If your life is a leaf that thee seasons tear off and condemn, they will bind you with love that is graceful and green as a stem

Spoke to Doug yesterday. He's going through so much yet, despite the sometimes overwhelming grief, he's soldiering on.

Breakfast as Spira's this morning. We had crepes, waffles, fruit, coffee, bacon, home made yogurt, and juice. A fine spread. Janelle and I returned home in the early afternoon, both feeling like taking a nap. Hard to resist after a hearty meal, with the sky overcast and the air cool.

The two of us watched Old Joy last night. I hadn't seen it in a year and liked it enough to want to see it again. I love watching movies with Janelle because, like me, she likes discussing them once they're through. Our discussion about Old Joy carried over to breakfast this morning.

A lot of reading today from Fall of Thanes. I'm close to being done, but I don't think I'll finish tonight. Still, I may give it a go because it's so engrossing.

On that note, I will proceed onward into the heart of night, adventure seeking and demon purging.

And you know she's half crazy, but that's why you want to be there

I went to the Cambridge Registry of Deeds this morning to do some recording for Jeff. He sat me down at the end of the day yesterday, walking me through what he needed recorded. It was a complicated affair, but Jeff did a serviceable job explaining to me how things needed to be done.

It went well at the Registry. The woman attending me in Registered Land was pleasant and looked enough like Carla on Scrubs for me to form an instant crush. It was fleeting, and not because of Carla, but because I had a good amount of thinking to do. No time for flirting, no dreamy visions of us as a couple. All business today. I'll see her again, I'm sure, and, on the souls of all my friends and family, I will take her as my wife!
--
Earlier on the phone, Spira told me she's had dealings with a ghost recently. I'm looking forward to hearing about it, though Spira wasn't so sure about that.

"You don't sound very shocked. I thought you'd be shocked", she said.

"Don't confuse shocked with intrigued. I'm not shocked because I believe in this stuff and have had my own encounters with the paranormal. I am, however, intrigued, and can't wait to hear your tale."

"Ok, good, because this is a good story."

Now I'm thinking about g-g-g-hosts!! I fear I won't be able to sleep tonight. Looks like the only way to remedy the situation is to get hammered. Yeah, duuuude!

I was going to write about Michael Jackson. Maybe another time. I'll have to squeeze him in my oft-promised zoophelia post. Stay tuned.

Black you are my enemy, and I cannot get close to thee

The day flew by. I took the T into Boston to record some documents at the registry, then came home, got my car and drove down to Dedham, where I did some more recording at the Norfolk Registry. By the time I got back to work, it was about two thirty. I wasn't there long.

Even though it was overcast for much of the day, the sun made its first appearance in a while. Too bad it brought mugginess with it. Even still, it was refreshing to walk in the sunshine. Most of my day was rife with easy thoughts and good spirits. Everything changed when I finished By Sorrow's River during lunch.

I'm assuming most of you won't read the book, though I'm not precisely sure why exactly, but I'm going to issue a spoiler alert, anyway, my first ever. So, if you plan on reading this series of books by Larry McMurtry, which you should, because he's a fantastic author, skip over the next part.

Pomp Charbonneau, one of the main characters of the last couple of books dies at the end of this one. The book began with him nearly dying from an arrow to the heart. Pomp vexed Tasmin Berrybender, the main character of the series, because of his lack of passion. He was sweet, kind, cultured, and loyal but he was not passionate, especially in the way Tasmin, a voracious lover, wanted him to be. It was said that he was born by sorrow's river, because no matter what, he always carried sadness with him.

Near the end of the book, the Berrybender party is taken prisoner by the Mexican Army, mostly because its Captain hates Pomp for reasons that have nothing to do with him. On the way to Santa Fe, where Pomp and a couple of others will face punishment for being spies, Pomp has a chance to escape, but he chooses not to, fearing the Captain will take his anger out on Tasmin and her family if he does.

Others escape and the Captain has had enough. He decides to kill Pomp. The following is from the book.

Captain Reyes advanced toward Pomp until he stood at point-blank range. Only then did he raise his musket. For a moment he allowed his gaze to meet that of the young man he was about to kill. the young man's eyes were unfrightened, undisturbed. Once he looked into his intended victim's eye, the captain, to his great surprise, could not turn away, for in the young man's eyes he seemed to see understanding -- even sympathy -- neither of which Captain Reyes had ever been offered in his life. It was as if the condemned man, the favorite, saw it all: the early glory, then the bitter failure on the plains, the stalled career, the dull cadets, the dust. He saw it all; he understood.

