Looking for a lover to court and spark

I met up with Mara in Davis Square earlier. We went to a new place called Flat bread, a combination bowling alley/pizza joint. Mara had eaten there recently and loved it. I wasn't expecting anything close to gourmet, but, to my pleasant surprise, the food was top of the shelf. Everything was natural; all the fruits and vegetables were purchased at a local farmer's market. We shared an organic salad and a small sausage pizza. The salad was delicious. It consisted of mixed greens, goat cheese, celery, and seaweed, with a berry vinaigrette for dressing. The pizza, too, was delicious. Oven roasted, with mushrooms, maple sausage, cheese, and a bunch of other subtle stuff.

It was nice catching up with Mara. She was eager to talk about her new boyfriend, but didn't push the topic. She's still battling some insecurity concerning the relationship, but not as much as she was a couple of weeks ago. I'm happy for her.

I'm tired. Not exactly sure why. Maybe it's the heat. It's after nine, and it's still 85 degrees. Got the AC on, which is helping. Should I go work on some music? Yes, before I get too sleepy to be productive at anything.

A part of me wants to dip a ladle in my past, to revisit some pleasant memories. I heard a Lemonheads song on the radio today and it brought me back to my early adult hood, when Sean had come home from school, and we opened our minds wide to as much music as we could could shovel into our eardrums. Fertile days. A part of me wants to till that soil, yes, but I'm not up for it. Not tonight. I'm afraid I might come out the other end of it a little too sad. Ah, but those were good days spent with good friends.

Might watch M. Hulot's Holiday if the music thing doesn't work out tonight. Shoot, the way I'm feeling, I might end up choosing sleep over anything. Coffee? Had some earlier. Maybe a cold shower. Hmmm....

People want to inhabit their lives like ghosts that move from room to room

Shane's bachelor party last night. It took place in the backyard of his parent's house (his dad engineered the event) and it was festive all the way through. Shane was surprised, practically to the point of speechlessness, when he and Jenny arrived at the house to find a platoon of men congregated at the side. Skip, Shane's dad, started off the proceedings with a humorous, heartfelt, speech and then the party began.

I've got to tell you, the hookers working the event were top of the shelf: pretty, clean, seemingly well educated, attentive, and eager to please. All of us watched, including Skip, as two of the hired help went to town on Shane. After about an hour of that, Skip suggested we put some food in our bellies. He fired up the grill and before too long we were enjoying hot dogs and burgers.

It was a fine thing seeing Goozey there. Haven't seen him in, well, it's been years at this point. Some of us, before it got too dark, played frisbee, sipping on these incredible ginger drinks Scott prepared between turns. I am pleased to report that I haven't lost my frisbee mojo.

Another game we played looked to be a combination of horseshoes and skee ball, using bean bags instead of horseshoes. If it has an official name, and I'm sure it does, it is unknown to me. I teamed up with Brian and we handily beat Ray & Scott, until, a couple of games later, they got hot and beat us. Brian, who's one of the funniest people I've ever met, kept complaining about the bean count in the bags. He felt, and rightly so, one's game could get thrown off if some bags weighed more or less than others. His complaints fell on deaf ears, sadly.

After our stunning defeat, I ventured over to the shed to see if there were any hookers available. None were. I asked Craig and Skip, who were going ballistic on one of the women, if they thought they might be finishing up soon. Craig said they were almost done and told me to stick around. I wasn't too keen on the idea of being with this woman right after them, so I told them to take their time and that I'd be back later if I was still interested.

We had a nice jam session by the fire. Lots of guitars, a couple of djembe, and some excellent musicians made for a good time. So did the whiskey being passed around. I never, ever, drink hard stuff, but the last two weekends I did. Maybe I'm turning into a boozer. I'll keep you posted.

Craig and I left around midnight. I said goodbye to the prostitutes, wishing Roxy well with school ( she's studying to be a marine biologist). A great night with great friends. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone again at the wedding.
--
Yesterday I went to Fresh Pond for a run. Despite it's close proximity I'd never ventured there before. Janelle takes Pooch Edward Bottoms there fairly often and whenever she described the place to me, I'd say to myself "Kevin, you need to get over there and experience some Fresh Pond"

I had read online that one loop around the pond is 2.5 miles, more or less. I figured I'd go twice around and call it a day. When I got there, I immediately saw the appeal - beautiful scenery, well-tended paths, and plenty of dogs romping about. I ran a full loop and was more fatigued than I figured I would be. I questioned whether I should go another loop. Determined, I decided to go not one, but two more times around, only the next loop would be a rotation of sprinting and walking, and the final loop would be brisk walking only. Good plan, I thought, and went ahead bringing it to fruition.

