.
--
Breaking news: I just made the switch from boxers to boxer briefs. Been a long time coming. I like the idea of boxers quite a bit, but they're often a pain to wear, especially during exercise. They bunch up, they twist. No good. They are, however, much better than thongs and tighty whities, which, thankfully for me, I got out of the habit years ago when my girlfriend saw me wearing them, frowned and said, "We're going to have issues if you keep wearing those. Makes me think of my dad." Fine with me. I made the transition to boxers without a complaint. Hell, I even went commando for a while, which, despite its inherent dangers, was a liberating, comfortable experience.
One thing about tighty whities and why adults wearing them is kind of wrong. I've recently developed a theory that the reason for this is because they too closely resemble diapers. In this arena, that of men's undergarments, women want their men to be men, not overlarge babies in cloth diapers. I am sure of this. The images tighty whities conjure, whatever they may be, cannot be anything other than creepy, at least as it pertains to me, and most other men in my age range wearing them. Anyway, I've moved on to boxer briefs, and you know what? I'm digging it.
--
Shortly, I'll be going for a run. It's been so hot lately, I've had to wait until the early evening to go. Kind of nice. Last outing, I saw a lot of rabbits. So cute. When I was young, I caught one with my bare hands. Took me a while, but I caught it. Kept it in a box for a few hours before releasing it. The rabbits I encountered on my run were not skittish. I actually had to sidestep a few of them, as if they were city pigeons. Those, I could have caught easily, even if I was on crutches. They were everywhere. Baby Boy Z would have been thrilled to the point of over stimulation. All those bunnies just waiting to caught! Where to start?
Who knows. I know where to finish, though, lads and lasses. I'm out this piece!
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
We were born before the wind, also younger than the sun
I was walking along and I saw her. Last time was a couple of years ago. I don't have many regrets, but she's a substantial one. Who knows if it would have worked, but she enchanted me unlike any other. She was about ten feet ahead of me. I ducked my head and walked the other way. I had it in my head that she wouldn't want to see me, but that was just the cover story. Really, I just wasn't ready to interact with her, to have the past stirred up. Last I heard, she was getting married. She had moved on, best I do the same.
I heard my name called. I looked up. It was her. She ran over to me with a wide grin. She looked genuinely happy to see me. I was happy to see her, too. We made a little small talk and then her face grew serious. "Things didn't work out. I'm not getting married." Relief, and not a little hope, blossomed within. "It wasn't the right relationship for me." As she said that, she offered a meaningful look my way. Were my knees growing weak? Why, yes - yes, they were.
She told me she'd been thinking of me a lot lately. "Maybe it's more than a coincidence we ran into each other", she said. She had tears in her eyes; I was surprised to discover I did, too. We proceeded to map out our future.
And then I awoke.
That was how my birthday began yesterday. I lay in bed, rubbing the dream out of my eyes. Not real. Felt real, but it wasn't. I sighed and got dressed. I hoped my day would improve. It did.
I went for a run, the second leg of which was challenging; the heat was growing more oppressive by the minute. I'm glad I went. I needed to counteract the dream with something positive. The rest of the day I played music and watched Curb Your Enthusiasm. And read, too. A relaxing day. What I wanted.
Later on, Spira and Janelle treated me to dinner at Mr. Crepes and then, along with Aviv, who showed up after we ate, we headed back to house and hung out on the porch a while. A fine day with some fine people.
My parent's had a little party for me at their house on the fourth. It was nice seeing the family. Little Colleen had made a card for me. "Thank you very much, Colleen. This is a very special gift. I'm going to enjoy this card as much as I can before I throw it in the trash."
"Nooooo!", she yelled. "You don't put in the trash."
"Oh, no?'
"No. You keep it, silly."
"Ok, Colleen. I'll keep it."
"Good."
"And when you leave the room, that's when I'll put it in the trash."
"No, you should bring it home with you."
"Oh, okay. I'll put in in the garbage at home."
"No, you should put it on the wall or on the fridge."
We went back and forth like this a bit longer before I promised I would never, ever throw the card away. And, of course I won't.
--
In my last post, I spoke of a less than stellar outing with Mara on Saturday night. I was going to go into detail here, but I've decided not to. I don't want to disparage Mara; wouldn't be fair. We didn't fight, she wasn't cruel to me. At least not intentionally. Let's just say it wasn't a very fun night and I wonder how many more times I can spend time with her like that.
It's getting late. Watching the Netherlands/Uruguay game as I write this. The Netherlands are about to win, despite a late goal from Uruguay. Very much looking forward to the Spain/Germany game.
