I think the holidays change for everyone, and by that I mean, the feeling about them. It all highly depends on the timing within one’s life. Its overall meaning as a tradition hasn’t changed, nor has the reasoning to stay consistent within such a pattern, but it comes down to what you’re expecting to get out of it, rather than what you’re putting into it. If heavily skewed towards the latter, you’ll definitely be peaches and cream, happy as a clam, (__Mad Lib joyful analogous cliché____). People should also be aware that there’s nothing wrong with a paradigm shift in the normally chipper clarity achieved through such holidays. In fact, life comes in cycles and those highs and lows will fluctuate just the same as everyday chapters reveal themselves within new grandchildren, children, marriage, jobs, goals, relationships and friends. Although there isn’t much low in this time of year, I’d wager there’s many that are trying to discover the uptick from the bottom of their cycle. As I say too many; life will go on. If you can grind on down to the essentials of this time, you might actually appreciate the strength in its foundation; roots you could never tear materially.
There’s obviously a transition we make; a day where our efforts become valiant, tacitly for the appreciation of youths, their impression of this time of year and why it should always be continued. So we should, and always will, continue it. For its personally fun to see their faces, and there’s an underlying beauty in being giddy for what you give someone. There’s nothing you can take away from this time that won’t be your companion to thought. We unconsciously work hard to remember the good and take positive aspects from our experience as lessons learned. In turn we grow, and in that expansion of ourselves…..the holidays, traditions, the days spent rising to the occasion and putting in the effort to make it the best you can, rather than expecting the world…….in those we then become our best….no matter where we are in our lives.
Have yourself an unbelievable time these next few weeks….whether its simple, creative, labored or invigorating….take it all in, for it’s been something that has made your life undoubtedly better, and shall forever, for those you will it.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
A Soldier's Plight....of which I make assumptions
The number of suicides amongst our armed forces is racking the public conscience; and it should. There’ve been over 140 active soldiers and something like 71 inactive ones, already this year (said the AP). As all statistics are, they’re better understood when compared to what’s common, perhaps what the numbers were in previous years, or not during wartime; but death no matter what, shouldn’t be a comparison. But that’s also not my point. The first number doesn’t bother me as much as the second.
A soldier’s sitting in the backyard at a barbecue. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt; blending back into society as we know it. Months earlier everyone feared for his life, respecting and missing him at the same time. They’re so glad the wait’s over cause he’s there now; sharing stares and a mutual drink. Mutual though, his happiness lingers beyond reach.
When you survive the denial of resources that make life easy, you learn you can live without them. You’re stronger, different, and less dependent because you did. How many people can say they fought exhaustion amongst starry nights to protect twenty sleeping men from an ambush? How many men can understand the scope of that task? Most of them never achieved such purpose in their lives, nor been given such massive responsibility back home. To ponder the idea of why some men survive, yet friends of theirs die....these things never leave. How many can come home to a life so simple, and not resent those around them; taking life for granted for the straight-and-narrow path has always just been.
Home isn’t so warm to someone without opportunity. Not every soldier’s jumping into a job on the Trading Desk at Goldman or spec'ing out blueprints as an Engineer for Boeing. Imagine the internal struggle when one day you’re holding a rifle, killing potential terrorists, saving lives and serving your country, and the next, you’re holding a spatula getting scolded by your more educated, younger boss.
I don’t know how many of us need motion in life. Craving direction or having a goal is important; monotony otherwise gets to be too much. In battle, you’re a hero. You’re the ultimate man; a survivor and a fighter. The distant comfort of family keeps you strong and mentally driven, for they need you back, and you’re doing this as much for them as yourself. As much as you yearn though, for that day back home, and fight to earn it, the minute you’re back, the fear of being regular, average and common.... the thought of never achieving such purpose or elevated respect again, is harder to handle than the drive to live.
What happens when a man’s most defining moment comes too early in life? I have to believe that struggle is what makes for the largest percent of the 71.
A soldier’s sitting in the backyard at a barbecue. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt; blending back into society as we know it. Months earlier everyone feared for his life, respecting and missing him at the same time. They’re so glad the wait’s over cause he’s there now; sharing stares and a mutual drink. Mutual though, his happiness lingers beyond reach.
When you survive the denial of resources that make life easy, you learn you can live without them. You’re stronger, different, and less dependent because you did. How many people can say they fought exhaustion amongst starry nights to protect twenty sleeping men from an ambush? How many men can understand the scope of that task? Most of them never achieved such purpose in their lives, nor been given such massive responsibility back home. To ponder the idea of why some men survive, yet friends of theirs die....these things never leave. How many can come home to a life so simple, and not resent those around them; taking life for granted for the straight-and-narrow path has always just been.
Home isn’t so warm to someone without opportunity. Not every soldier’s jumping into a job on the Trading Desk at Goldman or spec'ing out blueprints as an Engineer for Boeing. Imagine the internal struggle when one day you’re holding a rifle, killing potential terrorists, saving lives and serving your country, and the next, you’re holding a spatula getting scolded by your more educated, younger boss.
I don’t know how many of us need motion in life. Craving direction or having a goal is important; monotony otherwise gets to be too much. In battle, you’re a hero. You’re the ultimate man; a survivor and a fighter. The distant comfort of family keeps you strong and mentally driven, for they need you back, and you’re doing this as much for them as yourself. As much as you yearn though, for that day back home, and fight to earn it, the minute you’re back, the fear of being regular, average and common.... the thought of never achieving such purpose or elevated respect again, is harder to handle than the drive to live.
