Reminder.

February. 

Siegfried:
Let it go Indiana.
Let it go.

Me:
LETS DO IT.
oh. I thought you said "Let's go to Indiana"

Siegfried:
Search for the Holy Grail?

Me:
I don't recall that line.

Siegfried:
What do people do in Indiana?

Me:
Aren't you like, right there?

Siegfried:
When sean connery is trying to pull indiana out of the pit and indiana is reaching for the grail
I dunno. I'm like an hour outside of DC

Me:
I'm just so mad.

Siegfried:
And everyone else is missing so i am by myself watching highlander

Me:
well. you can be only one.

Siegfried:
Clearly
Dude obviously does not want to make himself available.

Me:
yeah.

Siegfried:
Maybe there's chemistry there, but if he can't make himself available why do you have to wait?
I keep hitting return. It does not mean send.

Me:
Because, Syd, I believe deep in my tiny heart that I will never meet anyone I have chemistry with who meets all my insane standards. That I have met one so close to the mark, means that I will never, not for the next twenty years, meet one again.

Siegfried:
But shouldn't it be a standard that he wants beyond want to be a part of your life?

Me:
well yes. that was the big missing piece.

Siegfried:
There are dudes out there worth meeting. Dudes that could actually be interested in being a part of your adventures and stuff.

Me:
I kinda don't actually believe that.

Siegfried:
Maybe try museums. Ive had good luck in museums. You know...flirting with dudes.

Me:
SYD. YOU ARE CUTE. I AM DANGEROUS LOOKING.

Siegfried:
Maybe wear pink?

Me:
I'm watching the dirty fork skit.
that isn't me. I have blue things. but I don't think I can anglerfish my way into someone's heart.

Siegfried:
The wound!
Garp
I have to hold baby now

Me:
go. hold it.
is it sobbing? they sob, you know.

Siegfried:
Yes

Me:
they sob a lot.
can we make plans for you to drop hot rocks all over my body so I can forget about all the terrible people in my life?

Siegfried:
Yep.

i think it's about. forgiveness.

Thoughts:

There are two lines running together. They twist, turn, dive- near one another within reach.

The lines are people, their movements are time.

I was thinking about the term "letting someone down" and while it's origin probably has nothing to do with my idea, I've been wondering my way through the phrase.

One line is on top of the other, both lines have an opportunity to communicate about direction. If they communicate well, they will continue to run together, even if they don't interact or cross one another. They are still in some way with one another.

That, I think, is the responsible thing to do.

The other possibility is that one line will just drop off, sending the other on it's normal trajectory off into nowhere-land, eventually wondering where the other line went.

That's the confusing part- waking up in the middle of the abyss.

So "letting someone down" is maybe allowing them to know your plans, and gradually you move on. The phrase is kind of gentle, does not imply dropping. When you "let someone down" a cliff you have a rope tied to them and you keep them from hurting themselves on their way.

Though I guess "letting someone down" is also just disappearing.

Cutting the rope.

I don't get it.

holmes is where the heart is.

Seems like I waited forever for The Grandmaster. It was absolutely worth it. One of, if not THE best movie about Kung Fu I've ever seen. Sensitive, visceral and beautiful, all the best parts of practice.

I wrote this a while ago:

Yesterday I drank a Pumpkinhead and watched the Blair Witch Project. I am clearly ready for summer to be over.

People complain about the hair, the clothes, the drama, and the questionable music, but I happen to think that one of the worst things the 80's brought to us was the music montage.

Primarily because it isn't real.

Doc says I can ride a bike. Well, hot damn!

Today I biked 40 miles, and still managed not to get anywhere. Why 40 miles? Mainly because I couldn't figure out a good enough reason why not. Seemed like a good number.

I've rejoined a health club to do this as my cheery little bicycle has become a hellish wee death trap. They says the "de-railer" is bent (assuming that's a thing that exists and is real in the world, and I most certainly have spelled it wrong) and it would cost more than the value of the bike to fix it (and the brakes.. I know those exist and are real in the world, and probably spelled right). So I'll ride it every now and then until it falls apart underneath me. Wicked.

Additionally:

Foot situation means I can't train so much lately, and as it normally happens when I can't train/do anything for a long time, my sunshine glasses come off and I return to my normal state. This is to optimistically-and-playfully-but-sort-of-honestly-completely-and-hopelessly become disenchanted with everything and everyone, constantly. Seriously.

In this state I only like four things:

• Kung Fu
• British Comedies
• Music
• Puppies

That's it.

So I go to this club and stationary-bike my way back to endorphin high. It's boring. Boring as hell.

As a part of my joining this club, I got a free consultation with a personal trainer. I'd scheduled this meeting in the morning to get it out of the way. However, this particular morning happened to follow an evening of a couple celebratory beverages. These followed a relatively grim victory after a recent foray into trying to be romantically responsible.

Romantic responsibility: complete horseshit, by the way. So it goes.

Anyway, I'm sure I absolutely looked and felt my best for this encounter. Additionally, I have negative interest in this personal trainer stuff and had a rough time being nice at this guy (yes,  GUY at ALL WOMEN's gym.. because PERSONAL TRAINER. gag) because all I want to do is ride the damn bike and listen to.. whatever I end up listening to.

Anyway, we eventually made it through awkward (him) and slightly hostile (me) conversation. Newsflash: I'm a jerk with some pretty fundamentally different opinions on how people should take care of themselves.. but whatever. I tried pretty hard to remain available to his information.

Remember: hung over, disenchanted, no sunshine glasses.

So we talked about what some of my "goals" are, and what he can "help" me with, and moved onto more evaluation stuff, i.e.. me doing things he didn't expect me to be able to do, and him making me feel uncomfortable about doing them. Normally, when people ask me to do physical things, I'm not used to hearing "Oh, that's great! Nice job!!" - I'm more of a fan of stoic information giving than the cheerleading that goes on at these places.

It's the cheerleading that makes me uncomfortable.

Go see The Grandmaster. Go see it. Go go go go go go go go.

zen and the art of pain management.

Dear Facebook, 

I'm single, and have a BMI of 22. Stop telling me to lose weight for my fucking wedding. 

I don't get angry all that often. (note: I'm not angry now, this isn't one of those posts)

I spent a few years in a near constant state of self-doubt and high anxiety, but I never really got angry. I don't know what to do when I get mad. Stereotypically people yell and hit things when they get mad. I yell and hit things all day long so that doesn't quite do it for me. Yeah.. anger's funny stuff. More fire than I'm used to- though I guess I'm happy to have it.

Happy about being angry, folks, you heard it here first. yes.. I know.. I KNOW.

Figured out I can handle about thirty hours of 17 screaming children before I want to curl up into a ball and die. Wound myself up to a near full blown rage-stroke Friday morning thanks to three screaming creatures on the bus- averted when Master Shifu laughed at me when I arrived at work spewing fire and brimstone. I'm an easy fix, seems. I guess things change.

I've recently had the chance to figure out that my most genuine response to pain is to get mad. This wasn't always the case, contrary to what some of you may think, and I find the evolution interesting. At some point I'd have shied away or become upset or sad or otherwise hurty feelingsy if I got hurt physically.. not anymore, guy. Now when I get hurt I want blood.

Another notable transformation: I got scared the other day (like jumped, like random-noise-in-the-apartment-when-I-get-home-jumped) and I didn't flinch like I usually do, I faced the noise and my guards snapped up. First time I did this I laughed out loud to no one. It wasn't voluntary- it just happened. I'm not saying I'm some killer assassin level million type ninja- this is the result of my lifestyle, and, if anything, I'm pleased to have acquired this kind of result after so long. In class, I am six to eight inches away from death or brain damage several times a week. My hands better come up if I need them.