In the end, I went between 7 and 8 miles. I was tired at the end, but felt good overall. It's a good place to run. Reading reviews of the place on Yelp, the common complaint was that there were too many dogs off-leash that got in the way. I didn't have any problems with the dogs. Compared to the asshole cyclists I have to contend with on the bike path, they were absolute joys.

At one point I wanted to say something to a woman who was hogging the water bubbler on the side of the path. She was with her dog and was obviously not exercising, per se. I say obviously because she was wearing jeans, heels, and a long sleeved shirt, and wasn't displaying a drop of sweat. Yet she drank deeply from the bubbler, as another woman stood by, sweating profusely and breathing heavily. I was approaching the scene and had the suspicion that the bubbler hog was just trying to be a bitch. She knew the other woman, who needed the water way more than she did, was waiting, yet she tarried way too long. That incident notwithstanding, I enjoyed myself thoroughly and plan on returning there soon.

Okay, I'm off. Today is a day of rest. I will watch a movie or two. I've got Last Year At Marienbad, Gran Torino, and Le Circle Rouge on the list. I'll also attempt to work on some music, read, and maybe take a nap. We shall see.

Oh, one more thing. Everything I wrote about the bachelor party was true, except for the frisbee. We never played. Alright, I'm kidding: we did play frisbee, but there were no prostitutes or strippers. Not a single woman in attendance. Feel better now?

I should trade my heart in for a watch

The phantoms of my past have been bubbling to the surface today. I've felt split in two; some of me functioning in the present while the rest of me sojourns through time and space, lured to moments once real. It's been my twenties I've been hovering around. I do not know why. A sudden urge to listen to The Eel's Electro-shock Blues has me firmly embedded in the period I listened to it a lot. The phantoms of the past must not take hold, lay claim to me. If they do, I fear my very soul will be in peril. Our ghosts, the ones that haunt us from the afterlife, are caught up in that cycle, I believe. Got to stay present, son. Eye on the prize.

Yesterday on the way to work, I spotted a snail affixed to my side mirror. It was hanging valiantly, but there were harrowing moments on the highway that put its existence in jeopardy. Several times the snail barely hung on, it's body mostly out of its shell, stretched out in the wind. A goner, I thought. Should I interfere or let things happen as nature dictates, I asked myself. I didn't have too long to think on it; the snail was soon to perish.

As I drove, I kept careful, maybe too careful, vigil over the snail, rooting it on and contemplating bringing it inside to let it recover on my dashboard. I ended up rolling my window down and gently holding it in place. It must have looked odd to those passing by. The little snail that could made it to work. Phew!

As I was driving home from work, I saw the snail on my mirror. Fuck! Why didn't I check the mirror before I started driving? I guess I figured the little guy would have gotten as far away from the car as possible. I was more than halfway home; maybe it would make it. After all, it was experienced now in this type of travel. It looked pretty secure on the mirror. That is, until a gust of wind left it dangling. Before I could get to the snail, the wind took it. I felt pretty lousy about the whole thing for a few minutes. And then I got over it. A bummer, though; I feel like I let the snail down.

I'm out of here. Going to read from Jordan's The Great Hunt, even better and more gripping than I remember it. Once I complete it, I'll only have twelve more massive books to go in my re-read of the series.

Must work on music. Got to go, kiddies.

When you have no one, no one can hurt you

I bought some new running shoes yesterday. A worthwhile investment, despite being light in the wallet. I'd been switching between two old, worn, and beaten pairs for a couple of years and it was time for a change. I've been running more frequently and greater distances; a new pair of shoes was in order. I deserved it.

So, I purchased a pair of Sauconeys after work, came home, laced up, and ventured out in the rain which had been been coming down steadily, almost angrily, and tested the bad boys out. The result? I think I made a good choice; t'was like running on pillows. I realized as I ran that I should have gotten new shoes a while ago. I was able to run faster and longer; I could cut on a dime; I felt reborn.

I started running about four years ago. Though I'd always been more or less athletic, running was never appealing to me. Partly because I was a smoker. There was no way I could do both. Smoking usually came out on top until I finally quit. I was smoke free for a year when it dawned on me that I had gone a long time without exercise. I was living with Spira at the time. One night, she decided to try running, something she hadn't engaged in before. She didn't go far, maybe a couple of circuits around the block, but it was something. More than I was doing. I'll never forget coming out of the shower and hearing her knocking on the front door. She'd forgotten her key. I opened the door in my towel. Spira was breathing heavy and fatigued, but she was smiling with pride. She'd made a step, or several as it were, in the right direction, toward a healthier lifestyle. In my towel, I felt like a wet piece of pastry that was teetering too close to a gluttonous lifestyle.

