Monday, December 22, 2008

Ah The Sights and Sounds of Christmas...

Now, if anyone has ever sat at 295 and Walmart on San Jose - then you know where I am coming from - you see, I live in a part of the Country where WalMart has an eccentric mix of cars in the parking lot, and it is not uncommon to see a 1978 Chevy Pick Up with a 24 inch rise and tires from a used bulldozer parked next to the newest Lexus that not only parks itself, but also reminds you to get off of your damn cell phone when you are sitting idle at a green light. (Which, by the way, if you have sat at the light at the Wal Mart, you would know that this is a useful addition).

On my way home from the gym (yes, it is a statement of fact that I do work out at Christmas - sort of like those folks who only go to church on Christmas and Easter - well I go to the gym because everyone else is either at Wal Mart or Church). I saw no fewer than three "shooting of the birds", heard one beautiful "F*&^ YOU" and was cut off by one of those trucks as described above - being driven by some zit inhabited college student fresh home from one of those great schools of south (Florida, Florida State, Alabama, Auburn, Georgia....notice I do not mention Miami, because as we all know, everybody who goes to the U of M is from somewhere other than the South - their relatives moved here to get away from the hustle and bustle of the City, and turned South Florida into a place that Floridians moved away from) - I do find it interesting that as much as we educate folks in the South, that even the young college kids strive to get back to their youth and imitate rednecks...educated rednecks, but rednecks none the less.

Christmas is upon us - the lights sucking the last bit of coal out of West Virginia, the lines at the liquor store, the wonderful news of waiting in line for hours for a cancelled flight, and of course, the happy excited people at Walmart beating the hell out of their children as they get those last few fishing lures for Daddy...what would we do without this time of year? Well - here are a few ideas that I would like to share - perhaps they will catch on, and in 2009, we will change our current traditions to these:

1. Merry Krispy Kreme Day - This is a most important new tradition. You see, we are expected to gain weight during the holidays - and this way, everyone camps out in the parking lot of the Krispy Kreme, and in the morning, the attendants hose everybody down with the warm, sugary creme. The new Claus is represented by that person that you see eating a whopper on one of those electric carts in the WalMart.

2. Happy Credit Card Day - This holiday, is one where the banks, without any particular reason, raise your interest rate to the maximum default rate - oh wait, they already have that holiday. (every day) - Well on this day, we all get charged $39.00 for a late payment fee, and then think of all the money we saved by not having to buy gifts.

3. George Bush Day. Since there was a large amount of conversing with the one up on high during the past eight years, I think he should be in here somewhere. On this holiday, all spelling errors, unilateral attacks, stunned looks, and shoe throwing are instantly forgiven.

4. Joy to the Merle Day. Instead of having to listen to Christmas Carols all month long, this one day, every radio station plays nothing by Merle Haggard. It can include duets, and cameos, but this day, we don't have to suffer through relatives, just twenty four hours of Merle Haggard.

5. Love thy Neighbor Day - this one is pretty self explanatory - heaven forbid you have ugly neighbors.

6. Three Wisemen Day. This holiday, you actually acknowledge the three people in your life who may or may not be wise. Caution - one day of frivilous ass kissing can lead to months and months of self-loathing, so treat this holiday with some respect. Given that it is close to raise time, you always want to add your boss to this list.

7. The Twelve Days of Cranberry Sauce. Think about it, a diet of cranberry sauce for twelve days. Not only would you be regular, but your lips would have the look of that new Delta safety lady who looks like a botox experiment gone horribly wrong...

8. The Little Chicken Drummettes Day. Tyson Chicken Drummettes. Mmmm Mmmmm Good.

9. Wrapping Paper Day - this holiday, although a bit risque, is fun. Everyone wraps themselves in Clingwrap - and congregates to sing their favorite Beatles song. Although this may not be attractive, just think of all of the people you know sweating to "Give Peace a Chance".

10. Happy Tuesday. To hell with it, let's celebrate the most underappreciated day of the week - Tuesday.

Now you make think I am a grinch, or trying to take the Christ out of Christmas, but no - ah no - I am merely pointing out that most folks have done a pretty good job of that already - so let's just officially change the holiday, forego the visits to relatives, expensive gifts, stress, overeating, traffic, hangovers, yadda yadda yadda - and just have a day to celebrate -

With that being said, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Merry Krispy Kreme Day everyone. Here's to a healthy new year - and don't forget on December 26th, there's only 365 shopping days until Christmas 2009!

Friday, December 12, 2008

Folding Laundry...

There are things in this world that are just plain simple and nice. Plain simple and nice like hot towels fresh out of the dryer, the smell of bleach and soap and that wierd heat smell that burns off from the dryer - folding laundry is one of those plain things that we all complain about - but the reality of it is that it is one of the few things we actually have control over - you can fold laundry if you like, you can set it down if you don't, you can put it in piles, or make neat creases in everything - you don't have to really think about what you are doing, it just seems to come natural, underwear in half, towels in thirds and then rolled, wash clothes get folded in squares, socks mated together....mindless and easy.

I like simple things. Most things we do these days are complicated by some derivative of what they were originally meant to be, baseball has steroids, football has dog fights and stripper clubs, television has ratings, books have followers - it is almost as if everything that had some sense of pleasure for us as children has been turned into a statement about something else - think about it, what simple joys in life are left - with the exception of family time - that don't have to be paid for and commentary made.

That's why I like folding laundry. Very rarely, if ever, do you see a newspaper headline detailing the scandalous nature of washing dirty clothes, or the washing machine heist of 2009, or the great dryer debate - it is just one of those things that comes natural. You fold laundry. You wash clothes. You just do it, and you don't have to think about it, you just do it. People crave scandal and detail and they crave getting into and hearing about and helping and seeing - but very rarely do they ever offer to help fold laundry.

Me, I like folding laundry. Politics, Finances, Religion, etc etc etc - they may be the cannon fodder of the high browed and well read, but personally, I like laundry.

Well, that's enough about laundry. I was at the gym today thinking of other mindless activities that really don't cost much, and seem to have the similar affect as folding laundry:

1. The dishwasher.
2. Eight Track Cassette Players.
3. Monopoly.
4. Picking Lint off of your favorite sweater.
5. BB Guns and Beer Cans.
6. Building Sheet Forts with the kids.
7. Super Glue and anything.
8. Hotel Soap and Shampoo.
9. Counting Road lights or stripes as you are driving.
10. Those fuzzy dart balls and ball boards.

Me, I like top ten lists too. Mindless. Numbing, and still strangely appealing to me.

Maine Ice...

They compared last night's storm to the big one of 1998 - sometimes, that is okay, but not when you are sick of picturesque little Maine towns, and short people who chew their gum way too loud and that obnoxious Northeastern attitude - I was full up with it this week, had enough, finito, done. Maine is a beautiful place, but I don't quite understand why people still live there - I mean there is great skiing (so I hear), there are lobsters, and they do make beans to supply Boston just a few hours south. Other than that, there are squat little houses, and tiny streets and cold ice water weather - maybe Mainers are a tough breed - and they stay to prove that - or maybe, just maybe, they refuse to let us outsiders in on their secret.

Waking up this morning at 6:30 am to no sound - for me that is unique - I blare the television on C-Span, and keep the air conditioning running - those are my roommates for the time being, but this morning, it was quiet. The power was out - the ice had pulled down several trees, and apparently the generator was not quite ready yet - so it was cold, it was quiet, and the gray scene outside the window glistened as the wind blew through the sagging trees. It was a nice scene to sit and listen from the cover of a rapidly chilling hotel room - the crash of the limbs straining under the weight and hitting the ground below, the sound of ice splattering on the pavement, the sound of the maintenance man shoveling the drive, cursing the weather and the shitty shovel the hotel had provided him with...

That was Maine Ice - that was my morning - I hate to think that there are a few more long months of winter ahead up there, but in an odd sort of way, I look forward to more of those sounds, and the cold, and the Maine Ice....

Thursday, December 11, 2008

I don't think...

And I think just about everyone could agree with that at times. I am sick of thinking. Really I am. I am sick of thinking of arms that are not mine wrapped around something that is, and taking something that I want more than I can explain. It sucks. It just plain sucks.

You know, not having a nickel to your name puts a new perspective on life. I could easily go back to the home I know, get a boost, and be a man again by begging for a nickel or two - but you know what - the four mile walk in the cold was good. My ears, well they are cold, my toes, they are perhaps a bit colder, and my fingers, well they type. I can at least keep them warm by holding them close to me. They remind me of you. Holding them close to me.

Tonight I broke the myth of trust, that I would not do something stupid, and I did. I hate emails, I hate text messages, I hate it all. I want to be next to her. That's it, plain and simple. I know that this is not a game, I know that there are real things for her to lose, but the truth is, I want to be next to her. Tonight, tomorrow night, I want to be next to her.

Nothing more to talk about. Things hurt. Shit, everything, for some strange reason or another hurts. You are right, I do not think. I just want, and for all intents and purposes, that is where I am.

This sucks. A ten year old who wants his dad, a man who wants you, and 3,700 miles and a world of decisions in between. My shoulders are broad, my brain is strong, but my heart - it hurts - and I have come to one conclusion, it is because - I don't think...but I do know that I love you. Simple. I love you.

No A Demain, no JT OBWE, none of that - I love you. The rest, well, I understand the rest, and so it is, just like we said it would be. You are not leading me on, you have been honest, and I, well I, have fallen too far to lie.

I think it is easier now, to say goodbye, you go on. Please. I want nothing more than to be next to you, and just smell you - that sounds kind of weird, but really, just smell your smell, and sense you next to me - i dont sleep without that pillow that is you, without that dream or hope of a dream that is you - it hurts. I want an hour - a cup of coffee, a hand, a hug, a hello. I want brown eyes and hair and a simple sweet giggle - but I know that those are the pillows that I cling to now. They will keep making pillows, but you know, there is one you. I can make sad substitutes for feeling alive next to you sleeping and breathing and holding, but I can't make you.