Then, while Captain Reyes was considering the possiblility that he had misjudged this quiet, sympathetic young man, a gun went off. Pomp Charbonneau fell, as Lieutenant Molino had fallen. the understanding eyes went blank. Captain Reyes turned, to see what fool had fired, and realized, to his shock, that the drifting smoke came from his own musket. He had fired.

I sat with Pomp's death for awhile after lunch. A fictional character to be sure, but one rendered so lifelike, so human, that his death felt real.

Later, at home, I found out one of my friend's girlfriend died in a car accident. I never got to meet her, but I know how much they loved each other. He wrote about her often, always in adoration, and frequently posted pictures of her, usually with him by her side. Theirs, from what I gathered, was a true bond, a deep affection I have yet to experience, and can only imagine. They shared a house together, she had a son.

To lose someone so suddenly -- it's hard to comprehend. To have a strong bond severed so quickly.... One can have a healthy view of death, seeing it as a continuance of life but in a different form, but when someone is taken away from you, it's devastating, no matter your beliefs. They were there and now they are gone.

And then, after hearing this news, I learned that both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson passed away. I wondered what was going on, and if there was a lesson I could learn from all of this piling on of death.

I saw Mara later on. We had a nice visit. It's good having a friend these days.

Before we met up, I hung out at Starbucks for awhile, watching all the couples walk by outside and felt compassion for my friend, who's world has been turned upside down.

I'm counting the gulls that sit on the waves, surrounding the boats in the bay, I'm counting the miles until we're there

Slow day at work. There were times I was certain I was going to fall asleep. Brought back memories of high school, though I only fell asleep once in class. Junior year, History. Mrs O'brien, one of only two teachers in the entire school I was attracted to, woke me up with a light slap to the head. Strange that I took to slumber, because I liked that class.

Maureen let me borrow Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee, a book I've been meaning to read for years. I'm almost through By Sorrow's River, so that will be my next lunch book. When I'm finished reading it, I'll read Folly And Glory, which will wrap up The Berrybender Narratives. T'will be bittersweet.

Sharon remarked that the weather, though a bit gloomy, hasn't been that bad. I agreed with her. It hasn't really rained that much and the nights have been comfortable. Why do I need every day to be sunny when I'm stuck inside a building for the most part? I'm looking forward to the sun like everyone else, but, really, I haven't minded its absence very much. I will, however, mind the forthcoming brutal heat and humidity, though not as much as the rest of you who will complain ceaselessly about the cruelty of Mother Nature.

Getting late. Think I'll try to attach some lyrics to a new song I'm pretty happy about. I tried a new tuning the other nght, which the song is in, and I've enjoyed the challenge of adjusting to it.

You can have everything if you let yourself be

On the road today, I listened to an interview with Phil Jackson on NPR. I'm no Lakers fan, but I admire Phil Jackson, so I was pleased to have stumbled upon the segment. One reason I admire him is because he's the Renaissance Man,of the NBA. Pat Riley's close, so is Doc, but Jackson's got them beat. Here's a guy who assigns books to his players throughout the season. He gave Paul Gasol, a native of Spain, Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises to read. Anyway, it was a refreshing interview; my brain was actually stimulated. A rare result when it comes to talk radio.

I think I'd like Bob Dylan about forty percent more if his albums, especially the early ones, didn't have harmonica on them. I know it's sacrilege to criticize the man in some circles, but his harmonica playing stinks. Harmonica, when played well, sounds good, but overall, it's not, at least to my ears, a pleasing instrument. I just had Blond on Blond playing in the background and had to switch something else (David Crosby's fine debut) because I couldn't stand the harmonica. Maybe it's just me.

Books I'm currently reading:

By Sorrow's River, by Larry McMurtry. The third installment of the Berrybender Narratives. So, so good. Like candy. It's my lunch book and I'm almost through with it. I'll have to hit up Amazon for the fourth, and final book in the series, Folly and Glory.

Fall Of Thanes, by Brian Ruckley. Third book in a gritty, uncompromising trilogy. I'm constantly amazed at the lukewarm reception this series has garnered. It's so well written. I will buy anything he publishes.