My first stab at running was brief, but consequential. It was a couple of months later and I'd been taking long walks fairly regularly. Every so often when I'd see a runner pass by, I'd get the itch to run, but it wouldn't go beyond that. At the time, I had difficulty seeing myself becoming a runner. One day, though, I was on the bike path and I said "fuck it" and broke into a jog. I made it about a hundred feet before I needed to stop. Like Spira with her first attempt at running, I was out of breath and lethargic, but I was smiling. I had started something. Thought put into action. I would go at my own pace, but I had a good feeling I'd stick with it.

For a few weeks after, I'd walk, jog a little, and walk some more. Mostly walking. I was slowly developing stamina and my legs needed to adjust to the new activity and its demands. There were times my legs hurt so bad, I could barely walk, never mind run. I ended up using the track at Tufts. With a softer surface, I hoped the pain would decrease.

I worked through it gingerly. Even at the track, I was in a lot of pain. Mostly in my knees. I wondered if I was going to have to give up running. I'd made it that far, though, and didn't want to stop. I don't recall when it happened, but I finally experienced my first pain free run at the track. I was ecstatic. I hoped it wasn't a fluke. It wasn't. After that, I no longer experienced any pain when I ran.

I eventually abandoned the track because it was boring and I was concerned I'd lose interest and quit running. I hit the streets again in an effort to shake things up. My routines were still a combination of walking and running, but now it was mostly the latter. The distances were never much more than a couple of miles, but it was something.

Over time, it dawned on me that, despite running every other day on a regular basis, I wasn't seeing much of a difference in the way I looked. I had operated under the assumption that if I ran between one and two miles every other day, I could eat as much as I wanted to. Nope. Mind you, I was eating a pretty healthy diet overall, it was just that my portions were pretty large and, oh yeah, I was eating a big mug of ice cream and crackers or chips, on a daily basis. I needed to change some things, to be sure.

It's a process, with a lot of fine tuning. Starting this spring, I changed things up and decided to shoot for an optimal healthy lifestyle, better than I've ever known. Rather than practice yoga every so often, I started doing it every other day between runs. I altered my diet; I eat better and less. It could be argued that I'm in the best shape of my life. I couldn't have managed the run I went on yesterday in my twenties. Still, there's more I can fine tune, more adjustments I can make. What did Tony Robbins call it? CANI: Constant And Never ending Improvement. Yeah, that's the stuff.

We can talk our way out of anything. We make excuses why we can't or shouldn't do something. Fear holds us back, renders us immobile. Our myths, our legends, are in place to guide us through fear and keep us moving with the flow in the of life. What happens to a shark that stops swimming? Life is change and if we're not flexible, not mobile, we wither and die. So much of life is open to interpretation; what I just described isn't really. It's a basic truth, a universal law. It's why I run in the rain and snow, the sweltering heat, and the chill of winter. Not because I'm some kind of tough guy, an iron man,but because I'm declaring to myself and the universe that I believe in what I'm doing, that I'm willing to experience discomfort in order to keep doing it.

There's much in my life that fear has a hold on. I know this, I see it. Some of it I'll work through, some perhaps I won't. I know too well what it feels like to be frozen in place. I've watched so many others advance while I struggled in the lower depths. Running, yoga, quitting smoking, eating better - all of this is a big FUCK YOU to fear. I'm proud of myself for this. It illustrates that I'm capable of challenging myself, overcoming obstacles, and sticking with something. For all I know, I'll stop it all and in a few months become a full blown couch potato, stuffing my face in gluttonous fury. I can't worry about that. I can only deal with what's in front of me.

And so can you.

I've got a feeling, a feeling I can't hide

What a gloomy, dreary day. And on a Monday. Yuck! I wish I took today off and lounged around in house pants all day, reading and other layabout activities. Ah, it wasn't so bad, I guess. I didn't die or nothin'.
Camping was a good time. On Friday morning, Spira, Haiyan, Missy the dog, and I headed up to Vermont. Our usual place had few sites available and those were sub par at best. Spira, anticipating this outcome, had researched a couple of other primitive campgrounds nearby, providing us with a back up plan. One of them, called Texas Falls for some reason, was only a few miles up the road.