Goodnight. I hate saying goodbye, but I am afraid that my words tonight pretty much made sure I had done a good enough job of saboteur - losing just about everything, well that is priceless - making a decision to give the rest away (when it was never yours to give) well, that is where I am. I love you.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Throwing in the Towel - from both corners...

Let me preface this by saying that I process my pain through humor. People don't understand that at times, and it may be emotionally unintelligent - but it is the way I deal with things. When push comes to shove, nine times out of ten, you are the only one who can decide how to process your hurt and disappointment - and for me, this is the way I do it. You don't have to like it, you can say it is callous and disrespectful, but the reality is - I need to process the things that I have created, and the pain that I have caused, and the pain that we are both feeling and working through right now.

Now that I have given you the Mr. Rogers put on the cardigan and take of the dress shoes and slip into the comfortable sneakers disclaimer - you can read on if you want to - if you don't - hell, go have a glass of Cabernet, and stop worrying about the way people process things....

Well, by this time, I am pretty sure that everyone with the exception of the guy who has been scrubbing pipes in Alaska all year knows that Christy and I are handing in our rings, and trading them for an equitable distribution of assets and time, and we both agree that life is going to be inevitably better for it.

There are a million reasons behind our decisions - mostly it comes down to us not being able to decide what pattern of everyday china we wanted to purchase for ourselves at Christmas - and you know how quickly having to eat off ugly plates can destroy a relationship. I mean, we were fine with the flatware, but the china - that was just too fragile a subject for us to handle. In all reality, that is all anyone out there needs to know - both of us respect and care for one another, want to stay in this good place with our decision, and really don't need the prodding or questioning from our friends and acquaintences - it takes two to get married, and the funny thing is it apparently takes 439 to get divorced (that is exclusive of attorneys, counselors, the guy you have to call to do a change of address, and the single guy who lives down the street who is too worried about making child support payments to deal with anyone else's shit...)

The funny thing is now, that we both realize for years that we have poured ourselves into trying to be the person that each other wanted the other person to be, better parents, better providers, better friends - but through the immense number of conversations, we have come to the conclusion that if we would have spent ten minutes a week talking about what we really wanted to be - and worked on being the best that we could be as individuals - we would not have fallen into this situation of getting tired of being something we were not...

We have two beautiful children, we still have beautiful home, Christy is the best mother and friend anyone could ever ask for, and I am still a pretty good provider and friend. It goes without saying that both of us hurt for our children,for each other, worry about how the other is going to be, and frankly, are scared shitless about how we are going to make a go of it as middle-aged divorced parents - who just want their kids to have the best of everything.

That's enough about that - now, to the advice column for those of you who are thinking about, going through or discussing divorce - here is a top ten list of things you should never do when working through a divorce:

1. Don't ever - I mean ever - sleep naked. Not only do you open yourself up for a Lorena Bobbitt experience, but you also open yourself up for those penned up comments about the way your gut is bigger than your Johnson.

2. Booking a trip to Hedonism III is not a good idea - and asking if you can take that weekend off from visitation is not really good either. (Note - do not use your wife's or husband's credit card to do this)

3. This one is not a never do - if push comes to shove, and you really really need to stop arguing - the "I am Gay" card works really really well.

4. Don't argue about the pots and pans. They are in very close proximity to very sharp, heavy objects, and trust me - sharp heavy objects are not your friend.

5. Don't ever say "I never liked you in bed" - this is generally followed by "I thought it was just me".

6. Don't ever fight over the belongings - in the end, remember, you have to move that shit - and some of that crap (like the computer table you had to have with the granite top and the included firesafe) is pretty damn heavy - and by this time, if your friends are still sticking by you, they are going to refuse to move that monstrosity.

7. Don't ever expect your in-laws to understand - remember, you have been a prick/bitch from day one - and surprisingly enough - you are still a prick/bitch.

8. Don't ever pretend that you are comforable as you are going through this crap,the fact the you are telling jokes on the phone does not mean it still does not feel like Jack Lalaine Juiced your heart, and Mario Andretti parked a Ferrari in your ass.

9. Don't ever think that there is enough money. There is never enough money - and there are more than fourteen million two hundred thousand seventy eight ways to try and distribute it. Picture Chris Farley and the man down by the river - get used to either sleeping in a van, or keeping it as a very highly likely possiblity.

10. Don't ever try and schedule holiday parties jointly - the reason they don't put lions in the same cage as gazelles at the zoo is enough to describe this situation.

That's the list. Now everyone who cares to read this post knows the truth, and knows that neither Christy nor I care to go into details - but we do need and want your support through all of this. We want the best for one another - and for now, the best things in life are our children - and we are going to do the best we can for them.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Gingerbread Houses.


Odd that we made gingerbread houses. Odd that we sat as a group and made houses of candy and sweet things and laughed at our children - of course, we did have conversations in between -

Is she skinny? What does she look like? Do you have a picture? Does it hurt not to talk to her? Do you miss what you had?

Well, there was the gingerbread to worry about, and in all reality, what good was it going to do for me to be reminded of those things and to have to answer those questions. None - but truth be known, yes I have a picture, yes it hurts terribly to not talk to her, yes I miss her, yes she is beautiful. I cannot say those things in 100% total honesty - we are where we are - there is no reconciliation, there is just holding onto dignity through the holidays. I know that she is gone, my family is broken, and I need to move on, and I am not going to dig or poke or prod or even pretend.

Gingerbread Houses - they came out beautiful.

There you have it.

Well, considering I am now probably half way on the road to earning a PhD in child psychology, and well on the way to earning the "Worst Husband of the Year" award - the conversation went with the children, and as expected, Gray did not understand, and Gabe understood all too well -

Are you going to buy a house on Linwood Loop so we can see you? Are you going to come to my soccer games? What are we going to do on the weekends where it is just you or it is just Mom? All fair questions, all with tough answers, all coming from a very aware ten-year old who just wants to make sure that things are certain before things get really really uncertain.

Finances - wow - what I mindfuck that whole discussion is. I don't even want to begin with that one, hell, I am going to have a good job (I think - lest my buddy Bob made a few phone calls, sent a few text messages, and I get the honor of sitting in front of Judge Judy again) but I am going to have about $2,200 per month to show for it. That is what it comes down to in the end - how can we still act civil, how can we still be together, and how can we still nurture our children - all the while, how can I eat? I suppose it is not that bad - I travel all of the time, so eating is more of a company supported habit - but somewhere between car payments, loan payments, and the daunting task of finding somewhere to live - hell, that is going to be a nightmare...

This has been a very lonely, very shitty, very hard, very strange weekend. I have turned off my phone, and occasionally turn it on in hopes of hearing how things are going, or not going, or if the conversations are the same or are different, but the sad thing is, that I expect the worst - the worst for me that is, I guess, in some odd twisted way, it may be the best. None the less, tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la la la.

In a way the lack of contact has been good, it has not tainted my conversation, I think the belief that nothing is left has made it easier for me to be more honest here - I was initially afraid of losing everything, now, I know that I probably will be independent, will still have a job to do, and will be a well-wisher from the sidelines, my feelings have not changed - my voice still wants to scream out to be whole - but the reality has changed - and that has tinged my thoughts with more of a scientific approach than the emotional reality - I am respecting wishes, but wishing for something different.

The conversation sucked. The children understand, and are aware, and we are not hiding it from them. The parents know, the cousins know, the friends know, the guy at the grocery store knows, everyone knows - and frankly, with the exception of a few details, it is good to let everyone know - I am not a liar anymore, I am not a theif anymore, I am George - and George did this and George is going to survive and continue providing what he always has - with the exception that George is going to be okay - and not hurting those folks around him.

Yeah, no phone calls. That has sucked, my mind has created the best scenarios and the worst scenarios, but always seems to get stuck in between the two...not knowing is worse than knowing everything, and there you have it.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

The Hardest Day Before the Hardest Day

Kind of a confusing day. The mind plays evil, insensitive tricks on those of us who actually fill our brains with emotion, and are smart enough to think of the difficulty ahead. The talk was pretty clear, we both agree that there is really no hope - I will not be trusted again, She will not be hurt again, and we both will not be poised to strike at the drop of a hat. That conversation was pretty straightforward - we do enjoy each other's company, we enjoy having our kids together, we even enjoy doing some things together - but we don't enjoy being married - the stress, the decisions, the roles, the lives that we have built apart from one another have created two different people, two different people that have been building into individuals over the past seven years (as far as we can tell).

Tomorrow, I am not looking forward to. Tomorrow we talk to the children about what is going on and the changes that are going to take place - how do you talk to a ten year old son and a seven year old daughter about the end - of their lives as they currently know it - in all reality, I am only home on the weekends, call them everyday, so I guess they see me every other weekend -

It sucks to discuss numbers and living arrangements and behind all of this try to keep some dignity, even though you know you are going to be 37 years old, and living in a dingy apartment or in the basement at your parents house. The funny thing is that it sucks to know that you are going to be an absent father - who has to call and set appointments to see his children. A father who knows he is about to break their hearts, and then is going to do his best to repair them.

Discomfort is probably natural in this situation, I wish I would have been the one to tell my wife what happened, and not have it happen in someone else's time. But I made those choices a long time ago, and that is where it is. You know, I don't wish I could wind back the clock, there are too many things that I have been through in the past seven or eight years that outweigh the things that have happened, I just want to move on. I want to do it with some pride intact, and with some love for my family still out there - without getting thrown to the wind as the dad who never really was a dad. I imagine the infamous letter that comes in the mail may destroy those chances, but I have been on the defensive all day, and can be on the defensive all year - there are no excuses, it is what it is, and it was what it was, and well, that is another hurt that I cannot talk about right now.