What happens when a man’s most defining moment comes too early in life? I have to believe that struggle is what makes for the largest percent of the 71.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The Five Year Itch (Ladies, don't read this one, you won't like it...and it's mainly b/c I don't date guys)
Some women get it out of their system in college, but that's because they didn’t have anyone. No guy to keep them from partying and hooking up so much that they eventually got over it. If it's in men, then I must've blew through it years ago. Even I was locked down during college but never felt this undying need for independence. And that was a relationship from second semester of Freshman year all the way through. Maybe I got a enough ass prior to college, to keep me happy. To me, p****, is p****, is P****...gorgeous thing, and I love it, but let's be honest...there's a million more things a girl needs to make herself appealing. It's amongst the search for these things that it all starts to get ugly.....nothing labial about it. The ugliness comes into play when a woman....I digress.....a girl.....doesn’t have enough time to herself. Time to herself...meaning....time to be single.....to go down on other guys...to experiment with girls, to drink their face off and dance on tables, to have any mother fucker with potent cologne and drenched wet hair grazing up against her just so she knows she's desired. Trust me....if you see a woman at 50 who's still craving it, it's because they got married too early, thought the grass was greener, and now look desperate trying to score a guy for superficial reasons, or just to prove they’ve still got game.
This does not pertain to older generations like our grandparents…that’s a whole other topic dealing more with women’s independence movements, social acceptance with divorce and society, separation during wartime…you name it….so this is relevant to our parents, ourselves, and generations to come. Girls in cities, hate to say it but, the itch is even worse and often longer in duration. The more options they have (i.e. people and entertainment), the more confusion and temptation combine to keep reality from setting in.
Love my mother to death, but she's the best example of having wished she'd seen more of a youthful life. She’d gotten married too early…hadn’t enjoyed being a woman in her twenties, had dated maybe three people before marriage, hadn’t experienced enough fun while young….and ultimately, it led to her obsession with getting divorced. What she did decide to end, now seems to be an overeager and premature decision in the aftermath. I don’t think people are all that different. And I would doubt chemically or emotionally that this wouldn’t need to happen to everyone, therefore, here’s a bit more about why I believe that "need" to be true.
I say it's 5 years because that's really just the length of the age bracket where it seems to happen the most. That does not mean they need 5 straight years of being single, or 5 total years to party and hook-up. From age 22 until about 27, these behaviors are most noticeable. So much change, so much lack of direction, it's by far the most prone time; especially for big city loves, and additionally for anyone who had a long relationship prior. I’m obviously biased. Eager to dissect the chosen paths of those I've loved; watching them firsthand, and analyzing their choices. I've had two serious relationships, each more than 3 years….both of which failed. In hindsight, I see myself unconsciously holding back the girls I was with….they'd proved this the minute they were free from my backyard tent (jk). After that first stint where the girl and I were shacked up in college, we broke up immediately after graduation. I guarantee you know three relationships that ended the exact same way...maybe even yours. In mine, I found out she moved in with two girls and lived for three years, just partying, enjoying herself in a fashion she'd damned to only losers, years prior. She'd point at those girls and despise their dancing on tables and screaming "Sweet Caroline", when really, they were just getting it out of their system earlier than her. There she was, two years later, living in a smaller sorority-style house in the city, enjoying her rightful and well-needed place.
The second relationship I had was different in the sense that you're older but she isn't. It's really the same stage as your previous girlfriend where she's mature when you begin dating but then a total mess with priorities and her own self come age 22. Although it lasted beyond that age, it shouldnt have. I was the circumstance holding back the bird that needed to fly. She’s now doing the exact same thing I mentioned of my previous ex....almost to a T (whatever that expression means). Having seen this already beforehand, it's not even odd to me anymore....in fact, the progression I now expect of anyone. Although a bird always returns to its home after it sees what the world has to offer, to be at home waiting, well you're just not a man. No one should do unfair....there's nothing too lose when you've lost yourself.
There's no way of taming the itch...no method by which to cull and abate what will rise and fall for the best reasons. So keep doing what we all tend to do when faced with sure failure...lose interest completely, remain desensitized and just flow.....for timing and fate does its thing, and there’s no hurt when you just don’t care anymore. What I’m really trying to convey is an awareness, not a bible to live by or a straight defamation of the female character…in fact I think it’s necessary for anyone to go through this, so they don’t end up like my mom, having regrets after 27 years of marriage. I also want people to understand that it’s not something they might’ve done. That it was never in their control to begin with and that they didn't lose it by turning a person off or unintentionally holding them back.....it's remaining cognizant that there's this weird time in one's life....for me, it always seems to be within the ages I've mentioned....but really, it's a time where, no matter what you might do, no matter what you might think, or what you might want and expect of someone else........it really just aint gonna happen.
This does not pertain to older generations like our grandparents…that’s a whole other topic dealing more with women’s independence movements, social acceptance with divorce and society, separation during wartime…you name it….so this is relevant to our parents, ourselves, and generations to come. Girls in cities, hate to say it but, the itch is even worse and often longer in duration. The more options they have (i.e. people and entertainment), the more confusion and temptation combine to keep reality from setting in.
Love my mother to death, but she's the best example of having wished she'd seen more of a youthful life. She’d gotten married too early…hadn’t enjoyed being a woman in her twenties, had dated maybe three people before marriage, hadn’t experienced enough fun while young….and ultimately, it led to her obsession with getting divorced. What she did decide to end, now seems to be an overeager and premature decision in the aftermath. I don’t think people are all that different. And I would doubt chemically or emotionally that this wouldn’t need to happen to everyone, therefore, here’s a bit more about why I believe that "need" to be true.