The sites there were more abundant, but none were situated near a stream, which was not desirable . We checked another location Spira had researched, but the mountain had no camp sites, just a long, gravel-strewn road. We headed back to Texas Falls; despite the absence of a nearby stream, it had the best sites out of the three places we went to.

The site we chose was near the crest of a mountain, spacious, shady, and fairly isolated. All around it were signs of animal activity. I set up my tent next to a tree with bear claw marks all over it. Moose and deer tracks were everywhere.
It was late in the day by the time we unpacked the car and set up our tents. The ride up, including several pit stops for the ladies and the time it took to find a camp site, took close to six hours, almost double the time it should have taken. We set up our tents, gathered wood, made a fire, and relaxed.

Haiyan, who had never been camping before, was ready for bed shortly after it got dark. Spira and I encouraged her to stay up a bit later. She did, but not for much longer. She was fast asleep by the time Melanie and her friend Andy arrived.

I knew Melanie, a friend of Spira's, only a little bit, and Andy I didn't know at all. Good people, both. Very mellow, low maintenance, and engaging. Andy had lived in Taiwan and other parts of Asia for years and conversed with Haiyan in Chinese.

That first night, we had wine, whiskey, some mother nature, music, and a lot of great conversation. Every so often, one of us would lay down by the fire with Missy the dog. who is one of the sweetest, most serene, dogs I've ever met.


For dinner, we had Greek sausage, garlic mashed potatoes, and a delicious salad of chick peas, mandarin oranges, and black beans that Spira and Haiyan made.

The next morning, one of the first sights I saw when I came out of my tent was Missy the dog walking around with a blue fleece jacket on. I thought I had walked into some Jim Henson production. Turns out, Missy had been shivering quite a bit in the tent (greyhounds aren't really equipped for cooler weather) and Spira, being the attentive mother that she is, put the coat on her. I didn't disapprove, certainly not, but I still thought it was pretty funny.

We had pancakes, fruit, and coffee for breakfast. Afterward, several of us went out in the woods and collected wood. Everyone pulled their weight, no one complained. I worked myself hard;it felt good working off the cobwebs. A bit later, we all went for a hike up the old logging trail Andy found in the woods behind our site. We were deep in the woods; no sign of humans anywhere. As we reached the top of the mountain, we walked out onto a beautiful scene: rolling fields, a farm off in the distance, and an almost 360 view of the surrounding mountains. Spira, Missy, Melanie and I ran around with Missy, who was thrilled at all the open space. We hung around there for a while. No one was in a rush.

Along the trail, especially where the ground was muddy, were plenty of tracks. Bear, moose, a couple that could have been mountain lion, coyote, and one impressive track of a very large bare foot.

After reading Christopher Noel's well written and way more legit seeming than I anticipated Impossible Visits, a book about Bigfoot habituation across the country that also chronicles his own experiences with the creature in Vermont, I've wanted to conduct a bit of my own research up there. The footprint was impressive, particularly because as I was crouched over it, Melanie commented that someone had been walking around barefooted before I said a word about it.

What made me believe it was not made by a human? First of all, the print was at least 14 inches long, making it quite a bit longer than the average human foot. And, with all my weight pressed into the ground next to the track, I could barely make an impression that came close to the depth the footprint produced, which was about two inches. Also, the print was crossing the path, not going along with it. It strains credulity to believe someone with very big feet and quite heavy was out in the middle of the woods barefoot. It's possible, sure, but most definitely atypical. In the final analysis, I'm not sure what produced this lone print, but I'm pretty sure. Now I want to go back and look for more prints.

That night, we ate hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, and other tasty treats. Spira and I had some flan for dessert. At one point, Haiyan asked the group what the meaning of camping was. We told her that some of it has to do with getting back to nature, but ultimately it may mean different things for different people. "In China, we didn't camp. We were already pretty much living like we were camping", she said.

Haiyan retired to her tent fairly early that night, but stayed up later than the night before. I wasn't too far behind her. I had been curled up with Missy and kept dozing off. We had an active, albeit relaxed, day and it wasn't long after I shut off my lantern that I fell asleep. I had tried reading a bit, but it was a futile endeavor.

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain drops on the tent. Very tranquil, but I wondered if it was going to abate by morning. It didn't. In fact it still hasn't stopped. We ate breakfast under a tarp and then packed up our gear and cleared out.

I'm really glad I went camping. I feel re-energized. We had a nice mix of people; it was good getting to know Haiyan, Melanie, and Andy. It was also nice spending time with Spira. We've known each so long, sometimes it's like we're married. We had some nice time together, just her and I, that I'm grateful for. We've had our difficulties, but that's par for the course when you're close friends with someone almost twenty years. I love her and I'm thankful I have her in my life.