It was an awkward day, we agreed to sit through the holidays - to stay put, and work through our differences as adults. We agreed to try our best to separate our love or lack of love from our friendship - we agreed that we do sometimes enjoy spending time together, and that we do want the best for each other - we just ran out of wanting to live together and put more effort for both of us to be rewarded with disappointment, hard feelings, and more repair.

Fear is not one of my strong suits, I am not afraid of much - but I am afraid for my children. I want them to have everything - and for some reason, I feel like I am about to rip a piece of their youthful innocence from them, it hurts, because I know what that is like.

If I could share these feelings I would with someone, anyone - but I am tired of talking to my dad and my sister, we are keepng ourselves together, we are keeping it simple, and we realize that this is where we need to go - do I feel regret, sure, do I feel relief that the truth is out, sure, but do I feel afraid about how it is going to work - of course. Do I feel like I just need to leave now, pack my things, and move - now, and get out of the elongated process, sure - but I stay for the kids until the holidays are over, and we go from there. New Years is going to be tough.

Tomorrow is going to be a very difficult day - I have been told that Dad and Mom are still going to be Dad and Mom - just from different houses - I hurt for my children, but I know that if I keep hurting and Christy keeps hurting, that our children will hurt as well - and neither of us want that, so there we are - done.

Life is never perfect, hell, I may lose my job over all of this, I have lost my family, to some degree by choice, but I just feel like I am entering into a new world that does not necessarily offer the best of times for the next year or so. Time to try and find a party or balloons or something to celebrate. But I will do that after tomorrow, after I crush my son and daughter, and after I hold them and love them and leave them.

The hardest day...

Cotton Bolls and Clean Chefs...


My son is wonderfully imaginative and a good cooking partner. This morning, the healthy distraction for me was to cook a turkey, with his expertise and patience of course. At ten, those are the greatest moments that I remember, playing catch with dad, learning how to clean freshly caught fish, being allowed to use the sharp knives, and learning how to season everything just right. That was with my stepdad, of course, by that time, my parents had found new soulmates, and I was living in Philadelphia - a small southern boy riding the subway to school, not really afraid, but confident that things were going to be okay after they had been so not okay for a long time.

Gabe asks a large number of questions when we cook together - why does the bread for the stuffing have to be so small, melting butter smells really good when you add garlic to it, how should I inject the season medicine into the turkey, are you and mom doing okay this morning...

I distracted him by reminding him "A Happy Chef is a Clean Chef" - and we cleaned up the kitchen, sterilizing every surface lest it be infected by some raw turkey or bad emotion that welled up during our excursion this morning. I was in a dream state for that hour - working with him, possessed with his youth and his questions, and in love with his brown eyes and small hands as they sliced bread, or stirred celery and onions and garlic, or his tousled hair as he told me that he loved cooking with me and also loves it when we have fires in the backyard. A happy chef is a clean chef, and for me, I wonder when it will feel clean again, but that is another story for another time and another place.

Both of the kids are showering away their cooking and cleaning chores right now, Christy has left for the gym, and I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Cotton Boll that I picked up on my drive from Maryland back to Florida. When you drive this time of the year, it is cotton season - that staple crop that they still grow throughout the south, but most gets shipped overseas to be made into towels and q-tips and bandages, and then shipped back here for us to consume.

Raw cotton is pretty - after the fields are cut, the cotton that has escaped the bailers blows all over the roads and highways, like big fluffly snowflakes, or a cotton candy storm - it drifts and piles in little piles that eventually start looking like the remnants of a snow plow pile rolling down the highway...this piece in particular was my piece, so I saved it. I don't know why I save things like flowers and sticks and wrappers - they don't mean anything to anyone except me - but I save them, and I keep them, and when I look at them, I can tie them back to the exact moment and the exact thought and the exact smell and the exact feeling that I was experiencing at that time. A collector of sorts. I have a trunk full of these things - not necessarily cotton bolls, but different wierd things.

Right now, I am collecting cotton - when you hold raw cotton in your hands, it is like holding a piece of dry hair with a stickle burr in the middle - it is soft but dry - it has no particular smell, and usually it is a little dirty from months of rain and dry dust in the cotton fields. Focusing on this piece of cotton helped me then as it is helping me now - the feeling attached to it is one of uncertainty and fear, but also one of hope - that whatever life that cotton is going to be, it is going to be, and serve its purpose, it is going to be processed and changed and shaped, woven, sterilized, molded, cut, combed, but transformed and be better for all of us.

That's about all I can think of right now. Process, Process, Process. There is no heavy conversation, just heavy feeling, there is no emotion, just process. There is no real connection in this house with the exception to children - just process. Maybe it will be transformed into something that is better for all of us, but for now, I kind of like the odorless, tainted, dry, soft cotton boll feeling that is out there - it means that I am not falling back into process and not ignoring things and not confronting and selling out. It means that I am just a raw cotton boll that can be anything - it is just a matter of getting to that point and moving on.

Melancholy is not the drive of this post - I am giggling as I write these words - that there is a future - different, unknown, uncertain and perhaps alone - but happy chefs are clean chefs, and there will be many more years of cooking with Gabe and coloring with Gray and many more seasons and change for those cotton bolls -

A demain...

Sweeping up after the Party

You know, sweeping up the morning after the party sucks. Sure, everyoe had lots of wine and laughter and food and beer and jokes, but getting up the morning after and cleaning up the sticky stale cups and the half eaten plates of food and trying to pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth really really sucks.

My life has been a party for the past year - I had things to celebrate and to hang balloons for and to dance to, but I am afraid, I mean very afraid that the party is over. When you don't hear from the guests, and you wake up, and you just need a cold drink of water, well, I guess you know the party is over.

I don't know if this is a common thing - I have never done this before. I want to respect wishes and give space, I just don't want my heart to feel like it has sunken somewhere into my gut, and my head to swim around with thoughts of what if and why. It was an odd feeling last night, and then this morning, waking up, together, but alone - both sequestered to our respective and assigned sides of the bed, separated by more than pillows, I sat on the patio and thought to myself - and there is only one thing that I could think about - when I should be thinking about a million other things, there was only one thing that I could think about. Ironic, I guess - usually when you sweep up after a party, you just don't think, you go on remote control or auto pilot and force your way through it, and make it work. I don't want to go back on autopilot, but maybe I will - self-preservation or just plain sickness -

I don't think there are going to be any new invitations to any parties anytime soon. I want my invitation back for the last one. I don't regret anything, I don't hate the guests, I don't feel ashamed. I want my party back and want to celebrate it, and want to save the sweeping up for some other morning.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Quiet.

Shhhhh, we all need to be quiet so we can hear things. Little things, like maybe the phone ringing, or the hum of the television set, or the sound of the housing creaking and warming and cooling in the Autumn Florida sun. I had a great morning, filled with hot showers, more of those frozen chicken quesadillas and I actually motivated myself to unpack, do some laundry, take a shower, and even felt vibrant enough to brush my teeth. Kind of amazing to me, when it feels like I don't have the energy to lift my arms or walk or even turn on the television - sure everyone has called, except my kids, and everyone has said Happy Thanksgiving, and sure I am Thankful if not happy, but the hardest thing to deal with is the quiet.

I am avoiding the other side of the house, I have to walk by and catch glimpses of things in the kids rooms, but they are just things, there are no children laughing - I even started attempting to tell myself that they were just out on the trampoline, and that I would see them soon enough and that I would be there as well.

Everyone keeps asking me if I am depressed - no I am not depressed in a clinical way, I am sad. I will be happy today at times I think, but I am sad right now. I keep thinking about getting out the Christmas tree and the decorations, but that is a family thing, maybe I should hang the lights about the house, but even that requires thinking beyond January 1, 2009, and right now, that is not a good thing for me to try and do.

I did find a grocery that is open in 3:00 today, so I am planning on going over there - maybe a big steak for dinner with a baked potato, or maybe I buy and cook the biggest turkey I can find, or maybe I smoke a brisket, who knows - I just need to be somewhere there are other people who are not drinking, not whining, not complaining about their station in life at this given moment - I don't need to hear all of that - Toilet Paper and Cleaning supplies sounds more like what I need.

Last night, the truth really came out. I think there had been thoughts of it for a few months now, and in a way, I wish it had come out sooner, or never - I told the truth too - I should be somewhere else - and I am not. I wonder what they are doing today. I am jealous, to be there, and to see them, and to be okay. Right now, I am not okay with it, I am not the only loser in the deal, there are several, but right now I am the one who is intently focused on the noises that are happening around me - shhhhhh, it is still so quiet...

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Thanks!

I really started to go through a pretty angry streak about fifteen minutes ago - I mean one of those where your vision hones in on a point and you just see ten feet in front of you - I was making a grocery list - turkey breast, stove top stuffing, instant mashed potatoes, vodka, red wine, solo cups, ice, Advil...and I thought to myself - THIS IS THE FIRST FUCKING THANKSGIVING I HAVE EVER EVER EVER SPENT BY MYSELF. It may come across as a scream - I hope it does, because right now my body is screaming everywhere - it is yelling that my children, my sister, my family all have plans - and I am not a part of them. My son woke up crying this morning, and of course, I calmed him down with the unique rabbit joke, and asked him if he needed me to fart him to sleep tonight, he giggled like a ten year old would, but I know that he too will be back in his mother's arms tonight begging her to please love dad just a little bit more...

