Dog Sitting: A Note to John

Jensen knows I am petting him out of obligation. He doesn’t even wag his tail.

Thank You God

I thank God for these moments of peaceful writing. They are not overwhelmingly great moments, but I view this as a mercy. If they were too good, my spiritual and worldly ambitions might catch wind of this and start running. I write because I want to, not because I think it will be good for my soul or bank account, though I do hope it will.

Beware. Free Verse Approaching!

You didn't count on me, when you were counting on your rosary. Oh woah woah. I think the oh woah woah really makes that lyric. Stars, cars, bars and guitars. Writing like a fool, a total fool. That's okay. That's the idea. Easy now, boy. No rules, just right. Isn't that what they say? Who? The Outback people. Ah yes. Commercials: the lingua franca of our age. And what age is that? Thirteen, I believe. I am free! So, what now? Well re-read. Is that in the rule book? Damn your rules! And damn you! Don't be damning people now! You might be getting your very self into trouble. But am I not, are we not all, always in trouble? That's the teaching of the church. That's what the lasagna makers believe. But, we can't all be lasagna makers, now can we? No, certainly not. But, is that a hard and fast rule? It was fast in the typing, and it is hard to read, so yes, hard and fast. Three cans, stacked neatly, is this what you were looking for? I don't know what I was looking for, but three cans will have to do. This is fun! I am exercising my ambivalent potential for free unerotic verse. Good for you! No, Good for us all! Indeed, brother. Type O Negative. Type. Why? Positive!

This Washed Up In A Bottle!

Dear Friends,
I address you as friends. I hope that, in our last conversations, I have said all of the right things to each of you to prevent any one of you feeling slighted by my grouping you in the same class. The class of friend is the highest class to me, and I do not use the word lightly. If you have received this letter, then you have received my assurance, as much as it is in my power, that I love you.

As you know, I have left you. I have given each of you different reasons for my departure and told no one the real reason. I confess to lying. I have asked God for forgiveness, and have received peace in response. I feel assured my lies were white ones. I did not want to get into arguments with any of you during my final precious moments among you. I just wanted to enjoy, in our last days together, the familiar taste of unguarded conversation among those who know how to be human. Now that I am gone, I want to tell you where I really went.

If Providence has seen fit, I am in the vicinity of a coral reef near a chain of islands that shall go unnamed. In fact, if my hopes are realized, and the promises of my Beloved were not lies, I am actually living in a small, underwater cave within the above mentioned coral forest. There is no air in this cave, but I do not need air anymore. You see, I can breathe underwater.

I know all of you well enough to trust that none of you will think I am lying or crazy, but in the interest of sating your curiosity and of guarding against any anger that may be arising in your hearts, I wish to tell you the full story of how I came to know that I had to leave you all and become a mer-man.

(to be continued)

Dire Straits!

A love struck Romeo
Sings the streets a serenade.
He's laying everybody low.
He's got a love song that he made.
He finds a convenient streetlight.
And he steps out of the shade.
And says something like,
"You and me, babe, how about it?".

Juliet says, "Hey, its Romeo!
You nearly give me a heart attack!".
Yeah well, he's underneath the window.
She's singing, "Hey-la, my boyfriends back.
You shouldnt come around here,
Singing up at people like that.
Ah anyway, whatcha gonna do about it?".

"Oh, Juliet: The dice were loaded from the start.
And I bet, and you exploded in my heart.
And I forget, I forget the movie song.
When you gonna realize,
It was just that the time was wrong?
Juliet!"

"In Your Eyes, The Light, The Heat..."!

Knowing the power of art to mould life in its own image, many puritans have wished to abolish art altogether. If they had confined their iconoclasm to bad art, there might have been some sense in them. Boys and girls who have Dante for their pandar are more likely to make love with style, handsomely, than those whose spiritual food is drawn from the magazines and the films.

Aldous Huxley-Texts and Pretexts

Note to self: fewer movies, more Dante, and for Pete's sake, stop flipping around the radio! But, really, who am I kidding? I spent my thirteenth year listening to Tom Petty until the tape wore out. Once a rocker has started rocking, is there any way he can stop?

What would happen if a modern guy like me tried to love a woman like Dante loved Beatrice? Would my amateur poetry and promises of eternal love be more stylish and handsome than me standing outside of her window with a boom-box? They both look pretty silly compared to the real, somehow-still-together marriages I see around me.