I say it's 5 years because that's really just the length of the age bracket where it seems to happen the most. That does not mean they need 5 straight years of being single, or 5 total years to party and hook-up. From age 22 until about 27, these behaviors are most noticeable. So much change, so much lack of direction, it's by far the most prone time; especially for big city loves, and additionally for anyone who had a long relationship prior. I’m obviously biased. Eager to dissect the chosen paths of those I've loved; watching them firsthand, and analyzing their choices. I've had two serious relationships, each more than 3 years….both of which failed. In hindsight, I see myself unconsciously holding back the girls I was with….they'd proved this the minute they were free from my backyard tent (jk). After that first stint where the girl and I were shacked up in college, we broke up immediately after graduation. I guarantee you know three relationships that ended the exact same way...maybe even yours. In mine, I found out she moved in with two girls and lived for three years, just partying, enjoying herself in a fashion she'd damned to only losers, years prior. She'd point at those girls and despise their dancing on tables and screaming "Sweet Caroline", when really, they were just getting it out of their system earlier than her. There she was, two years later, living in a smaller sorority-style house in the city, enjoying her rightful and well-needed place.
The second relationship I had was different in the sense that you're older but she isn't. It's really the same stage as your previous girlfriend where she's mature when you begin dating but then a total mess with priorities and her own self come age 22. Although it lasted beyond that age, it shouldnt have. I was the circumstance holding back the bird that needed to fly. She’s now doing the exact same thing I mentioned of my previous ex....almost to a T (whatever that expression means). Having seen this already beforehand, it's not even odd to me anymore....in fact, the progression I now expect of anyone. Although a bird always returns to its home after it sees what the world has to offer, to be at home waiting, well you're just not a man. No one should do unfair....there's nothing too lose when you've lost yourself.
There's no way of taming the itch...no method by which to cull and abate what will rise and fall for the best reasons. So keep doing what we all tend to do when faced with sure failure...lose interest completely, remain desensitized and just flow.....for timing and fate does its thing, and there’s no hurt when you just don’t care anymore. What I’m really trying to convey is an awareness, not a bible to live by or a straight defamation of the female character…in fact I think it’s necessary for anyone to go through this, so they don’t end up like my mom, having regrets after 27 years of marriage. I also want people to understand that it’s not something they might’ve done. That it was never in their control to begin with and that they didn't lose it by turning a person off or unintentionally holding them back.....it's remaining cognizant that there's this weird time in one's life....for me, it always seems to be within the ages I've mentioned....but really, it's a time where, no matter what you might do, no matter what you might think, or what you might want and expect of someone else........it really just aint gonna happen.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The Grape
An old wise philosopher once challenged a town when they professed luck of a young boy’s fate to avoid the draft, while his friend went off to fight. When comparing the circumstances, to most it would seem apparent, but to the old man and the luck of one over the other, he said “we’ll see.”
Disheveled sweats and bloodshot eyes she waited, not for a knight in shining armor but for a hint of comfort to walk through the hospital doors. Her hair was limp and lifeless along with her posture. The future couldn’t possibly hold happiness; no rainbow to follow the storm rolling in. Your body can only be so stressed. On any normal day, these are not her aesthetics. She is out of character and aloof, for her father’s fairing far worse than they’d expected.
She’d gone down to the lobby in a daze to meet her brother; to wait anywhere but that depressing room. The rubber slides through her hand as she waits atop the escalator…and she thinks of life as a cycle, constantly rotating and slipping by, so she tries to grip it tighter; to pause it…..if only for an instant.
Staring past everyone who enters, she notices a man carrying a big basket of fruit and she breathes disgust for she hadn’t thought of that. Following him with her eyes, he comes higher and closer and her head moves forward as if to sniff flowers. The cellophane doesn’t wrap completely around what’s overflowing the wicker, and one tiny grape tumbles out. To stop a man for something so insignificant; to speak for words have escaped her for hours now, it felt good not to care. Desensitized, she’d craved a little good. As the man disappears into the elevators she sighs and returns to pondering what her life will be like without dad.
Dreaming of her best memories of him, she’d agreed with herself; he’d lived a storybook life. A navy man, he’d found his heart in a woman at 19. His fingers like triggers, he’d handled weapons not of gun-smoke and steal, but correspondence. A man who could type when no one else could. The wealthiest family on the block, they had the first television. A flickering blue light dancing amongst the stars, their living room was always packed with anxious glowing faces and warm bodies strewn carefree on the carpet. For feelings never pounded harder through his chest on the day he lost her, they’d been married for 60 years. She now thought about life and how it finds its form in many shapes within this world, the more interesting part of a form being the direction it takes and the meaning it delivers to the lives of one or many; whether conscious or un. Her fresh tears are interrupted…
Crashing to the floor behind her, a body thuds with a subtle snap. Screaming in agony, a heavyset woman in her 60’s has just broken her arm in three places after visiting her daughter. Shocked by the incident, the disenchanted storms over to help. “Thank you so much dear…I don’t know what happened…I’m just not paying attention…I’m sorry.” In shock, she’s sobbing but holding her arm and repeating over and over, the fact that she must get to work. “Mam, you’re right here in a hospital, I think you should get it checked out, no?” “No, I really must go, I don’t have the time right now…dammit, it’s killing me.…..I just wanted to stop by, see my daughter and head out……..you’re an angel though…… thanks so much for helping….I can’t believe this…I’m such a freakin klutz.” As the woman scurries out in disbelief that something so simple could have led to this, she regrets her visit. As she lumbers forward in a hunch, her head lays flat in a grimace. As noticeable as a blue ink stain on a crisp white shirt, squished mercilessly against the back of her dress was the grape. Shocked, our otherwise heartbroken and gray figure grabs her mouth and literally turns cold white. Behind her, a streak continues to dry on the tan-tiled floor, and her conscience kicks in. Tearing apart her stomach for being so remiss, even as the woman walks back into the lobby deciding the pain was unbearable, she can’t say what she now knows. It just isn’t necessary and how could she possibly respond if asked why she did nothing. No matter what she’d come up with, it would never make a difference.