I could go into where all of this is coming from, but anyone who reads from start to finish in this blog has a pretty good idea, and could probably use their imagination to fill in the blanks that I am leaving out of how things ended up where they are - hell, it was my doing, but this weekend, yes this weekend, was created by small minded vindictiveness - pure and unadulterated bad - I honestly don't give a shit about the way I feel - it is not that important, I have felt bad before, and will feel bad again, but children....

So, just so I know that I am not losing my mind, I have come up with ten ways that I would like to thank Bob. I know they are horrible, and stupid and insensitive and immature, but at least I can get some of this angst out on paper....

1. Go to target and buy as many pairs of womens underwear as possible, and mail them to his coworkers with the nifty label "Bob I found these in my suitcase" or "Bob trust me, these look better off than on" or "Bob - she might want these back"

2. Start having my friends leave voicemails on the phone number that was emailed like - "Hey, are you the asshole who ruined two kids Thanksgiving" or "Hey Bob, this is George, Happy Thanksgiving" or "This is Dr. Smith, we could not find your wife's number, but she is pregnant, with Twins!"

3. Post an add in the newpaper "Free Hand Jobs with every Plunge" and list his work number.

4. St..

Hell, I am just not that mean. I just can't think of anymore that I could have done to the poor guy except what I have done already. I guess what my Dad always said is true - There is no such thing as a fair fight, and in this case, he brought the gun to a knife fight and pretty much took care of any fight that I had - the eleven hour drive took care of a good portion of some of it, and well, the rest was pretty much handled by my phone call earlier today...

I have the Patron Saint of Families statue sitting on my desk, I think tomorrow, I have lined up my day, with a little bit of his wisdom and help -

1. Golf. The course is closed, but I can walk it by myself for free.
2. Beer. The liquor store is always open on the holidays.
3. Television. I can't wait to see the Parades.
4. Beer. I may have mentioned this.
5. Turkey Sandwich and Stove Top. That's good eating. I am going to position my daughters American Girl dolls and my sons GI Joe dolls around the table, and talk with them.
6. Sleep. I have done a pretty good job of not changing out of my pajamas today, so I guess leaving them on tomorrow will not be all that bad.
7. Fireworks. Usually after a few beers, I like to blow stuff up, and I have some fireworks, so what the hell.
8. Think. That's the hardest part -

All in all, a pretty full day, I want Cakes and Croix and Christy and Bob and Gabe and Gray to have a wonderful Thanksgiving. I want them to be full of life and laughter and love and everything that everyone deserves - even the worst people in the world deserve their families on that day - I want them to see the sparkling eyes of the people that helped them build their dreams and realize them, and feel the warm hugs, and hear the laughter around the table as someone tells a funny story about something that happened to them this past year. I want their mouths to water as the turkey makes it to the table, and sweet taste of the wine washes down that ceremonial bird. I want them to be thankful for everything that they have and are going to have and I want the children to go to sleep knowing that Christmas is around the corner, and soon trees will fill the living room, and lights will twinkle, and parties and songs and candy and sweet things...I want them to have that. I want it too...

Sorry for the crappy post - just not feeling all that great right now...

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Feel...

Getting up at 2:39 am seems to be a common occurrence these days for me. Waking up rested, alive, and aware that something is happening somewhere far away - it is an odd awareness, a sense of harried panic, followed by just quiet. At 2:39 in the morning, everything sounds different - the person sleeping next to you with the monotone inhale and exhale, the air exchange in the air conditioning system, the hum of the television set, the sounds of the house warming and cooling in the Autumn winds outside. Sleeping through 2:39 am would mean that I sleep through those feelings that something is happening far away -

I did a strange thing this morning - I decided to run. My sister's colonial house on a little street in Bethesda sits among diplomats mansions and doctors houses, and conveniently enough (imagine that - a trail run through one of the most prestigious zip codes in the Country - I wonder if they have trail runs through downtown D.C.?) next to a trail run that stretches into the District -Changing into my running clothes at 3:00 am startled Christy, but by now, it seems that anything I do is ordinary - and as long as I don't complain and make sure that the lights stay low and the sounds at 2:39 stay that way, then it is okay...

It was a hard run, the kind you feel everything, the legs burn - not just a little cramp, but as if you had been given a shot in every muscle and the doctor coaxes you by saying "You may be a little sore" as if to say - this really sucks for you. The cold air in my lungs was refreshing, it was damp and rainy, and the leaves stuck to my shoes in muddy clumps, but I ran. My arms got heavy at times, and then at times I could not feel my fingers or toes - the only way I knew they were there was through the dampness in my socks and too thin gloves. My eyes burned with sweat, but I ran. My back was heavy, at one point, it was as if every step was an electric shock, and it hurt and I told myself that it will get better, but I ran. I kept going for hours, I do not know how far I went, nor do I care to know, I know the dawn light starting breaking through naked trees, and bike riders on their way to the Metro started to populate the trail. I know that my nose started to bleed from the cold, and my stomach emptied its contents in a steaming heap onto the ground, but still, I ran. I wanted to keep running to see how far and how long and how much I could take before I could take no more - and physically, my body gave away what it had, but mentally, I ran - the sight of me must have been frightening to the early morning crowd, a blood and vomit covered thirty-seven year old in half light running and laughing and singing and crying - but I felt every bit of it. I wanted that run to last, and it did as far as I could take it - I ran until I was out of everything - energy, emotion, and time.

I walked back into a quiet house, and the sounds were still the same at 6:20 am, the same as they were when I left, no one moving except me, floating on adrenalin and resuming my place in the downstairs bedroom - tasting the bile and blood in my mouth, and the dried sweat around my eyes, but today I ran. I left the shovel in the field, and I ran.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Equity

The equities have been reviewed, the books have been closed, and we start over again. We look into what the next month, quarter, six months, year - what they will bring - and what they might mean for us. Equity - a funny term - things are never equitable - things are in balance - which may mean a disparity exists - but the system is in balance. That may mean one side gets more, one side gives more, one side listens, and the other talks, one side smiles, and the other works, one side hides, and the other publishes...

I am at my wits end, and pretty much out of the magic that the muse used to bring to me. I have a new phone number in my treo that I cannot call, and a hell of alot of old memories to stifle. Where do I go from here? Who really cares? It is a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, pushing a broom, digging. I hate digging. I think I mentioned that in an earlier post, but that is what happens in life - I don't think I have been proven wrong on that maxim yet - we dig. We work the soil, we till the field, we bring in a harvest, and we do it again. We dig, therefore we are. Sure, we may take a break every once in a while - we may let things lay low for a while, throw our shovels down and just live - but we go back to digging.

I guess that's the whole point of this note - I am not going to go back to digging. My shovel is down, and it is down for good. I threw it back to the field a year ago, and that is where it is going to stay. The weeds and vines and fallow fields own that shovel. I was given a year away - and I am going to stay away.

There is no more a demain, there is no more beautiful kittenfish or the hope of a perchance visit - just the shovel in the field to go back to - sorry, I prefer to let the shovel handle rot and the steel spade rust - and I am going to keep living and loving and leave the rest to the diggers....

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Day One...



Well, today was the first day of the rest of my life - I hate that saying - maybe today was the last day of the first part of my life - that makes more sense - it has closure and some meaning to it - I keep picking up my Treo in hopes of seeing some random text message or some quote or something...just something to let me know that the past year was not a waste of my time - that it really did keep my hopes alive for a better place - funny, but the past year probably saved my marriage - more than it destroyed it - I did not have to focus on those issues and deal with the boredome and the hesistance and the lack of freedom - I had everything that I needed, and was able to preserve the image of a happily married couple with a traveling husband and a stay at home wife who played a shitpot of alot of tennis.

How did I spend Day One - well, Coors Light and Bowling. That's what I did - in some sort of odd twisted bowling alley, where the Dayglo pins and blacklight lamps made the flouurescent pink and green bowling balls look like a trippy a streak of enamel rolling down the wooden alley. Maybe I am the Big Lebowski - fucking no way dude. I enjoyed watching my son and daughter rolling those balls - and then checked my phone like a heroin addict looking for the last bit of brown tar in the little baggie..,just like the junkie, there was no fix, so I kept up with the Coors Light, and rolled the fourteen pound pink ball at the Dayglo pins...that was Day One.

There were phone calls, I talked to my Dad in great detail - about what happened, about where to go, about what to do, and about what I felt - and what I thought everyone else felt, and what I should feel. He did not have much to say about that - he told me he loved me. That was enough for Day One - I just needed to share. Sure, I talked to my sister, but I learned my lesson about that in today's conversation - I will not make that mistake again - blood is thicker than water - but hell, apparently, not too thick to make sharing and confidential an option.

I thought alot today. I thought about camp outs and parking garages and Volvos and Chef Boyardee and just thinking and laughing. Where is Vanilla Swiss Almond when you need it. Where is courage when you don't have it. Where is peace? Fitting for a Sunday to be looking for that peace, I don't think God is going to spare me from this - I think time is going to be the only band aid. Tomorrow is going to be another Day One. I will deal with these Day Ones piece by piece - when there is silence, I will distract myself. When there are people around, I will throw myself into that activity, and when there is just me - well I will work through that as I can.

Day one.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Break, Breaking, Broken....

Go fuck yourself. That is always the way I want to wake up in the morning - at least it is emotion - a real, solid, tangible emotion that can be felt - as if I don't fuck myself enough already - hell, I beat off so much in the shower now, that everytime it rains, my dick gets just a little hard....

It is easy for me to play it off, that's what I do - I play it off - I just joke and smile and laugh and play it off - no big deal....well, it is a big deal, a big dead elephant laying in the front yard that I have tiptoed around for the better part of a year now, not really knowing how to deal with the real and daunting aspect of the pain that someone - yes, someone - it is yet unamed, pain that we all have to go through at one point in our lives...

