i alone

self

definition of one's identity, character, abilities, and attitudes, especially in relation to persons or things outside oneself or itself.

Even though I have often considered myself a photographer, my blog has always been focused on the words. Found and supplied images have always been there to support the words. I have begun to gain pleasure from posting the reverse. The original root of the sixth item on the '30 Day Challenge' list was 'A picture of you being yourself'. At first glance it would seem like a very straightforward task: point camera at self and post. Time and experience have shown that our personal compasses are quick to lose their magnetic north.

I am more than how I look on paper.

I am more than the contents of my wallet.
I am more than what's represented by these 200GBs of memory.

I am more than the man I am when I'm in my element, carving art and design from a place there was none before.

I am no single idea or image.

I am all of these.

lyrically speaking

lyrics that relate to your current situation

What I want, you've got
and it might be hard to handle
but like the flame that burns the candle
the candle feeds the flame
yeah, yeah

What I've got's full stock of thoughts
and dreams that scatter
you pull them all together
and how, I can't explain
oh yeah
well, well, you
you make my dreams come true . . .

On a night when bad dreams become a screamer
when they're messin' with the dreamer
I can laugh it in the face
twist and shout my way out
and wrap yourself around me
'cause I ain't the way that you found me
and I'll never be the same
oh, yeah
well, cuz you
you make my dreams come true

Well listen to this...
I'm down on the daydream
oh, That sleepwalk should be over by now
I know that You
yeah, yeah
you make my dreams come true

-You Make My Dreams by Hall & Oates, 1980


Now you've got that song stuck in your head.

Ha.

plot points

I have often pondered the action-reaction principle and the manner in which this sort of thing flows with the amorphousness of life. The moments that have the lasting impact are not always the moments one expects, at least that's my philosophy. One of my, as yet, unfinished writing projects that is dearest to my heart began as a screenplay idea nearly ten years ago.

The kernel of which was this figurative crying baby that kept me up that first night and many since. It has always felt like a bit of an overwhelming opus that I would write measures for periodically over time. So much of it revolves around lofty concepts with interwoven characters. Everything about my vision of it has steadily shifted over time as life has imitated art and vice-versa. The main beats are the key turning points that would forever alter the characters existence. They are at times seemingly insignificant and at other instances dramatically overblown. Mostly it's about how each of these moments could have endless arrays of outcomes and it is within these outcomes that significance lies, which brings me back to the subject at hand.

Picture some of the moments that have changed my life. What DVD chapters have I encountered so far? I think about birth, death, firsts, lasts, beginnings, and endings. It's the meat in the center that means the most, but it always comes down to these lines of demarcation.

Finality is often just a formality, however, and new beginnings are often in motion long before we realize change is coming. For me, this is why life can have so many water-related analogies.

The way I see it, I could probably come up with a dozen significant events in my life that created what was to come up to this point. That might be an interesting exercise, but I don't know what value it would have since a couple months down the road that list could change. What I find is your concept of where you are plays a huge role in determining how you think you got there.

delicate scarring

If life is such a miracle then why do newborn babies look like three day old slow roasted peanuts? It's only after they've been cleaned up and get some shuteye that they start to look like the miniature treasures they are known to be. Newness is gorgeous, youth is briefly admirable, and in our culture we hold onto it for far too long.

We don't value age. Age is often treated as a failure. Old is even a synonym for tiresome. Vanity comes in the form of wigs, snoods, toupees, face lifts, lypo, vaginoplasty, and Botox injections. It's the texture of life that's interesting. Life shows itself in the cavernous depths of wrinkles, the sharpened peaks of a widow's, striking rivers of veins, and the harsh memories of scars. Walls that can talk have always been far more interesting to me. I would rather discover a patina finish or a pentimento surprise than get stuck with the emptiness of a life left breathless and sealed in its original collector's box.

Since I decided to undertake my own version of this '30 Day Challenge', I got to thinking about scars. It drew me to thoughts of lost limbs, adventurous accidents, and daring feats. At first glance nothing about me felt right for this challenge. I have been known to spend my time a bit too cautiously with nary a broken bone or traffic ticket to my name. But to me those are the obvious location of scars.

It's said that your body holds your history. All the heartache, every argument, every act of violence, and every time you stumbled into a wall drunk off your ass. If these rings of your theoretical tree could truly talk I wonder what would be said. We each have our zebra stripes, our unique design that tells the whole story. On the one hand we have the answer guide and the other shows our attempt to follow along, eternally painting outside the lines. Our paw print of sorts holds an ever-changing canvas, able to express everything we could never voice.

first love

Everyone has a story about their first love. A tale about that one boy or girl for whom that very first spark of interest and longing sent off shock waves of pleasure through the pitter-pat place located somewhere between the left and right atrium and is suspiciously left off all of the scientific notations. Mine was a girl named Holly. We had many an interaction on the bus to and from kindergarten. She lived down the block from me. She had red hair and heterochromia iridum. That's about all I can recall, which is really the trouble with firsts of this nature. I remember far more about the girl I married in the first grade. But I don't know if literal firsts like this really count. I am happily not a literal person, as those who truly know me can attest.

That said, honestly, my first true love was music. It's the early passion that counts and the one that truly had an impact. I was the only kid in my fourth grade class who had a music collection. I was the only one who knew from Jefferson Starship and Jefferson Airplane, who could tell you about the members of Fleetwood Mac, The Who, and Led Zeppelin. To keep things on balance, I was also the only kid bummed when Journey and Wham! broke up, and I owned the "Eye of the Tiger" single. I collected music anyway I could, whether it was buying tapes from Specs, Peaches, or Musicland, dubbing copies of records from the public library, or taping Casey Kasem off the radio. Movie soundtracks were always a good way to discover a cross-section of music one might not otherwise become exposed. I was rabid about music, to the point of losing the privilege of my music for a week because my mom caught me listening instead of going to school one late Tuesday morning.