As the town looked on at the lives of those two gentlemen; one spared from the calamity of war, and one sent feasibly to death; defending his life with nothing but a gun......their paths were revealed. Less than a year before the cadet left home, a plague swept through the town. It took with it many of the youngest lives, including our pardoned fellow at the ripe age of 22. He’d coughed and bled from every direction, spending the last 3 months of his life in a sweaty piss-stained bed for those who’d cared for him had died or were forced to quit. Two summers later, our subject doomed to trek the countryside of every country he'd never cared to visit, he'd endured no famine, slept uncomfortably through nights with comrades by his side, and came back to a huge welcome home party. He was awarded the medal of honor for bravery. A hometown hero he began his own practice and went on to be the most educated, successful citizen their little village ever churned out.
Now leaning on the balcony ledge with pure disgust, she kicks internally at her previously lethargic whispers “who cares about a damn grape.” Deciding never to let something like that happen again….just shrugging off a complacent notion for its priority is too low for an otherwise fatigued body, she vows never to have an excuse; she continues to learn. No one knows why things happen until they’re able to look back and see the outcome. Although the fate of the injured woman is unknown, such an unbelievably difficult coincidence may this time lead to destruction, but in regards to her future…well, that……”we’ll see.”
Disheveled sweats and bloodshot eyes she waited, not for a knight in shining armor but for a hint of comfort to walk through the hospital doors. Her hair was limp and lifeless along with her posture. The future couldn’t possibly hold happiness; no rainbow to follow the storm rolling in. Your body can only be so stressed. On any normal day, these are not her aesthetics. She is out of character and aloof, for her father’s fairing far worse than they’d expected.
She’d gone down to the lobby in a daze to meet her brother; to wait anywhere but that depressing room. The rubber slides through her hand as she waits atop the escalator…and she thinks of life as a cycle, constantly rotating and slipping by, so she tries to grip it tighter; to pause it…..if only for an instant.
Staring past everyone who enters, she notices a man carrying a big basket of fruit and she breathes disgust for she hadn’t thought of that. Following him with her eyes, he comes higher and closer and her head moves forward as if to sniff flowers. The cellophane doesn’t wrap completely around what’s overflowing the wicker, and one tiny grape tumbles out. To stop a man for something so insignificant; to speak for words have escaped her for hours now, it felt good not to care. Desensitized, she’d craved a little good. As the man disappears into the elevators she sighs and returns to pondering what her life will be like without dad.
Dreaming of her best memories of him, she’d agreed with herself; he’d lived a storybook life. A navy man, he’d found his heart in a woman at 19. His fingers like triggers, he’d handled weapons not of gun-smoke and steal, but correspondence. A man who could type when no one else could. The wealthiest family on the block, they had the first television. A flickering blue light dancing amongst the stars, their living room was always packed with anxious glowing faces and warm bodies strewn carefree on the carpet. For feelings never pounded harder through his chest on the day he lost her, they’d been married for 60 years. She now thought about life and how it finds its form in many shapes within this world, the more interesting part of a form being the direction it takes and the meaning it delivers to the lives of one or many; whether conscious or un. Her fresh tears are interrupted…
Crashing to the floor behind her, a body thuds with a subtle snap. Screaming in agony, a heavyset woman in her 60’s has just broken her arm in three places after visiting her daughter. Shocked by the incident, the disenchanted storms over to help. “Thank you so much dear…I don’t know what happened…I’m just not paying attention…I’m sorry.” In shock, she’s sobbing but holding her arm and repeating over and over, the fact that she must get to work. “Mam, you’re right here in a hospital, I think you should get it checked out, no?” “No, I really must go, I don’t have the time right now…dammit, it’s killing me.…..I just wanted to stop by, see my daughter and head out……..you’re an angel though…… thanks so much for helping….I can’t believe this…I’m such a freakin klutz.” As the woman scurries out in disbelief that something so simple could have led to this, she regrets her visit. As she lumbers forward in a hunch, her head lays flat in a grimace. As noticeable as a blue ink stain on a crisp white shirt, squished mercilessly against the back of her dress was the grape. Shocked, our otherwise heartbroken and gray figure grabs her mouth and literally turns cold white. Behind her, a streak continues to dry on the tan-tiled floor, and her conscience kicks in. Tearing apart her stomach for being so remiss, even as the woman walks back into the lobby deciding the pain was unbearable, she can’t say what she now knows. It just isn’t necessary and how could she possibly respond if asked why she did nothing. No matter what she’d come up with, it would never make a difference.