It was cold in Maryland tonight. It was fitting to be cold. The phone calls were pointless, the text messages left me in the same spot that I was before - stuck in between being a man, and stealing something away and defending the honor of that treasure that I promised...I did make that promise.

The photos in this blog, somewhat stupid - but the first one - out of a million, hell out of six billion people, why did I or better yet why did we have to fall upon each other like some accidental meteor strike that wiped out all of the dinosaurs - only in this case, it wipes out marriages and all of those preconceived notions of what we thought we could live with - look at those nameless folks just cheering, not a single one of them interested in us - just there - and I ask myself why - was there a bigger message out there that I should have listened to 13 years ago - probably - but then again, I was just another face in this crowd - not expecting the meteor that hit - to ever hit.

The hall at College Station - white, pristine, tall columns, bright scholarly light welcoming you into the library to say come learn with me - those are the eyes that Iron & Wine sing about in Such Great Heights - the eyes that I see now every day. You know, I studied hard, and still don't know the meaning of impetuous or cathartic - even though I suspect they sound good in a sentence, but would probably never be used in calling a football game, or blurted out in excitement as I wash dishes, or as an adjective for describing my coworkers.

Finally, reality. I like Edamame - I like it flash frozen, and stuck in the microwave for five minutes with a piece of cheap Papa Johns pizza, and a cold Coors Light, that is what I like. I like it when people snore, and fart, and burp - and don't have to be ashamed about it. I like it when people know the pictures in magazines are fake, and the wrinkles are going to come one way or another - I like it when I can be told I am an asshole after furious lovemaking - I like being left while she is away working - I know where she wanted to be and where she was - I like pissing people off and making them happy.

But let's get back to the title of this post - Break - I never meant to break anything, not what I had, (as little as it may be), I never meant to go through breaking - and I heard and still hear the cracks of both relationships straining and failing under the reality that something is missing - odd the weight of something that is not there... - and then being broken. I am broken. I am broken for stealing away the emotion of a married woman. I am broken for taking or even asking for time that should be somewhere else. I don't want that man to feel that pain - but life goes to those who choose. Why can't I choose? I am a broken, indecisive, yellow tree dweller - I am afraid. That's why I am broken.. I should choose.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Enchanted...

My children are camped by the television early this Sunday watching Enchanted and giggling - eating their eggs through half broken smiles, not afraid of choking, not worried about how hungry their cats are - just watching McDreamy and that cute redhead princess try and make it in a world that she just does not understand, but makes it work with music and birds and flowers...

My dreams have been all consumed lately by music and birds and flowers, and the occasional wierd ending that changes the way I look at my day - last night was no exception - the usual 3 am wake up, shortness of breath, slight sense of panic, and then the slow count to ten - to drift back to sleep. It is tough being a walking zombie in the morning - I live somehwere in between dreams and reality, and push to get closer to one or the other - Starbucks helps, Paxil helps, Cigarettes help - but still, there is sleep in my eyes - I want to live in those dreams for just a few more minutes.

Have you ever wondered if you are some stage player in your own life - if there is some act that you memorized the lines to - then you carry out your ad lib better than Jonathon Winters during a David Letterman interview? I guess this goes back to the theme that I always tend to write about - especially after a long break from writing - I don't know why I have been so lazy about writing lately - I still feel inspired - I just wonder if the audience really wants to read it. All the world is a stage....but the one thing that I am not acting at still is my muse.

Today - no big plans, maybe I go into town and watch the football game with dad, maybe we sit around and eat boiled peanuts, maybe we find something to do that is fun, or maybe we just do nothing - I pack, she smiles, I do laundry, they color, I work out, the cats lay in the sun. Not that those things are not fun, they just are not exciting and on the edge of the adrenalin pump that I need hooked to brain.

The next three weeks of travel are exciting, Portland, Maine - Sacramento, California, Seattle, Washington, Dallas, Texas, Washington D.C. - I am looking forward to the next three months - the feel of the jet plane pushing my back into the seat, the excitement of going somewhere - anywhere...

I guess my life is Enchanted - I get to live in other worlds every single day of the work week - and it is only during the weekends that I have to worry about not fitting in with things I am developing a greater misunderstanding for - it is sad - but for now, it is what I feel like writing about...

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Be American...

It's been a while since I have been motivated to spew hatred, write a few lines, or even take the time to try and get some thoughts on paper - but today, after leaving the gym, I was definitely inspired by the wonderful Lexus SUV Extended version driving in front of me with the "Be American, Vote McCain" bumper sticker emblazoned across the back of the 13 MPG monstrosity - what was even better, was the jackass that was driving decided to cut me off because the other McCain supporter in front of them was probably having a stroke, or having difficulty adjusting their bifocals to see the speedometer and the street signs at the same time....but I digress.

Be American Vote McCain is a ridiculous thing to say to us middle of the roaders who believe that somewhere between the Joe Biden liberalism and the Sarah Palin "I Love God and Special Children" Conservatism - is the common ground that the majority of the country seem to populate. How can you expect to ever change the minds of us who, through our hard work, our tax paying, our support of the troops, our belief system, and our respect of laws and authority have become disillusioned with the trickle that never seems to make it very far down? I admit, I live a somewhat charmed life, I don't make over $250,000 per year, and I have heat. I believe that you can be an American and choose not to vote and to have an abortion even. I believe that you can be pissed off about CEO paychecks and financial system bailouts and still want to see more money poured into social programs and infrastructure programs - and you know, for the overwhelming number of folks that I talk to and see across this country, they feel the same way.

I found it funny last week as I walked through the KMart to pick up fishing tackle for my daughter and son, when I walked by a couple of rednecks wearing custom airbrushed t-shirts that had a bulldog with "McCain" on the collar, and a bloodied Obama chew toy in the dog's mouth - that, to me, is the heart of the issue. Those folks got into their 1980 Caprice and spewed black smoke as they pulled out of the parking lot. It would honestly surprise me if they understood the issues - outside of God loves Republicans. Do people realize across this nation that 90% of the wealth is controlled by a very small minority of people? Trust me, look at the explosion of the special interest in the past twenty years and the expenditures that they make to enrich their lives - and honestly, every one should look in the mirror and ask themselves - what part of those tax breaks made a difference to them? Unless you are in that 5% - your effective tax percentage probably has not changed all that much - if you are in the 5% - your effective tax remains the lowest in developed nations....

Baby Killer - that's another good one I had to explain to my ten year old son. He came home from school, and said that the reason we should not vote for Obama is because he is a baby killer. Now, I have heard of sordid affairs and blow jobs and the random Iran/Contra scandal and even the occassional breaking and entering (I am not a Crook) - but I find it hard to believe that I have to explain to my ten year old what other parents are teaching their children is a very hateful and hurtful way of saying - sometimes people make decisions - and sometimes those answers are very gray - but to say that he is a baby killer - come on folks - turn off Fox news for ten minutes, and go to the ten commandments, and read the other 60 or so that are out there. My son and I did, and he seems to understand that if you put out your slave's eye, then you have to set him/her free - has little application in today's political arena - I just wish the fundamentalist preachers would go into those other "commandments" and tell me all of them apply as the irrefutable word of God.

I am not what you would call a true Republican, nor am I a Barney Frank democrat - in fact I was a registered Libertarian - but this election has opened my eyes to the apparent polarization that the conservative right has excelled at promoting - to their detriment. I don't want more of the same, nor do I want any less - but what I do want is an intelligent discussion and a little bit of mutual respect - what happened to those rules?

That's just the way I feel right now - and I can see my Republican friends rolling over and cursing my words - but really folks - be American -

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday...

Ah, this weekend has been the picure perfect suburbia weekend - soccer games, bike rides, tennis matches, cookouts, fires in the chiminea, counting Obama and McCain yard signs, discussions about Chiropractors, you know, the perfect stuff that all perfect families do in the perfect little neighborhoods, with their perfect little children and their perfectly cleaned minivans and SUV's -

Just another Pleasant Valley Sunday...

My in-laws came over yesterday, and boy howdy, did we ever have a blast - I don't quite understand that side of the tracks - not only do I not come from that side of the tracks, I don't have any real delusions of grandeur that I will ever make it over there either - I am sure it is nice, I get to visit it every once in a while, and enjoy the trappings - but I don't think I am quite polished enough to ever fit into a country club - something about barefoot dancing at three day rock festivals and enjoying dirty jokes eliminates just about every sponsor I might ever have...

You know, this hum drum blog is like my weekend - it was of course not horrible, not shitty, no tragedies or drama, it was just a weekend - and I don't want just weekends -

Maybe I will luck out and get a phone call from a hungover friend who travelled way too much this weekend, then again, maybe I will not, but I hope to.

George

Saturday, October 4, 2008

Three Miler...

I ran my three miles this morning, my little girl, freshly red faced from her early morning soccer match was more than happy to hop on her bike, and laugh every time she rode by me and smacked my butt and giggled "Good Game Dad" - it was nice to get that mischievious grin as she sped by and said "Daddy, you are no where NEAR as FAST as ME" - and then she would laugh with her little blue eyes and her awkward adult teeth in a seven year old smile -

Somewhere in the world, I hope someone else in running three miles, and thinking of the same things that were running through my head today - the in-laws are over, and I am doing my absolute best to hide in a corner, I love them, and they can be fun, but there is family tension right now, and it is best if I become a mushroom and stay somewhere dark for a few hours - if not, I may have one too many beers, and tell them how I really feel...