The Field, by Lynne McTaggert. I'm not a hundred pages into it, but I feel like I've learned about a thousand pages worth. Dense, thought provoking -- rather than daydreaming about silly things that involve people I know in absurd situations, basketball, or sex, I've been pondering the nature of existence, thanks to this book.

Sasquatch, by John Green. A thick, well documented, casebook of all things Bigfoot. Green is one of the elder statesman of Bigfoot research, and because of his background in journalism, probably the best writer of the bunch. This book is considered to be the bible of the subject.

There are other books I've been chipping away at, but these are the ones I go to the most often.

All this talk of Rondo and Ray Allen being traded is making me wonder if the rumors are legit. Hate to see them go, especially Rondo because he's so unique and young.

Better go watch Six Feet Under so I can send the disc on it's way back to Netflix. Been a while since I've had something new arrive.

And I dream of the girl with the sunshine eyes

Spent the entire day with my parents yesterday. I showed up at their door around eleven and we went up to Best Buy in Nashua to get a computer. It didn't take very long to accomplish. My parents let me do most of the talking and in short order we were loading the trunk with their new computer.

The only potential snag we faced was from my mother. She didn't like the key board that came with the computer they were buying. She felt the keys were too flat, not elevated like on the key board she uses at work. The salesman, who was polite and helpful, showed her the array of key boards she could purchase separately if she chose to. She found one she liked, but it was eighty dollars. It wasn't my money they were spending, but it seemed absurd to me that the slight difference in key height was worth eighty dollars to her. I voiced my objection.

"Mom, there's really not that much of a difference. How much typing do you think you'll be doing?"

"Not much, but I like what I'm used to."

"Obviously, it's your decision, but I think you'll adjust to the new keypad pretty quickly."

"I know, but I like what I'm used to."

"Why don't you try this one out, and if you still don't like it after a while, you can buy a different one. And I'm sure you can find one much cheaper, too."

She finally agreed. I'm not sure she would have gone ahead and bought a different key board; perhaps this was her way of exerting a little control in the buying process. They did purchase a printer/scanner, though, which I thought was a good idea, especially with the deal they were getting.

We went to the China Buffet in Lowell for lunch, a place, oddly enough, I was hoping they'd want to go to before I got to their house in the morning. I ate too much Chinese food in between telling my parents about my future plans. I hadn't planned on telling them -- only a few people know -- but they kind of forced my hand. They were happy and understood why I hadn't broadcast the news to all and sundry yet, especially when it's not quite news yet.

Back at their house, I set up the computer for them and showed them the basics, like using a mouse and opening and closing windows. They're not equipped with the Internet yet, so there was a limited amount of things I could show them. Probably for the better, because it was evident they were fairly overwhelmed.

We retired to the living room and talked for a while. I asked them about their their first apartment and what it was like building the house they still reside in. I like hearing about their past, before I was born, when I was somewhere and nowhere in the cosmos, drunk on ineffable bliss. And I like seeing the change in physiology when they summon the days when they were young, vibrant, and hopeful.

I left their house at dusk and stopped off at Barnes and Noble in Burlington to pick up Lynne McTaggert's book on quantum physics, The Field. In the spirit of the book, which speaks to the interconnectedness of the universe, I decided to see if I could find the book by letting my intuition find it for me. My rational mind figured it would be in the Science and Nature section, where most books on the subject reside. Instead, I found myself bee-lining towards the New Age section.

I perused the shelves and came up empty. I checked out the Science and Nature section, again coming up empty. I asked a clerk to look up the book for me. She told me it wasn't in stock, that it was out of print. Knowing it was release fairly recently and quite popular, I wondered if she was referring to the hard cover edition. Not wanting to criticize her, I asked whether they had any of McTaggert's other books in stock. She said they did, in the New Age section!

I went back to where I began my search and, after a few minutes of looking, I couldn't find anything written by her. I kept searching, though, and finally found her books, including The Field, the book I was told was out of print and out of stock. I passed the clerk on my way to the registers, but didn't rub her incompetence in her face. Pure hearted folk don't do that.