As the town looked on at the lives of those two gentlemen; one spared from the calamity of war, and one sent feasibly to death; defending his life with nothing but a gun......their paths were revealed. Less than a year before the cadet left home, a plague swept through the town. It took with it many of the youngest lives, including our pardoned fellow at the ripe age of 22. He’d coughed and bled from every direction, spending the last 3 months of his life in a sweaty piss-stained bed for those who’d cared for him had died or were forced to quit. Two summers later, our subject doomed to trek the countryside of every country he'd never cared to visit, he'd endured no famine, slept uncomfortably through nights with comrades by his side, and came back to a huge welcome home party. He was awarded the medal of honor for bravery. A hometown hero he began his own practice and went on to be the most educated, successful citizen their little village ever churned out.
Now leaning on the balcony ledge with pure disgust, she kicks internally at her previously lethargic whispers “who cares about a damn grape.” Deciding never to let something like that happen again….just shrugging off a complacent notion for its priority is too low for an otherwise fatigued body, she vows never to have an excuse; she continues to learn. No one knows why things happen until they’re able to look back and see the outcome. Although the fate of the injured woman is unknown, such an unbelievably difficult coincidence may this time lead to destruction, but in regards to her future…well, that……”we’ll see.”
Friday, September 11, 2009
Mom said I looked like a slut..so I had to change
As buildings fly by and rain streams down the windows, it's midnight, and I cant help but watch her. She's been pleading with her mom to stop demeaning her, for who knows what....and she doesn't, without remorse. I had a previous relationship like this….her mom would ask if she could speak with her, “I’ll be brief” she says. The door closes, then re-opens two minutes later, and over walks her fat, guilty and elated mother to let me know she’ll be out in a minute. I’d think in my head…”you dirty fucking bitch, what’d you say now.”
Is there a reason why a woman wouldn’t be proud to say she has a beautiful daughter? She made her….you’d figure she’d hold this precious thing above all others, but obviously not herself. The self image of mothers within themselves and those poor babies of theirs that just might’ve turned out attractive don’t dare deserve the horrible sniveling comments made towards them just because a guy looked at them, or because of what they put on that they think is cute. It’s not the outfit, or the fact that you’ve probably started fucking up your daughter far earlier than this point, it’s the fact that the mother is stuck in a world that doesn’t hold a day in the spotlight for her any longer. Those days of blowing off the gentleman callers that actually mustered the confidence to say something are long since over…and we all know she settled for the guy that gave her the least attention anyway. Her only ace now is that her words will sting, and so she lets them fly.
Your daughter looks up to you, no matter how white trash you are. You will always be her mother, and you will always instill your judgment, your reasoning and your opinion within her, no matter how illogical….so please, hold her tight, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her how ridiculously beautiful she is…if she is.
Is there a reason why a woman wouldn’t be proud to say she has a beautiful daughter? She made her….you’d figure she’d hold this precious thing above all others, but obviously not herself. The self image of mothers within themselves and those poor babies of theirs that just might’ve turned out attractive don’t dare deserve the horrible sniveling comments made towards them just because a guy looked at them, or because of what they put on that they think is cute. It’s not the outfit, or the fact that you’ve probably started fucking up your daughter far earlier than this point, it’s the fact that the mother is stuck in a world that doesn’t hold a day in the spotlight for her any longer. Those days of blowing off the gentleman callers that actually mustered the confidence to say something are long since over…and we all know she settled for the guy that gave her the least attention anyway. Her only ace now is that her words will sting, and so she lets them fly.
Your daughter looks up to you, no matter how white trash you are. You will always be her mother, and you will always instill your judgment, your reasoning and your opinion within her, no matter how illogical….so please, hold her tight, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her how ridiculously beautiful she is…if she is.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Adolescent Confessions: Some Tiny, Some Dumb...but all, Never as Cool as I Thought
The Smart Indian Kid (and I don't mean Native American):
A talented kid with brains unmatched but for a few hermits his age with half the personality. Not only that, but he was a star athlete with a great family that drove a silver Mercedes to soccer practice everyday during the fall. I knew Shobin Uralil was already taking the classes I was because he'd sit right next to me; and yet he was a year younger. It was in Miss Shotsky's Chemistry class that we took advantage of the young guy. Miss Shotsky was overweight by about 80-pounds, wore mu-mu flowery near-see-through dresses, thick prescription light-pink glasses and had stark white hair that just shot to the ceiling like an electric current had passed through her. She truly wasn't altogether normal, or with it. Shobin was so brilliant that we formed a horseshoe around his desk and then each copied his answers off his scantron, and then copied each other. She would pass out our test papers after they were graded and everyone in this little section always had the same exact grades. She never suspected anything...again, because she really was out of it. One day we got back an exam and I think we all got an 88. I could tell he was surprised and really upset with himself so I let him stew a bit. Later, on the soccer field I asked him "why are you so down about the test, an 88 is great man? or is it something else?" He said "in my culture, you are a direct reflection on your parents, and if I do bad in school, then they are bad parents in the eyes of their peers...other families we know. That's the way it is and I pressure myself to never let them down." I said, "dude, you're so freaking smart, you've been acing all your classes your whole life, you're on Varsity soccer as a Freshman, everyone in school thinks you're awesome....just calm down a bit..you'll give yourself a heart attack." He responds, "you'll just never get it...you don't know what it's like. There are no excuses."
I look back on cheating off his hard work and how much effort he'd probably put in the night before as a sort of unconscious raping we'd given him that he never deserved, especially on top of what he already dealt with in his own mind. Don't get me wrong, this kid went on to become a huge success in banking....but I still feel like a loser not trying to just learn chemistry rather than cheat directly off a great guy. When it came time for my Regents exam there was no way to cheat, and my 98 average was capped off with a just passing 65 that I guarantee someone like Miss Shotsky helped me and many others illegally get....yes that's an assumption but there is no physical way I passed that thing. Maybe the shock of seeing 8 kids with A-averages get failing grades made her join the club.