Both the pop songs and my poetic parody of Dante miss the point: love is quiet. The sooner I know this, the sooner this blog comes to an end. (Don't worry fans. I'm a slow learner!)

Crosswalk Rage!

An Ochlophobic suggestion (apologies to the Ochlophobist):

Pedestrians should have the right-of-way on all surface streets, regardless of whether there is a crosswalk. To give this guideline some teeth, pedestrians who are carrying baseball bats should be allowed to damage any car that comes too close when they are crossing. I leave it to the lawyers to define "too close".

An un-Ochlophobic suggestion (apologies to A):

Riding a bike on your 21st birthday should be outlawed to keep you from running into parked cars.

The Home Life of the Reluctant Bachelor

(1) I cut my own hair. It bothers me to wonder what it looks like in the back.
(2) I put shirts in the dryer to get the wrinkles out. I do not own an iron.
(3) I wash my hair, and shave, with soap. I don't know where the soap comes from. I think John buys it.
(4) I do not write thank-you notes.
(5) I drink soda for breakfast.
(6) I drink soda before bed.
(7) My floor is covered in clothes and books.
(8) After two years here, we are still not quite sure when trash day is.
(9) I eat when I am hungry. I eat when I am not hungry. I guess I eat when I want to.
(10) The people at McDonalds know me by name.

Pretense In Paris!

What? You dare to bother the poet as he absorbs the view from the Tour d'Eiffel en Paris? Who are you to disturb my reverie for a mere photograph? You cannot capture my soul on your Kodak. My heart flies with the birds! Look to the sea for my true self. I am in the waves. What's that? You want to get something to eat? I am hungry too! Hungry for meaning!

Happy Birthday A!

Happy Birthday to 1/2 of my favorite couple! If you don't know who I mean, just think of your favorite couple. Now pick one of them. Odds are, we are thinking of the same person.

A Sure Sign I Am About To Surrender!

This song lyric got to me today as I listened to the radio while scrubbing a floor.

I will go down with this ship.
And I won't put my hands up and surrender.
There will be no white flag above my door.
I'm in love and always will be.

This probably means I am about to give up. It's weird being me, but I must like it. Why else would I keep doing it?

The GDA-Post #3

My Mom told me that right at that moment Serena was catching sight of the guy dressed as Alladin at the princess-themed restaurant. I have a hard time reading her face. My Mom says that she is blushing, as any modest princess would, upon catching sight of her betrothed. I thought this might be right, until I saw a picture of Alladin. Once I saw what Alladin actually looked like I began to wonder whether Serena's expression might not be better described as shock at what a weirdo Alladin has become.

Don't tell any of the princesses, but I think our friend from Agrabah is wearing lipstick! Since all the girls are lined up right there, I might as well introduce them. To the far left, wearing the Ariel wig, is Sydney. Next to her, also dressed as Ariel, is Lauren. You've already met Serena who, as you can guess, is dressed as princess Jasmine. Next to her is my cousin who lives in California. Her name is Olivia. She opted not to dress as a princess on account of being the oldest, but I think she did a good job picking an outfit that doesn't violate the spirit of a princess-themed restaurant.

I think this picture is totally awesome! Lauren, who is now having her turn with the Ariel wig, is peeking out from the back, totally enthralled by the zanyness that is Goofy. It's cute that the girls think that wig makes them look more princess-like. Ron, meanwhile, is wearing that extreme smile that comes when joy is kicking you in the face. Either that or Goofy is stepping on his foot.

Remembering My First Real Teacher!

If you have ever met a true Pagan, consider yourself blessed. These men walk among us in the guise of little gods, asking outwardly for worship, but truly desiring friendship. If you have ever befriended a modern-day Pagan, you are a better man than I. What I would give to know the precious inner pains of these little Achilles! They have been dipped by divinity into the waters, and all that remains of their humanity is that tiny bare spot on their heel. Their humanity, which is to say their need to worship someone, has been reduced to a bodily weakness. Which is not to say that they are incontinent! Far from it! The body’s energies in these men have been rechanneled to such an extent that their Eros has been lodged in it’s proper place: the place between the heart and the mind. No, these men will not leave a discussion table for a night with Helen herself.