Anyway, my run today was eventful - it hurt - it hurt worse than any other run I have done in years - something in my body between my lower back and my feet just did not feel right, and with every step, instead of flying, I felt like rolling over in the dirt and just laying down for a while - but I had constant motivation - I made a committment to run, I will keep that, and I can hear the voice in my head glibly declaring her run while I sheepishly make excuses to not hit the bricks, and of course, there was Gray - I did not want her to see her Dad be a quitter - so I kept going. I thought alot today, about the weather over there, the cool nights, the cloudy mornings, the wedding and its meanings, and what you would be thinking about as you sat there...

Weddings are supposed to be a coming out party - of sorts- introductions to the world - anymore, I think they are formalities that really are unnecessary - granted, the exchange of vows is wonderful, and it does, to some extent, make you think about what you were doing when you made those similar vows, and for some, it reinforces or redoubles their efforts to preserve what they have or to even grow. I don't know anymore - it has been so long since I have attended a wedding, all of our friends are on their second marriage or well into dissolving their first that weddings now seem a little passe -

Anyway, the three miler was good. I thought alot.

And I get no Answers...



I miss you and guess that I should, what would we change if we could?

Music and cover music - Brandi Carlisle covering the Counting Crows - this song pretty much explains it for me today. Yep. Pretty much explains my day.

Friday, October 3, 2008

Passing the Test.

Well, now that Main Street has officially been bailed out, I am breathing one HUGE sigh of relief that we just signed another $700 BILLION dollar loan with the Chinese Government - at least the interest rates are good, and hey, I don't know how many people are in the United States, but if we have an official "Work to Pay for Everyone Else's Bad Decisions" Day - we could take care of that number in a few weeks. Let's start a revolution and just send random checks to the government - of course they would have to form a committee to establish the validity of the movement, they would have to build a center to study the influx of funds, they would have to research the psychological effects of the money on laboratory rats, and then they would have to have four years of public hearings to debate what we really intended to do by sending them the checks in the first place...I am not a cynic, just a middle class moron who still can't figure out how I paid more taxes than Palin, but made less money?

I really don't think we are passing the test- I tend to agree with those who voted against the bailout plan - I understand (being a finance guy with a masters degree and all) the effect that credit markets have on the economy - they artificially expand the economy by extending resources for future goods - and unfreeze the wheels of barter systems - but at the same time, I tend to believe that there is a finite supply of leveraged assets available - for me, it was sort of a wake up call - if Americans were saving more cash, there would be more cash to loan, reducing the need for short term funding by banks because reserves would be on hand. I know we are talking trillions of dollars here, but somehow I suspect our undying need for a new laptop every two years, a new I-Pod when the new fall colors come out, and the hip new sports car have created an unstable and unsustainable economy. The government does not help us either - they don't clearly explain who they are borrowing money from - we borrow money from foreign central banks to bolster the dollar - strange stuff this is.

Anyway, I did not sit down to blog some passive aggressive lines about the economy - I missed the collective sigh of my neighbors as President Bush scratched his "X" into the bill, and yet I feel exactly as pessimistic and exactly as optimistic as I did before I had to listen to the Dems and the GOP extoll the virtues of moving ahead for us dimwitted and less than intelligent "main streeters".

I did sit down to blog about Ebay - but my carpal tunnel syndrome is kicking in, and I think I need a can of beer to quell the pain that is firing up my left shoulder right now - (I wonder if they included a recovery plan for me in the bill)....

Miles of Cornfields...

I think I have talked about my common recurring dream in the past, the fields, the red house, the old man, the smell of bleached white sheets and the cool shade and comfort of an autumnal eve...

This week I spent about ten hours driving through Missouri, enjoying the colors of the midwest in early October - the bright yellow of the pre-harvest soy, the greenish brown of the Halloween sweet corn, the fields of the late summer wheat. Missouri has a certain attractiveness to it, basically two major cities, on hemispheric opposites, connected by a highway, and in between, a few tourist traps, pieces of old Route 66, an adult book store or two, and miles of cornfields. Driving to me is really the last great adventure - listen to me when I say this - in today's world, we fly everywhere, we don't stop, we don't pull over, we just fly - but now, there are so many more things to discover, things that we pass and smile about funny signs, or wonder what Missouri wineries really taste like, or wonder if the fact that the building is shaped like a hot dog really makes the hot dog taste better, or if a gentleman's club in the middle of the state, at least 100 miles from a town with a population of more than 3,000 ships their wares in from the big cities...

Colors are amazing to me - it is the browns and tans and muted yellows and soft fall colors that reminded me of you this week. It was difficult to drive through a place that had so much color and life and not be reminded of smiles and lips and hair and eyes.

Missouri has some benefits, and driving through a kaleidescope of fall color was refreshing this week, it was a good medicine for me. A very good medicine.

A Demain.

Friday, September 26, 2008

So you say they don't like livers?

Well.
To hell with them.
I say, and I say it with some vigor and vim that could only be provided by 2,000 miles of emptiness,

Fuck em' if they don't like chicken livers.

I know...

I have a bad reputation, and it is not just talk talk talk. I love things that I cannot have.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

The Wedge...



This is some place I may never get to go - someplace I think I was supposed to go, but ended up at a waterfall instead - all the same, just as beautiful, and the company was just as wonderful, but not LaPush, not the coast. I imagine there will be other opportunities in between family vacations and conventions and the occassional wanderlust, but for some reason, much like the emptiness in this picture, the quiet solace, I suspect the feeling will be one of retrospect, not dreaming. That is a tough thing to come to grips with.

I wonder, being some sort of an agnostic, if that driftwood wants to be there, by some piece of sheer will wanted to be next to that rock, and rest a while in the sand, and let the cool mist blanket while awaiting for the next tide. I am beginning to think that I am somewhat drifting - I thought the past year was a dreamlike state - but the funny things is now that I have found it magically easy to slip back into my past life, it was the only real year that I have had in a long time - sort of like the movie or book "Awakenings" - awake for a while to experience life, then back into the haze to enjoy the quiet solace.

Disappointment came very easy this week. It was not intentional, nor malicious, but it was selfish. I feel it was selfish. I feel it was almost a jab to push back further, and to separate the distance even further. But those are just my thoughts. You know what they say about thinking...think in one hand, love in the other, and both hands end up empty...

That's enough for now, I am tired, but happy. The phone is ringing...

George

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Top Ten things to Do during an economic downturn...

Nobody can tell me that they have lived through an economic downturn this severe that is my age - unless of course they were mysteriously teleported from the early 1930's into today's age by strapping an electrical device to their heads and drinking some bootleg bathtub gin - and I, although gullable and open to the idea of time travel, find that very,very slim. If I was to do that, it would be to teleport myself into the disco era of the seventies - I love silk shirts, polyester pants, and hell, flyback hairstyles were the bomb...

I digress my friends, I digress. As the solidly entrenched upper middle class wage earner that I am, (you know there are 12 classes - hell I think there are two - rich and those who shop at Walmart - I fall into the latter), my wife and I embarked upon our cost reduction program by deciding that we would not use the air conditioner after receiving a pleasantly large electric bill that probably could have sent another 10 Zimbabwean troop to joing the coalition for another year or so - and even as I type, my allergies are making my eyes look like I smoked two or three bags of cheap weed and then poked them with ice picks. Needless to say, I did sleep pretty well, even if I did wake up feeling like it was time to pack the tent, and wash the sleeping bags. Don't let this be mistaken as my household going green - we'd have to sell the minivan for that to happen, and wear clothes made out of hemp, and we just have not gone that far....yet.

Segue into my first top ten list for those of us who, trusting in the Horatio Algiers possibilities of this great Nation, want to try and save a few bucks during this economic downturn - trust me on this one, the ten things below will not only save you money, but, if you start a revolution, may get you elected to your PTA Association:

1. Eat at Costco on Saturdays and Sundays. I know the old ladies and screaming children are a pain in the ass, but who can deny that the samples they provide you are a filling and cheap way to feed the family. Just last week I had two medicine cups full of red wine, three or four bites of mediterranean chicken, some struedel, and then to top it off, I "sampled" four grapes to make sure they tasted pretty good. Hell, make an evening out of it, I let my kids wear their heelies and gave them a quarter for being the first to find a new sample location. A new spin on potluck....

2. Sell your spouses favorite things on ebay - they never understood why you did not like them, and now they never will.

3. Read a book. I know with the current state of education these days, this may not be an option for everyone - so let me rephrase - read or LOOK at a book.

4. Hang out with friends ALOT. They don't know why you are spending inordinate amounts of time soaking up their electricity, eating their food, drinking their beer, and using their shower - and if they are REAL friends, they will gladly let you do that.

5. Go back to dial up - remember the good old days when surfing the web was an all day affair just to balance your check book - well, it's still an option, and for $9.99 per month, you too can let the excitement build as it takes four hours to open Yahoo.

6. Put your retirement savings in jar accounts - mayo jars, mustard jars, baby food jars - and bury them in your backyard. I doubt too many CEO's of these failed institutions will be in your backyard with metal detectors looking for them - they can afford to lose half of their $30 million bonus they have received over the last ten years, and if you get audited by the IRS, they will never find the money.

7. Do all of those "free" things our parents tell us exist - after filling up your SUV with nine dollar per gallon gas, head to a state park, pay the $12.50 daily entrance fee, the bear removal fee, the State Fund for Gravel Fee, the Daily Fishing License (this is only for folks who think they might fish - if you are actually going to fish you must have your license tattoed on your gums), the backing into parking lot fee, and finally the weekly football pool for Ranger Dan and Assistant Ranger Chuck - and have fun. After spending an hour listening to other folks who have not excercised for years ask "Where is the escalator" on the five mile hike for about two hours, it will be the best $470 you ever spent. This is one of the generational gripes that I have - there ain't shit that is free anymore - so for you parents of middle aged children out there - stop suggesting it.