It was a wet ride home. Spira commented that Melanie and I would make a fine couple. I couldn't disagree, but considering she and Andy looked to be heading into a relationship, I didn't really entertain the notion. She did say she was a Werner Herzog fan- unsolicited, even - which got my attention, but alas, it doesn't appear anything will happen, at least not in the foreseeable future.

We stopped off in some town in NH and hit a McDonald's. I haven't been to one in a loooong time. Each of us got a fillet o' fish. Delicious, son! And for desert, a hot apple pie. Everything tasty, but I won't be frequenting that establishment again any time soon. Evil stuff going on there.

Okay, you're tired of me and I'm just tired. Let's call it a night, shall we?

And I've got this crazy feeling that I'm going to make her mine

Taking a break from packing. Going camping in Vermont tomorrow and it's a going to be a challenge fitting everything into an already stuffed car. I've been camping most of my adult life; here's hoping I've learned a few tricks about packing.

I've been buzzing around all day, like a.....like some kind of insect. Perhaps a bee. Anyway, I had to do some recording (of documents, not music) in Boston and Cambridge this afternoon and it was down to the wire. I only had a little over an hour to do it all in. With a little bit of hustle, a good amount of luck, and a pure heart in full bloom, I accomplished my task. I came home and went for a run. I pushed myself pretty hard and upon my return home, I felt lethargic. A hearty salad for dinner brought some energy back. But then right back to packing. I'll sleep well tonight, I reckon.

Saw some great movies recently. The Piano Teacher, Army of Shadows, Grand Illusion - each well above average and not one in English. I don't mind subtitles; I go where the muse takes me.

Life is so strange, especially the older you get. The script gets longer and longer, people get older. Oh, I don't have time to chase this thought.

I'm going to see if I can finish Jordan's Eye of The World tonight. About eighty pages left. I think I can do it. First, though, it's off to the club for some Salsa dancing! Me gusta la bailar Salsa!

Alright, I'm not going dancing. Thank God!

No posts from me for a few days. If you feel any withdrawal, I suggest you explore older posts. You'll experience hours and hours and hours of fun. And you might even learn a thing or two. You'll be in such a prolonged state of bliss, you'll hardly notice my return. That is until you read the latest post, which will be all about my sexy adventures camping. It will please you to no end, I predict.

Do you wanna come walk with me?

Yesterday, I finished my day at the registry in Cambridge. As I headed to the Galleria to retrieve my car from the garage, I called Spira, who lives a couple of blocks away, to see if she was around. I had a feeling she might be in the Galleria doing a little shopping. Turns out she was. I met up with her and we headed back to her place. First order of business: install a bidet.

I'm not kidding. Spira ordered a bidet through the mail. For those of you who don't know what I'm referring to, I'll let Wikipedia, that bastion of information, explain: A bidet is a low-mounted plumbing fixture or type of sink intended for washing the genitalia, inner buttocks, and anus. (Just between you and me, I figured you all knew what a bidet was, but I needed an excuse to share that definition, which, I admit, made me laugh a bit. I guess I find bidet humor funny.)

Spira did most of the work installing the bidet, which was basically a plastic device that hooked on to the toilet seat (Kind of like the Captain's chair in Star Trek. There's a control panel on the right set up like an arm rest). At one point, she realized she needed bolts longer than the ones provided. So we leashed up Missy the greyhound and walked over the bridge into Charlestown to Ace Hardware. On the way, almost every single pedestrian we passed stopped and gushed over Missy. They didn't just pet her, they hugged and kissed and her, and made plenty of baby talk. It was no different inside the hardware store, which kind of worked to my benefit, because I was the one holding the leash when an attractive woman came over and chatted me up about Missy. Spira joined the conversation, unintentionally ruining whatever chance I had with this woman. It didn't bother me, but I told her afterward I wanted to borrow Missy every once in a while; I'd have the perfect ice-breaker with women. Look, I need all the help I can get.

Back at Spira's place, the bidet was installed without anything else gumming up the works. We went out to a nice little sandwich shop for dinner. I got a delicious falafel wrap, Spira went with a tuna melt with bacon. Later, after we digested some of our dinner, we practiced yoga.

I was productive today. In the morning, I went out for some groceries at Trader Joe's, went for a vigorous run in the near perfect weather, cleaned my room, installed the new spray gun I bought for our kitchen sink (Our old one finally passed away yesterday after a long, painful illness.It went quietly in its sleep), and worked on some music.

Enough of me. Mark and Isobel, take us home.

