I play off my unwillingness to be completely honest as a sickness. It's some overused sympathy extractor, and you'll work to convince yourself that I'm trying, always trying. You think you know more about me than anyone else and that some day the words will start to roll out of my mouth and you'll be there to help me collect them from the floor and we'll put them together into sentences that will reveal hiddent truths to us both. You will believe the words when they come, and maybe I will too.
But I'll be watching to see what my words grow into. I'll mother them through childhood and I'll worry about them as teenagers as they break the promises I made. In the end, I will have to let go and hope they become at least an inkling of what I had in head when I let them leave my tongue.
They never are.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Baby's Breath
Stepped out back to watch the dogs run through the yard and play in their early morning exuberance. Snow was falling and it stung my face. It felt good as it iced over my grogginess and made me wish for a moment I could be small like them and run around the yard in figure eights, nipping at their tails. The air was so clean and that it seemed to fill corners of my lungs that hadn’t been used in months.
I thought this must be like being a newborn, sucking in that first confused breath with infant lungs. I am a baby, gasping for my first mouthful of sterile hospital air. Just enough breath to be able to close my eyes and scream at you all for pulling me out of the damp warmth and dark that had been home.
I thought this must be like being a newborn, sucking in that first confused breath with infant lungs. I am a baby, gasping for my first mouthful of sterile hospital air. Just enough breath to be able to close my eyes and scream at you all for pulling me out of the damp warmth and dark that had been home.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Renaissance Man? I Have Serious Doubts...
What we thought would be a struggle to shed a bit of the hermit image Jen and I have developed for ourselves has actually been a bit more organic than we imagined. What normally would have been a long weekend in the house has turned into us getting out on the town a bit. Since neither of us are eating solid food yet (stupid diet) we've had to find other things to keep us occupied and this weekend we did an admirable job.
I took the day off Friday to hand with Jen on the last day of her Spring Break. After sleeping in and getting a start on "Blood Meridian" by Cormac McCarthy, we went bowling. It has been at least ten years since I have hit the lanes, and my performance reflected every second I was away. We bowled four games and it wasn't until the fourth that I broke 100. Sad.
What was fun for me was to be reminded of the subculture that is out there in the corners that you have forgotten while dealing with your own life. Bowlers have been poked fun at in film (The Big Lewbowski being my favorite of the few) but the characters normally shown are a bit over the top and lack some of the effortless creepiness that some hard core bowlers exude. My favorite people weren't the active seniors pulling towels out of their bags and tying their shoes just so, or the families taking advantage of a rare afternoon off with the kids. My favorite people to watch were the twenty-something males who were there to practice.
They arrive with over sized gym bags and reserve a lane for three hours of open bowling. They tie and retie their shoes and absently let their fingers trail over the air jet anytime they stand near the ball return. When they bowl, it is with the spinning flare of PBA tour vets. The shined bowling balls seem to hang over the right gutter and then at the last second pull back magically to slam through the pins in a sharp right to left movement filling the room with the characteristic sound of pins being smashed into oblivion mixed with exclamations of "Did you see that shit?" or "Oh, baby!"
I imagine walking up to them and saying "That is the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I'm prepared to give you sex." just to see their pleased reactions go to confused scowls as they try to decide if they would actually have sex with this large man who can barely break an 85. It hits me that Jen would get a much better (and more positive) reaction than me, and I'm on the verge of asking if she'll do it for kicks when she reminds me that she's killing me and I better focus on not throwing a gutter ball.
Four games later, we head downtown to this great bookstore called "The Book Loft". It's a really great place in the heart of German Village. While it was cool to look through, it was also really expensive so we decide to go hang out somewhere else. I suggest the Galleries in the Short North and so that's where we head.
We only made it through about 4 galleries before it was time to head home to take care of the dogs but we had decided that we need to win the lottery so we can afford some of the pieces we saw. It had been a long time since I had been through any of the galleries in the Short North and I was reminded of how amazing some of the artists in this town are. I was also reminded of how poor I am as the piece that Jen and I really wanted was almost $4000.
Last night we went to see Grupo Corpo (http://www.grupocorpo.com.br/pt/index.php) a Brazilian Modern Dance company that were debuting their newest piece for the first time in the US. For the most part, dance really isn't my thing and I will never claim to understand the symbolism that goes into the movement. It was something I knew Jen would love, and so I got us tickets thinking that if nothing else there would be beautiful women romping around the stage in uni-tards. (I know, I'm a bit of a lout.) So, while I was expecting it to be visually interesting I was not expecting to love it as much as I did.