I also used to play-pause-play, stop-play-rewind, et al to hear and write down lyrics to songs whose album's liner notes were left wanting. I also began writing my own songs at a young age. To me, I hit all the marks of a hit song: repetitive chorus, bridge, a couple of verses, guitar or drum solo. Long gone are my actual recordings of these hackneyed gems. Lip syncing and air guitar before patient friend's mothers, joining school band, and trying my hand at a few extracurricular instruments were all soon to follow.

I also spent some time drawing up entire album sleeves for fake acts whose greatest hits were many. A few years ago, these formative ideas returned to me upon taking the raw versions of these pics:

THEORETICAL ALBUM COVER:

THEORETICAL ALBUM BACK COVER:

iTunes, MP3 players, Pandora, Vh-1 classic, pop-up videos, satellite radio, karaoke, and Rock Band were created for people like me. Even though I am far more than a one trick pony, my trivia team always reserves the music categories for me. I have nearly 900 songs favorited on my iTunes, although it always seems small compared to my enthusiasm. For years I listened to hours of music collection informercials by Time Life and the like just to hear small snippets of many favorites and many forgotten ones. I am a sucker for music of varying genres. To me music needs no explanation, just the time to hear it. Music reminds people to love, to dance, to live. It condenses time and it passes the time.

Music is always on a constant shuffle in my life, to the point that my former father-in-law once wondered whether ever second of my life had a soundtrack. Certainly, I like the sounds of other things, the cacophony of life. I just think music conveys the best of them.

introduce yourself

introduce yourself
-Faith No More

'Introduce yourself,' or some variation therein has been a part of the job interview process for some time now. I believe it was added as part of the politically correct era, as the corporate world began to recognize that there might be individuals hiding behind all of those buzzwords. So often I have found myself faced with that question, whether during an interview or even as part of the slightly reworded social introduction, and I could feel all of the lumbar in my back steadily stopping its support of me.

Over time I have been through one existential crisis after another. Perhaps I can blame my parents for using the well-worn 'who do you think you are' phrase on me so many times during my youth. Or maybe it's the inner conflict I have had between my dreams and my reality that are to blame. Frequently I have had misgivings about the query itself. It is a loaded time bomb and one that I have been tampering with in this blog and my other writings for many years.

One's identity comes pre-packaged with dispositions generations long and genetic code that designates what the key fight will be in your life, add to that a heaping helping of concepts of nurture and first foundations of how to relate and interact with others, and then throw in the wants and needs that arrive lickety split from the photo negative of that life you begin to lead. It all has varying shades, but the main color is that of the human animal.

I am human and I need to be loved.

Even though I have had a love-hate relationship with Morrissey fans and that moody web they weave, I can fully relate to this concept. Everything comes back to love - or more specifically, passion. I would dare say that I am, or at least strive to be, a passionate person. I have been told I wear it in my gaze and have been known to make people uncomfortable with the intensity of my eye contact. With varying results I have always been a person who stepped wholeheartedly down many roads rarely taken, giving my all until my heart wears of it and seeks something else entirely.

retro fit

Alright, I'll play the game too.

meme n. A unit of cultural information, such as a cultural practice or idea, that is transmitted verbally or by repeated action from one mind to another.

The internet overflows with so-called memes of one sort or another. Mostly it comes in the form of a simple duplicated process like changing one's networking site pic to the dictator you most resemble or the like. Recently one has insinuated itself onto myriad blogs. It's the '30 Day Challenge'. In some cases, it's purely photo focused and in others it suggests a blog subject - each running their course over thirty days or more likely thirty posts over a longer length of time.

Much like the antiquated game of telephone, subtle changes occur to on-line questionnaires and their brethren with continued rotation over time. Before deciding on a list, I scouted out a number of different sites to try and find the most interesting collection for myself, removing all references to Justin Bieber and the phrase 'dream cell phone' from the mix.

Then I put it on shuffle and here we are - left vague for a reason, leaving open the possibility for words, pictures, and my usual meandering:

(01) Introduce yourself
(02) Your first love
(03) One of your scars
(04) Moments that changed your life
(05) Lyrics that apply to your current situation
(06) You truly being yourself
(07) Your beliefs
(08) Your special someone
(09) Most stimulating thing you've learned this week
(10) Favorite smell
(11) Picture of you from your younger years
(12) Something that turns you on
(13) A movie that makes you cry
(14) Love
(15) Your last night out
(16) Favorite fruit
(17) 5 things you've lost & where they might be
(18) Picture of your handwriting
(19) Something you don't like
(20) Big purchase you'd make if you won the lottery
(21) Celebrity you'd like in your bed
(22) Something you bought from an adult store
(23) Your side of the bed
(24) Five things in reach of you right now
(25) List of songs that make you emotional
(26) Anything
(27) Photo of you from your last social event
(28) Something irrational that you think or do
(29) Song you want played at your funeral
(30) Your favorite place

(31+) Should any of the above fail to incite my interest when I broach them or if I tear through them and want more, these are my runner-ups:
[taking suggestions - come on, I'm spontaneous]

am i

AND THE THINGS YOU CAN'T REMEMBER
TELL THE THINGS YOU CAN'T FORGET
-Tom Waits (from Time, 1985)

People seek commonality and connection nearly as much as they look for ways to set themselves apart and appear like original molds. One of the best things in life seems to be the ability to change, evolve, and adapt. These are parts of our core construction. We look back, forward, and around us and respond to the same weather conditions differently depending on the hue of our mood ring.