8. Get a second, or even third job. For us middle classers we need to earn more money so we can pay more taxes. Come on you unpatriotic gaggle - do your part - in order to bail out these major companies our government needs the cash flow. Who cares if we already travel 80% of the time, work seventy hours a week, our kids think we are foster parents, that leaves at least 60 quality working hours a week to invest in the next generation's future.

9. Move back in with your parents. They are the ones who thought biochemicals, plastics, aerosols, leaded gasoline, savings and loans, DEET, deregulation, etc were all good ideas - and they always taught you that you must pay for your mistakes - time for them to start paying. Besides, it will let you catch up on all of the things you feel liked you missed out on as a child.

10. Move to Canada - from what I understand from looking at books (see point 3, I was a child of public education) - they live in the woods and eat maple syrup for free every day. Save up the $17,230 dollars for gas to drive up there, the fast food meals that cost $87 for a family of four, the $1,372 dollars in tolls that you are going to pay to the Public Private Investment companies that paid to build the highway and now get the revenue from it, the $8,471 dollars it will take to apply for a passport, and go.

Now, no one can say I am not doing my part - but seriously, I think the most important thing that any of us can do is VOTE - personally, political choices are a private matter - publicly, our federal elected officials are just about the only folks with a job for life (trust me on this one, once they are thrown out of congress, they get a job with a lobbyist, or on the prison work farm as an attorney), so we might as well decide intelligently who we want making decisions that insulate their families and friends from the plight of the rest of us.

Until next time.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Facebook Stuff...

Now this facebook thing - what a concept - you can actually get in touch with people who are folks that may you may or may not remember, or really care to remember - but so far, my experience has been that they have been pleasant reconnections and it is kind of nice to see where folks are after so many years of life passing down the road. Some of them are Obama supporters, some of them have a lot of children, some of them have changed, and some of them, well hell - you just add them so that you have a shitpot of friends to for your entire facebook thing. Technology is a cathartic useful piece of stuff, even if my ten year old can program a DVD player better than I can, and if Comcast offers me another piece of equipment to try and figure out, well hell, I am going to paste a magazine to my tv set, and just pretend that it is my favorite show (I don't know who I am kidding - I don't watch much television - I use it to fall asleep at night when you sit in a hotel room). Needless to say, I like the facebook - it is a neat thing, and I am sure I will get used to it.

Kitchen Floors - why do I call this kitchen floors - well, that's simple. When I was a little kid, we did not have air conditioning in one of our houses - so in Florida in the Summer, the most comfortable place to be is sitting on a terrazo floor with a pillow and a box fan blowing across your face. I have a more serious blog out there, but I want kitchen floors to be that cool comfortable place that I go to just sit and write and bore people with my endless banter.

The problem is that I still love the kitchen floor - we have air conditioning now, but for now, I still find the happiest and quietest place is sitting on the kitchen floor with a cold glass of white wine late at night when the house is dark - and you just sit there and think and let the white noise of the fridge kick in and lull you to sleep. I know it sounds a little crazy, but I have never been one to be accused of staying terribly sane, nor do I profess to a system of beliefs that says kitchen floors are only for walking.

So for now, that is enough of an explanation as to why I call this blog Kitchen Floors - A State of Euphoria is still plugging along, and contains the heavier stuff, but this one, hell - join me on the kitchen floor, pour a cold glass of white wine, and let's listen to the fridge for a little while.

George

Working Class Stiff.....

I am what you would call a typical working class stiff - I am not really sure what that means, or how you would describe it, but I sit in front of the soft glare of a flat screen monitor pumping out numbers, return to a hotel room to have some sort of middle American cuisine that generally consists of carbs, wine, and carbs, followed up with a healthy dose of simple sugars to be followed by five or six hours of restless sleep - then I get back up and do it again -

The reality is, I love it! I love my life and the things and toys and treats and music and people and spreadsheets and challenges and the boring minutia that cranks my heart and my head into a sloppy and tired mush. Oh what a life to live - I have been to all four corners of this country, and to just about every small town in between, have had dinner with their people, have watched their young ones grow, and the old ones leave, and have very rarely, if ever made an enemy, maybe a few combatants, but never an enemy -

Tonight I am restless, I find it harder and harder to sleep at home without the assistance of heavy doses of benzodiazaprene (or something like that) because I long to be back on the road and thinking in a quiet space and unfamiliar things - familiar is a funny concept - some are comfortable in familiar normal surroundings, I think my wife craves consistency, in everything, sort of an IKEA mentality. Me, I have a flea market furniture store mentality - it is damn near the same stuff, but it is piled up in dirty boxes, and there is no perky breasted, bleached white teeth college student selling it to you like she just found god in the IKEA 12 step program. I am afraid my kids are more like my wife - my son especially, he likes things in order, my daughter, she is more like me - if she is thirsty, she drinks, if she is hungry, she eats, if she is tired, she sleeps. I learn lessons from both of them, and hopefully have passed on a few before they start to keep a distinct microsoft outlook calendar that lists everything that they need to do before they die...

Unloading trucks in college, working in a gay bar, and mergers and acquisitions - I guess all of them have a familiar tune - they are extreme and intense sectors of society - they are energetic and exciting, they are muscle and sweat and work and emotion and they possess you - whether physical or mental, they possess that space that always never feels full -

Very rarely do I invoke "The Digger" - that is more of an emotional state to me. You dig rows of emotions, and there are seasons every year, some things die, some things you plant, some things you nurture, and then you do it again. My working class stiff mind rolls around in that emotion way too much - maybe that is why the distraction of full tilt work has always appealed to me.

I miss things too. Maybe that is why I work hard and play hard and think too much - have you ever gone the monkey exhibit and seen those monkeys just stare up - not at the gaggle of brightly colored tourists and the ill-behaved children pointing at them, they are staring at a tree that used to shade the blue sky, or looking for a bird that never flies near them anymore, or maybe just listening really hard for a familiar sound that they don't hear anymore - but they remember. Maybe they sit there and ponder all day about that time when...

I love being a working class stiff, a ham and egger, a Joe Nobody. I love the keys on my laptop that are worn shiny from typing, I love the work.

There is a little song that was written in the late sixties - "God Bless Mommy I know that's right, and wasnt it fun in the bath tonight? The cold so cold, and the hot so hot...

God Bless Daddy, I almost forgot..."

The thing is that you just don't forget - so you work - Arbeit Macht Frei.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Working Class Stiff..

I am what you would call a typical working class stiff - I am not really sure what that means, or how you would describe it, but I sit in front of the soft glare of a flat screen monitor pumping out numbers, return to a hotel room to have some sort of middle American cuisine that generally consists of carbs, wine, and carbs, followed up with a healthy dose of simple sugars to be followed by five or six hours of restless sleep - then I get back up and do it again -

The reality is, I love it! I love my life and the things and toys and treats and music and people and spreadsheets and challenges and the boring minutia that cranks my heart and my head into a sloppy and tired mush. Oh what a life to live - I have been to all four corners of this country, and to just about every small town in between, have had dinner with their people, have watched their young ones grow, and the old ones leave, and have very rarely, if ever made an enemy, maybe a few combatants, but never an enemy -

Tonight I am restless, I find it harder and harder to sleep at home without the assistance of heavy doses of benzodiazaprene (or something like that) because I long to be back on the road and thinking in a quiet space and unfamiliar things - familiar is a funny concept - some are comfortable in familiar normal surroundings, I think my wife craves consistency, in everything, sort of an IKEA mentality. Me, I have a flea market furniture store mentality - it is damn near the same stuff, but it is piled up in dirty boxes, and there is no perky breasted, bleached white teeth college student selling it to you like she just found god in the IKEA 12 step program. I am afraid my kids are more like my wife - my son especially, he likes things in order, my daughter, she is more like me - if she is thirsty, she drinks, if she is hungry, she eats, if she is tired, she sleeps. I learn lessons from both of them, and hopefully have passed on a few before they start to keep a distinct microsoft outlook calendar that lists everything that they need to do before they die...

Unloading trucks in college, working in a gay bar, and mergers and acquisitions - I guess all of them have a familiar tune - they are extreme and intense sectors of society - they are energetic and exciting, they are muscle and sweat and work and emotion and they possess you - whether physical or mental, they possess that space that always never feels full -

Very rarely do I invoke "The Digger" - that is more of an emotional state to me. You dig rows of emotions, and there are seasons every year, some things die, some things you plant, some things you nurture, and then you do it again. My working class stiff mind rolls around in that emotion way too much - maybe that is why the distraction of full tilt work has always appealed to me.

I miss things too. Maybe that is why I work hard and play hard and think too much - have you ever gone the monkey exhibit and seen those monkeys just stare up - not at the gaggle of brightly colored tourists and the ill-behaved children pointing at them, they are staring at a tree that used to shade the blue sky, or looking for a bird that never flies near them anymore, or maybe just listening really hard for a familiar sound that they don't hear anymore - but they remember. Maybe they sit there and ponder all day about that time when...

I love being a working class stiff, a ham and egger, a Joe Nobody. I love the keys on my laptop that are worn shiny from typing, I love the work.

There is a little song that was written in the late sixties - "God Bless Mommy I know that's right, and wasnt it fun in the bath tonight? The cold so cold, and the hot so hot...

God Bless Daddy, I almost forgot..."

The thing is that you just don't forget - so you work - Arbeit Macht Frei.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Text Messages and Misunderstandings Part Deux...

I hate text messages that convey being pissed off - what good does that do - it really does no good for anyone involved - they send me through the roof - I mean literally -

There are some lyrics to a song that I am working on - Let it go, let it roll right off your shoulders. I wish I could live by that mantra, but right now - I can't. Somewhere between my heart being on my sleeve, and my brain stuck in a constant flushing action, I can't live that mantra.

