I love this quote by Ben Franklin. Its true. If one doesn't want a certain fact(s) about themselves spread about town, then one shouldn't share it. I rarely blame the person who blabs my hidden truths. Its a risk I take in trusting someone.
But then again, there's those people out there who tell all. They constantly pour their thoughts and emotions out for all to see. It all leads me to question their wisdom.
Myself, I believe there is a certain correlation between those things that we hold as "secrets" and those things that we know to be "sacred".
I like that I have secrets. I like that I have things about myself that only I know. It means that there are things I hold sacred. There are things that I want only myself and the Lord to share. It may be something so delicate as a John Donne poem rip-off or something so rambunctious as my impression of Louis Armstrong singing "Amazing Grace" I sing for my Savior in the shower. But they are special things that only he and I shall share. That makes them special. That makes them sacred.
Secrets are sometimes treated like emotional currency. People will confide in you to make you feel trusted. Just like people like the feeling of being entrusted with some previously unknown fact about someone else.
I submit that I think secrets are shared out of selfishness.
There's a reason why people sometimes feel the need to share their burdens. Knowing that a friend is suffering through a secret illness is a hard thing to deal with. It hurts. I can handle crap happening to me. I have a good audience with myself, so I know that I deserve just about anything I receive. I also know that the Lord will help me through it. I've never had to deal with that worst punisher of all, Despair.
However, when it comes to seeing a friend suffer, I fall apart. I'm not going to play. The world is a much simpler place in which to live when I know less of the evils it holds. But one way in which I can help people is share the knowledge of their troubles. I pray for them and, just as importantly, I hurt for them.
Never underestimate the comfort it can be for a person to know they aren't hurting alone.
But what about secrets of the more mundane sort? Things like "my roommate listens to Britney Spears when he's sad". Or, "My girlfriend is ticklish behind her knees and barks like a seal when I pinch her back there."
You know, I think these might be the most sacred secrets of all. One amazing example my parents have shown me is that they have moments that belong to absolutely no-one but the two of them, and the Holy Spirit, who blessed it. I remember asking my Pappacho about moments in their relationship. And while he thanked me with a teary eye for reminding him, he simply let excused himself for leaving that moment sacred.
I've never understood those people who could just leave their lives an "open book." I know that mostly, its because I'm so completely not built like that. But how are they able to maintain a balance of what is theirs, and what belongs to the world?
Myself, what happens between me and someone else is to stay between us. The time I was most hurt by love was that in which someone was reckless with my trust. But even though that trust may have been betrayed, I've kept my promise as best as I honestly could. I've kept the moments I most treasured locked away in the safe of my heart. You'd be surprised the strength such things can afford.
The thing I love about a moment in time is that it all happens in the mind. Yes, my first kiss actually happened. But all I know of it is what I remember. And any description of that instant in time is going to be skewed between the romanticism of my mind and the experiences that have happened hence. But in my mind, it is perfect. I rely not on my crappy vocabulary or prose to convey the moment. In my mind its happened thousands of times. Isn't that what really matters?
Sometimes when I try to explain a moment, I become a bumbling artist trying to release the instant from a block of stone. Only the more momentous the occasion, the less likely I'll be to do it justice. I feel horrible. My moment, beautiful and perfect in my head, has been reduced to a maimed figure hewn out of rough rock. Sometimes, isn't it better just to leave something perfect and untouched?
I feel as though this society has lost touch of what is sacred in this world. We throw around the name of Jesus and print it on baby-t's and call it Christianity. And you dare not question the wearer's sincerity, for you fear of appearing as if you love your savior less.
There are ceremonies too holy to be made into a T.V. show. We've lost that. Past family and my very closest friends, I couldn't give a rat's ass who comes to my wedding.
We've forgotten that there are things that shouldn't be shared with all to know. Yes, I understand the irony of my sharing this on a blog, but for every thing I post about my life here, there are 50 that I'll never tell a soul.
Having a secret always doesn't mean we're ashamed. Sometimes it means we hold something special, and holy. Pearls we wouldn't risk throwing before swine.
Saturday, July 31, 2004
Monday, July 26, 2004
A Guest Submission by Ricky Dugal
My Crew.....
Now before I post anything more. I want to give a shot out to my crew. My posse. Better known as the BROOKS crew. Now as a kid growing up, one of my dreams was to have my own crew. And, now I can say I have one. My crew and I have had some great great times. I mean we roll. I have their back and they have mine. They have tattoos and chains with my name on it. If someone says something about me, my crew is right there to say "that's hearsay." They repeat everything I say. If I say lets go to the mall, then they repeat, "THE MALLL, we are going to the mallll, with Rigga." Its great. Not only do they repeat me, they copy everything I do. If I walk a certain way, they have to copy it. If I start chewing gum, they start chewing gum. If I start eating some Dunkin Donuts, then they copy me and they start eating Dunkin Donuts. Its great having a crew, and yall know who you are.
NBA players have posses or crews. Rappers have crews. Captain Kirk had a crew. Grandmothers whose sons play in the NBA have crews. It was time for me to start my own crew. You know, people that hung with me from way back. They are people that never turned their back on me when I wasn't a legend. People who look out for my best interests, so I look out for theirs. If they need an apartment? DONE. They need a car? DONE. If they need tickets to games DONE, DONE. If they need a job? It's done. Its both a thank you for the years past and an assurance that they will forever kiss my ass and go along with whatever I say.