Although I am contemplating one of those '30 Day Challenge' blogs as any follower of the communal stadium wave might, in the meantime I am going to resurrect an on-line personal survey I did about two years ago.

(1). I've come to realize that my chest-size . . .
THEN: is a seemingly irrelevant concept and deterred me from initially posting this questionnaire. But while we're on it, I've often thought myself too lanky.
NOW: is surprisingly adequate. I realize that this brings to question one's own self-esteem about their body, whether male or female. I actually feel good about myself in that regard these days.

(2). I've come to realize that my job . . .
THEN: is not located in this town.
NOW: is something that is ever-evolving, an accumulation of many differing things, and does not always pay very well, but often allows me to have an impact on people in some sense and that in itself is satisfying.

(3). I've come to realize that when I'm driving . . .
THEN: I am far more destination focused than I used to be.
NOW: I am in control and can really feel nearly twenty years experience shift through me.

(4). I've come to realize that I need . . .
THEN: more sunlight than I once thought.
NOW: a whole multitude of different things from life than I was getting before.

(5). I've come to realize that I have lost . . .
THEN: certain aspects of my personality along the way, whether out of age or necessity.
NOW: more than I previously thought possible, but feel what I have gained to be exponentially more significant.

(6). I've come to realize that I hate it when . . .
THEN: people hate.
NOW: people are lazy, pessimistic, and act entitled.

(7). I've come to realize that if I'm drunk . . .
THEN: I will speak my mind and act accordingly.
NOW: (tie) I'm more likely to feel it the next day. And I'm completely uninhibited.

(8). I've come to realize that money . . .
THEN: is only money and a bit of a trifle unless you need it, which is more often the case.
NOW: often comes at too high a price.

(9). I've come to realize that certain people . . .
THEN: never let themselves change and grow.
NOW: need to remain a part of the past, and fighting against this notion only causes harm.

(10). I've come to realize that I'll always . . .
THEN: find a way to be unexpected and in rare form.
NOW: be considered intense, weird, and any number of other often incorrect descriptions before people really get to know me.

(11). I've come to realize that my sibling(s) . . .
THEN: are distinctly different than myself, but still people with whom I would like to spend more time.
NOW: ebb and flow within my life could use a stronger current.

(12). I've come to realize that my mom . . .
THEN: could do well to not assume she knows everything and its nuance now and again.
NOW: needs someone to look up to.

(13). I've come to realize that my cell phone . . .
THEN: isn't active enough with calls from people I would like to chat with.
NOW: is still just a tool, and really a piece of crap compared to the models I sell on a daily basis.

(14). I've come to realize that when I woke up this morning . . .
THEN: I'd overslept and I didn't feel the least bit guilty about it.
NOW: the temperature might have been cold, but the company wasn't.

(15). I've come to realize that last night before I went to sleep . . .
THEN: there was no where else I would rather be.
NOW: balance, peace, and love fill my life these days.

(16). I've come to realize that right now I am thinking . . .
THEN: life could use more dancing.
NOW: a whole slew of things, many of which won't be shared today.

(17). I've come to realize that my dad . . .
THEN: will never be happy or resolved with all of his regrets.
NOW: doesn't know how to relinquish control and fears being seen as vulnerable.

(18). I've come to realize that when I get on Facebook . . .
THEN: I don't really know most of the people who are my 'friends' and something tells me in many cases I never will.
NOW: it doesn't feel like a time waster like it once did.

(19). I've come to realize that today . . .
THEN: I am present and accounted for.
NOW: is one year since I directed "Bug" and I really wish I had a play in the works this season.

(20). I've come to realize that tonight . . .
THEN: is all booked up, and I think I prefer it that way.
NOW: will flow just right.

(21). I've come to realize that tomorrow . . .
THEN: can be manifested, if I really want it to be.
NOW: is not determined, in detail at least, but I know I'm on the right road toward getting there.

(22). I've come to realize that I really want to . . .
THEN: be more open to possibilities.
NOW: keep letting go of what's not and fully embrace what is.

(23). I've come to realize that life . . .
THEN: is whatever you make it and however you perceive it.
NOW: offers more than one way out.

(24). I've come to realize that this weekend . . .
THEN: will be all about relaxation and fun - guilt-free.
NOW: will likely have good eating, hard work, hot sex, and pictures to prove it.

(25). I've come to realize that I am no longer . . .
THEN: as reserved as I used to be.
NOW: misunderstood.

(26). I've come to realize that my friends . . .
THEN: actually enjoy my company, which surprises me since I have been known to tire of it.
NOW: are an entirely different group of people than I would have expected, suggesting actually that you can't completely choose your friends either.

(27). I've come to realize that this year . . .
THEN: all bets are off.
NOW: has been one of my favorites so far, and I am foreseeing wonderful things in the future.

(28). I've come to realize that my ex . . .
THEN: is one of my best friends.
NOW: and I both have long roads to travel, in different directions, for now.

(29). I've come to realize that maybe I should . . .
THEN: find the time.
NOW: [pondering]....

(30). I've come to realize that I love . . .
THEN: much more unconditionally than I realized.
NOW: fully, completely, with ease and give mine to a woman who has recognized aspects of myself I thought no one could see.