Lets return to the noise thing for a minute, as I'm sure this is all related. I will commonly listen to music at brain numbing volumes (this, for example.. and later this, directly before walking into a starbucks.. because fuck everyone I wont do what you tell me), which doesn't bother me- it doesn't hurt, and it doesn't make me angry. With the kids it's probably all the erratic random crap, the whining, the brainless noises and the anxiety I still feel even as an adult because "gguuuyyyyssssssuuuggghhhh!!! you're going to get us trouble!!!!!" except I'm the one wagging my finger to calm the noise down.. this doesn't make any sense. (I KNOW.)

So Friday morning, sitting in my plastic bus seat, hiding behind my sunglasses I become a churning vortex of doom and animosity, and slowly lose my mind listening to these assholes shriek, unmanaged by their idiot parents. Read: Primed for teaching.

Yes. I get that kids make noise. HOWEVER. These three were the special kind, the kind you normally only get one of at any given bank, movie theatre, convenience store etc.. where all the normal people kinda back up and do the impolite stare/not stare thing.

MOVING ON.

I first noticed this wee transformation from an inward to outward directed pain reaction when I was in the dentists chair-- I spend so much time there, you see.

They took off a bunch of my back tooth because it cracked SOMEHOW after they fucked around back there on a few different occasions. Whatever. Their plan now is to drizzle every smelly, toxic substance on the planet slowly into my face and let me sit there for seven minutes in a sort of half-swallow/half-gag while it hardens around what's left of my tooth. They don't realize how close they've come to being covered in my morning coffee.. (yes.. I drink coffee now.. I KNOW).

They have further plans to replace this mess with a more favorable substance at some point, but I couldn't tell you when.

In order to do this magical exchange, they removed the protective temporary once, filled it with some putrid colder-than-room-temperature-material, and stuck it back in my mouth. Right on top of the sad, headless tooth.

I don't know if I have any intelligent words for how much it hurt, but here's what happened:

I couldn't sit still, everything got really hot, and I had to breathe very slowly. I also noticed my desire to cause great damage to things around me increased many fold.

I don't make (much) noise or faces when I get hurt. My pain face looks just like my normal face.. which looks just like my excited face, incidentally. It's a mechanism, not an affect defect- it's a choice. It didn't surprise me much to get the look the dentist gave me when I tapped him on the shoulder and said with relative calm, "thiff hurth, ah khan kepp eth ehn annemohr."

Like he didn't believe me.

Fucker.

Is this weird? I thought it was interesting- well.. not at the time.

Also my foot's on a slow break, turns out, so I get a pretty constant dose of low grade throb on a daily basis, though it's better now that I have this shoe-thing. It's probably good that I don't know many folks in the area who might run up to me and grab my arm in greeting, tap my head, poke my ribs, pick me up (don't ever pick me up from behind/at all, please, unless I know you're there/you're one of three people). I'd probably lay them out, I'm so prickly these days. It's getting better though.. so.. if I ever do run into anyone here, they should be safe in a week or two.

This morning I awoke with thoughts of a Polish girl who broke my heart.

Later in the day I got misty eyed at the Holocaust Memorial in the North End.. while wearing a Joy Division shirt.. because I'm an asshole.. (yes.. I know.. I KNOW.)

I need some puppy time.

Sometimes I talk to my computer. By accident.

or "why is the internet so hard?"

"what.

"whaat.

"wat.

"well..

"maybe..?

"waaaaat?!

"really.

"really?

"really?! 

"are you serious?

"ew.

"wat?

"you. have. got. to be kidding me.

"no.

"uuuaahhhh!!??

"no.

"no..

"your eyes are too close together.

"no.

"really?

"honestly.

"jesus.

"so you actually think that's a good idea?

"what?!

"ugh.

"uuuuugh.

"oh!

"well..?

"ahh..

"no.

"no.

"no.

"WAT?!?

"excuse me?

"inbred.

"clearly.

"stupid.

"stupid.

"STOOPID.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT.

".. well?

"mommydrank.

"no.

"No.

"NO.

"'ugly

"stick'

".. naaaggh.

"jimhensoncreature

"someoneicouldgoasforhalloween

"absolutelyliveswithparents.

"dudeyouarenotstraight.

"ohthat'scute.

"areyouserious?

"youcan'texpectmetobelievethatyouknowhowtocount.

"oops.

"pretty.

"prettyDUMB.

"kungfuteacherdoesnotmeanwhatyouthinkitmeans.

"idont'wanttohearaboutit. (ha ha.. "tit.")

"WHYYOUTHINKTHISMAKEGOODIDEA?!?!?!??!?!

"put it away.

"UHM.

"what the hell kind of question is that?

"EXCUSE ME.

"no.

"no.

"NO.

"um.

"What?

"you can't wait to tell me about how cool you are.

"HANG ON.

"did I miss something?

"you sure?

"WAT?!

"...

"honestly.

"you're kidding.

"you can't be serious.

"PLEASE BE KIDDING.

"why would I want to look at that.

"okay.

"so.

"okay..?

"man.

"wow.

"WOW.

"ah.

"yeah.

"whatever.

**

They have the internet in the frozen north- for better or worse.

I have a very real fear that this little fan thing will blow a bunch of terrifying bugs into this room.

I am also very concerned that they might remake the Ghostbusters movie.

VERY concerned.

**

McCain Philips took a day to build this city. He plans on building a bridge- as it turns out he cannot fill the chasm.

inferior people need a steeple to climb and shout their views about.*

Here's a rant I wrote a long time ago after attending an adult gymnastics class at MIT, thrown together quite possibly after glass or two of wine (fun fact: I'm bad at drinking):

Dear The Man Who Thinks Kung Fu Is Useless But Was Nice Enough To Teach Me Butterfly Kicks,

You don't need to apologize to me for your opinions- I wont be apologizing to you for mine. And: just because I'm respectfully not arguing with you about Wu Shu, Ballet, Mixed Martial Arts, and The Chinese Government, doesn't mean that I agree with you.

Silence is not acceptance- it is a timid and fearful lot who believes that. (Silence is, apparently, bitching on the internet. But seriously.. I have thoughts.. So.. Onward!)

Have you considered, The Man Who Thinks Kung Fu Is Useless But Was Nice Enough To Teach Me Butterfly Kicks, that the example you gave to me, of the one time you had to use your Kung Fu in a street situation and it worked, didn't support your argument? You see the example you gave to me, in relation to your real life experience, gives Kung Fu a %100 success rate?

PERHAPS this is because relating the story as a failure MAY have painted you in a bad light, do you think?

Let's be honest here, as long as YOU look good, Kung Fu can suck it, right?

It's really easy to say something that is notoriously hard to understand and difficult to do well is useless.

Lets assume for a bit that I am an insecure and small minded person (this, dear reader, is a horribly arrogant statement) to me, in my small minded insecure head-bone, all things I can't do are useless.

Singing? Useless.

Mini Golf? Completely irrelevant. (..mini golf kinda is irrelevant.. )

Tennis? ZOMG who does that shit anymore?

You see this makes me fine. Perfect even. Because all the skills I have, all the simple tasks I have approached in my little life I have immediately gained Universe-Conqueror  Level status at. I am amazing. And those things I'm not good at? Or take more than one or two tries? Irrelevant. Those people who dedicate their lives to getting good at these things? These "Crafts"?? They are fools. They know nothing. They are out there to lie to you and take your money- they don't actually know anything. How do I know this? Well, in all of my Universe-Conquering, I have gained ALL THE KNOWLEDGE. All of it. I can replace anyone or surpass them with my completely shallow understanding of very simple AND very complicated things (I mean seriously I READ WIKIPEDIA. GOD.) These "learned" people are useless.  Except the cable people or netflix fairies, 'cause you know what skill I have in spades, among all my countless others? Sitting and staring. Boy howdy I can do that like it's going out of style, so it is clearly a useful task which makes me amazing, desirable, and charismatic.