It doesn't matter if its ridiculous or just outright stupid. They have my back. I'm talking about guys who are down for me. I'm talking about guys who will help me commit crimes and then conspire with me to cover them up. And if you aren't part of the crew and think you should be, ask yourself that question. Would you do that for me? I thought so. So get out of my face with that question girlfriend. Don't go there. Talk to the hand.
No more are crews reserved for NBA players, rappers, high-school golfers, NBA mothers/grandmothers et. al. I've gotten after it, paid my dues, bided my time and now it's finally here. I have my boys and they have my back. I say it, they repeat it. They don't question me or second-guess me. They just do as I say and as they're told. I keep them around, they keep me happy. If I say 2+2 = 5, I don't have to worry about hearing a lot of nonsense about how that's not the right answer. Those days are over. We hang out together, we roll in the Audi A-4 Cabrio together, we are Rigga and the Crew.
I have their back and they have mine.
If you are against the idea of me having my own crew you're in trouble. Don't go there, and get that out of my face. They're here to stay and will always have a place in my heart as long as Im alive. They throw the fast balls down the center over the plate, I knock it out of the park. They're my boys, they're my crew and we're rollin'! Rigga, keepin' it real.
Speaking of dunkin donuts, they are the food equivalent of crack cocaine, plain and simple. If there ever needed to be an example of the law of diminishing returns, here it is. The first doughnut is like heaven on Earth. The sugar rush probably would incapacitate most individuals. Sugar shock is a likely result. You can't beat that first doughnut.
The only problem is that all of us try to match that experience with the second, third and sometimes fourth doughnuts. And for some reason we don't realize that we're actually getting less and less joy from the doughnuts. We're trying to re-experience that initial sugar-rush and it's just not possible. The more we eat, the further we get from reaching the goal.
If you haven't had a Dunkin donut before, imagine a block of sugar, syrup, butter and bread packed into a circular blob with a hole cut out. It sounds good (I think) and even tastes good...in moderation. But every single time, all of us get caught up in the euphoria of the first one. Next thing you know, you're rolling around in the office, climbing the walls and feeling like you drank 14 cups of coffee. And oh yeah, just gained 15 lbs. and 6 cavities. Other than that, they are great.
And you know my crew, the BROOKS crew. They always have my back. And when I have a Dunkin donut, they have to have one too. That's how we roll."Rigga gets a Dunkin donut, we all get Dunkin donuts!"
Ricky Dugal has his own site, www.riggamania.blogspot.com. He's a dear friend and honest-to-God Brooks Legend. At my request, he's finally begun to record his pearls of wisdom.
Holla,
Neil
Now before I post anything more. I want to give a shot out to my crew. My posse. Better known as the BROOKS crew. Now as a kid growing up, one of my dreams was to have my own crew. And, now I can say I have one. My crew and I have had some great great times. I mean we roll. I have their back and they have mine. They have tattoos and chains with my name on it. If someone says something about me, my crew is right there to say "that's hearsay." They repeat everything I say. If I say lets go to the mall, then they repeat, "THE MALLL, we are going to the mallll, with Rigga." Its great. Not only do they repeat me, they copy everything I do. If I walk a certain way, they have to copy it. If I start chewing gum, they start chewing gum. If I start eating some Dunkin Donuts, then they copy me and they start eating Dunkin Donuts. Its great having a crew, and yall know who you are.
NBA players have posses or crews. Rappers have crews. Captain Kirk had a crew. Grandmothers whose sons play in the NBA have crews. It was time for me to start my own crew. You know, people that hung with me from way back. They are people that never turned their back on me when I wasn't a legend. People who look out for my best interests, so I look out for theirs. If they need an apartment? DONE. They need a car? DONE. If they need tickets to games DONE, DONE. If they need a job? It's done. Its both a thank you for the years past and an assurance that they will forever kiss my ass and go along with whatever I say.
It doesn't matter if its ridiculous or just outright stupid. They have my back. I'm talking about guys who are down for me. I'm talking about guys who will help me commit crimes and then conspire with me to cover them up. And if you aren't part of the crew and think you should be, ask yourself that question. Would you do that for me? I thought so. So get out of my face with that question girlfriend. Don't go there. Talk to the hand.
No more are crews reserved for NBA players, rappers, high-school golfers, NBA mothers/grandmothers et. al. I've gotten after it, paid my dues, bided my time and now it's finally here. I have my boys and they have my back. I say it, they repeat it. They don't question me or second-guess me. They just do as I say and as they're told. I keep them around, they keep me happy. If I say 2+2 = 5, I don't have to worry about hearing a lot of nonsense about how that's not the right answer. Those days are over. We hang out together, we roll in the Audi A-4 Cabrio together, we are Rigga and the Crew.
I have their back and they have mine.
If you are against the idea of me having my own crew you're in trouble. Don't go there, and get that out of my face. They're here to stay and will always have a place in my heart as long as Im alive. They throw the fast balls down the center over the plate, I knock it out of the park. They're my boys, they're my crew and we're rollin'! Rigga, keepin' it real.
Speaking of dunkin donuts, they are the food equivalent of crack cocaine, plain and simple. If there ever needed to be an example of the law of diminishing returns, here it is. The first doughnut is like heaven on Earth. The sugar rush probably would incapacitate most individuals. Sugar shock is a likely result. You can't beat that first doughnut.