(31). I've come to realize that I don't understand . . .
THEN: more than I do.
NOW: people who garner little or no enjoyment from anything yet still call it living.

(32). I've come to realize my past . . .
THEN: is gone. Mostly I remember the music.
NOW: (I'll keep it).

(33). I've come to realize that parties . . .
THEN: are a necessity to happy living.
NOW: can be made or broken by the music. And the people. And the food.

(34). I've come to realize that I'm totally terrified . . .
THEN: of giving up.
NOW: of fewer things than ever before.

(35). I've come to realize that my life . . .
THEN: is not even remotely what I thought it would be, but sometimes I think the surprises and unexpected twists and turns are really what make it all worthwhile.
NOW: is mine. I don't ever want to lose sight of that.

There it is.

An arc of the personal learning curve.

assemblage 34

I recently turned thirty-four. I remember a time long ago when I considered that old. It's equally intriguing to take another look at movies or shows from our youth and find ourselves older than the oldest primary characters. Age can be funny that way. Lately though, I've been in the mindset of the older I get, the younger I feel. It's a good place to be and I highly recommend finding your own version of it.

no return

Salted wisdom assures us we can never go home again. Yet Lassie made the trip, so did Dorothy, and the fifth little piggy too. RVs were seemingly invented to ensure folks they could skip the leaving all together.

For the past eight months I have been driving with that little fellow sitting on the console. Paper cranes are significant in many cultures, standing for any number of blessings, and they are a memorable part to me of a favorite "Northern Exposure" episode.

It draws my attention back to the concept of 'home'. Much like my inanimate travel companion, I think we want to have something that remains the same regardless the weather, our mood, or the shape of the relationships in our life. For better or worse, we have to take life on its own terms, as a warts and all Polaroid one chance type experience and not get taken in by the ease of fixing it all in post, as we do in our digital world.

Strange as it may seem, but I have looked at that tiny yellow piece of three-dimensional paper during the changing climates of these past months and realized that it sits there like a compass of sorts, always headed in the direction I am going without judgment.

It's nice to have that.

cosmic love

Since love grows within you, so beauty grows.
For love is the beauty of the soul.
-St. Augustine

Been beat up and battered 'round
Been sent up, and I've been shot down
You're the best thing that I've ever found
Handle me with care
-Traveling Wilburys

Humans always like to explain away all of the brilliance of intangibles.

I choose to give them metaphoric wings, because I view entities less as they are and more as they are when they associate with other things.

That said, love is a chemical reaction.

It might not look like much in a crucible, but then again the human body broken down to its finer elements is really only worth about twenty-four bucks, thus reminding us that life itself is indeed an intangible. That's two of the biggies. What is real then? What's concrete? Not faith. Not belief. Hardly thoughts, dreams, or ideas. Time is said to be fleeting and most clocks have stopped ticking. Supposedly God is dead, romance is dead, and punk is dead. The dollar has no value and humans have no souls.

Maybe.

But not for me, though.

Sometimes I feel like we all have our own little decoder rings, shining light for us on things that exist in our little corner of the world and are real for us. People are sometimes referred to as another person's 'rock', but of course that's putting weight on an intangible concept and not the truth. But perhaps we're not meant to see the same truth, but merely different particles of the same prism.

For some it's important to see mankind's ideal upright stature as humans overcome adversity. For others it is the hint of viewing the soul, passion, and beauty in other's eyes that fuels them. And for others still, they can just be comforted knowing there'll be another forest to be seen tomorrow morning.

bedside manor

operator, oh could you help me place this call
you see the number on the matchbook is old and faded
she’s livin’ in L.A.
with my best old ex-friend Ray
a guy she said she knew well and sometimes hated

isn’t that the way they say it goes ...

I once had a good friend.

He needed a couch to crash on and there were two in the seemingly empty house I briefly rattled around in, following the break-up last year. He came to stay and seemingly never left.

I don't often have close male friends. I can count on a broken hand how many have really mattered over time. I tend not to understand those fellows in my gender, so when I find someone with whom I can bond over coffee, beers, and such about whole bevies of things, I don't take it lightly.

He was often considered my doppelganger, although I would suspect it was less about odd similarities and more about the way the friendship seemed to flow like they seem to do in movies. It hardly surprises me that the last time we met up, the conversation flowed like it was the end of an era. But of course, a couple slices of bacon and four cups of coffee later, and I find myself stuck with a twenty dollar parking ticket. Talk about putting a nail in the coffin. Real friendships have no monetary value. Evidently, this wasn't one.

60/40 hindsight

Domesticated cats have a tendency toward doing things far more likened to their kitten counterparts. Supposedly this is because they are made domestic at such a young age and have no ability to develop the instinctual independence they would naturally find in the wild.

I have come to realize similar things about my marriage, now three months dissolved. It began at a premature age and would therefore always be limited by many parameters that caged it early on, despite growth in the individuals in it as well as any efforts made to fight against it. Lately I have been weeding through many old pictures. At times I barely recognize myself, so often hunched over and ill-fitting into even environs with high ceilings or no ceiling at all.

Cats are notoriously good at getting into cleverly tight spots, but aren't quite as deft at getting themselves back out. I feel there's something to that.

past participle

Often I will let slips of paper, jotted notes, and other such wallow away in the folds of my wallet. I ate a fortune cookie about two weeks ago, capping a wonderful meal of take-out Chinese. It told me, 'You should be able to undertake and complete anything'.

For as long as I can recall, I have saved these tiny slips of prophecy. Until recently I had a collection spanning about fifteen years worth of Asian outings, innings, and happenstance. They were a simple representation of a functional pessimist searching for something elusive and beyond his means. At times the secrets hidden inside the sweet treat would seem perhaps my only positive thought for the day.