Her Shirt was Seamless:
I was never a perfect guy in relationships. Often tempted to cheat, for new and exciting hook-ups is an ultimate weakness. This instance was the summer after my Freshman year in college where I was in a relationship for about 5 months which would last almost four years. My sister used to have this boyfriend who was in a fraternity. Every summer, his group of guys from Hofstra would rent out a house in the Hamptons that had some beach volleyball court and a built-in pool in the backyard. Like 20 people could stay there at a time. We'd bring everything to barbecue, drink, relax and hit the clubs late-night. It didn't matter to me if I slept on the floor, I was the youngest anyway since my sister will always have three years on me. Two girls that came were one year older, and one was with her boyfriend. The other had wavy Blonde hair and tiny red circles around her eyes like she was still tired from the two-hour ride. As always, these girls thought they were the shit. I don't know if that's just b/c they're from Long Island or if it's Hofstra and the sorority they were in...either way, they were just girls like anyone else. I was more interested in the one with the boyfriend but since him and his mid-buzzed poofed out dark hairline was impossible to surpass, I settled for the combination Kate Moss/Darryl Hannah hybrid. I think we started getting grabby at the club before we came home but I know we'd both taken a Mitsubishi, and felt obligated to touch things for the sensation of anything tactile and warm was overwhelming. When we got back to the mini-mansion I somehow found myself sitting on a metal folding chair directly in the middle of the kitchen. There was no island, just a large open space. Empty solo cups and beer cans exploded everywhere along the counter tops. She straddled me in sweatpants and an orange tank top that seemed ribbed. Somehow we got on the topic of what we were doing for the summer and I mentioned I painted. She almost came immediately in her sweats. Mistaking my gruntworthy job of painting retirement homes during the summer for some Lichtenstein talent; we made out immediately. My fingers started tracing up her back and under her shirt and it just felt smooth like spandex. She felt compelled to tell me about her shirt's new technology and the fact that she was in fashion design school(maybe only her friend went to Hofstra). Supposedly this was the first shirt released to ever have been seamless. Yes we were drunk, but this still meant nothing to me. I was more focused on the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Although the night amounted to little in terms of full-out base-running, the next morning was dreadful because we ignored each other and never spoke a word. Even as her and her better looking friend closed their car doors and drove off without a wave, there was not a mention of the bathroom, or the living room carpet where we'd slept...it all meant nothing. Some things are exciting in the moment but completely unnecessary years after when your memories are all clouded with infidelity.
Bridging the Wrong Side of the Gap:
When a steering wheel's given to you in high school, for some reason, you're free. Free to tempt your life and those around you, and in this case, a complete stranger's. Coming home late from a party in South Huntington we were a bit wasted but quite aware of what we were doing. We'd driven this road a million times already, heading towards ROute 110 through the side streets that wound around our beloved St. Anthony's High School. One of my best friend's is in the passenger seat and we're blasting what was probably Blink-182 at the time. We had discussed a psychotic move about 10 seconds before we decided to do it. Northern State Parkway crosses below the bridge we were about to cross, so it was pretty damn lengthy. A metal barrier secured by old wooden posts, separates the single opposing lanes. As I veer hard off my line to cross the double yellows before the bridge begins, my skin turns to fire and my heart starts pounding. Harder and faster it bursts as we climbed up the first half of the blind bridge. "Holy shitttttt!!" Kevin starts screaming as reality sets in, but luckily we don't see any headlights peeking over the horizon line of the road. I start to feel calm as we come closer to the crest of the bridge and calm is never good. As the nose of my Camry crosses the threshold for what becomes the downhill portion of the bridge, we see headlights in our path. "Oh FUCK!!!!" Immediately I start flashing my brights and honking my horn before they too are committed by the divider. No doubt scared shitless, never believing the most ridiculous thing like a car coming over the bridge on the opposite side could be happening, they slam on their brakes and skid off the road to a halt with grass and dirt flying everywhere. They'd stopped right before the bridge began. Howling "woohooooooooo!!! oh my godd!!!" like fucking idiots, we literally skim his bumper as it sticks out onto the road. We looked through the dirt and burnt rubber cloud we'd caused to see a shadow with two eyes just shocked at the window....and for no apparent reason but the rush of risk, we couldve killed several people that night and affected many innocent lives unnecessarily.
Reflecting on the atrocious:
There are many things I look back on in my life with disgust and remorse because the reasons I did them make absolutely no sense. The ones that are the worst are those that are undeserving. Something like, calling a girl a name when she and you are just kids, but that name could absolutely ruin them and their self esteem. Or calling someone out on something indiscreet and completely unrelated to you, in order to embarrass them...to make yourself feel cooler. Viewing someone differently by perception and appearance before you even get to know them. I think all of us have done these things, and yes we truly learn by experiencing things, case in-point, my bringing them to your attention now, however, these are the actions I'll always regret, and forever call selfish, immature and unbelievably relevant to a day's worth of relieving confessions.