While I knew that the first piece was an exploration between African rhythms and their close connections to Brazilian music (the program told me so, and I believed it) I found myself amazed that the human body could do the things that seemed so effortless to them. It was midway through the second piece that I found myself actually moved (not something I ever say lightly). A man and woman were crumbled into a ball on the stage, limbs tangled seemingly into knots. The man would try to stand, getting as far as his hands and feet, back arched, when the weight of the woman clinging to his chest would pull him to the ground with an audible thump. They rolled and writhed and the woman would try to stand, scrambling halfway across the stage before the weight of her partner made her crash to the ground. They continued this way, back and forth across the stage, each attached to the other, each trying to escape, each unable to make it happen.
While this is happening, four other couples are lying on the stage head to head. Slowly they push into each other, heads cradling each other and necks touching. Slowly, by pushing against each other, they were able to start pushing each other up. Without using hands or arms to lift themselves from the stage, they slowly stepped into each other, until they were full upright. They stood swaying in each other's arms while the broken couple crashed around them on the floor unwatched.
It was unnerving and sad. When that section ended (the couple never ever to accomplish more than scrambling off stage, I looked at Jen and could tell she felt the same way I did. At the height of the applause she looked at me and said "Wow". Yeah.
I always understood that dance was art, but it wasn't a form that ever inspired me like painting or film or books ever had. It never made me actually feel anything until last night. So, while there may have been many more educated folks in attendance that saw through the many different layers in what they were doing, I felt like I got everything I could have gotten from it. They blew me away.
Next Friday we see Stomp. I have a feeling that there will be less feeling in it for me, but on the plus side, I love watching people beat on shit. I don't think I can lose.
I took the day off Friday to hand with Jen on the last day of her Spring Break. After sleeping in and getting a start on "Blood Meridian" by Cormac McCarthy, we went bowling. It has been at least ten years since I have hit the lanes, and my performance reflected every second I was away. We bowled four games and it wasn't until the fourth that I broke 100. Sad.
What was fun for me was to be reminded of the subculture that is out there in the corners that you have forgotten while dealing with your own life. Bowlers have been poked fun at in film (The Big Lewbowski being my favorite of the few) but the characters normally shown are a bit over the top and lack some of the effortless creepiness that some hard core bowlers exude. My favorite people weren't the active seniors pulling towels out of their bags and tying their shoes just so, or the families taking advantage of a rare afternoon off with the kids. My favorite people to watch were the twenty-something males who were there to practice.
They arrive with over sized gym bags and reserve a lane for three hours of open bowling. They tie and retie their shoes and absently let their fingers trail over the air jet anytime they stand near the ball return. When they bowl, it is with the spinning flare of PBA tour vets. The shined bowling balls seem to hang over the right gutter and then at the last second pull back magically to slam through the pins in a sharp right to left movement filling the room with the characteristic sound of pins being smashed into oblivion mixed with exclamations of "Did you see that shit?" or "Oh, baby!"
I imagine walking up to them and saying "That is the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I'm prepared to give you sex." just to see their pleased reactions go to confused scowls as they try to decide if they would actually have sex with this large man who can barely break an 85. It hits me that Jen would get a much better (and more positive) reaction than me, and I'm on the verge of asking if she'll do it for kicks when she reminds me that she's killing me and I better focus on not throwing a gutter ball.
Four games later, we head downtown to this great bookstore called "The Book Loft". It's a really great place in the heart of German Village. While it was cool to look through, it was also really expensive so we decide to go hang out somewhere else. I suggest the Galleries in the Short North and so that's where we head.
We only made it through about 4 galleries before it was time to head home to take care of the dogs but we had decided that we need to win the lottery so we can afford some of the pieces we saw. It had been a long time since I had been through any of the galleries in the Short North and I was reminded of how amazing some of the artists in this town are. I was also reminded of how poor I am as the piece that Jen and I really wanted was almost $4000.
Last night we went to see Grupo Corpo (http://www.grupocorpo.com.br/pt/index.php) a Brazilian Modern Dance company that were debuting their newest piece for the first time in the US. For the most part, dance really isn't my thing and I will never claim to understand the symbolism that goes into the movement. It was something I knew Jen would love, and so I got us tickets thinking that if nothing else there would be beautiful women romping around the stage in uni-tards. (I know, I'm a bit of a lout.) So, while I was expecting it to be visually interesting I was not expecting to love it as much as I did.