**Maybe you get the idea? I'll stop pretending like I'm someone else. Not like I'm NOT entirely secure and massively wizened and perspective laden, but let's just go back to normal? I think I just confused myself.. maybe the other me confused me? wait.. (remember: bad at drinking)..

Anyway.

I'm bummed out by these people. I'm further bummed out when they want to talk to me about something I'm excited about and throw their nasty, woolen, heavy, stifling, pee stained wet blanket on my stuff. So stop it.

.. AND ANOTHER THING, TMWTKFIUBWNETTMBK, what do you think the duty of these kung fooey teacherly folk really is? To teach ballet? To teach fakkin' head kickin', mo-fuh?? One of the reasons Kung Fu is so fucking awesome is because it's truth inevitably lies in the spirit and the heart of the practitioner.

...CAN I GET AN AMEN??

Mr. Miyagi was totally dead on when he told Daniel-San that  "Karate here, (head) Karate here (heart) Karate never here (belt)."

Clearly, along the path of teaching volatile creatures volatile material, from a volatile platform, mistakes will be made, dogma created, and the biggest, loudest, and dumbest will end up responsible for far too much.

Unfortunately for martial arts, MANY mistakes have been made and there's a lot of bad teachers, bad students and stupid movements (read:poorly interpreted movements over long periods of time which turn into.. oh.. who the hell knows what) which reign supreme at the helm of ye olde kunge foo shippe.

So. How do we fix it? We google it. OBVIOUSLY.

*cm kornbluth

Pull tab marked "Tab"

Yesterday I exercised a herculean amount of self restraint so as not to leap up from the dentists chair after one of the technicians accidentally dumped a full cup of water squarely into my lap. They are very brave when they've got all those power tools in your mouth, I'll tell you.

Back on the Tufts Dental Clinic Diet again. So much for having a pair of pants that fit me.

Memory:
Study hall with Madame Ward, high school. I am sitting at my desk, the afternoon sun is coming through the window behind the head of a typical Hampden-football guy. I think his name starts with a "B" and he looks like a composite of every asshole school bully you could imagine.  He keeps saying something, over and over again, dropping the same phrase randomly and mostly to himself. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is. He is saying it in a slightly menacing way, again and again, to himself while holding a conversation with a few other students:

"I don't know your Christ." over and over again. There is something familiar about it. I finally realize he is quoting something I know, but incorrectly. I believe he is confused. At length I decide it would be in poor taste to interrupt the footballer and his friends to inform him of the correct lyric. Quiet art students generally don't plow into football-conversation with "Fuck your God, your Lord, and your Christ."

Memory:
I am walking through a parking lot, watching a man in a large pick-up squeeze his truck into a too-small space. He ends up mostly crooked. As he comes out of the vehicle he eyeballs his work, slams the door and says to himself but loud enough for me to hear: "Ah! Good enough!"

I look at the side of his truck, which is from landscaping company. It reads: "Joe's Landscaping: Where Details Count!"

Conversation with McTruckerton:

Me:know anything about high hamstring tendonitis?
Trev:
inflammation of the tendons
rest and releasing the tight muscles around the affected area
usually at the area of insertion or Orgin
(of the muscle)

Me:like wolverine.oh.not like wolverine.
Trev:yes
always like wolverine
Me:ah. mostly like wolverine.
Trev:a more accurate assessment
Me:agreed.
Trev:what happens to be the deal?
I am a bit drunk so
fair warning
Me:i expect to get the clearest information out of you when you're drunk. I'm not concerned.
Trev:you are wise to think this
Me:Have you seen this fucking gangnam style video?!?!??!?!??!?
Trev:several times
did it hurt you?
Me:i saw it when I was on an airplane.
the volume was down.
Trev:did it hurt you in the stringy hams?

Me:
i was SO CONFUSED.
no. I don't want you to say that anymore.

Trev:
I make no promises

Me:
target just assaulted me with the information that it is selling furbies

Trev:
have you watched it with volume
The key board is like a labyrinth full of napalm

Me:
uh. once.. because my mom and sister were talking about this nuts korean video they'd seen.. and it was the same one.

Trev:
hard to navigate safely
it's a fun video


Me:
think of it like whack-a-mole.
.. the keyboard.

Trev:
what if my hamer is missing?

Me:
you use your crazy sausage fingers.

Trev:
I have fine fingers
like a 17th century pianist.
or a refined lady
or a dwarf

Me:
a refined lady with meat-hooks for hands.

Trev:
that is a really distressing image
my dreams are in dire jeopardy.
What is happening?
in the hamstrings?

Me:
you'll be fine.. just DON'T think of Alex Trebek dressed like a 17th century lady with meat hooks for hands..
oh.. i don't know. they hurt.

Trev:
why....why would you do that

Me:
sharing is caring.

Trev:
I have showed you the rolling out?
the myofasical release?
spelled wronf

Me:
I've ordered a foam roller. for other things.

Trev:
g
good, get a soft ball

Me:
you mean tennis ball.

Trev:
want to skype tomorrow, I can show you a secret
nope
big ball
ladies use it

Me:
STOP RIGHT THERE

Trev:
to play "liars base ball"perfect timing
and I meant "secrets"

Me:
uh sure. 2pm? I'm busy earlier in the day.

Trev:
there are several for healthy happy hamstringssounds good

Me:
so you meant to say "I can show you a secrets"

Trev:
send me a message when you get up.
as a reminder
.....
yes

Me:
sounds good to me. I will send you reminders.

Trev:
great!
I should probably sleep...

Me:
yes. go be drunk with Alex and his broken piano.

Trev:
from the horrible meat hook hands

Me:
certainly not from the skirts.

Trev:
why do you do these things?
I can see it in my head
yet
Alex seems happy

Me:
it's better this way.

Trev:
I can't wait to tell you my dreams tomorrow. Good night my friend!

Me:
niiigghhtt!!!

she will remember your heart when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits.

Sidewalk stories.

I have never been so happy to have stepped in dog shit, let me tell you.

It seemed particularly dark on my way home this evening. Though the moon was out, I didn't see many stars through the low cloud coverage. I decided to walk home, because I wanted to do some listening and thinking without dealing with public transportation. I also think I have to put money on my Chahlee Cahd and I don't want to.

As a result of the darkness, I made it a point to keep an eye on the trail/dark bushes/woodsy area/bike trail off to my right because why the hell not? I was fiddling with my ipod (yes, in spite of the fact that I think about things like looking into bushes or window refections to see if there are people around me, I still walk around at night with headphones on. I'm an idiot. I know. I'm glad we agree.) and keeping watch to my right when I placed my left foot squarely in.. something.

Unwilling to pause to examine what I may or may not have trod upon, I kept moving, scraping the bottom of my shoe against the ground at all kinds of funny angles and hoping I didn't get anything on my pants. This continued for a bit before I got to a slightly better lit part of the trail. At this point I saw there on the ground a dead bird, and recalled I had seen a few of them on this stretch of road on my way in.

Panic.

Remember that time I said I killed an ant in the kitchen and felt bad about it for a stupid amount of time afterwards? Well, I wasn't making that shit up. Today I fiddled around with a spider until I could get him on a piece of paper and relocate his ass to the little patch of green under the sign at school. I did the same with an ant, (though the jerk was carrying another ant in his mouth) and have done similar things with houseflies. The idea that I may have just set foot IN THE REMAINS OF A DEAD FUCKING BIRD really bugged me. Like a whooooole bunch.

Thankfully, though I had managed to get most of it off by limping around like an r-tard for a block or so, it was only poo.

Other adventures:

I was having the most fun with my umbrella until it flew down the sidewalk. I figured out how to spin it horizontally, like, superfast, guy, and then spin it the OTHER way additionally. NO JOKE. I got it going so fast this one time that I didn't even bother to change direction. Eventually the string broke and there it went! No one was hurt.