The only problem is that all of us try to match that experience with the second, third and sometimes fourth doughnuts. And for some reason we don't realize that we're actually getting less and less joy from the doughnuts. We're trying to re-experience that initial sugar-rush and it's just not possible. The more we eat, the further we get from reaching the goal.
If you haven't had a Dunkin donut before, imagine a block of sugar, syrup, butter and bread packed into a circular blob with a hole cut out. It sounds good (I think) and even tastes good...in moderation. But every single time, all of us get caught up in the euphoria of the first one. Next thing you know, you're rolling around in the office, climbing the walls and feeling like you drank 14 cups of coffee. And oh yeah, just gained 15 lbs. and 6 cavities. Other than that, they are great.
And you know my crew, the BROOKS crew. They always have my back. And when I have a Dunkin donut, they have to have one too. That's how we roll."Rigga gets a Dunkin donut, we all get Dunkin donuts!"
Ricky Dugal has his own site, www.riggamania.blogspot.com. He's a dear friend and honest-to-God Brooks Legend. At my request, he's finally begun to record his pearls of wisdom.
Holla,
Neil
Sunday, July 18, 2004
The Walk of Life
I was talking to a friend the other night (last) and I made her laugh so hard she had to hang up to go throw up. She says it has nothing to do with the margarita she had a dinner. Sure. At least she thought enough of me to give my ego some way to roll with the punch she had thrown in its direction. Thanks, sweetie! ;)
After she called back, we were able to actually carry a fairly serious conversation -which was really a testament to our friendship. Having a serious conversation with someone after something like that is kind of like arguing apologetics with someone in clown shoes.
So we were talking about some of my blogs lately. I admitted to "being in love with the idea of being in love". She expressed that might be a dangerous thing.
Oh contrare mon frere. It's nothing I'm ashamed of. I wouldn't wish to be different. "Being in love with the idea of being in love" is kind of like having one foot larger than the other. It's something of which I must be aware. And its only really dangerous if I forget when going up some stairs... I'll let you draw whatever conclusions from that declaration/analogy you might. (Knock yourself out, slugger.)
I realize now that I am indeed ready to feel with authenticity.
Everything in my life is showing this. I'm no longer waiting to be ready to be ready. I'm just simply ready. Damn ready.
I'm not in a hurry. Just ready. I'm ready in the way that Michael Jordan was always ready to be the go-to guy. He wasn't itching to take that last shot. He just knew that when it was time, he'd be able to pull the trigger.
Prepared. Yeah, that's a better way of putting it.
Every day I'm feeling more like myself. The Lord has blessed my heart and helped me to power-spray off the mud and crud placed there by reckless hearts being reckless to my own. It was a choice I made. And I've been blessed with resilience.
Just because people have hurt you, doesn't mean you deserved to be hurt.
But yeah, I've got a few quirks. I'm becoming my parents in some real ways. I'm constantly cleaning, like my mother. I caught myself yelling "God bless America" the other day, ala my Pappacho.
Sometimes I leave the stove on. I have to have the bed made. I'm obsessed with Spider Man and the Cubs. (If that's news to you, I'll give you a hammer for you to use upon the side of your skull). I sometimes forget that non-stick pots shouldn't be machine-washed. I'm not perfect at all.
I do these stupid things. And yet, I'm kind of proud of them. I know that I should work on my imperfections, and yes, if I forget to turn off the stove I guess the place could burn down. But I'm proud of my stupid little idiosyncrasies because those are the things that make me... well, ME. Those are the things that are going to make some woman fall deeply and madly in love with me. -Or rather, not because of these things, but despite these things.
You see, I've realized a thing or two about life. I no longer care how the average Baylor girl sees me. I realize that on the surface, I'm a pudgy, cheeky, perpetually middle-class, smart mouth with an obsession with a loser baseball team and his own prose. But you know what? That's what I am.
And being exactly what I appear to be has become so very liberating. What you see with me, is what you get. I love with everything I have. And somebody, someday, is going to find my particular kind of crazy something she can't live without.
Why do I want love so badly? Its because that is why we were meant to be. When we fell, we lost our ability to know exactly how to love the Lord. That's why we have each other. Every time my Mom sends me a random text message telling me: "I'm so proud of you! I love you up to the sky and back!" for no other reason than she's in Colorado and thinking of me, I know a little bit better what it is to know God.
When I smoke a pipe with my roommate, Dave, I know a little better how God wants me to be happy.
I imagine that someday, when I'm telling my wife to lay down and I'll feed the colicky baby -when I see the face of that wriggling little miracle in my own hands, I'll get it, if only for an instant, why it is that we are meant to be.
I'm sorry I can't say this as well as my heart knows. My words fumble. If I was Michelangelo, I'd create a sculpture to express myself. If I was a musician, I'd get Dire Straits to write a song with me about it.
I guess I'll just have to be okay with screaming from my own little soapbox while others shuffle along the walks of their lives.
Insert the Keyboard riff...
PS, Charlotte, I'm not that funny, hot-stuff. You need to get out more. Maybe you should make a call to Lubbock? ;)
After she called back, we were able to actually carry a fairly serious conversation -which was really a testament to our friendship. Having a serious conversation with someone after something like that is kind of like arguing apologetics with someone in clown shoes.
So we were talking about some of my blogs lately. I admitted to "being in love with the idea of being in love". She expressed that might be a dangerous thing.