You linger softly in the corner of my sleep

The plan was to write a blistering, unfiltered, rant, but I'm going to take the high road as best I can. I had a shitty day: I fucked up at work two times (arguably not completely my fault) and the last one was a doozy. I may end up getting fired. I don't think I will, but whatever happens, the aftermath will probably be ugly. I left work feeling lousy about just about everything in my life and wondered if the writing has been on the wall for poor ol' me and whether I should come to terms with it. We'll see, but I'm not about any of that right now. What I'm presently about is focusing on and clinging to perhaps one of the most exquisitely pleasant and meaningful experiences I've ever had. And all in a dream that probably lasted only a minute.

In keeping with the spate of relationship-related dreams I've had this week, I had another one this morning. It was perhaps the best dream I've ever had, and when I'm finished describing it to you, you may question why a dream about a sick woman would rate so high. Or maybe you won't.

The dream:

The light filtered into the room through the bedside curtain, casting a soft amber glow over all it touched: the row of pill bottles on the window sill; my seated, hunched over pose; my wife, honey haired, in her bed. We spoke quiet, esoteric, words to each other that I'll never recall. She said something that made her smile and that smile was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. It had so much life in it, I almost forgot she was terminally ill. She said her throat hurt, I reached over for the proper elixir, she took it. The phone rang. It was my work. Where was I? I said I wasn't coming in. I had not been in for a while. They could fire me, I didn't care. Nothing, nothing mattered but my wife. I would not leave her, not for anyone. Not ever. I loved her more than anything. No, I would remain by her side. She smiled again, a breeze through the curtain, our hands clasped, our eyes met, they said everything that ever needed to be said.

I awoke.

I didn't feel the same sense of being cheated the way I did with the other dreams. I don't know why that is. I say that this might be the best dream I've ever had. I believe it is. Relating it, I see how sad it is. A better dream would be being with the same woman, but when she's healthy and we're having fun. I suppose, but I think with her being ill, the depths of love, love in it's purest form, unsheathed of all the trappings of the ego, were exhibited far more palpably. I lack the ability to convey how much love I felt for this woman and how much I felt from her, but it was profound. Beyond anything I've ever felt, awake or asleep.

Will I ever come close?

Perhaps I will, though I hope the part about my wife dying doesn't come to pass. Can dreams be prophetic? Sure they can. In fact, one of the dreams I had amidst all those other relationship dreams described almost exactly what happened to me today at work. Is the universe so cruel that it would only see to it that my bad dreams come true?

Fuck, I hope not.

She motioned to me that she wanted to leave, and go somewhere warm, where we'd be alone

Another Monday, another trip to the dentist. Today there were extractions. Crunch, crunch, crunch, lots of blood, lots of gauze. Why yes, I have been going to the dentist almost constantly this summer. Thanks for noticing. The light, though, has appeared at the end of the tunnel.

The problem with vivid dreams, and I'm referring to the ones that tug at your pleasure strings, is you eventually have to wake up. And when you do, and when it's a Monday and you're alone and you have to go to work, well it's not so pleasurable.

Sometime this morning, she appeared in a dream. She still haunts me. I was at the registry of deeds in Cambridge and she was there. I can't remember if we made contact. I woke up and wondered why I dreamt of her. I fell back asleep and had another dream. In this one I was in my parent's kitchen with Spira and one of her friends, an attractive brunette I had never met. I got to know her quickly. I made her laugh, which for some reason surprised me. We were getting ready to go out somewhere. We flirted some and then in a vampiric gesture, I exposed her neck and kissed it gently, which made her giggle. She held my head to her body, an indication that she was enjoying said gesture. We then went to wherever we were going and I woke up. I went back to sleep and found myself driving through Cambridge with a different woman. I was in the passenger seat, she was driving. I had the feeling we were in the early stages of a relationship. I woke up. I fell back asleep and I'm almost positive I had more dreams like the ones prior.

Waking up from that, well, blew. I guess my dream state is trying to compensate for the lack of relationships in my life. Sad, I guess, but what are you going to do. I got up and went to work. One has to carry on.

Wrote part of a song last night that has the potential to be one of my favorites. It's closer to where I'd like to see my writing go. I'm hoping to finish it soon.