While I knew that the first piece was an exploration between African rhythms and their close connections to Brazilian music (the program told me so, and I believed it) I found myself amazed that the human body could do the things that seemed so effortless to them. It was midway through the second piece that I found myself actually moved (not something I ever say lightly). A man and woman were crumbled into a ball on the stage, limbs tangled seemingly into knots. The man would try to stand, getting as far as his hands and feet, back arched, when the weight of the woman clinging to his chest would pull him to the ground with an audible thump. They rolled and writhed and the woman would try to stand, scrambling halfway across the stage before the weight of her partner made her crash to the ground. They continued this way, back and forth across the stage, each attached to the other, each trying to escape, each unable to make it happen.
While this is happening, four other couples are lying on the stage head to head. Slowly they push into each other, heads cradling each other and necks touching. Slowly, by pushing against each other, they were able to start pushing each other up. Without using hands or arms to lift themselves from the stage, they slowly stepped into each other, until they were full upright. They stood swaying in each other's arms while the broken couple crashed around them on the floor unwatched.
It was unnerving and sad. When that section ended (the couple never ever to accomplish more than scrambling off stage, I looked at Jen and could tell she felt the same way I did. At the height of the applause she looked at me and said "Wow". Yeah.
I always understood that dance was art, but it wasn't a form that ever inspired me like painting or film or books ever had. It never made me actually feel anything until last night. So, while there may have been many more educated folks in attendance that saw through the many different layers in what they were doing, I felt like I got everything I could have gotten from it. They blew me away.
Next Friday we see Stomp. I have a feeling that there will be less feeling in it for me, but on the plus side, I love watching people beat on shit. I don't think I can lose.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Doodling At Lunch II
She's the kind of girl that just starts talking and then looks around to find someone to listen to her. If you make eye contact you're done for. She'll focus on you and direct the rest of her thoughts at you, simply because you were unlucky enough to raise your eyes.
Head down, son. Focus on your screen and keep the music pumping through your headphones.
I hate this place right now
Head down, son. Focus on your screen and keep the music pumping through your headphones.
I hate this place right now
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The Great Outdoors
Tonight I rushed home, got the bike rack on the back of the Jeep, loaded the bikes and boogied over to one of our many Metro Parks for the first ride of the year. It was pushing 60 degrees but was pretty chilly in the shade and there was the occasional pool of melted snow to spash through, but man it was just great to be outside.
We just got our bikes a couple of weeks ago and have been dying to get out get on some trails. We weren't out there too long, but it was nice to just get a feel for the new bikes and be outside. We made good time but stopped for a bit to watch four deer about 75 yards out as they stood around doing deer stuff.
Looks like it's going to be shit outside for the next two weeks. Lots of chilly wind and rain. Spring can't come soon enough.
Kurt Cobain was wrong. Mother Nature is not a whore, she's a tease.
We just got our bikes a couple of weeks ago and have been dying to get out get on some trails. We weren't out there too long, but it was nice to just get a feel for the new bikes and be outside. We made good time but stopped for a bit to watch four deer about 75 yards out as they stood around doing deer stuff.
Looks like it's going to be shit outside for the next two weeks. Lots of chilly wind and rain. Spring can't come soon enough.
Kurt Cobain was wrong. Mother Nature is not a whore, she's a tease.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Mmmmm...More NASA Powder Please!
When fat people lose weight they become like children, measuring in fractions. Where a little girl might refer to herself as seven-and-a-half, a fat woman will tell you that she has lost 34.8 pounds. Everything is measured: Water ¾ cups. 1 packet nutritionally enhanced choco-flavored NASA powder. 100% daily balance. 30 minutes bike riding while watching Family Guy. Three sets of fifteen.
Like anytime you are getting involved in a new way of life, a vocabulary is learned. Most of the terms and words associated with weight loss are well known by all, but only fat people and the ones who work with them seem to use them on a regular basis.
I imagine it being the same for any group of people that come together while sharing an experience. Writers, homosexuals, kite enthusiasts, Scientologists, pedophiles and joggers all have invented languages and customs. Those who are new learn quickly or are left feeling out of the loop, grasping for common ground while trying to absorb what they can.