In fact, as I chased the thing down the road, I realized this was the second such incident I had while dicking (seriously spell check, "dicking" is clearly a word and I am totally spelling it right) around with an umbrella. The other one was when I was doing the thing where you extend it like a baton with a flick of your wrist. Apparently I'd over done this game in the past and the first time I tried it during this particular outing, the top of it shot down the sidewalk like a Churchill Downs thoroughbred.

You guys, this blog is really exciting.

***you can probably skip the next part***

This OTHER time I was out when it was raining HARD and raining HORIZONTALLY. I was trying to keep my already dog eared and useless metal pile of crap umbrella from turning inside out/impaling my eyeballs on it's spidery metal asshole tines when one bright red/half dead one came clattering down the street at me, motivated by wind and freedom. I ran to catch up with it. Forgetting my own feisty, futile mess for a moment, I grabbed the little guy and escorted him to a trash can. While doing this I realized I was being watched by an older bearded guy in a leather jacket. "Now I have two!" I told him, holding them up before shoving the red one in the bin.

He gave me a look, I went back to my stuff.

As an aside, it's hilarious to watch people fight with umbrellas. I understand this and am fine with occasionally being that person trying to reason with one while not getting hit by cars/rain/people/the umbrella and maintain composure. Try this next time while watching this dance: pretend the umbrella isn't there.

***THIRD UMBRELLA STORY ENDS NOW, you can start reading again, but it probably wont get any better***

Final sidewalk story:

I was out with my mom and my sister about a year ago while Mom was visiting over the weekend. It was still early, and I feel the need to mention we had not yet had anything to drink. We passed a bus stop on the corner of my (at the time "our") street where a few people were waiting. Almost immediately I noticed a mostly undamaged double level square shelf thing, unfinished, sitting there on the sidewalk apparently unattended. Understand that a good amount of furniture I've let into my apartment since living here has been items I've found on the sidewalk and deemed worthy of adoption. I live in Cambridge, so it's usually not much a of a stretch.

While my mother and sister continued on, I ambled up to the thing and picked it up. Within seconds a guy leapt from the line of waiting bus people and also picked it up. There we were, holding the thing between us, eyeballing each other warily. I wasn't exactly sure what was happening until he offered the following information: "That's mine."

Oh.

I have no idea why I did what I did next.

"Oh! It's beautiful!" I said, sounding probably more than a little insane. It absolutely was not beautiful, it was as boring a piece of furniture as has ever been made by human or machine in the history of furniture design, and for the next few minutes I tried so very hard to appear like I was simply taken with the objects natural charisma and HAD to find out more about it. NOT that I was about to make off with what I didn't REALIZE was someone else's stuff.

"Did you make it!?" I asked. There was no way he made it. He wasn't letting go of it, so after turning it a little and examining it from a few angles to complete the facade of my interest, I did. I stuck my hands in my pockets and made a stupid attempt at small talk, which consisted of my asking squeaky, rapid fire questions about where he got it, what it could be used for, what it was made out of and then bolting to catch up with Mom and Sis. They didn't ask why I was cackling like a lunatic when I came up behind them. I don't know how I feel about that.

This poor guy probably has a great story now, about how he was almost robbed by some crazy woman on speed.

**

Dear Trader Joes,

By the time the bananas you sell are able to be eaten, I have forgotten I have purchased one.

**

Let the insane tan-lines begin!!

None of this makes any sense.

I spoke with Master Shifu about this show I heard about on Oprah where she gets like, someone to train a bunch of women in self defense and then has someone attack them on the street within a certain amount of time of the workshop. Most of the women didn't leave their house in sick anticipation of the attack. I was thinking how awesome it would be to be able to enlist that sort of scenario for a very high level test (in martial arts, duh) because that is, like, the best way to find out of this stuff works, right? He came back with, more or less: "Do you have any idea how much of a liability that would be? I mean,  think about it." Then I thought about it. And, yes. Liability. Sure. Dread Pirate would wreck. Among others.

I guess it's a pretty great sign when you consider much of your student body and realize that they'd annihilate anyone who were to attack them on the street.

Qualifier: If you're a Kung Fu teacher, this is great.

I guess any kind of teacher would do, though.

I went to the beach a while ago and got pretty excellently sunburnt. Seriously. I spent a few weeks applying industrial amount of moisturizer and burn relief lotions, gazing warily at Yellow Face from behind drawn shades. Itching.

Also, when I went to the beach, I found out that I really enjoy the ocean. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out giant waves and getting dragged across the sea bottom. But I'm fine with that, because you never realize how much you love breathing until you can't. People seem too have this idea that they are in control of the universe (I just typed "unoverse".. the same??) but hey, guess what? you're not!!

If I ever were to celebrate the masturbatory fame of a biopic it would be called "Ma Fleur" and would be scored by The Cinematic Orchestra using the record of that name.

Went dancing with Excellent Friend Who I Don't Have A Name For Yet a little bit ago. I, uh, enjoy dancing. I think it's fun and I have a good time doing it. I fucking (excuse me) LOVE music, so.. it's basically the best.

People talk to me when I go out- people who I don't know. This last time, after a bunch of muddled noise and misunderstanding I figured out that this girl was telling me that I was the "most adorable thing she'd ever seen." Instead of asking if she had grown up in a box, I said "Thanks!"

Later, she rubbed her butt on me.

Naturally, if people think I'm above average in anything, particularly looks or charisma,  I think there's something wrong with them. This is something I should have identified with my therapist, yes?

In other news:

When someone really cares about you and you tell them, or even behave in such a way that tells them you don't love them, or don't care about them, they act as though they have been stabbed. Would you ever actually stab someone? No? Okay. Then fucking behave yourself. Because Jesus.


.

Why I Don't Teach Kids About Anything Other Than Kung Fu.

While looking through Netflix watchnow options, my brain just said this to me:

"Want dumb action flick. Don't want to feel too obligated to finish. Wait. Don't I have Road House? I have Road House! Thank. Fucking. God. I have Road House....!"

 My brain also held a seminar on relationships and love on my way home yesterday. The seminar was given to a bunch of children.

"Okay, sit down, there's fine. Okay. Sit. Sit there. Yeap, right there's fine. Sit. Sit sit sit sit sit sit good jooooooooob! Okay, yeah you're fine there, and you're fine there, awesome. Nice work.

"Okay!

"So this talk is on relationships and how they sort of work, but will probably deteriorate into something totally different by the end. Everyone here has friends, right? You have family, some brothers or sisters, yeah. Good. Everyone here knows someone else to some level, right? Has anyone here ever been in love? You? You love your mom? Awesome, I bet she's great. Now, how do you feel when she's away from you for a long time? Not so good right? Yeah, you miss her when you go to school or she goes on a trip or something, I know. It sucks.

"When you love someone it's easy to miss them, right? It feels funny when they're gone, like somethings not..

"Oh wait! Who said that? You! What was that?

"Yes! It's like a part of you is missing. The idea's a little.. intense, I know- but who here agrees? Raise your hand, no need to speak up. Oh great, everyone here knows what it's like to miss someone you love. Like really miss someone- someone who's on a trip, or moved away. Does anyone know someone close to them who's died? Go ahead and raise your hand if you want..

"Okay, wow. So, uh, you miss them, right? Because they've gone somewhere you can't go, or you feel like you can't be close to them anymore because you can't see them. When someone leaves you though, really leaves you- who has died, or just, moved away, or disappears or whatever, it's different than say, mom going to the grocery store, or you going to school, right? Because in the past they have always come back, right?

"So what happens when they don't come back? Or they can't? Sure you miss them, but it really is like what we said before, like- some part of you isn't there.

"Why is that? I don't know.

"..

"Uh.. okay, so think of all the people you know, some of them are close to you, some of them aren't. Now think about that literally- place all the people you know around you, some close and some far away. I'm not talking about where they are in reality- like in the world. More like where they are in relation to, I don't know- your heart.

"Some people are close to you, right? Close to your heart. Close enough to really see you, really look right in your eyes and be right there with you.