I miss having conversations. You know, the ones that reach beyond present petty concerns or Jersey Shore. Look, I'm no Plato or nuttin', but I like to talk about far reaching things. I like discussing hypotheticals. I find it enriching. This world is so mysterious, however mundane we make it seem, and I find it disappointing how few people I are willing to pontificate over it. Ok, I think I'm beginning to sound like some Oxford academic with a sporty blazer and pipe who's refined the art of condescension, but I don't mean to. It's just that I like conversations, the type you can flesh out. I'll talk about a whole plethora of topics. You want to mull over existence? Let's do it! Care to discuss the pros and cons of a public education? I'm game, son. Let 'er roll. Hell, I'll even discuss Jersey Shore's Snooky, as long as it's in a context beyond the superficial, which, now that I think of it, may be impossible. Anyway, would someone fucking talk to me? I'm so god damned lonely!!!

Can you feel the angst? Good. Your first order of business, before trying to talk to me, should be feeling sorry for me. And my first order of business is to sip on some soup now that my mouth has finally stopped bleeding.

Yesterday a morning came, a smile upon your face

I met up with Mara earlier today. She was upset, had been for a few days. I knew it was about the guy she's been seeing. We talked about it for a while. I learned that the relationship, while seemingly going well, has her feeling anxious and uncertain. It started rapidly and hasn't slowed down. Mara, and I know this from experience, benefits from a relaxed, comfortable pace. Her over eagerness is usually the result of not wanting her partner to get bored with her and leave her. By the sounds of it, this guy she's seeing is cut from the same cloth. Slow it down, folks, and all will be. Unless, of course he gets bored and leaves her.

As much as she seems to be into her new guy, it also seems that she's still into me on some level. That's all I'll say about that, but I'll be keeping a close watch of the situation. Anyway, it was good seeing her today; haven't seen her in over a month. We walked over to the new bakery on Highland. At Spira's recently, I tried a brownie from there and it was damn tasty, so tasty, in fact, that I thought about it the next day. "Mmm, that was a good brownie", was the extent of the thought. So, today, after holding back for a couple of weeks, I got myself a brownie. So good. The baker was nice, too. Very merry. It's the way all bakers should be.

Back at Mara's place, we watched a bit of Herzog's Bad Lieutenant before she had to go meet with a couple she whose wedding she'll be shooting. As she was preparing to leave, she showed me a picture of the couple. "Do you know them?", she asked jokingly. I had seen the picture before, but this time, upon closer inspection, it seemed as if I did at least know the groom. "He looks familiar, actually", I said.

After learning his last name, I realized I had gone to high school with him. He graduated a year ahead of me and, though I didn't know him, I knew of him. He was in a rap group called X-caliber and went by the name Lord Plourde. My friends and I always found the whole thing pretty comical, which is probably the reason I still remember him. Mara begged me to walk into Starbucks, where the meeting was to be held, and go up to the guy, all the while pretending I don't know Mara, and say "Excuse me, sir, but aren't you Lord Plourde?". I have to admit, I thought about doing it. It would have been sublime, but I had other things to do and passed. Mara later confirmed through a text that he was indeed Lord Plourde. Sean, if you're reading this, I hope you're laughing.

Late last night, I watched The White Ribbon. I enjoyed it immensely!



I thought about it here and there today. It's that type of film. Who perpetrated the evil that settled over the village? Was it the children? Was it the pastor? The doctor? I have my ideas, but Haneke, the director, just like he did with Cache, never spells it out. At least not overtly. The movie worked so well, I'm kind of glad I don't know. There is an undercurrent of the seeds of Nazism beginning to grow, but that, as well, is not spelled out, merely implied. Check it out and don't let the subtitles dissuade you. It's effin' good.

Went over to Union Sq. to see Pat's band play last night. My intention was to get some dinner first and then walk over to the club, but I ran into Pat almost immediately and he whisked me away to meet his band before they went on. Good show. Not a huge fan of the singer's voice, but whatever. During the show, Craig met up with Rich at my place. I joined up with him later. We walked over to Soundbites so I could eat a late dinner. Veggie burger, son - good times!
--

It sucks to have to relegate someone to the "May As Well Be Dead" section of the mind, but, in my case, it's sadly necessary. Can't say I saw this one coming, but I'll adapt. What else can I do?

On that note, I'm going to go steam some chicken and cilantro dumplings and try to get over the sloppy and not very good (ostensibly) fresh spring rolls I had earlier. Oh, Trader Joe's, are you beginning to lapse in the quality control department? Say it ain't so!

Quick note: As I was wrapping the last paragraph up, a fragment of a dream I recently had came into my mind. I was listening to Yes in some kind of ephemeral void. Very pleasant. I remember thinking Yes was one of the only groups that could be played in that frequency. Hmm....

Okay, I'm out, bitches.