Oh contrare mon frere. It's nothing I'm ashamed of. I wouldn't wish to be different. "Being in love with the idea of being in love" is kind of like having one foot larger than the other. It's something of which I must be aware. And its only really dangerous if I forget when going up some stairs... I'll let you draw whatever conclusions from that declaration/analogy you might. (Knock yourself out, slugger.)
I realize now that I am indeed ready to feel with authenticity.
Everything in my life is showing this. I'm no longer waiting to be ready to be ready. I'm just simply ready. Damn ready.
I'm not in a hurry. Just ready. I'm ready in the way that Michael Jordan was always ready to be the go-to guy. He wasn't itching to take that last shot. He just knew that when it was time, he'd be able to pull the trigger.
Prepared. Yeah, that's a better way of putting it.
Every day I'm feeling more like myself. The Lord has blessed my heart and helped me to power-spray off the mud and crud placed there by reckless hearts being reckless to my own. It was a choice I made. And I've been blessed with resilience.
Just because people have hurt you, doesn't mean you deserved to be hurt.
But yeah, I've got a few quirks. I'm becoming my parents in some real ways. I'm constantly cleaning, like my mother. I caught myself yelling "God bless America" the other day, ala my Pappacho.
Sometimes I leave the stove on. I have to have the bed made. I'm obsessed with Spider Man and the Cubs. (If that's news to you, I'll give you a hammer for you to use upon the side of your skull). I sometimes forget that non-stick pots shouldn't be machine-washed. I'm not perfect at all.
I do these stupid things. And yet, I'm kind of proud of them. I know that I should work on my imperfections, and yes, if I forget to turn off the stove I guess the place could burn down. But I'm proud of my stupid little idiosyncrasies because those are the things that make me... well, ME. Those are the things that are going to make some woman fall deeply and madly in love with me. -Or rather, not because of these things, but despite these things.
You see, I've realized a thing or two about life. I no longer care how the average Baylor girl sees me. I realize that on the surface, I'm a pudgy, cheeky, perpetually middle-class, smart mouth with an obsession with a loser baseball team and his own prose. But you know what? That's what I am.
And being exactly what I appear to be has become so very liberating. What you see with me, is what you get. I love with everything I have. And somebody, someday, is going to find my particular kind of crazy something she can't live without.
Why do I want love so badly? Its because that is why we were meant to be. When we fell, we lost our ability to know exactly how to love the Lord. That's why we have each other. Every time my Mom sends me a random text message telling me: "I'm so proud of you! I love you up to the sky and back!" for no other reason than she's in Colorado and thinking of me, I know a little bit better what it is to know God.
When I smoke a pipe with my roommate, Dave, I know a little better how God wants me to be happy.
I imagine that someday, when I'm telling my wife to lay down and I'll feed the colicky baby -when I see the face of that wriggling little miracle in my own hands, I'll get it, if only for an instant, why it is that we are meant to be.
I'm sorry I can't say this as well as my heart knows. My words fumble. If I was Michelangelo, I'd create a sculpture to express myself. If I was a musician, I'd get Dire Straits to write a song with me about it.
I guess I'll just have to be okay with screaming from my own little soapbox while others shuffle along the walks of their lives.
Insert the Keyboard riff...
PS, Charlotte, I'm not that funny, hot-stuff. You need to get out more. Maybe you should make a call to Lubbock? ;)
Saturday, July 17, 2004
Social Suicide
We all have secrets. We all have things that we're ashamed of. There are things we love very much. The intersection of these three facets our lives represent our "Guilty Pleasures."
Everyone has their own Guilty Pleasures. You know what I'm talking about. Everyone has left a Vin Diesel or Arnold Swarzenegger film hiding their smiles amidst people talking about how that was "2 hours of their lives they would never get back." Who hasn't curiously found themselves wanting to belt out "Why'd ya have to go and make things so comp-licated!?!?" in a particularly quiet moment alone in the car?
There's a thing about secrets, y'know. They tend to beat up the insides of you. Like little gnomes inside the chest hurling their bodies against the walls of your heart in not-so-feeble attempts to get out.
So, I'm going to exorcise a gnome or two.
I am one who is very susceptible to Guilty Pleasures of the Cinematic kind. I love movies and I imagine I always will. I'm afraid this is yet another situation in which my imperviously positive attitude fails to serve me so well as to give me an aire of culture. What can I say? I'm eager to be pleased. Such is obviously the case when it comes to my first Guilty Pleasure.
The Pest.
This movie, starring the hyperactive comedian, John Leguizamo, is quite possibly the worst, most idiotic rip-off/spoof ever inflicted upon celluloid. -That's assuming it actually was realeased into theatres. I'm not optomistic. The humor in this movie is slap-stick, base, vile, disgusting and absolutetly nothing is out-of-bounds. And I loved it. I'll admit it, I own this movie. And yes, I'm ashamed of it. If you've ever seen my DVD collection, you might have noticed that many times its the one placed backwards, or away from the others.
Sigh.
Dungeons & Dragons
Yes, yes, yes. I am the biggest geek alive. I play Dungeons & Dragons. It started when I was a geeky adolescent. And seeing as how my voice still cracks, I see no reason why I should now stop. I took a looooooooooooong break from it. I hadn't played since I turned 15, but this year, when a few residents mentioned it to me, I must admit I was intrigued and let it be known that I had played before. We only played a few times and I loved it. We had a blast! There were 6 of us, dressed in Abercrombie and Baylor Athletic sweats, playing the roles of our characters. I, of course, was the mischievious Rogue, constantly picking the pocket of our unsuspecting Palladin and then offering to take him out for a drink after this mission was over.