"Lets pretend for a moment that all these people- your network of people you know, are all separated by poles of various sizes and lengths, but these poles are quite large at their base, where they begin at the individual. And lets pretend that whenever someone gets closer to you the tip of that pole penetrates an outer layer- then penetrates further as they get closer.

"Who here has like, a super-awesome-best friend? You? Okay! Cool. You guys hang out a lot? Yeah? You understand them, and you feel like when you're together you act as a unit? Like you're in it together and they look out for you and you look out for them. Like you share so much, so deeply that it's so simple to be a part of them, because they are right there with you, and you with them. It's totally amazing, right? You think about them a lot, and you are petty happy when you know that they are doing well. Even if you aren't with them physically, it's still alright if you know that they are alright.

"Some people are close like that, like parents who are very close to their children, close siblings, best friends, twins, or those lucky few who share a bond deeper than blood- the kind of bond made of  lifetimes, stars, and many esoteric ideas.

"Those people are like, super-close. From where you are you can see the pores of their skin, each hair on their head. The pole which separates you isn't visible anymore, you are at their base. You see them and they see you. Anyone here know what that's like? Yeah? You have a twin? Awesome, that must be very special- don't lose track of them! Ha.

"Obviously in this scenario these arrangements can change, people come closer and get further away and time carries people to and from you, naturally, right? But mostly these people, they stay right there with you, moving a bit sometimes, but mostly keeping nearby.

"So, what happens when these people leave? When they die? If something happens to them? To you? When they just go away-- when they pull back so far you can't see them anymore?

"Uh.. well..

"It leaves a hole in you I guess. A big hole. So.. maybe that's why you feel like something's missing when they're gone. Like when they've really left and aren't coming back.

"But I guess something that's really important to remember is that even though they're gone, you are still able to share something very special. Because it leaves a hole in them, too."

I bet you think this blog is about you.. don't you..

I've been watching a frightening amount of peep show. Though after reading reviews of the show apparently that's normal. If you decide to start to watch it be warned: You will watch frightening amounts of it.

My mission:impossible game isn't any better in the summertime, by the way- I'm sure you were wondering when I was going to get back to you on that. Honestly I haven't been really looking- and I think the people on the Cambridge public transit aren't that interesting.

I suspect if I was still in Portland there would be plenty of people mission:impossibling their way around town. Once I saw very round ecstatic man pushing a wheelchair down St John's street. He was wearing what looked like a wrestling cape and a cowboy hat. I think he'd encountered a pot hole in the sidewalk just as I discovered him, which may have been why his walk appeared so jaunty. There was a big trash bag sitting in the wheelchair, full. If that isn't deserving of a mission:impossible theme I don't know what is.

I was in a car at the time, the person driving also saw him. He was real.  

I encountered someone on the MBTA a few days ago- interacted with them. "Met" isn't really the right word. We interacted.

I had just made myself unique among the commuters, you see, and when you do things like this apparently it makes you more approachable.. just sos you know.

Here's how I did it:
It's no secret among those who practice "small talk" that it's been science-fiction hot out (I stole that term, but I don't remember from where) over the last four or five days. When I'd made my way into the stone-and-mold guts of the subway I found a woman sitting hunched over on one of the benches. I thought she was a yoga-person stretching out or something. She wasn't.

I didn't know what was wrong with her,  but I figured the right thing to do was to try to find out and maybe be of some use. I couldn't get any information from her directly as she wasn't awake/conscious but looked deceptively well put together for someone passed out in the train station. I asked her a few times if she was alright, soft then loud, if she needed some water etc..When she finally unfolded herself, it was to sway and mumble that she was fine. 

I know what alcohol looks like, what a few other drugs look like.. sort of what going-to-pass-out looks like.. I don't actually know what about-to-cry looks like.. her face was a kind of shifting mosaic of a number of these things. Among others, I'm sure.

I looked up and saw a bunch of people trying not to look at what was going on. I grilled an older gentleman for a bit to see if I could get him to get some water or someone more authorized to deal with this lady. He was nice enough to point towards the office where I could find such authorized types.

Cool.

So I got up and went over to find a T-person to help the lady out. Found about five of them hanging out in their little air conditioned box. When I began to tell them about the lady they all had a good laugh and sent one of their number out with me. He took his damned time getting out of his chair, strolled along behind me saying something about the woman having been there for a while etc.. swaggering, knees bowing in between veed-out feet and flopping arms, leaning back to accommodate a lifetime of empty calories and inactivity.

Fear not, fair Maiden! For I have journeyed a-far and returned hence with the finest the Commonwealth has to offer! Hip Hip!

He proceeded to dismiss me from my post as the woman's watcher, and went full bore into his rescue plan.. which, as far as I could tell, consisted of hassling the lady about when she was going to leave and reminding her that she'd been there for a few hours. I started to feel bad about not just getting her some water myself. 

Here's where my helping this lady out made me more approachable:
I went back to waiting for the train which is when I became engaged in conversation with a guy who said he'd been watching the whole thing but, you know, more from, like, a social experiment point of view, because, you know, no one was doing anything, and it was, like, interesting to see how long that was going to go on. He asked me if I'd missed a train trying to help her. I hadn't, but I said I wouldn't have minded if I had. Because Jesus.

I didn't try very hard to hide my disgust. I think he was trying to seem interesting- some how above it all. We had a brief conversation during which I didn't actually say that he's part of the problem- this whole epidemic of people thinking someone else will take care of things. Not out loud anyway. I sat across from him on the train and we had broken conversation about homeless people and how they are often misdiagnosed as drunk instead of having a diabetic.. reaction or something. He did most of the talking.. I asked if he was in medicine.. he said his parents were but he'd messed himself up enough to know these things.

I indirectly watched him pull a tomato out of his bag and eat it like an apple.

Then I went home.

You know what isn't fun? Getting food poisoning on a plane.

Dear People in the Airport Bathroom Who Commented on the Noise of my Prolonged Vomiting,

Sorry for the inconvenience.

Did anyone else Aldoux Huxley on the 10th? Is that something that happens? Something people do?

Talking: The Final Frontier.

I recently broke down and ordered a cheap mp3 player off the internet. It works fine, but it doesn't speak English so we don't really get along yet. It also doesn't appear to have any kind of brand, though I have come to know it as a "music stick". Unable to contact the maker directly to fix the problem, I found a site which sold the same item and e-mailed their support network to see if they could help me out. They asked me for my order number. I said I didn't have one because I hadn't bought the item from them directly but if they knew how to fix it could they please.. just.. tell.. me.. !!!

They wouldn't.

So I fished around in my mail box and found the site I got the thing from and mailed them my question.

When asked the appropriate key stroke sequence to change the language from Chinese to English I was sent two e-mails. The first one said they didn't have an answer yet but they would get one to me the following day.

How nice.

The second one was a shitty picture of the crap instructions that came with the item as well as this charming note:

Dear Lindsay,

Greeting from (place) support center.

Here is a easy diagrammatize attached at the bottom. Hope it can help you a lot. Any information that you may require, we shall be very pleased to forward to you.

Best regards!
K

My response.. almost:

Hi K,

Thank you for your note.

You see, I already received that very diagram in the package with the mp3 player music stick. You may notice that the layout of the actual keys on the stick and this diagram don't look anything alike, though in spite of this I believe I have figured out the basics of how to navigate the item. However, what I haven't figured out in the last few days is how to read Chinese, which is the language the player is using to communicate large pieces of information to me.

You may recall that this large piece of information was in my first note to you.

The song titles are in English. What it chooses to do with the songs, which order it will play them in, if it will play music at all or even if it decides to play the radio, this is all in Chinese. I have always meant to learn Chinese, though at this time all I can do is say "I don't know how to speak Chinese" and "where is the bathroom?" I can also say the word for "airplane, and "chicken." And I can count to ten. It is a beautiful language, but I can't speak it.