Tomorrow the work, the dentist, and more heat. I'll go for a run in the evening. Hope things will have cooled off enough by that point.
I heard my name called. I looked up. It was her. She ran over to me with a wide grin. She looked genuinely happy to see me. I was happy to see her, too. We made a little small talk and then her face grew serious. "Things didn't work out. I'm not getting married." Relief, and not a little hope, blossomed within. "It wasn't the right relationship for me." As she said that, she offered a meaningful look my way. Were my knees growing weak? Why, yes - yes, they were.
She told me she'd been thinking of me a lot lately. "Maybe it's more than a coincidence we ran into each other", she said. She had tears in her eyes; I was surprised to discover I did, too. We proceeded to map out our future.
And then I awoke.
That was how my birthday began yesterday. I lay in bed, rubbing the dream out of my eyes. Not real. Felt real, but it wasn't. I sighed and got dressed. I hoped my day would improve. It did.
I went for a run, the second leg of which was challenging; the heat was growing more oppressive by the minute. I'm glad I went. I needed to counteract the dream with something positive. The rest of the day I played music and watched Curb Your Enthusiasm. And read, too. A relaxing day. What I wanted.
Later on, Spira and Janelle treated me to dinner at Mr. Crepes and then, along with Aviv, who showed up after we ate, we headed back to house and hung out on the porch a while. A fine day with some fine people.
My parent's had a little party for me at their house on the fourth. It was nice seeing the family. Little Colleen had made a card for me. "Thank you very much, Colleen. This is a very special gift. I'm going to enjoy this card as much as I can before I throw it in the trash."
"Nooooo!", she yelled. "You don't put in the trash."
"Oh, no?'
"No. You keep it, silly."
"Ok, Colleen. I'll keep it."
"Good."
"And when you leave the room, that's when I'll put it in the trash."
"No, you should bring it home with you."
"Oh, okay. I'll put in in the garbage at home."
"No, you should put it on the wall or on the fridge."
We went back and forth like this a bit longer before I promised I would never, ever throw the card away. And, of course I won't.
--
In my last post, I spoke of a less than stellar outing with Mara on Saturday night. I was going to go into detail here, but I've decided not to. I don't want to disparage Mara; wouldn't be fair. We didn't fight, she wasn't cruel to me. At least not intentionally. Let's just say it wasn't a very fun night and I wonder how many more times I can spend time with her like that.
It's getting late. Watching the Netherlands/Uruguay game as I write this. The Netherlands are about to win, despite a late goal from Uruguay. Very much looking forward to the Spain/Germany game.
Tomorrow the work, the dentist, and more heat. I'll go for a run in the evening. Hope things will have cooled off enough by that point.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
I want to see the bright lights tonight
Long weekend, but already half gone. Actually, more than half gone - it's the 4th already. One more day and then back to work. Long weekend, my ass. It goes by in a flash. Time flies when you're having fun, I guess. Except I'm not having much fun. Still, it flies.
Not having much fun, declareth I. Ah, is it worth getting into? Probably not. Maybe another time, maybe never. It's enough to know I'm not wallowing in bliss as I write this. Nor am I about to slit my wrists.
've got the house to myself tonight for the first time....well, maybe the first time ever, and, with all due respect to my housemates, that is a good thing. I've got Season 7 of Curb Your Enthusiasm to watch, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes to listen to, yoga to be practiced, music to be worked on (it'll be cool having the common areas of the house to utilize for this endeavor), and who knows what else. Oh, I'll probably read a bunch and maybe watch The Blindside, which I've had hanging around for a few weeks.
There's more. I'll probably post again tomorrow and cover today's party at my parent's house and the near waste of time hanging out with Mara last night was. In the meantime, happy 4th of July, if it means anything to you.
Not having much fun, declareth I. Ah, is it worth getting into? Probably not. Maybe another time, maybe never. It's enough to know I'm not wallowing in bliss as I write this. Nor am I about to slit my wrists.
've got the house to myself tonight for the first time....well, maybe the first time ever, and, with all due respect to my housemates, that is a good thing. I've got Season 7 of Curb Your Enthusiasm to watch, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes to listen to, yoga to be practiced, music to be worked on (it'll be cool having the common areas of the house to utilize for this endeavor), and who knows what else. Oh, I'll probably read a bunch and maybe watch The Blindside, which I've had hanging around for a few weeks.
There's more. I'll probably post again tomorrow and cover today's party at my parent's house and the near waste of time hanging out with Mara last night was. In the meantime, happy 4th of July, if it means anything to you.
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