These are the things I’m thinking as I sit in a room full of people each week, all of us battling our weight. We sit in a waiting room that is ironically small with a matching ironically small television that struggles to capture a local channel with its brittle bunny ears. I try to watch the television that usually is tuned to the Columbus news while stealing glances at the people who share the room with me.
We share the indignity of the waiting room, taking turns talking to the dietician and the doctor, then getting our approval to continue with the program for another week.
“How are your bowel movements?”
“Having any muscle cramps?”
“Any changes in your medication?”
“Keep up the good work.”
One more week of transformation. In my mind I’ve ripped of Thomas Harris and started calling it “The Becoming”.
I am…becoming.
Like anytime you are getting involved in a new way of life, a vocabulary is learned. Most of the terms and words associated with weight loss are well known by all, but only fat people and the ones who work with them seem to use them on a regular basis.
I imagine it being the same for any group of people that come together while sharing an experience. Writers, homosexuals, kite enthusiasts, Scientologists, pedophiles and joggers all have invented languages and customs. Those who are new learn quickly or are left feeling out of the loop, grasping for common ground while trying to absorb what they can.
These are the things I’m thinking as I sit in a room full of people each week, all of us battling our weight. We sit in a waiting room that is ironically small with a matching ironically small television that struggles to capture a local channel with its brittle bunny ears. I try to watch the television that usually is tuned to the Columbus news while stealing glances at the people who share the room with me.
We share the indignity of the waiting room, taking turns talking to the dietician and the doctor, then getting our approval to continue with the program for another week.
“How are your bowel movements?”
“Having any muscle cramps?”
“Any changes in your medication?”
“Keep up the good work.”
One more week of transformation. In my mind I’ve ripped of Thomas Harris and started calling it “The Becoming”.
I am…becoming.
Monday, March 10, 2008
The Great White Death
Columbus is a town that effectively shuts down when we receive more than three inches of snow. The moment a dusting of the white stuff collects in the gutters cars magically flip off the road and burst into flames. Roofs collapse and children get unexpected nose bleeds. We run screaming from our cars to the safe warmth of our local grocery stores where we will gladly punch the elderly in the throat for a loaf of Wonderbread. We marvel over the piles of snow in the parking lots and talk about how we never realized how many schools there were in the city until you start seeing their names spaced out over the News Crawl at the bottom of the screen.
So, with this in mind, you can imagine the devastation that followed the 20.5 inches we received this past weekend. Our local news reported that we had over 1900 reported motor vehicle accidents in 48 hours. 1900! That means that every hour almost 40 people were smacking into guardrails and each other like slam dancers in the pit of a Nirvana concert. Magically there were only two reported deaths during this time, a statistic I was stunned by. I would have assumed at least 14 deaths due to people freezing to death after licking flagpoles. I even drove around a bit on Saturday expecting to see entire families of people hanging from their flagpoles, upright only through the indescribable strength of their frozen tongues. Alas, none were to be found. See? People are smarter than I give them credit for. I should be ashamed.
So, we survived. Even my two dogs made due once I shoveled out a place in the yard for them to take care of bidness (the snow towered over their heads). I ran out for some movies Saturday at Blockbuster and then bought a handful of $5 films at Target and headed back for a marathon movie session on the couch interrupted by stretches of Wii while Jen napped. It was tough, but we made it through the Blizzard of '08. I'll be watching the mail for my commemorative t-shirt.
So, with this in mind, you can imagine the devastation that followed the 20.5 inches we received this past weekend. Our local news reported that we had over 1900 reported motor vehicle accidents in 48 hours. 1900! That means that every hour almost 40 people were smacking into guardrails and each other like slam dancers in the pit of a Nirvana concert. Magically there were only two reported deaths during this time, a statistic I was stunned by. I would have assumed at least 14 deaths due to people freezing to death after licking flagpoles. I even drove around a bit on Saturday expecting to see entire families of people hanging from their flagpoles, upright only through the indescribable strength of their frozen tongues. Alas, none were to be found. See? People are smarter than I give them credit for. I should be ashamed.
So, we survived. Even my two dogs made due once I shoveled out a place in the yard for them to take care of bidness (the snow towered over their heads). I ran out for some movies Saturday at Blockbuster and then bought a handful of $5 films at Target and headed back for a marathon movie session on the couch interrupted by stretches of Wii while Jen napped. It was tough, but we made it through the Blizzard of '08. I'll be watching the mail for my commemorative t-shirt.
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