I'm about fifty pages into the book. Very well written -- McTaggert has a background in journalism and has published several books; she is a serious writer. Some of the subject matter is dense and not easy to grasp. Electromagnetic fields, electrons, zero point field, quarks, particles, waves....whew! I've delved into the subject before and am comfortable with it, but still, when it's thrown at you all at once, it's tough. But enjoyable and utterly fascinating. Our Newtonian concept of the world has become outdated, which is a good thing, because now we are back to being interwoven with every facet of life.

At Best Buy yesterday, I spotted Sean McAdam, a local sports writer and radio/TV personality. I saw him once before at Barnes and Noble in Burlington. I said to my dad, "If you can spot the local celebrity, I'll buy your computer for you." He looked around in vain. I pointed out McAdam to him, but he didn't know who he was. "This is the second time I've run into him", I said. " Anyway, looks like you'll be paying for your computer."

When I came home last night, I turned on the TV. Guess who the first person to appear on the screen was. Go ahead, guess. Sean McAdam! Coincidence? You be the judge.

Mara and I had lunch at the Rosebud in Davis. We originally met at Mr. Crepe, but she was craving a burger so we left, which was too bad because I love Mr. Crepe. Our waitress at Rosebud was a middle-aged women with her makeup pancaked on and an overwhelmed way about her. She rushed us through our orders, which was a little aggravating, and screwed up a bunch of little things. Mara and I both got cheddar burgers which arrived with no lettuce or tomatoes. Mara was famished and just wanted to eat, so I didn't say anything to our waitress. When I spotted mold on my bun, I decided I should say something.

When our waitress came around, I showed her the mold. "You might want to have them check the buns out back", I suggested.

"Oh, we will. I'll have them make you another burger."

What I really wanted was to have my meal comped, but I wasn't in the mood to cause a stink, so I told her another burger would be fine.

"Ok, I'll bring it back", she said. "You know, it's really not our fault. This type of thing happens all the time." She left before I could respond.

I looked at Mara increduosly. She smiled back. "That's not what I wanted to hear", I said.

"I know, but let's just leave it that. They're probably relieved you're not going ballistic."

"Aren't you proud of me for not making you feel bad about leaving Mr. Crepes, where they would never present moldy crepes to their customers?"

"Oh, you are the best of the best," she said.

The waitress came back with my burger and thanked me for not causing a fuss. And again, she told me it wasn't their fault. "They have no way of knowing these things back there." Sorry, but I couldn't let that rest.

"Well, they can check to see if the bread has mold."

"Yeah, but the other buns in the bag didn't have mold, so, you know, they can't really tell."

"I would hope they'd look at what they're serving the public. I mean, it's not a huge deal, but I'm paying close to ten dollars for a hamburger, and I don't think it's unreasonable too expect it not to have mold on it." She seemed to understand and brought us our check. She got a good tip, despite the spotty service and bullshit excuse concerning the mold. I can't help being kind to my flock; it's why everyone calls me the King of Kings.

I tried to keep my voice level; I wasn't looking for an argument, but not saying anything would have been ridiculous. I probably should have demanded a comped meal the first time around, but I've worked in restaurants and know how hard it can be, so I'm more apt to let things slide, but c'mon, don't tell me it's not your fault my bread has mold on it.

We went to Mara's place after lunch and watched Wall-E. We both fell asleep at different intervals. Good movie, but I thought it could have gone in a different direction. Two movies I want to see: Away We Go and Moon, in case you were wondering where to take me for my birthday.

Okay, time to do other stuff.

If I were a cinnamon peeler, I would ride your bed and leave the yellow bark dust on your pillow

Just got back from Lemon Thai with Luke Warm. I had already eaten when he called to say he was in town and suggested we get dinner, but it's not often he's in town, so I went along for the ride. We split an appetizer of Curry dumplings. They were tasty and, to borrow a line from Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about tha-yat, or that, for those of you who have a difficult time with phonetic renderings.

At the restaurant, Luke Warm was assaulted with a welter of text messages from Foley. I may have shared the following in a previous post, but if I haven't, I'll do so now: Foley loves to text. A lot of people do. I've been positively awestruck at all the callers in support of text messaging I've been hearing on talk radio while driving to work in the morning. I consider my level of intelligence to be slightly above average, which I believe is a fair assessment. But you know, that's not such an achievement when you consider the people I'm smarter than, the likes of which think typing while driving is a reasonable thing to do. I recall a Simpsons episode in which Homer installs an Easy-Bake Oven in his car and bakes while driving. Absurd, but not so far from where we're at.