Ever since I was very young I have struggled with intense bouts of depression, disappointment, reservation, and the presumption that I must be living someone else's life. Growing up I felt many times like an unwelcome visitor, having to earn his keep or quite literally be left at the side of road somewhere. A lot of my upbringing instilled in me this need to shy away from and hide all of my human qualities. I have had uncountable experiences over time when this life, this flesh, this reality felt too ill-fitting to be remotely real, as if I were the victim of Nicolas Cage's 'Face-off' or Sam Beckett's leapt into body of the week. It takes a lot of effort to fight back against that and to be far more who you are than everyone's designs upon you.

Eight months ago I got a job at the local airport. It was a miserably hot Florida day. The interview with the district manager went long, since he seemed to enjoy speaking with me so much. Afterward there was some volleying between different management types as to who would be offering me the position. Obviously I realized this was a very good thing, but there was a lot of unnecessary waiting involved. I kept making quiet glances at my cellphone, which kept clicking along past the point of no return. Since I live in a college town, everything revolves around campus and the sight of a city bus in the vicinity of the miniscule airport is but a drive-by every hour.

As mentioned previously, this job proved to be a short-lived purgatory that echoed of much of my past. The place was run by a female overlord with too much to prove and a fierce God complex, and who felt inclined to teach personality. The second in command was a weak-willed workaholic who spun around his constantly duplicated daily life with such precision and who in ways reminded me of my former father-in-law. The rest were just a sad lot who lived by a stifling script.

I can't.

Not anymore.

My current job had shown itself upon my life like some sort of glimmer of sunshine through dark clouds. The cattle call interview process seemed to peg me against high school kids and retirees. I am glad I held out, though, because most days I feel like I belong there. It taps into an interesting cross-section of facets of my knowledge, interests, and skill sets.

But everyday when I step away from the building, I know there's more to come, and change afoot. Sometimes I look up briefly and sometimes I breathe it in. Staring back at me, reflecting off my windshield as I put the car into gear, is the traffic light at the intersection of Main Street and 16th. As a veritable gypsy at heart and traveler deep in my soul, I know I am at the center of what's now and what's next, but more than ever 'here' feels like home.

And when I pass by
don't lead me astray
Don't try to stop me
Don't stand in my way
I'm bound for the hills
where cool waters flow
on this road that will take me home
-Mary Fahl, 'Going Home'

status update

I often think about the meta-existence that occurs in our internet culture which has really changed the nature of damn near everything. I have viewed again and again the way that people refer to things that are tucked away in some on-line interaction or region, how conversations can include virtual show and tell with multimedia displays from someone's Blackberry, or the way people may crosscheck a friend's 'knowledge' with a quick Google search. There's always someone else in the room, or to a point, there's always everyone else in the room. I'm reminded of a classic scene from Woody Allen's Annie Hall when a pretentious know-it-all is told off by scholar Marshall McLuhan while waiting in a movie theater lobby. 'Boy if only life were like this,' responds Alvy. Today we do one up one another with our instant access, but humans are flawed and life is imprecise.

I think of Facebook, yet again, and the familiar 'status update' that can be altered every second of everyday. It has since evolved into the more accurate 'what's on your mind'. I feel this turn of phrase is appropriate as we are far more connected to the entire flurry of thoughts and ideas we are inclined to share than we are to recognizing how we are really doing or the true state of our status. If it were accurate it would be like some sort of product testing or film screening audience card, constantly wavering between pleasure, displeasure, and innumerable feelings in between like some warped mood ring. It's unsafe for the relationships in our life to have the opportunity to tell all like that. I have seen passive aggression turn into vile aggression and disregard only to cave into backstabbing TMI.

That said, I am eternally an observer, whether toward others or most certainly of my own reflection. As another birthday approaches I again find myself getting reflective and into self-assessment, pondering my own status. Life is ever the Chutes and Ladder journey as we are knocked back by miscalculation yet able to triumph again by keeping on.

A worried man with a worried mind
No one in front of me and nothing behind
There's a woman on my lap and she's drinking champagne
Got white skin, got assassin's eyes
I'm looking up into the sapphire tinted skies
I'm well dressed, waiting on the last train

Standing on the gallows with my head in a noose
Any minute now I'm expecting all hell to break loose

People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care, but things have changed

This place ain't doing me any good
I'm in the wrong town, I should be in Hollywood
Just for a second there I thought I saw something move
Gonna take dancing lessons do the jitterbug rag
Ain't no shortcuts, gonna dress in drag
Only a fool in here would think he's got anything to prove

Lot of water under the bridge, Lot of other stuff too
Don't get up gentlemen, I'm only passing through

sang Bob Dylan during the course of Wonder Boys, a favorite film (and novel) of mine. I had heard mumblings of it around its initial release, but I really encountered it after purchasing the DVD on a lark in a bargain bin of a video game store that sold dirt cheap DVDs. Oddly, for something so chaotic, the film has always comforted me. There's a retro feel in the style of the cinematography, an early 70's vibe in the soundtrack, a representation of my soul's home in its frigid northeast setting, and even a lost manner in the way the characters interact with one another. I can't completely put my finger on it, but I think what hits me most is the humanity of it all, allowing me to relate to every character on some distinct level.