What I am looking for from you is a play by play of how many times I have to hit menu, enter, or next from when I turn it on in order to change the language setting to English.

Thank you,

Lindsay

I had this note fully constructed before I realized it probably wasn't the nicest thing to send. I'm actually kind of a jerk, turns out.

If I cannot pin down a Chinese speaking/reading friend in the next few days I might forward this on to friend-K.

Minus the first few paragraphs.

Maybe.

These are apparently the days of miracle and wonder.

Though maybe only from a certain point of view.

There are few things I would like to have re-engineered in my life.

Here are some of them:

I would like to erase all memories of the surprising parts about the Star Wars movies from the seventies/eighties era.

I would like to have been there watching The Wizard of Oz when it went Technicolor for the first time with no previous assumption that color in movies was even possible.

I would have liked to have been a person sitting in on the unveiled recording of Rolling in the Deep.

I would have liked to have been present at Beethoven's fifth symphony.. and others.

I would have like to have seen Santana's Soul Sacrifice live at Woodstock.

..or been present for certain parts of Stop Making Sense.. or any number of live encounters of certain songs.. the first performance of Twist and Shout for example..

The important part would be not having the socio/psychological baggage which tells me that these things are good. I would want to be surprised. I would want to be told by some deep well of intuition that these noises are truly able to wind their fingers around my heart and squeeze gently.

I guess there are only a few places in a lifetime that create enough openness and respect for complete awe.

I've been in the presence of greatness. I've shaken hands with it, told jokes to it, grown up with some of it, may never meet other parts of it. So many things are great. So many people.

I've wept in the presence of greatness. I'm not going to tell you what it was. You will poke fun at me when next we meet. It was nothing so noble as falling to my knees in tears at the feet of the David, no, no.

I thought the thing was great at the time. I do not think the thing is great anymore. See how cool I am now?

I had a milder experience at A Silver Mt. Zion show. I'll never forget it. (See??)

I have a friend (I probably have a few with this quality, but I am thinking of one in particular now) who sees these wonderful things maybe more frequently than others.

There is a scene in Wall-E involving a fire extinguisher which is particularly beautiful. I saw the movie in the theater with him and I recall seeing him wipe tears from his eyes during this event. I think of him whenever I watch that clip, and sometimes I feel like I see what he saw. I live this idea through him though, it isn't mine.

Similarly, these ideas that are mine aren't yours.

Duh.

You may not actually catch your breath during some piece of music, or find it necessary to breath very slowly, deeply and carefully at "the scars of your love, they leave me breathless."

But you could, and that's the important part.

The warm surprise of wonder comes to everyone at some point. I refuse to believe there are people who don't experience this sort of thing. This mainly because I think the reason these things happen is because everyone experiences them. Does that make sense?

Fine.

A friend asked me if I'd found myself to be more sensitive lately, in regards to things you feel rather than see or hear. I told her I probably haven't been paying attention. I also havn't been listening to much good music lately on the level I would like.

This whole line of thinking is all probably coming from the fact that I just got a pair of good headphones and a (free!!) mp3 player to replace KaZaK. When I first plugged the puppy in, did I listen to the 5th? The 7th? Other "great" things? Bolero?

Nope. No cigar.

The first song I played?

Rhythm Nation.

Yup.

and we all shine on.

There will always be this: it will be the middle of the night when I can't sleep- and for some reason I MUST find out why Marilyn Manson gained so much weight in 2009.

I'm fairly optimistic sometimes. It's foolish.

I've been thinking a lot about John Lennon lately. Sensitive.

J visits and tells me I'm distant- it usually takes me a good 20-24 hours to get used to having him around when it's been so long between visits. Work, meeting, work. We get a few hours together anyway.. toss the baseball back and forth. Talk. Sit. Lean. Sigh.

I've been thinking a lot about knees lately.

Memory:

Bolero.

.

I'm an excellent driver.

Doctor says "Take a week off." I says "Okay."

Went to visit my father in Cape Cod while he was there with his family-- who are my family as well, incidentally. I shared a few margaritas with his wife who I completely enjoy.. had a few conversations with her daughter about what she wants to be when she grows up. Looks like she's considering singing or theater of some kind- she likes Adele and Florence + The Machine. I don't blame her.

She asked me what I wanted to be when I was her age.

"A Jedi" I told her.

Never give up on a dream.

I stopped running cause it started to hurt my joints (I think) and I don't really miss it, but I did enjoy it when I was doing it. I liked the process.. the incorporation of the music.. I listened to a lot of Underworld- specifically King of Snake, Dinosaur Adventure 3D, Pearls Girl.. and some Flo + The Mo.

There are over 9000 songs on my iPod. I listen to it now almost exclusively on shuffle. I've beat the shuffle a few times- got all the way to the end.. nothing fun happens. I really only listen to a few songs on it, almost always stopping to listen to any Michale Jackson or Madonna.. or R.E.M. Other than that I skipskipskipskip until I find something bearable.

There are rules.

For example:

I have managed to acquire a tremendous amount of 90s radio hits in the form of the Billboard Top 100 of each year from 90 to 99. As a result of this some songs are in the shuffle more than once. My rules involving this are that every time the Macarena comes on I listen to it. Not because I enjoy it a whole lot, but because those are the rules. Here is a link to the version which was all the rage in 1996 incase you have been fortunate enough to forget it. I believe that the two guys in the suits are supposed to be in the same room as many of the half naked women. Can you believe that I actually find this video more tasteful than a lot of other similarly bent videos? Cause I do!?!?

I just watched -to refresh my memory and check the accuracy of the above statement- a video that was quite popular while I was living in New Zealand in 2006. It's called "Push the Button" and it's by a "group" called the "Sugar Babes". You will notice I have not included a link to the video.

Nope.

Sure didn't.

It's kind of a riot. The lyrics of the song are all about liking the way a man respects a woman, and wondering how obvious said woman needs to be in pursuit of said dude. Should you choose to youtube the video, you will notice that it features three half naked women prancing around in an elevator encountering three unsuspecting gentleman attempting to "push the button." The three are not in any danger of being too subtle. The number one guy is unconvincing.. the number two dude with the skinny tie is kind of dreamy.. the number three guy attempts to win her over by pulling out some random pirouette and later decides to shift over to the robot. The guys try hard too, sometimes.

Fantastically popular in New Zealand.

Back to the Macarena.

Also while I was living in New Zealand, I worked with a couple who taught Argentinian Tango, Camilla (who I will refer to by name, because if she ever stumbles across this I would love to get back in touch with her) and Davide (same). Camilla is probably one of the most attractive women I have ever had the pleasure to know personally, in addition to being a really awesome person. She and I would occasionally go out in Wellington, the capitol, to wonder around and see the sites. The drinking age in NZed is 18 so whenever a particularly sloppy gaggle of trashed hussies would stumble by us she would turn to me, lower her wonderful Argentinian eyelashes, sneer her lovely Argentinian lip, and mutter in her throaty Argentinian voice: "Desastre."

Camilla, Davide and I had a lovely time waiting tables together at a local Italian trattoria. I used to make Davide sing the Macarena.. and La Cucaracha. He would get me back by singing "Shake That Ass For Me" on repeat.

There was one magical night, after hours when the two of them danced a tango together through the tables, holding one another very close. It was quite special. I miss them.

Thanks to Eminem I have, just now had the pleasure of saying "Shake That Ass For Me" on the internets to strangers. Yup.

Also:

I watched, over the course of about five or six days, the following movies:

Awakenings, Rain Man, Lorenzo's Oil.

My friend High Kick and I used to play a game we called "Awakenings" at work when it was slow. Either he or I would sit, inert, in a chair in the center of the back servers station. The other person would then huck an object at the sitter who would then.. catch it!