Escapism at its best; and to be honest, exactly what my soul needed. It was fun to be someone else, untethered by expectations of what I'm supposed to be and represent for the purposes of the Department and University. It offered nothing more than a short respite, so I never felt guilty of abandoning my post.
So while you may laugh at me for being a geek. I'll just have fun "firing Magic Missile at the Darkness" while a friend asks if there's any hot chicks in the tavern... because he want's to "doooo them!"
Newlyweds
This is the one tv show on earth to which I am completly and utterly addicted. I love this show and, as completely pathetic as it sounds, I think I've developed something of a genuine admiration for Mr. and Mrs. Nick Lachey. (For those of you living under rocks, Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson, both Pop singers are newlyweds and have their own reality show on MTV.)
I love watching the genuineness of Nick and Jessica's relationship. She is genuinely kind of dumb, in the very sweetest and good-hearted kind way. And Nick seems to posess the nearly endless reserves of patience that can only be sustained by a real and enduring Love.
While I cannot help but admit that Jessica is gorgeous, I must say that the one on the show that keeps me coming back is Nick Lachey. Call it a man-crush or whatever, I have a deep admiration for anyone who can so love such a woman as Jessica Simpson so unconditionally even though her carreer seems to be taking off while his is becoming stagnant. Tough issues for a guy. Their love and candor are what makes this show the single redeeming star in the reality religion that has swept our television networks.
Singing
I love to sing. It is sincerely one of my very favorite things to do. I sing in the shower. I sing while I work. I sing when I'm happy and I sing when I'm sad... and I sing when I'm bored. Oh, and when I say I sing, I don't mean it in the sweet little lovey-dovey bluebird-on-my-shoulder type of way, either. I am usually belting that crap out. Hard-core.
All of that being said, I don't want to give the idea that I'm that good, or that I take myself seriously. I'm not, and I don't. I know I'm pretty alright. My mom has a beautiful voice and my dad can carry a tune around a campfire at least. So any talent I have, I come by it naturally.
But, I am a little squeamish about it. Okay I'm way squeamish about it. I don't really like to sing in front of people that much. Yes, I had the lead in "Yankee Doodle". And yes, I sang the solo parts for Perfect Gentlemen in High School. But those were different. We practiced for hours and hours and hours for both of those things. And I was always accompanied or singing harmony. Totally different.
One on one, though. It can be a little awkward. I've made situations totally weird because I couldn't or wouldn't sing. To me, its just something I don't like to share with just anyone. I like to think and pray about it. Its something I do with such emotion and the way I sing usually requires such confidence that, should anyone shoot me down in my attempt, it would hurt badly.
But I do love to sing, and sing loud. Especially when I'm by myself. Its truly a Guilty Pleasure of mine.
Sharing is Caring my friends.
Everyone has their own Guilty Pleasures. You know what I'm talking about. Everyone has left a Vin Diesel or Arnold Swarzenegger film hiding their smiles amidst people talking about how that was "2 hours of their lives they would never get back." Who hasn't curiously found themselves wanting to belt out "Why'd ya have to go and make things so comp-licated!?!?" in a particularly quiet moment alone in the car?
There's a thing about secrets, y'know. They tend to beat up the insides of you. Like little gnomes inside the chest hurling their bodies against the walls of your heart in not-so-feeble attempts to get out.
So, I'm going to exorcise a gnome or two.
I am one who is very susceptible to Guilty Pleasures of the Cinematic kind. I love movies and I imagine I always will. I'm afraid this is yet another situation in which my imperviously positive attitude fails to serve me so well as to give me an aire of culture. What can I say? I'm eager to be pleased. Such is obviously the case when it comes to my first Guilty Pleasure.
The Pest.
This movie, starring the hyperactive comedian, John Leguizamo, is quite possibly the worst, most idiotic rip-off/spoof ever inflicted upon celluloid. -That's assuming it actually was realeased into theatres. I'm not optomistic. The humor in this movie is slap-stick, base, vile, disgusting and absolutetly nothing is out-of-bounds. And I loved it. I'll admit it, I own this movie. And yes, I'm ashamed of it. If you've ever seen my DVD collection, you might have noticed that many times its the one placed backwards, or away from the others.
Sigh.
Dungeons & Dragons
Yes, yes, yes. I am the biggest geek alive. I play Dungeons & Dragons. It started when I was a geeky adolescent. And seeing as how my voice still cracks, I see no reason why I should now stop. I took a looooooooooooong break from it. I hadn't played since I turned 15, but this year, when a few residents mentioned it to me, I must admit I was intrigued and let it be known that I had played before. We only played a few times and I loved it. We had a blast! There were 6 of us, dressed in Abercrombie and Baylor Athletic sweats, playing the roles of our characters. I, of course, was the mischievious Rogue, constantly picking the pocket of our unsuspecting Palladin and then offering to take him out for a drink after this mission was over.
Escapism at its best; and to be honest, exactly what my soul needed. It was fun to be someone else, untethered by expectations of what I'm supposed to be and represent for the purposes of the Department and University. It offered nothing more than a short respite, so I never felt guilty of abandoning my post.