And what of the spirited part of man, you ask? Where can you find that in a modern day pagan? It pains me to say this, but I do not know. They will sit complacently by while the most terrible blasphemies are uttered against God. In fact Neitzsche himself might enter the seminar room, raving mad with syphyills, proclaiming the death of God and the disdain of Socrates, and all you will get out of the Pagan is a chuckle, an apology for rudeness, and a pointed question formulated to expose the mad German’s careless reading of “the text”. I tell you, I have seen a modern day Nietzsche apologize to, bow before, and complement a Pagan, before hurriedly excusing himself from the classroom. The Pagan is sobriety incarnate. He cannot help but sober up the impressionable.

As I said, it is in their bodies that the Pagan’s need for worship resides. That is to say, if you wish to meet a modern-day Pagan, look for him among the academic Jews. Who else is born bodily into covenant? And not just any academic Jews: you will not find a Pagan among the liberals. Among the reformed set you will find many activists, transferring their holy anger to the injustices of the world, but you will not find a Pagan. No, a Pagan knows that man needs worship, he knows its proper object, and he rejects the existence of that object. In fact it is in this aspect of his soul that his power lies: he was born a worshipper, but has remade himself into a philosopher. His need for worship contents itself with that tiny spot of heel. Perhaps one day an arrow will fall from heaven and strike him dead to the world, but until that time, he must trod his own path by the light of his own lamp.

I say the modern-day Jewish academic Pagan rejects the existence of God. But of all men you will encounter in academia, he is the most open to the possibility of God’s existence. Not open like a Christian academic is open, (i.e. opened in confident love), but open like a wound, or like a half of a sphere. You will hear a catch in his voice when his dialectical back is against the wall, but do not let your guard down. He will find your weak premises, or he will overpower the room with his silence, but he will not get flustered. He knows that if he gets flustered, you might get flustered. If he starts taking himself more seriously than the conversation, then you might stop taking the conversation seriously. And how would you ever be able to become friends if you could not converse seriously? As I said at the outset, these men above all want equals, true friends, their other half. Their god like outward aspect is merely their default dialectical shield. If you have ever seen two of these men greet each other, then you have seen two half moons knowingly nodding from their priviledged positions orbiting the inner ring of the unmoved mover.

The GDA-Post #2

I left someone out of the story who deserves to have his place. Ron, my stepdad, is a real trooper. The picture is too small for you to notice this, but you should know that he is wearing a T-shirt that says "Mr. Princess". He wore this, for a full day, in public, out of solidarity with the actual female princesses. You, sir, are a better man than I. Take note of the expression on Ron's face. Had I gone, that is how I would have felt for the duration of the trip. Not Ron. (Next slide please)


This picture expresses how Ron probably felt for most of the trip: happy, talkative, protective, open, warm. Once again, a better man than I. If you are wondering, the creature menacing the table in the far right of the frame is a "Critter". Back in my day they called them bears, but in the "post Lion-King era", Bear Country was overrun by lemurs and wildebeasts and who knows what else. Out of respect for diversity, Bear Country changed its name to Critter Country. As you can see, Sydney, the princess to the far right, is not happy with the idea of a Critter-visit. She told my Mom: "I don't like Critters!". I'm with you there Sydney!

P.S. I bet the Mickey shaped french toast in that picture cost like 11 dollars a plate.

The Great Disney Adventure!-Post #1!

This picture right here tells you all you need to know about my Mom to understand the story I am going to tell in this series of posts. As you puzzle over the strange things being reported, you may have to return to this post and look deeply into her genuinely gleeful eyes if you hope to maintain your sanity. See, my Mom grew up less than an hour from Disneyland. I think she had her Senior Class party there. Her name is Marilyn, but, from a young age, her nickname was Minnie. My aunt still calls her that. This picture, then, is of "The Two Minnies". That partially explains why my Mom, who is over thirty, is smiling like a twelve year old girl.

Okay. So a couple of weeks ago my Mom takes three of her step-grandchildren, all girls, all the way from Minnesota to California to go to Disneyland for a long weekend. Once in California, they meet up with a fourth girl who is my Mom's niece and my cousin. They all stay at the Disneyland hotel for a night, and then at my Grandpa's for a couple more nights. I will get to the names, photos and profiles of the girls later but all you need to know right now is that there are two five year olds, and two eight year olds. Who, in their right mind, would actually decide to do the following things with such a group?

(1) take two four hour plane rides

(2) spend night in the same hotel room

(3) wait in line for multiple rides

(4) eat at "Princess" themed restaurant

(5) eat at a "Critter" themed restaurant (whatever the heck that is)

(6) go to the beach

(7) go to the pool (twice)

Who would not only want to do this, but would actually pay for all of this?

Minnie, that's who!