These three movies have aspects in them which could potentially be hard to watch. Awakenings features a man suffering from the after effects of encephalitis who is briefly rehabilitated and then relapses via a downward spiral of loosing all bodily control. Lorenzo's Oil is about a young boy diagnosed with Adrenolukadistrophy which is a disease which destroys the myelin which surrounds the nerves in the brain, essentially turning the brain to mush. The story documents his decline and his parents drive to find a cure for the disease. Rain Man is about an autistic man who is kidnapped by his recently discovered brother to drive across country in order to negotiate their inheritance.

In Awakenings it was really uncomfortable to watch the main character decline into an angry twitchy state, unable to control any of his bodily functions.

Lorenzo's Oil is a brutal, miserable film, I'd watched it when I was much younger. It still bothers me, all of the screaming, the choking on spittle, the relentless cooing of the mother..

Finally, Rain Man, which has moments of high tension when the Autistic brother gets alarmed or upset or you believe he will die in some way.. but still.. even considering all of that.. the most difficult part to watch of the whole thing was Tom Cruise.

there is a town with a little motel and an old movie house..

I just recently watched "The Bodyguard" with Ms. Whitney Huston and Kevin Costner. I never saw it when it came out way back when I was in fifth grade, so I figured I'd catch up on the pop culture. Turns out the actual bodyguard in the movie isn't a very good one- though I suppose we are to view his distraction and incompetence as the drowsy and frantic effects of love. It wasn't a very good movie- but it stirred me up a bit, kinda tense at a few points. I got involved. I wanted more from it though-- the best example of this is at the very end, which, if you haven't seen, I will spoil for you now: they kiss.

No big deal - they, like, 'do it' earlier in the flick.. but the final kiss is supposed to be a big deal. I was surprised to find myself making laughing noises at my computer (where I was watching the video). What was supposed to be a passionate embrace, one fitting of an energetic, talented vocalist and stage presence uniting finally with an unwavering being of honor, skill and integrity, actually made me laugh.

The two muckled onto each other and wagged their heads back and forth for a while, wrinkled brows and white knuckled fingers on shoulders (please) abound. It was like watching two aliens who had been told to demonstrate on each other how they thought humans were supposed to make out. Fie.

I wanted fireworks! I wanted goosebumps and heart issues! I wanted the kind of thing you would expect to see emanating from two romantically involved nuclear power plants! Disruption! Explosions! Chaos at it's affectionate finest!

.. nothing!!

The face Mr. C is making at the very end of the film basically says it all-- there were a couple places where I started to understand why he's even involved in movie production from the point of view of aesthetics.. but this face he's got at the end of the movie.. isn't doing him any favors.

I did enjoy watching W.H. sing though, at the risk of sounding Batemanish. She has a great voice and does appear to really enjoy singing, which is a lot of fun to watch. Her version of Partons song is really nice-- if one were to rework the background music to get away from the cheesy Michael Boltonish/Kenny G.ish/Celine Dionish bullcrap and steer it more towards something a little more timeless it would actually be a really great song. Dolly doesn't have the pipes kids, sorry- but of course she wrote it.. and delivers it with sincerity which is not to be ignored.. and.. so on.

I was wondering this evening if it s a crime that we can hear the sincere delivery of a song like the one mentioned above and eventually stop liking it because it is "overplayed". Is that a bad thing? Is it a bad thing that I can never hear Beethovens 5th without thinking of all the lame commercials it's been featured in? Or perhaps that my sisters grammar school chorus did a chicken clucking version of the damned thing? Is this a bad thing? Or is it a really amazing thing that I even have access to such a piece (and others) in such variety and volume?

It's getting easier to see around the crap. I'm more able to listen to the 5th and hear it.. like it's a song and not a gimmick or a tag line. When it climbs I consider a universal and intangible outward expansion instead of mounting stress that some yuck wont get his cheeseburger on time. When I hear Huston sing about bittersweet memories in this big wonderful voice I just enjoy it.. instead of thinking of her as this shrieking overplayed pop-radio banshee-- which I certainly did for a while. These songs are energy and vibration and they are lovely, mostly.

I am not saying that these two songs are anything alike- that would be like saying that a sea cucumber is very similar to a riotous flock of flamingoes. However..

It is my feeling that overabundance of something is irrelevant if the quality of the item remains undiluted. The true things will remain true- the honest resonation will stand firm while everything else goes away. Same with art. Same with love. Same with relationships of any kind, on a grand or a fine scale.

I was asked earlier today what I believe in.

I guess I believe in that.

upside: love you, down side: miss you.

I just woke up from one of those devastating naps. To be completely honest I was moving around a few hours ago-- but I feel just now, that I just woke up. One of those ones where you wake up stuck to the pillow and can't walk in a straight line. Way to spend a rainy day off..

I've started running.. and who knew that I'd like it so much. I only do a mile.. my goal is two at about 6 or 7mph-- it's a good warm up to other things I've been working on. I have discovered, and I don't know if this is normal or not, that if I grab the heart-rate-things on the treadmill once I've hit the mile marker and begin to walk, that I can slow my heart rate down from 170 to 115 within the span of a minute. Fun game. It's probably normal.

I'm not built like a runner.. more like a gymnast, but I do love sprinting. I remember vividly the first time I ever put on a pair of cleats.. it was like flying.. gripping the ground like an animal.. turning on a dime.. causing the opposing team no end of stress..

I used to play softball and I miss it every now and then. I was short stop, and third base. Left field if there were a bunch of older girls on the team who got infield favor. I was always told it was best to be tall if you wanted to play short.. tall or fast as hell with an arm that wouldn't quit. Which was me when I was twelve.. so shortstop it was. Third base used to terrify me, especially when I started playing in a high school summer league, and the third baseman was stationed about three feet away from the batter. I pitched for one game.. the one game where we were in need of an umpire.. and my father volunteered. The only decent pitch I threw he called a ball.. and apologized under his breath from behind me (the ump would stand behind the pitcher for little league games.. far away from where a wild bat could be thrown). As far as batting went, I spent a fair amount of time hitting ground balls directly to the pitcher or the first baseman and making valiant attempts to outrun their efforts to get me out. Never really worked.. beyond that there were a few years where I managed to sit comfortably in the clean-up hitter spot. I think this was more for shock value than anything else. I'm a small person, and when I was twelve I was probably smaller, so watching me go up to bat clean-up must have seemed fairly ridiculous. The opposing team would inevitably signal to their team mates to "move in" ten feet or so.. later in the game, four runs behind, their educated method would be to back up. I also used to LOVE to attempt to steal bases. If you get any two twelve year old girls to enthusiastically huck a ball back and forth to each other under the stress of trying to manipulate a troublesome runner they will eventually miss, and this I would use to my advantage-- much to my coaches dismay. Yes, softball was fun. I enjoyed it and had a knack for the skills required to play it. I stopped playing in high school because the coaches started to adopt this "win or die" attitude that I didn't agree with. Also, I wasn't good friends with the coaches daughter so I would get benched while her buddies enjoyed field time. Lame.

J is far away at some army officer training thing-- I wont be able to speak to him until sometime next month - they've taken his phone away, like fat-camp. This amuses me, pretending that he's at fat-camp- he being more or less built like the David.. perhaps broader in shoulder and smaller of head..

Ten year high school reunion in a few days. I get to go up to Maine which will be nice- do some hiking and swimming in the MDI area. I miss Maine.. been thinking about it a lot lately. I'll probably end up back there.. some day.

Had a thought the other day, and it was this: Abacus was probably the best job I've ever had.

He who has a why to live can bear almost any how ~ Nietzche

you can act real rude and totally removed and I can act like an imbecile..

Our conversation.. about condoms.

"I mean, you know what I'm talking about, right? The whole thing becomes very self aware.. you lose enthusiasm.. you know."

"Well it's like trying to open a childproof container in the middle of a candle lit dinner!"

"So gets some packets of ramen and practice!!"

Mutual crack-up.

.. we get along.