So while you may laugh at me for being a geek. I'll just have fun "firing Magic Missile at the Darkness" while a friend asks if there's any hot chicks in the tavern... because he want's to "doooo them!"
Newlyweds
This is the one tv show on earth to which I am completly and utterly addicted. I love this show and, as completely pathetic as it sounds, I think I've developed something of a genuine admiration for Mr. and Mrs. Nick Lachey. (For those of you living under rocks, Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson, both Pop singers are newlyweds and have their own reality show on MTV.)
I love watching the genuineness of Nick and Jessica's relationship. She is genuinely kind of dumb, in the very sweetest and good-hearted kind way. And Nick seems to posess the nearly endless reserves of patience that can only be sustained by a real and enduring Love.
While I cannot help but admit that Jessica is gorgeous, I must say that the one on the show that keeps me coming back is Nick Lachey. Call it a man-crush or whatever, I have a deep admiration for anyone who can so love such a woman as Jessica Simpson so unconditionally even though her carreer seems to be taking off while his is becoming stagnant. Tough issues for a guy. Their love and candor are what makes this show the single redeeming star in the reality religion that has swept our television networks.
Singing
I love to sing. It is sincerely one of my very favorite things to do. I sing in the shower. I sing while I work. I sing when I'm happy and I sing when I'm sad... and I sing when I'm bored. Oh, and when I say I sing, I don't mean it in the sweet little lovey-dovey bluebird-on-my-shoulder type of way, either. I am usually belting that crap out. Hard-core.
All of that being said, I don't want to give the idea that I'm that good, or that I take myself seriously. I'm not, and I don't. I know I'm pretty alright. My mom has a beautiful voice and my dad can carry a tune around a campfire at least. So any talent I have, I come by it naturally.
But, I am a little squeamish about it. Okay I'm way squeamish about it. I don't really like to sing in front of people that much. Yes, I had the lead in "Yankee Doodle". And yes, I sang the solo parts for Perfect Gentlemen in High School. But those were different. We practiced for hours and hours and hours for both of those things. And I was always accompanied or singing harmony. Totally different.
One on one, though. It can be a little awkward. I've made situations totally weird because I couldn't or wouldn't sing. To me, its just something I don't like to share with just anyone. I like to think and pray about it. Its something I do with such emotion and the way I sing usually requires such confidence that, should anyone shoot me down in my attempt, it would hurt badly.
But I do love to sing, and sing loud. Especially when I'm by myself. Its truly a Guilty Pleasure of mine.
Sharing is Caring my friends.
Monday, July 12, 2004
My own personal Mary Jane Watson...
I am a Comic book nerd.
I realize that's news to few, but I feel I should say it aloud... er type it, whatever. Y'know what? I'm going to drag my brother into this too. Bennie-hanna, you're a comic book nerd, too. (I'm imagining him raising a defiant fist, and lowering his head). (actually, strike that. If I know Ben, he'd probably just shrug)
Fight the power, Bennie. Fight the power.
I saw Spider-Man 2 for the second time with April the other day. I loved it just as much the second time as I did the first. Even if my friend couldn't stop hitting on me the entire time...
I was struck by the love story. Here we have Peter Parker. Spider-Man. He's sacrificing everything he's ever wanted because he has some kind of "Survivor's Guilt" complex and genuinely cares about people and knows he can help. Its killing him.
In comes "The Girl". Mary Jane Watson is basically the perfect woman. Incredibly intelligent, gorgeous, strong, hard-willed, confident, has a hold on her baggage, devoted to her best friend (despite himself) and she needs to be saved at least twice a movie. Oh, and she calls her man "Tiger". (My brother and I were able to realize, even in the midst of our "Kootie Insurance Sales Push", that was something we wanted a woman to do for us... then we'd have to pull her hair or something.
Spider-Man has had to save Mary Jane Watson countless times from one costumed "baddy" after another. But the ironic thing is that she is actually what has been sustaining him throughout his soul-draining hardships. The damsel saves the hero. Do you think that Dudley Do-Right ever realized that his existence was actually being continued by Nell?
And yet MJ loves and adores Peter Parker, not Spider-Man.
Its the weakling, inept nerd that catches her eye, not the muscle-bound do-gooder with snappy replies and come-backs in the midst of life-threatening battle. It was the zero in the hero that held worth for her.
Mary Jane Watson has affected my female ideal in a very real way. I know it sounds preposterous, but I'm serious as a Tumor. (I can say that, other people can't)
I've realized that there's more to a woman than how she looks or even how she makes me feel. There's real crap that needs to be discussed.
Being "elegant" is so much more important to me than being "beautiful". The former can produce the latter, but not the other way around.
I've mentioned the "Tiger" thing.
What about things like "I can't stand polish sausage or sauerkraut"? How many times have we had a girl/boyfriend that is of like mind/political views, is good looking, correct approximate height, only to have little differences that just really suck?
I'm not sure I could handle a girl who couldn't stand sauerkraut. Or my mom's Galumpke's (Stuffed Cabbage).
I like to smoke a pipe and have a Newcastle Brown Ale. I really like that. Truly one of my favorite things to do is just sit outside on a porch, sip a fine ale and puff from my Peterson Pipe that Dave got me. It'd be nice to have a girl who might sit on the swing with me. Her legs over my lap, reading a book about philosophy or something just enjoying being near each other.
Man, it'd be nice to be with someone for whom uncomfortable silences aren't.