And if we make up just to break up, I'll carry on

So far a nice weekend. My mouth hurts, though, from the fillings I got earlier in the week. Turned out, there was more decay in each of the three teeth being worked on than my dentist anticipated. So he packed 'em deep and told me, when he finished, that ideally I would have crowns instead of fillings. Now you tell me. Maybe I'm growing more mistrustful as I get older, but sometimes with him I feel like I'm talking to a mechanic. "Turns out, not only do you need new spark plugs, but you need a new engine, as well." Charlatans abound.

Just finished watching Don't Look Now, a dark film starring Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland. I've seen it billed as a horror movie, but I think it's more just a dark, vaguely supernatural thriller. Plot: The daughter of a couple drowns in a pond. Said Couple moves to Venice, ostensibly so the husband can work (he designs cathedrals), but you know it's more about getting away from the past. The wife meets two sisters, one of which is blind and psychic. She tells the wife that her little girl is happy and was just sitting between her and her husband at the restaurant they were at. The wife buys in to it, tells her husband, but he thinks it's mumbo jumbo. The blind sister, during a subsequent meeting with the wife, tells her the husband is psychic but is in denial. Oh, and also that his life is in grave danger if he remains in Venice. The wife relates this to the husband, but he still thinks it's a bunch of mumbo jumbo. There are murders in the city and the husband keeps seeing a small figure running around in a red raincoat with the hood up, the same color of the coat his daughter was wearing when she died. He eventually catches up with this elusive figure and ****spoiler alert*** the figure reveals itself to be a dwarfish old woman who pulls out a knife and slits his throat as she smiles. That's the plot.

I enjoyed the film as much as I figured I would, which is to say not a lot. The cinematography was pretty cool and the acting was serviceable, but I had a pretty lukewarm reaction to the whole experience. To me, a scary movie is The Exorcist, Rosemary's Baby, or The Shining. Not this, this was tame.

Not so tame was Come And See, an incredible film I watched a couple of nights ago. It follows a boy through Nazi plagued Russia and does not treat war lightly. Most films about war celebrate it to a certain degree. This was brutal and unflinching. And poetic. There wasn't a ton of dialog - it wasn't needed. Most of the horror and shock was conveyed through visuals and the score. Very dreamlike.

I think I should join a film club. I see a lot of movies that I can't share with anyone. I don't know many people who'd be interested in a movie like Come and See, but I wish I did. I'm sure I can find like minded individuals hereabouts.

Saw Inception again with Spira. I'm glad I saw it a second time. I picked up on a few things I missed the first time around.
--

I haven't seen Mara in over a month. I've talked to her here and there, though. We had plans last weekend, but she broke them at the last minute so she could hang out with the guy she just started seeing. I let her know how inconsiderate it was of her to tell me that we couldn't hang out because something better came along. She'd done that to me a couple of months ago when she broke off our plans so she could go to a cocktail party with Jessica. We have plans to meet up tomorrow. I've been fairly nonplussed about hanging out with her these days, getting blown off notwithstanding. Maybe we're near the end of our relationship. Who knows. To her credit, she did surprise me by making an effort to make amends. I figured that now that she's seeing someone, she'd be more inclined to let me drift away.
--
Getting late. Off to Union Square to see my friend's art exhibit and then catch Pat's band. That's part of the plan, anyway. I'm sure more will be going on.

Home is wherever I'm with you

Been pretty active lately, which explains why I haven't posted in several days. I'm not ambitious enough to give a full, detailed account of what I've been up to, especially considering I'm a little pressed for time here (The days leading up to and including this weekend are looking pretty booked. Not such a bad thing). I'll be brief, which should please you to no end.

Last night, I saw Rufus Wainwright at the Opera House in Boston. Went with Spira, Pat, and Janelle. Fantastic show! His sister, Martha, opened up and later sang a few songs with him. Before the show, Spira and I were waiting for Pat at the rim of the Common and Martha walked right by us. I didn't say anything - I like to give people their privacy - but I was tempted to approach her when she walked by us the second time.

This past weekend found me doing the following:

1. Visiting my parents, which included them treating me to lunch. A nice visit. I love my parents.

2. Seeing Inception with Janelle. Yup, great movie! Probably going to see it again with Spira tomorrow. I could use a second viewing.

3. Hanging out with Spira and Hian and watching Mother, an exceptional movie made in South Korea. A true murder mystery that throws enough red herrings to make it virtually impossible to accurately predict who did it and why. I can't recommend this movie enough.

4. Cleaned the bathroom. Janelle helped me put up the new shower liners I got. Definitely a two person job.

Shoot, time's up. This episode will have to be continued. Stay tuned, readers.