And it occurs to me, this weekend, when I cannot speak to him, just how miserable I would be if I was still alone. 'Alone' as in without romance. Without one person who openly thinks of me as I think of him. He is so sweet, and I am so lucky.

Memory:

I wake up in the night, an unplanned interlude, and he is awake too. "I really, really love you." he says, groggy. I wrap his arm tighter around me, pressing my back into his front and say quietly that I love him, too.

Come with me to the book store for a second- let me show you what happened:

I have these plans, you see, to buy a book for someone who just doesn't like the books that I like. I'm pretty dumb sometimes.

So I go to the store and look in the V section because that's where this book lives. Below the book is a copy of Brief Interviews with Hideous Men. I'd watched the movie version of this on a whim, because Netflix said I would like it based on my enjoyment of a small film called Good Dick. Good Dick is a great flick, by the way. Really cute.

So here we have shelf one, V section, with BIWHM directly underneath book in V section I am looking for. My sister, a week or so ago started talking to me about Biwhm which I had watched not two nights prior-- this is notable because we are not usually on the same wave length. IN Biwhm is a pretty intense reference to Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl which is exactly where I open the book to when I pick it up. I flip the book once again and get to the exact conversation she (sister) and I talked about during our fleeting conversation.

I amble around the place and drool over a few things, The Pleasure of My Company by Steve Martin as well as his book about art which I can't remember the name of, a few books by Haruki Murakami. I am now in the M section.

I mosey some more, having moved now to the lower portion of the book store where all bets are off and nothing is alphabetized. I pick up What I Talk About When I Talk About Runningwhich is also by Murakami, though I am no longer in the M section, and read the first few pages.

I desire this book.

I put it down and directly to my right is a stack of Man's Search for Meaning, by Viktor Frankl.

I stare for a moment. People walk by me. The world slows down.

I walk by a book whose title I can't remember and flip directly to a chapter break. Right there in bold it says "This Is True." I close the book and open it back, believing I saw something familiar in the first few lines of the new chapter, looking for that page I'd lost. "This Is True" yells out at me from the exact page I had flipped to initially.

On the other side of the first floor I find myself before another stack of Murakami books, one called After the Quake which I really enjoyed. I love it for this reason, and I will quote it below-- there is a conversation in it about polar bears.

Here:

"He once told me about polar bears - what solitary animals they are. They mate just once a year. One time in a whole year. There is no such thing as a lasting male-female bond in their world. One male polar bear and one female polar bear meet by sheer chance somewhere in the frozen vastness, and they mate. It doesn't take long. And once they are finished, the male runs away from the female as if he is frightened to death: he runs from the place where they have mated. He never looks back - literally. The rest of the year he lives in deep solitude. Mutual communications - the touching of two hearts - do not exist for them. So, that is the story of polar bears - or at least it is what my employer told me about them.'

'How very strange.'

Yes, it is strange. I remember asking my employer, ' Then what do polar bears exist for?' ' Yes, exactly,' he said with a big smile. 'Then what do we exist for?"

Anyway.

There is another story in there called Super-Frog Saves

Tokyo, which was the story I was perusing before I set the book down to see, again to my direct right, a stack of the book that I had initially come here to purchase which was also sitting, one floor up, in the V section.

I am now at home.

I have decided to re-teach myself how to walk on my hands.

yeah. yeah yeah. yeah yeah.

This morning I told myself, while standing at a crosswalk in the rain, that if you play the Mission: Impossible theme in your head while looking into a crowd you can always find someone having an epic, desperate adventure. Attention must be switched from one person to another in order for this to work properly. I was convinced of this for a few seconds before I proved myself wrong, my field of vision filled only with people walking in the rain and sitting in cars. Not even walking fast or sitting intently. I will try it again and report back.

There is a satellite radio at work. I believe it is to blame for Nickelbacks appearance in my dream last night/early this morning. It may also have something to do with my mildly rekindled interest in pop radio.

When I was five my mother used to tell me that if I started singing and dancing at my age I could grow up to be like Michael Jackson, who began his career at five. You must understand that her encouragement didn't come from my skill level in either field so much as it being a potentially lucrative family endeavor. Irony doesn't mean much to a five year old, and though I didn't exactly take her seriously, I took this as a green light to go ahead and sing along to the radio during car rides. Also at five I didn't have a great hold on the language, so I can only imagine the kind of mush that came out of my mouth during these enthusiastic backseat serenades- usually verse filler.. I knew a lot of choruses but all the details in between were subject to brutal improvisation. My sister took issue with this pretty much immediately and didn't have any problems telling me to knock it off. Ah.. sisterly love..

Presently I probably don't have a much better singing voice, but my brain does tend to hang on to song lyrics for whatever reason, so I've made progress there, at least. In fact I think it's fun sometimes to unravel tough-to-figure-out sentences or mumbledslurredtogetherwhateverisms. Though sometimes without the aid of a cd or tape insert, and now the internet, it is possible to err in this practice.

The most recent of misinterpretations happened yesterday during a satellite rampage which included a popular Usher song called "The DJ's Got Us Falling In Love Again." Had I known the name of the song I probably would have been less likely to superimpose "The Ninja God is falling in love again!" over the chorus. I enjoy the absurd quite a bit and this had me cracking up enough to be nearly unable to communicate my glee to my manager. Hoo.

There was a CD, before the addition of the satellite radio we used to listen to at work by Ingrid Something Or Other. Michaelson? She has a few good songs, one of which I do truly enjoy called The Chain. The CD was called "Be Okay" and had a song by the same title as the opening track. "I just want to relocate, relocate, relocate" is what I believed she was saying for a short time.

"'Cause, baby, you're a firewood!"

The song is called "Firework" by Katy Perry (so says the internet), and this was a slip of the ear made by my manager who was kind enough to share it with me a few days ago. I thought of it during one of those showering-after-midnight evenings and actually laughed out loud about it. Roommate was.. asleep I hope. It's really funny in the context of the song. ("Make them go 'oh!' as you shoot across the sky!")

Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mick and Titch wrote a song popularized by Death Proof called "Hold Tight." It's second line is "shut your eyes.." not "ass." By the way. In case you were wondering. Hee hee.

My sister supplied me a with a pop song I really like called "Maneater" and it lives in the Pop Radio Guilt section of my iPod. The correct lyrics are "make you want all of her love," not "Maneater, make you work hard, make you spend hard, make you want more buffalo."

Naturally there are some willing misinterpretations to make life more interesting. I used to do this a lot at The Abacus to try to get Dennis to laugh, though it often wasn't necessary as many of the songs had some foolish lyrics to begin with. I used to substitute "what this guy looks like, what his car looks like.." for "what the sky looks like, what the stars look like.." for a particular tune. You know, when I wasn't running with my rain face on.

My other manager shared with me "hold me closer, Tony Danza" which was a misfire from a friend of hers. Count the headlights on the highway.

Speaking of Sir. Elton John..

I remember an evening years ago during an unexpected visit and welcome melding of two separate groups of friends. There was a point at which some six of us were packed in a car on our way to wherever, all of us singing Crocodile Rock at volume with reckless abandon. Crocodile Rock wasn't what was playing on the radio in the car, you see.

So as you may have guessed I didn't go with the singing and dancing career at the age of five. I don't really sing much anymore. I will sing when alone and executing domestic tasks. I will also sing in the car if the music is loud. Sometimes if the music is not loud and I have a willing car singing companion I will sing with them. DanTarr makes a good car singing companion. I do so miss car singing with DanTarr.."say it ain't so" down that dirt road before the Curran wedding.. sigh..

As far as dancing goes I enjoy it quite a bit though there aren't as many occasions for it as I would like. Ms. Moonshine is coming here in a few weeks and there are plans to attack the phoenix in the evening of the 25th. Having a good dance parter is as important as having a good car singing partner, says I.

Chances are, Reader, you've been invited.

So dance.