Mary Jane is Peter's conscience. His outlet to all things good in the world. She is his partner. She knows there's nothing to two of them couldn't do, no bad-guy too bad, no problem too tall.
I want to be someone's hero. I want to be the greatest man in the world to someone. A knight in shining armor.
I want someone who, will save me by letting me save them.
But until that day comes, should it ever, I'll be content knowing my Mary Jane is out there somewhere. I can wait. It's cool. I'll just work on shining my armor.
I realize that's news to few, but I feel I should say it aloud... er type it, whatever. Y'know what? I'm going to drag my brother into this too. Bennie-hanna, you're a comic book nerd, too. (I'm imagining him raising a defiant fist, and lowering his head). (actually, strike that. If I know Ben, he'd probably just shrug)
Fight the power, Bennie. Fight the power.
I saw Spider-Man 2 for the second time with April the other day. I loved it just as much the second time as I did the first. Even if my friend couldn't stop hitting on me the entire time...
I was struck by the love story. Here we have Peter Parker. Spider-Man. He's sacrificing everything he's ever wanted because he has some kind of "Survivor's Guilt" complex and genuinely cares about people and knows he can help. Its killing him.
In comes "The Girl". Mary Jane Watson is basically the perfect woman. Incredibly intelligent, gorgeous, strong, hard-willed, confident, has a hold on her baggage, devoted to her best friend (despite himself) and she needs to be saved at least twice a movie. Oh, and she calls her man "Tiger". (My brother and I were able to realize, even in the midst of our "Kootie Insurance Sales Push", that was something we wanted a woman to do for us... then we'd have to pull her hair or something.
Spider-Man has had to save Mary Jane Watson countless times from one costumed "baddy" after another. But the ironic thing is that she is actually what has been sustaining him throughout his soul-draining hardships. The damsel saves the hero. Do you think that Dudley Do-Right ever realized that his existence was actually being continued by Nell?
And yet MJ loves and adores Peter Parker, not Spider-Man.
Its the weakling, inept nerd that catches her eye, not the muscle-bound do-gooder with snappy replies and come-backs in the midst of life-threatening battle. It was the zero in the hero that held worth for her.
Mary Jane Watson has affected my female ideal in a very real way. I know it sounds preposterous, but I'm serious as a Tumor. (I can say that, other people can't)
I've realized that there's more to a woman than how she looks or even how she makes me feel. There's real crap that needs to be discussed.
Being "elegant" is so much more important to me than being "beautiful". The former can produce the latter, but not the other way around.
I've mentioned the "Tiger" thing.
What about things like "I can't stand polish sausage or sauerkraut"? How many times have we had a girl/boyfriend that is of like mind/political views, is good looking, correct approximate height, only to have little differences that just really suck?
I'm not sure I could handle a girl who couldn't stand sauerkraut. Or my mom's Galumpke's (Stuffed Cabbage).
I like to smoke a pipe and have a Newcastle Brown Ale. I really like that. Truly one of my favorite things to do is just sit outside on a porch, sip a fine ale and puff from my Peterson Pipe that Dave got me. It'd be nice to have a girl who might sit on the swing with me. Her legs over my lap, reading a book about philosophy or something just enjoying being near each other.
Man, it'd be nice to be with someone for whom uncomfortable silences aren't.
Mary Jane is Peter's conscience. His outlet to all things good in the world. She is his partner. She knows there's nothing to two of them couldn't do, no bad-guy too bad, no problem too tall.
I want to be someone's hero. I want to be the greatest man in the world to someone. A knight in shining armor.
I want someone who, will save me by letting me save them.
But until that day comes, should it ever, I'll be content knowing my Mary Jane is out there somewhere. I can wait. It's cool. I'll just work on shining my armor.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
The Peripherals of Love...
Love is such a simple action. Like the song says: "Birds do it. Bees do it. Even educated fleas do it...." Everyone can do it; from the most affectionate child to the Grinch, heart filled with hate and all. I believe love to be the one universal thing. The one thing everyone/person/thing has felt.
Well, you'll excuse the Yogi Berra-ness of this rhetorical question, but: If love is so simple, then why in the heck is it so complicated?
Because there are more things to be negotiated than just "guy meets girl."
Because on the roads that represent our lives, there are many an "unmarked intersection." Everything is not black and white. Everyone doesn't wear their hearts on their sleeves.
I was thinking about this all tonight as I was talking with a friend. She is currently struggling with whether or not she should let the guy she likes know of her feelings. Sitting from a vantage point that offers complete personal emotional safety, I told her exactly what every friend in the same position would say: "go for it". She and I danced the same dance many friends have danced before of "well I know I should do 'blank' but these reasons are why I just don't know about doing 'blank'."
My friend's main excuse was the tried and true: "I just don't know if I have the confidence right now". And I guess that's where I saw how I'm different from most people. Confidence has never been my problem.
When I decide there is someone with whom I'm interested in pursuing a relationship, the thing I'm most motivated by is my desire to love that person in a deeper way. That pretty much goes across the board from friendships to romantic relationships.
I guess that sounds kind of selfish.
But this is what I told her "[friend], you're a wonderful person. You will find love. If its this guy, then its this guy. If you get rejected, its nothing more than one more name you can cross off the lists of possibilities. Your future of happiness does not rest in this man, but in following the Lord. If you trust he will provide, even if its later than sooner."