You know, intention is a powerful thing - particularly when it is understood to be for self-serving reasons - my intentions are not self serving - in fact they are self-defeating - and one day, perhaps, someone will notice that, and will start telling me to not promote the success of others and brag about the accomplishments I have made - but you know, fuck it.

I don't want to write anymore, this is childish, stupid, insensitive, and you know what - maybe it's best that it is this way. It certainly makes the situation more bitter than sweet, and hell, maybe it's the pill we all need to swallow. Maybe one day I will feel like explaining myself, but that's kind of like having to put more whipped cream on a pile of shit, and I am full up on whipped cream, and certainly don't need anymore servings of shit.

George

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Heavily Chlorinated Swimming Pools -

I did not have much to write about this time - a dinner, where the jokes were at my expense, and the bill was not, a boss floating in the swimming pool like a half harpooned whale only being kept afloat by the bubbles in the beer, and a finally some peace and quiet from a house filled with eight bereaving guests -

I meant to post something more serious over the past couple of days - sure my grandmother died, sure I watched her breathe her last breath, and sure, there are better things to do than sit by yourself late at night and sob for the time that you failed to take advantage of - but like my Uncle Chuck said - "Her time on earth is over, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, not remember to love one another and not forget this lesson of loss" - she was a bus driver - a very opinionated, deep woods Southern Baptist, a very strong and stern woman, but she was my school bus driver. When there was never enough food - and it seems like, until my mom remarried that there was never enough food, we always had a hot meal of fried chicken or london broil or beef stew - and we always had a haircut and clean clothes and we always had a place that we could go that was simple - but safe. I always said that I did not agree theologically with my MeMa - and I still believe that - but in retrospect, I always have agreed with her need to fix anyone - I mean anyone, a hot cup of coffee, and tell them that she loved them - she was not one to say I Love You - but when she put that old chipped mug in front of you, and pulled down the loaf of Merita and broke out the butter (she never - I mean never - had anything close to margarine or HeartSmart Fake Butter in her kitchen)you knew that she wanted to just be with you and talk with you, and occassionally, just pour you another hot cup of coffee and have you stay a little while longer until the peace she felt was part of you...She is gone now, Shirley Valine Lundin, buried in an old cemetary that is not as kept as it used to be, full of Florida Fire Ants and tombstones of the oldest folks in Jacksonville - but, I think I inherited two important things from her - my constant inability to keep my mouth shut, and my willingness to fix a hot cup of coffee...I don't know if she can read this from where she is, spirit or otherwise, but I do love my MeMa, and even though I did not always spend the time when I needed to, or always stop by when I was close, I think she knew that I loved her and that she gave me some things that are a little hard to come by without guidance. Enough about that, rest well Grandma...

So here I am, in a much nicer hotel in Kansas City, and they cholrinate the hell out of their swimming pools. I missed a call earlier, I was sleeping, and Jesus H, I hate missing calls. So, what do I do, I swim - and of course, as I swim, and my nostrils are being burned out by the chlorine gas that they seemingly are pumping into the pool, I can see my skin starting to blend into some Michael Jackson twisted issue - my nose did not fall off, but I expect that to happen any minute now...

I don't know why I sat down to blog. Sometimes it just feels okay to write. Sometimes it is good to just type what comes to mind - sort of a Turrets Syndrome of the fingers - I just need to write. Hell, no one can read this damn thing anymore, it is locked, but one day, maybe someone will read it, and the posts will make sense or they will send an email, and say - you know, you are a big fucking idiot. Most of all, it makes sense to me, and it is a comfortable place when you are half tired, half drunk, and completely broke to spend a few minutes of time.

As always, A Demain Mon Ami -

George

Monday, September 8, 2008

Voice.

It is a defining term - and an ambiguously funny term - I am happy right now, there are no other voices audibly expressing themselves right now, the only noise is just the whir of the ceiling fan, and the sound of my fingers tapping the keyboard. We all have a voice, whether it be one expressed in artistic brush strokes, or pen, or musical notes, we all have a voice - and now I just want one voice - and I get to hear it every day - but sometimes, that is just not enough.

I love to hear rythm. That's what I have is a simple voice - and at times, it does not seem worth the feelings and the longing, but that is what I have - a rythm, and I want it more and more everyday - maybe my own voice is being drowned out by the need to hear that one, maybe that's okay.

When the images and memories in your head start to disappear, and the only thing that you have is a song or a picture, well that voice comes across as a lighthouse, a welcome, and a comfort - I love to hear it, because, I am not really sure if I mentioned this earlier - but that's all I have right now.

A demain.

George

Thursday, August 28, 2008

You have the right...

To remain silent.

We all do. Sitting at a bar tonight with folks who have the ability to separate their lives from what they do - it is amazing - I know nothing of their families, of their trials, of the way the perceive the rest of the world, all I know is that their starched stiff shirts still are brisk and confining, and they giggle with the complacency that has made them what they are, and they still protect and gaurd their egos agianst the few things that someone, anyone, might feel for them. I see it in their faces, it resonates in their words, it clings to the smell of them - that they need to be accepted in the club - and their individuality is a function of what they are supposed to be. I would like to be able to remain silent, and sell that part of me, but I cannot. I will not. I give them me, in return, I get to see them be a success, and I, well I am what I am, and get to chalk up my honesty and ability to swim through the matrix as a a selling point for the next group of innocents that may or may not walk through the door. Ambassador, sure, Naysayer, sure, Fortune Teller, sure...

Blogs are not supposed to be about what I am - or what few simple rights we may think we possess - I have no rights. I have to remain silent, I have to be able to take what I get, and I have to accept what is offered - in my life - which (if you read or listen) is not about taking what I can get, it is about giving until I can't give - I want nothing more than to be taken for everything and be able to sleep at night knowing that I am next to someone who loves Me. I want to give until that person realizes that they are the one that maybe I should have worked harder for, told the truths to more, and sacrificed more for - I have a wife and children - just like the plan said I was supposed to have - someone forgot to tell me that the plan, well, much like a budget, it is just a plan - and there are failures and successes, and you have to live with them, grow with them, and move on with or without them.

Love is a futile emotion that is based somewhere in the reality that no one or someone does not have to return it - I will love people until it hurts or it pays off - sort of like that nickel slot machine that you sit at for hours on end, it will pay off - it will, eventually...

I have the right - and I do, love. I do not have the right to ruin her world, or to pressure her into ruining that world. I have the right to cherish what little bit is left - of time - and have the right to hold the rest of the feelings in here, in me, and one day, maybe I will have the right to wake up next to her, and not worry about the world around me or her, and just worry about whether the kids get sugar free pancake syrup or get to do what the rest of us do - and taste the sugary sticky sweet maple that makes Saturday mornings worth while.

Most of all, I have the right to love - and I am exercising that right - but sometimes, just every once in a while, that vote is not the one that counts -

I love, and I have the right to do so.

There is no next time - I think I am closing this blog, it has gotten to be a part of me, and if I am going to go through separation - maybe, now is the time to get back to the normal things in life- suck it up, I made a choice, and now live with it - I appreciate the folks who read it, but in all reality, the rest of the world will still go on - there will still be tennis matches I have to enjoy and halibut fishing the rest of us have to enjoy and I and we play second fiddle to those bluegrass tunes - maybe the next blog will be called Kitchen Floors - I don't want to travel anymore- I want kitchen floors with checkerboarded linoleum and bright letters on the fridge -

Too much about the right to have - goodnight all, I have the right to remain silent, but I know that silence is not going to solve anything...

A Demain Mon Ami - I love you.

George

Thursday, August 21, 2008

The Perfect Afternoon...


It's not everyday or every week in this case, that you get locked in a house with two stir crazy children, a wife who has no patience, and 60 mile an hour winds and sideways rain pouring down - thank god.

My children are busy shooting each other with rubber bands and Nerf dart guns, my wife has finally made it out of her pajamas, and me, I just went to the gym - I have this rule where I have to pay my body 255 minutes per week of physical exercise - as it stands, I owe my body 13 more minutes, and I think (if I can get my wife to move from the bed to a standing position for more than 15 minutes) that some afternoon abdominal yoga might be in order (I love those perky breasted yoga instructors on the FitTV on Demand feature - they make me feel like shit, but hell they are so positive about it!)

Right now, we are under a tornado warning - rotation has been sighted within 5 miles of the house, and with any luck, maybe I will get a new roof out of this entire ordeal - and I may actually be able to convince my wife to get out of the house...(then again if we lose just half of the roof, with my luck it will be the part that covers everything but the bedroom, and in that case, well 24 more hours stuck in fucking paradise).

Let's dream about that perfect afternoon for a while, humor me. I want to be in a car pulling up on Second Avenue right about now - things are ready, a simple backpack with clean underwear, some extra blue jeans, a passport, a bottle of white wine and a six pack of coors light, a couple of candy bars, a few cd's, some smart food popcorn, and a full tank of gas. The kids are lined up and away - we said our goodbyes and gave our hugs, and now we are going to wander. I like to wander. Maybe a drive north across the border, maybe out into the desert, maybe we go to the airport and catch the cheapest flight we can find to anywhere - but we just go. It does not have to be planned, and does not have to be perfect, but ending up in the Super 8 motel somewhere near North Dakota with you sounds like a place to be - or maybe even the Drury Inn somewhere in the middle of Arkansas - who cares - just going and being sounds like the perfect weekend. Then again, a short nap at the Gasworks and a couple of rented movies, an hour or two burying the kids up to their waist at the beach, a sandwich and a salad, those sound pretty good too. It is nice in my mind - the weather outside of my mind sucks, but the forecast is pretty damn good between my ears -

I want a perfect afternoon, and I want everyone who can read this to have one too...

A demain mon ami.

George