As time has passed, I have found myself listening to the film's Dylan theme song and diving deeper and deeper into connection with it. I can feel it as a man who has been through an awful lot and has found a lot of life's answers in simply throwing caution to the wind. You can't get anywhere without taking risks and setting yourself up for vulnerability. You may find yourself waking up to an unfamiliar, changed world, but in it you might actually discover things you might have never imagined and in them what you had sought in the first place.

groundhog day

Today is February 2nd - Groundhog Day. I feel as if this particular holiday had completely no bearing on me for the first dozen or so years of my life. It was just one of those odd traditions that had little to do with me but instead some chubby animal I had never viewed in person. Then in 1993 Bill Murray and director Harold Ramis came rushing in with a film of the same name, altering the state of the holiday for many of us into humorous thoughts of repetitious insanity. It was quickly dubbed an instant classic. Since then I have even found myself 'celebrating' one or two of these holidays watching the flick.

An old friend of mine lives on the 'Lost' island in Hawaii. In this age of civilization referring to technological connection, for all intents and purposes she has cut herself off from it without a cell phone, a Facebook account, or an active email address. I don't even know her actual physical locale. Therefore, we haven't heard from one another in two or three years. A mutual friend of ours is traveling there next week, so he is bringing along a care package of trinkets and whatnot from her connections here in town.

A couple days ago I sat down to hand write her a letter. Even though so much has transpired during the time since we last spoke, somehow with pen in hand I was able to easily condense it all down to one and a half pages of some of the best prose I have written in some time. I hadn't written a letter in ages! There's something to be said for stepping away from the modern conveniences every now and then. In ways they do make the world easier and in some ways they simply make us lazy.

I think life is found in the cracks and crevices of everyday activity, but so often we overlook it. We have to focus attention on the smaller details in our worlds to really experience it. The old adage is completely true about taking time to smell the roses, although that's always just been an example. It's about breaking away from the mold of our everyday to really interact with our own existence. It can mean hand writing a card instead of mass producing a text, or walking a few blocks instead of driving there, or baking your own bread instead of picking up a loaf from the market, or even washing and drying your own dishes in lieu of always depending on the Whirlpool.

So here passes another Groundhog Day. Take some time today to step outside of yourself. Spend a few extra moments deepening your connection to your life. How does your shadow spread across the rest the earth? What does it say about where you're headed?

366 days

MUSIC has amazing power.

For me, in simplest terms, it's a litmus test and a compass. On the one hand, over time I have heard plenty of misguided souls say they're just not interested in music or their tastes are so narrow, their halfhearted involvement in it bores me. To me, it's the pulse of life. It can tell you where you are, where you've been, or where you're going, like some sort of flux capacitor of the soul. Great music especially evolves over time. It grows and changes with us, following us through all of our tidal pools and topographical missteps.

No blogs were posted here between early August 2009 and the end of January 2010, and for good reason. It's amazing to me how much of who we are can become based on the impressions of outsiders. Outside opinion can hold so much sway. Take for example being given a gift. It doesn't have to be a particularly expensive purchase. Honestly the cost doesn't matter. Let's say it's a gift of moderate cost from a key family member or friend.

You now have something new in your life. Unfortunately, you've come to realize it just doesn't fit your body or your personality, or just won't fit your well-devised Feng shui flow. What do you do? You keep it, of course. The 'gift giver' may show up some time and wonder where it is, seems to be the running edict. 'What will they think' is a phrase still carved inside the walls of our psyche from our formative years. The same concept can happen within a relationship.

Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm

Depeche Mode's brilliant VIOLATOR album was released in March of 1990. The first time I caught wind of it was upon seeing the simple, but visually striking video for "Enjoy the Silence" wherein David Gahan roams the Scottish hillside dressed in royal garb, toting a glorified lawn chair. Over time it started to appear on random mix tapes I made others, even though I attempted to keep from using what had become such a signature tune.

Whether or not that would make it the best song on the set, it has always worked well as a centerpiece. This figured into my thinking when I directed the play 'Closer', which was a cleverly written, harsh, emotional drama. I decided that the performances should be the sole organic aspect of the play, so I layered the show with electronic music. Every night "Enjoy the Silence" brought the audience out of the intense, peak moments of Act One into the brief intermission with noticeable chills. Slowly but surely the song began to collect all of the baggage of the show and the life dramas surrounding it.

A couple weeks back there was an inadvertent or perhaps imperative merging of the former and the current at a local bar during what was slated to be an 80's old wave night. The first chords of "Enjoy the Silence" sent me soaring across time, but I quickly settled right back into the moment, completely unfazed by previous pain or yearning with which the song had become associated. My focus was instead riveted on the seductive dancing of my beautiful girlfriend.

All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms

So here we are, a year since the curtain call, following three or four years of decline. Since then old friends and strangers have come out of the woodwork, creating a very different array of characters in my life. These are the people who will be moving forward with me, allowing me to fully unfetter myself from anchors of the past.

hughes laureate

Over the past couple of weeks, my girlfriend and I have been diving back into our youth with the makings of a John Hughes film marathon. His flicks were one cornerstone of any given child of the eighties pop cultural meal, but have now unfortunately been exiled to periodic rotation on the likes of TBS and Bravo. Before this month it had been quite some time since either of us had seen any of these works in their unedited entirety. So far we have gotten through the four Anthony Michael Hall entries (for those counting, we did include "Vacation").