A talented kid with brains unmatched but for a few hermits his age with half the personality. Not only that, but he was a star athlete with a great family that drove a silver Mercedes to soccer practice everyday during the fall. I knew Shobin Uralil was already taking the classes I was because he'd sit right next to me; and yet he was a year younger. It was in Miss Shotsky's Chemistry class that we took advantage of the young guy. Miss Shotsky was overweight by about 80-pounds, wore mu-mu flowery near-see-through dresses, thick prescription light-pink glasses and had stark white hair that just shot to the ceiling like an electric current had passed through her. She truly wasn't altogether normal, or with it. Shobin was so brilliant that we formed a horseshoe around his desk and then each copied his answers off his scantron, and then copied each other. She would pass out our test papers after they were graded and everyone in this little section always had the same exact grades. She never suspected anything...again, because she really was out of it. One day we got back an exam and I think we all got an 88. I could tell he was surprised and really upset with himself so I let him stew a bit. Later, on the soccer field I asked him "why are you so down about the test, an 88 is great man? or is it something else?" He said "in my culture, you are a direct reflection on your parents, and if I do bad in school, then they are bad parents in the eyes of their peers...other families we know. That's the way it is and I pressure myself to never let them down." I said, "dude, you're so freaking smart, you've been acing all your classes your whole life, you're on Varsity soccer as a Freshman, everyone in school thinks you're awesome....just calm down a bit..you'll give yourself a heart attack." He responds, "you'll just never get it...you don't know what it's like. There are no excuses."
I look back on cheating off his hard work and how much effort he'd probably put in the night before as a sort of unconscious raping we'd given him that he never deserved, especially on top of what he already dealt with in his own mind. Don't get me wrong, this kid went on to become a huge success in banking....but I still feel like a loser not trying to just learn chemistry rather than cheat directly off a great guy. When it came time for my Regents exam there was no way to cheat, and my 98 average was capped off with a just passing 65 that I guarantee someone like Miss Shotsky helped me and many others illegally get....yes that's an assumption but there is no physical way I passed that thing. Maybe the shock of seeing 8 kids with A-averages get failing grades made her join the club.
Her Shirt was Seamless:
I was never a perfect guy in relationships. Often tempted to cheat, for new and exciting hook-ups is an ultimate weakness. This instance was the summer after my Freshman year in college where I was in a relationship for about 5 months which would last almost four years. My sister used to have this boyfriend who was in a fraternity. Every summer, his group of guys from Hofstra would rent out a house in the Hamptons that had some beach volleyball court and a built-in pool in the backyard. Like 20 people could stay there at a time. We'd bring everything to barbecue, drink, relax and hit the clubs late-night. It didn't matter to me if I slept on the floor, I was the youngest anyway since my sister will always have three years on me. Two girls that came were one year older, and one was with her boyfriend. The other had wavy Blonde hair and tiny red circles around her eyes like she was still tired from the two-hour ride. As always, these girls thought they were the shit. I don't know if that's just b/c they're from Long Island or if it's Hofstra and the sorority they were in...either way, they were just girls like anyone else. I was more interested in the one with the boyfriend but since him and his mid-buzzed poofed out dark hairline was impossible to surpass, I settled for the combination Kate Moss/Darryl Hannah hybrid. I think we started getting grabby at the club before we came home but I know we'd both taken a Mitsubishi, and felt obligated to touch things for the sensation of anything tactile and warm was overwhelming. When we got back to the mini-mansion I somehow found myself sitting on a metal folding chair directly in the middle of the kitchen. There was no island, just a large open space. Empty solo cups and beer cans exploded everywhere along the counter tops. She straddled me in sweatpants and an orange tank top that seemed ribbed. Somehow we got on the topic of what we were doing for the summer and I mentioned I painted. She almost came immediately in her sweats. Mistaking my gruntworthy job of painting retirement homes during the summer for some Lichtenstein talent; we made out immediately. My fingers started tracing up her back and under her shirt and it just felt smooth like spandex. She felt compelled to tell me about her shirt's new technology and the fact that she was in fashion design school(maybe only her friend went to Hofstra). Supposedly this was the first shirt released to ever have been seamless. Yes we were drunk, but this still meant nothing to me. I was more focused on the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Although the night amounted to little in terms of full-out base-running, the next morning was dreadful because we ignored each other and never spoke a word. Even as her and her better looking friend closed their car doors and drove off without a wave, there was not a mention of the bathroom, or the living room carpet where we'd slept...it all meant nothing. Some things are exciting in the moment but completely unnecessary years after when your memories are all clouded with infidelity.
Bridging the Wrong Side of the Gap:
When a steering wheel's given to you in high school, for some reason, you're free. Free to tempt your life and those around you, and in this case, a complete stranger's. Coming home late from a party in South Huntington we were a bit wasted but quite aware of what we were doing. We'd driven this road a million times already, heading towards ROute 110 through the side streets that wound around our beloved St. Anthony's High School. One of my best friend's is in the passenger seat and we're blasting what was probably Blink-182 at the time. We had discussed a psychotic move about 10 seconds before we decided to do it. Northern State Parkway crosses below the bridge we were about to cross, so it was pretty damn lengthy. A metal barrier secured by old wooden posts, separates the single opposing lanes. As I veer hard off my line to cross the double yellows before the bridge begins, my skin turns to fire and my heart starts pounding. Harder and faster it bursts as we climbed up the first half of the blind bridge. "Holy shitttttt!!" Kevin starts screaming as reality sets in, but luckily we don't see any headlights peeking over the horizon line of the road. I start to feel calm as we come closer to the crest of the bridge and calm is never good. As the nose of my Camry crosses the threshold for what becomes the downhill portion of the bridge, we see headlights in our path. "Oh FUCK!!!!" Immediately I start flashing my brights and honking my horn before they too are committed by the divider. No doubt scared shitless, never believing the most ridiculous thing like a car coming over the bridge on the opposite side could be happening, they slam on their brakes and skid off the road to a halt with grass and dirt flying everywhere. They'd stopped right before the bridge began. Howling "woohooooooooo!!! oh my godd!!!" like fucking idiots, we literally skim his bumper as it sticks out onto the road. We looked through the dirt and burnt rubber cloud we'd caused to see a shadow with two eyes just shocked at the window....and for no apparent reason but the rush of risk, we couldve killed several people that night and affected many innocent lives unnecessarily.