Anyway, Foley texted Luke Warm a bunch as we talked about Fourth of July plans, our parents, the Rondo trade talks, and how Luke Warm's not helping his chances with the man upstairs by choosing not to go to the animal shelter and work alongside his dad. He's sinning twice: He's opting not to spend some quality time with his dear ol' dad and, even worse, he's turning his back on the cutest and cuddliest of God's creatures. If Luke Warm were running for office, I'd hurry up and get a job at a newspaper just so that I could could run an article on the first page with the monolithic headline, "LOCAL MAN RUNNING FOR OFFICE WANTS YOU TO THINK HE'S ALL SWEET AND NICE AND CARING, BUT HE'S NOT BECAUSE HE'D RATHER DO ANYTHING ELSE THAN HELP OUT NEEDY ANIMALS AND SPEND TIME WITH HIS FATHER, WHO REALLY IS SWEET AND NICE AND CARING. WHAT A GOD-DAMNED SON OF A BITCH LUKE WARM IS!
--
In the last year or so, I've noticed an advancement in one aspect of male hygiene: post pee hand washing (I'm leaving number two out of the equation because, thank God, I'm rarely in the bathroom with stall-bound men). Because we aren't equipped with a rest room in our office at work, we use the public ones downstairs. Consequently, I've seen a lot of guys peeing (there's no way to make that sound less gross) and bear witness, on a regular basis, to their level of cleanliness. Surprisingly, about ninety five percent of them wash their hands thoroughly after they finish their business. And I mean thoroughly! It's as if they're about to perform surgery. On more than one occasion, a guy has been washing his hands when I enter the bathroom and is still washing them when I begin washing my own.

Please don't get the wrong impression -- I'm not standing in the corner of the bathroom with a clip board and pencil, like some kind of bathroom statistician, but I have been observant, which is the duty of every American, especially after 9/11. Like the sign on the T says: "If You See Something, Report It". Anyway, I've just always assumed guys were filthy pigs in almost every way.

I don't wash my hands as assiduosly. I don't need to: my aim is usually true and there's not much hand washing that needs to be done. Still, I do a quick rinse anyway, to remind myself that I am no ill-begotten wretch, but a sophisticated, civilized gentleman.

So while it's reassuring to know people are washing up after expelling waste from their bodies, I have to wonder if they're doing so, often in excessive fashion, not out of a sense of propriety, but because they're sloppy pee-ers. Maybe they're pissing all over their hands, those hapless louts, and, unlike me, the dean of pristine, really need to wash up once the damage has been done.

I wonder if these same guys are as cleanly after beating off. Even though they've just been beating their dicks like they owe them money for a much longer clip than when they pee -- ball sweat and cum run-off all over at least one of their hands -- I can tell you with certainty that they get nowhere near a sink. They should-we all should- but I just don't think it happens. Probably because no one has the ambition to do much of anything post coitus.

Wow, didn't expect to take things in that direction. To those of you who took offense, I apologize. And sympathize, because I offended myself, too.

Well, I certainly can't get into zoophelia now. Too much, too much. Guess it'll have to wait for another day.

On a not really related note, I'll be helping my parents pick out their very first computer tomorrow. I'm legitimately excited. I think they're the only people I know who have a primitive understanding of computers and the Internet. I'm going to have to teach them how to use a mouse. I'm hardly a computer geek -- there are many six year olds more up to speed than me --so this experience should stroke my ego. And, they're taking me out to lunch. So, free lunch!
--
Tom O'Bedlam, a man who eloquently reads poetry on YouTube, recently had his recitation of "The Cinnamon Peeler" banned because, in the collage of visuals that accompanied the poem, there appeared a black and white photo of a woman with an exposed breast. With the prompting of Roger Ebert, who was outraged, and rightfully so, at this development, YouTube reinstated the video. To their credit, they did the right thing, but it never should have been banned in the first place. There was nothing pornographic about the picture or the poem. There are thousands of videos littered all over the site depicting brutal street fights and other acts of violence, but show a tit and game over, son!

In an effort to show I am not the dull, unsophisticated, brute I portray myself to be, I present to you "The Cinnamon Peeler", as read by Tom O' Bedlam.