Hughes was my age when he wrote the most revered of these movies. It was once a surprise to me that he was able to tap into the teenage psyche so well, but as I take a peek back at his mid-eighties triumphs I see not only the angst of children but echoes of many adult voices I know as well as issues I have torn through in this blog. As adults we may lose sight or become too jaded, but we too need to be noticed, strive to gain acceptance, struggle against oppressive forces, seek to realize our true nature and be respected for it, and most of all wish to harness as much fun as life has in store.

the eX-factor

I haven't seen David Fincher's recent Facebook movie, but I get the inkling that part of the reason the flick is receiving the generous reviews relates to its extremely topical nature. For many of us, Facebook is that monster that swooped out of nowhere, devouring not only Myspace and its lesser known 'social network' compatriots, but also the way we all qualify our lives and our worlds. We 'like' far more things than we ever thought feasible, we over-share with aplomb, we intensify our feelings for mass support, we erase past ills for the want of another individual in our human name-face-serial number queue, and we keep others well past their expiration date in the hopes to not offend, isolate, or do any of those other wonderful things we do so well in the 'real world'.

Facebook certainly has changed the fabric of our interactions and I don't think it's solely due to the 'social network' status either, because before many of us arrived there we were on Friendster, Myspace and myriad others. I had several different accounts before hand, but was only active with Myspace, which initially seemed little more than a place for 'tweens, teens, and those two feet from high school graduation. With all of the flash and fuss put in all of the wrong places, Myspace really was a disappointment as an addiction.

On the other hand, Facebook was busy gaining acknowledgement and becoming embraced by an older crowd. Something about it seemed better. By comparison all of the bling of any given Myspace page was now far more streamlined. Gone were those slow to load, exhaustive journeys into website amateurism that so often burst instantly into irritating song samples. Everything seemed to become more about the words people chose to express themselves or the images they chose to share.

Honestly, at first glance it was quite refreshing. If Myspace was one type of an on-line animal, it soon became clear that Facebook was more of an out-and-out plague beast. Myspace wasn't for everyone, but 'everyone needed to be on Facebook'. Relatives young and old started to join. It soon became a litmus test for regular societal membership and meaning, as event invitations and photo shares only seemed to be for those who were connected. Facebook seemed to make life so much simpler, organizing everyone you know, once knew, wish you could know better, bumped into in an elevator, or those with whom you share an interest in spoons into this live action, living, breathing address book.

It has often called into question the meaning of the word 'friend', and it certainly does for me these days. I am reminded of arguably the best Simpsons episode: 'El Viaje Misterioso de Nuestro Jomer (The Mysterious Voyage of Homer)'. It's the one wherein Homer's searching for his soul mate. One particular conversation in Moe's Bar demonstrates just how many nuanced relationships really exist (friend, colleague, compatriot, well-wisher, etc.). In a place like Facebook all of these people get lost together in one bundle, seemingly equalized based on when they decide to post something new.

toxic avenger

Interesting arrays of disconnected events tend to visit us in dreamland. In the morning we string it all together in an effort to make some sense of it, like some over-worked film editor, toiling away at turning six scrubbed films into something coherent. I tend to think that life runs through a similar course as our memories steadily become more and more vague with images culled from actual events, photographs, stories, wishes, dreams, and a smattering of some TV show we once watched. To some extent, assembled in whatever form we see fit, they become us.

I can't quite recall if it was during first grade or second grade (in fact, I did a quick Wikipedia search to see if I was even close), but at some point we all lost our baby teeth. We'd sit there at the center of the classroom, or lying in bed at night, or even on the playground at recess, doing everything in our power to fiddle with, tug at, or flick our tongue toward that irritating dangling piece of bone hanging by a string from our jaws, in a concerted effort to cause some change. At times the damned thing didn't even feel the least bit connected, merely held on by very weak magnets. It was frustrating, and as a tooth in its present form it was also completely useless.

Sometimes life gets this way. It reminds me of Dexter Morgan, that wonderful sociopath of print and screen. Like many a sociopath, he's the perfect outsider, quite able to recognize the nuances of humanity, who dons his life like a wardrobe. I wouldn't suggest he's necessarily the best of role models, but I would say it's true that one's world, one's lifestyle, one's reality does go in and out of fashion with time, sometimes fitting with ease and at other times chafing us to the point of action. When it gets like that, you have to do like Dexter would, and yank those teeth out!

A couple days back I spent the hazier part of the afternoon with my parents, who are recently estranged from my siblings. I didn't know what to expect when venturing out to the local Chick-fila, but it did give me several revelations. As I got a better gist of who these people are without the context of the seeming baggage that a functional family unit allows and they got perhaps a better sense of me in this space and time, I began to more fully grasp something about toxic relationships. In this instance, and likely in others, without all of the vile undercurrents, both parties are better off.

love, inc.

Love is all around - no need to waste it, goes that familiar charmer of the Mary Tyler Moore Show theme.  The Troggs (and later Wet Wet Wet) felt that abundance in their fingers and their toes.  Ever the common theme of interest to poetry folk, moviegoers, and many in-between, all I need do is look on my iTunes and find a seemingly endless string of love songs - love from this angle, love from that. As cliché as it is, this is a core human emotion. Till the dusk of time one might expect us to continue to be falling in, puttering out, or some variant in the general vicinity. The world just looks different through its lenses. Love comes fast, love comes quick, and it comes in colors we don't expect to wear.

Recently I re-watched When Harry Met Sally and Sleepless in Seattle with my girlfriend. My first experience with the latter was on the big screen during a date with a girl in high school. She was my first love. I had harbored deep feelings, admiration, and crush-worthy lusting before in varying degrees, but this was the young woman that drew me to poetry writing, shedding of happy tears, and yearnings to simply share some of the same oxygen. It was the first time I felt such intensity for another person. To me, it was serious.