Reflecting on the atrocious:
There are many things I look back on in my life with disgust and remorse because the reasons I did them make absolutely no sense. The ones that are the worst are those that are undeserving. Something like, calling a girl a name when she and you are just kids, but that name could absolutely ruin them and their self esteem. Or calling someone out on something indiscreet and completely unrelated to you, in order to embarrass them...to make yourself feel cooler. Viewing someone differently by perception and appearance before you even get to know them. I think all of us have done these things, and yes we truly learn by experiencing things, case in-point, my bringing them to your attention now, however, these are the actions I'll always regret, and forever call selfish, immature and unbelievably relevant to a day's worth of relieving confessions.
Friday, July 31, 2009
In Sweet Disposition and No Longer Melting
500 days of summer, although I havent seen it yet, might be a great way to emotionally describe my life I leave behind in LA. A love, a job, a loss for words and a pre-ejaculatory future turned over like a bucket for suffocation and pounding by street urchins with drumsticks.
There's no denying our ability to draw from the hardest experiences in our lives to endure and muster courage. That's what this will be....a recollection of those great times of solidarity amongst my thoughts, breathing songs in lap-lanes, financial shadows reminiscent of beasts with exposed teeth on the wall but smiles in personal firm handshakes, tracing bladed lines amongst wooded dusty breezes, and long dried up tears with white knuckled handprints on Santa Monica sand. Im not sure there's room for relationships in this place; nor energy for anything but sleep and traffic.
This Angelic city has its beauty within the landscape and its burning lifeless peaks. Like black paper cutouts, they swim with the moon's liquid flashy spikes. Working relationships become labored efforts to understand whether or not the counterparty sees the benefit. Just being friends couldn't cut the smog we'd breathe together. Written words of thanks and hugs bared for hooded capsules we'd wrap ourselves in afterward; that unnecessary protection confuses me for individuality doesn't take that much effort. Everyone's time is important.
Somehow the red that creeped down the walls of glass strewn to the sky would make up for wasted heartbeats; it captured meaning beyond every single minute dreamt of her with someone else. Nightime sky's ablaze spoke my mind in frustration, screaming beauty at the night like "fuck you, I'm leaving this place like I came, with the brightest intentions."
Every city has its nooks of invite and clarity; like cherry lipstick and a short skirt on a pale passerby. Opportunities present themselves with ironic timing and only when in drastic need. Upon threat, moves shake themselves from pockets as only a convulsing dance could've summoned from what was supposedly sewn shut. I guess action sprouts via revived consciences and by feeling bad for the desperate. It'll be sometime before I can focus on the positive, like anything in life for us pessimists. Damn us for trying positivity when the negative happens and we're emotionally unprepared. What's the loss for expecting the worst?
It was sideways travel...chugging in place at the red light as if it's doing something before you begin again. Trust me, your heart can handle rhythmic adjustments as long as your head leads the way. For me, my head's finally leading me back to NY, and so I go......chugging, to a place where summer minds and their immature and material desires, do in fact end.
...........I'd beg reality to come find me, except it was never anything but.
There's no denying our ability to draw from the hardest experiences in our lives to endure and muster courage. That's what this will be....a recollection of those great times of solidarity amongst my thoughts, breathing songs in lap-lanes, financial shadows reminiscent of beasts with exposed teeth on the wall but smiles in personal firm handshakes, tracing bladed lines amongst wooded dusty breezes, and long dried up tears with white knuckled handprints on Santa Monica sand. Im not sure there's room for relationships in this place; nor energy for anything but sleep and traffic.
This Angelic city has its beauty within the landscape and its burning lifeless peaks. Like black paper cutouts, they swim with the moon's liquid flashy spikes. Working relationships become labored efforts to understand whether or not the counterparty sees the benefit. Just being friends couldn't cut the smog we'd breathe together. Written words of thanks and hugs bared for hooded capsules we'd wrap ourselves in afterward; that unnecessary protection confuses me for individuality doesn't take that much effort. Everyone's time is important.
Somehow the red that creeped down the walls of glass strewn to the sky would make up for wasted heartbeats; it captured meaning beyond every single minute dreamt of her with someone else. Nightime sky's ablaze spoke my mind in frustration, screaming beauty at the night like "fuck you, I'm leaving this place like I came, with the brightest intentions."
Every city has its nooks of invite and clarity; like cherry lipstick and a short skirt on a pale passerby. Opportunities present themselves with ironic timing and only when in drastic need. Upon threat, moves shake themselves from pockets as only a convulsing dance could've summoned from what was supposedly sewn shut. I guess action sprouts via revived consciences and by feeling bad for the desperate. It'll be sometime before I can focus on the positive, like anything in life for us pessimists. Damn us for trying positivity when the negative happens and we're emotionally unprepared. What's the loss for expecting the worst?
It was sideways travel...chugging in place at the red light as if it's doing something before you begin again. Trust me, your heart can handle rhythmic adjustments as long as your head leads the way. For me, my head's finally leading me back to NY, and so I go......chugging, to a place where summer minds and their immature and material desires, do in fact end.
...........I'd beg reality to come find me, except it was never anything but.
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