Back then promo-trailer worthy lines like it was magic or it's like coming home were phrases that felt like Nora Ephron going into her cheese cabinet for a look. After seventeen years and volumes of life experience, some of this really resonates with how I feel about the woman I have recently fallen in love with (or as Closer would suggest: chosen). We are both arriving at this moment out of splintered marriages, which are both currently hitting the paperwork phase. For a time we fought back our feelings, but ultimately kept stumbling into the feet of the big elephant in the room.

beetle mania

Last night while I was working behind the car rental counter, I was in the midst of checking a customer’s vehicle back into the system, I caught a glimpse of something dark in my peripheral somewhere along this place's nasty carpeting. A quick glance back down and I noticed it to be some sort of insect. A cockroach, probably. Doesn’t it just figure in such a squalid and psychologically bereft place as this?

I took a second glance while finishing up with the customer and I saw the thing make a sharp turn in my direction. It now seemed to be hauling ass. It was then that I realized it wasn't some roach, but one of those cool looking black horned beetles. And it seemed to have trekked ten feet in ten seconds flat. Soon enough it was making its way across the toe of my shoe. It seemed so drawn to me. A part of me wanted to draw attention to this incident to my customer, but truth be told most people would be quick to suggest ‘squashing the damn thing’ rather than see significance in these type moments.

Once I was inclined to ask a customer where they were from, because I saw they were born literally a day before my mom. I thought perhaps a happenstance was at hand. Who the hell knows because this man seemed more irritated that I asked than much else?

Sure, some people just like to use the device for its main utility without having any insight into how it works. I don't want to miss the nuance. It's like eating pistachios. The simple process of removing the shells to get to the good stuff is part of the enjoyment. I say, life is better with the shell.

So, as soon as my counter cleared I pulled out my cellphone and googled 'beetle symbolism' and discovered many references to rebirth and the like. As I approach the last day on the job at the airport, I do feel like I am breaking out of a shell, moving from this metaphoric purgatory on to the next … phase.

in dreams

Once upon a time I had a dream. I was going to be a Hollywood director. I would spend my free time sketching out teasers to the next James Bond feature or waste hours of time crafting titles and concepts for upcoming releases or muster ridiculous ideas for sequels to ones I knew. I began to put my imprint on video projects at school and began to go public with my dream of life in the Hollywood director's chair.

This dream never came true.

No matter which way I slice it, the dream I chased for twenty plus years changed far too many times to be achieved, so why don't I just say it. It never happened.

A love for artistically inclined independent films took hold. A full-on growth of myself as a struggling writer gained momentum. A major conflict between art and commerce probed my philosophical inner Jekyll or Hyde. A bevy of projects that saw more darkness than light drowned the idealistic perfectionist within. And a discovery of the theatre as an immediate way to create and share art with an audience ensured all bets were off.

Things have changed too much. I am too jaded by life and myriad experience for this specific childhood dream to ever come true. The loose ends of this story represent somebody else entirely and are not really a part of the same tale. Don't get me wrong. I still come alive when the creative juices are flowing but this dream died within me many years ago. Underneath everything else lurks a figurative garage full of wishful thinking and naive imaginings.

When there's one foot in the distant past, one foot in the perhaps foreseeable future, the main results are lumbar issues and a difficulty walking.

So, what are today's dreams? That's what really matters.

in purgatory

When I got a job at the local regional airport I knew it was for a reason. There's something notable about being a person for whom fundamental change is occurring, who likewise winds up working at a place that acts as the bridge between two points. Airports are the places that connect the here with the there. As a man coming from one life and fueling myself up for what's next, an airport is the perfect hub to travel to everyday.

But of course all of my poetic ideals don't always come to fruition. Sometimes a place is just a place with a function. And as far as airports go, this one gets literally empty and amazingly pin-drop quiet. One night I thought I was about to be locked in. These are the times when it appears to be more of a set for an airport than an actual one. There's something so fake about the whole matter that I sometimes feel like maybe I'll catch a glimpse of Oz behind the curtain.

But alas, no such discoveries do come about and instead I'm stuck with a personal purgatory - one that has been dragging me down and steadily pushing me further and further off the edge of my own sanity....

new path(s)

You just don’t get it, do you – this person you’re talking to right now – I don’t know who this guy is  - I know it’s me of course – But, who I am – I got no clue – I was married – I thought I’d be with her until I got burned up or she put me in the ground with her non-stop talking about bullshit that normal people don’t waste their breath on – commercials, what she ate that day – like some colors are more healing than others – now I got no wife - it’s like I swear – it’s like my life just jumped the tracks – now I’m running on someone else's tracks - now I am leading someone else's life – you, you got possibilities – this gig doesn't work out – you could get married – bake cakes – open a dress shop – I got no dress shop – I got no future – this is all I got – this is all I am – don’t make me change how I do it, Laura – one more change and I think I’m done. (Lt. Shea from RESCUE ME 2.5 'Sensitivity')

I remember the first time I saw the 'Rescue Me' episode this quote is from, back in 2004. I recall really feeling for Ken and the plight of his life falling down around him and the only worthwhile piece that had a remaining vestige was his sense of self. I remember distinctly wishing never to feel that total devastating loss of everything and the ensuing grappling at straws.

The strange thing, though, is that life jumping the track can be a really positive thing. At least that's the way I am viewing things now. New beginnings can be a damn beautiful thing. Unearthing buried parts of oneself, exploring uncharted territories of ones soul, whittling away what's rotted, and forging ahead along new paths, though sometimes painfully cathartic, seem to be just what keeps life fresh and worth living.