That attitude is one that tempts me to randomly walk up to girls and ask them what they think. I'm not even kidding. So badly do I wish I know exactly with whom I'll be spending the rest of my life serving.
She countered with worries about how she didn't know if he's interested or not. I'm not a huge fan of that. Someone finding you attractive almost always makes that person more attractive to you. Even if its in but the smallest degree. People always love their fans. And I don't want my potential feelings for someone to be tainted by the temptations of a "pie on the windowsill."
If there's a fear at all involved with me wondering if I should tell someone how I feel, it usually comes out of "what will happen if I don't say something?" This one gets me into trouble. I'm so afraid that I'm going to say something motivated out of "what if's" as opposed to "I need to know this." I usually think and pray and go through a lot of trouble to get to know a person so that I can better discern the nature of my emotional attachment to them.
I guess I hide behind that a lot, too. I use my confusion in this area as an excuse for inaction. I'm afraid more than one possible meaningful relationship has fallen prey to such a convenient quiescence of cause.
Even recently, I've let myself balk at letting someone know how I feel on the grounds of not knowing if my feelings for that person would merit the words I know I would speak. She deserves only the best. I'd never see her with less.
So what should we do?
"If you come to a fork in the road... take it." - Yogi Berra
No one has said it better.
Well, you'll excuse the Yogi Berra-ness of this rhetorical question, but: If love is so simple, then why in the heck is it so complicated?
Because there are more things to be negotiated than just "guy meets girl."
Because on the roads that represent our lives, there are many an "unmarked intersection." Everything is not black and white. Everyone doesn't wear their hearts on their sleeves.
I was thinking about this all tonight as I was talking with a friend. She is currently struggling with whether or not she should let the guy she likes know of her feelings. Sitting from a vantage point that offers complete personal emotional safety, I told her exactly what every friend in the same position would say: "go for it". She and I danced the same dance many friends have danced before of "well I know I should do 'blank' but these reasons are why I just don't know about doing 'blank'."
My friend's main excuse was the tried and true: "I just don't know if I have the confidence right now". And I guess that's where I saw how I'm different from most people. Confidence has never been my problem.
When I decide there is someone with whom I'm interested in pursuing a relationship, the thing I'm most motivated by is my desire to love that person in a deeper way. That pretty much goes across the board from friendships to romantic relationships.
I guess that sounds kind of selfish.
But this is what I told her "[friend], you're a wonderful person. You will find love. If its this guy, then its this guy. If you get rejected, its nothing more than one more name you can cross off the lists of possibilities. Your future of happiness does not rest in this man, but in following the Lord. If you trust he will provide, even if its later than sooner."
That attitude is one that tempts me to randomly walk up to girls and ask them what they think. I'm not even kidding. So badly do I wish I know exactly with whom I'll be spending the rest of my life serving.
She countered with worries about how she didn't know if he's interested or not. I'm not a huge fan of that. Someone finding you attractive almost always makes that person more attractive to you. Even if its in but the smallest degree. People always love their fans. And I don't want my potential feelings for someone to be tainted by the temptations of a "pie on the windowsill."
If there's a fear at all involved with me wondering if I should tell someone how I feel, it usually comes out of "what will happen if I don't say something?" This one gets me into trouble. I'm so afraid that I'm going to say something motivated out of "what if's" as opposed to "I need to know this." I usually think and pray and go through a lot of trouble to get to know a person so that I can better discern the nature of my emotional attachment to them.
I guess I hide behind that a lot, too. I use my confusion in this area as an excuse for inaction. I'm afraid more than one possible meaningful relationship has fallen prey to such a convenient quiescence of cause.
Even recently, I've let myself balk at letting someone know how I feel on the grounds of not knowing if my feelings for that person would merit the words I know I would speak. She deserves only the best. I'd never see her with less.
So what should we do?
"If you come to a fork in the road... take it." - Yogi Berra
No one has said it better.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Okay, so this is how it happened...
So I'm in Washington D.C. Black Tie event. $1000 a plate. 15 minutes ago I shook hands with Kenny G, one of the night's performers.
5 minutes ago I got the "wink and the gun" from Ed McMahon. Earlier in the day we bonded over brunch. He told me how he met his wife as we dined on poached eggs and fresh fruit.
I see Bob Dole across the room.
At lunch that day I ate lobster, scallops and caviar with Clarence Thomas, Wayne Huizenga (owner of the Florida Marlins, Miami Dolphins and Pro Player Stadium) and a killer blonde to whom I was extremely attracted.
And I have just given a short speech of a lifetime. Life is good.
Then I see Colon Powell making his way over in my direction. We shake hands. I'm sure he said something, but for the life of me, I cannot remember. I only remember my roommate and fellow Scholar, Patrick, telling me I'm a lucky... well for my mother's sake, I'll skip the particulars...
Life is great.
Then, as if God were trying to remind me that my life is a comedy, I see a woman walk by me nearly falling out of her dress. Which was a bad thing since she was like 70. I made a face. And might have made a little comment beneath my breath. I hear a giggle and I turn behind me to see a stately looking woman laughing at me and only laughing all the harder when she sees me begin to blush as I realized the degree to which I was "busted".
Well, I've never been one to back down from an audience so I quickly rationalized, verbally, my earlier statement as only I could: "Well, its a $1000 dollar-a-plate meal, you think she could wear a whole dress."
More with the laughing.
"How many of my Grandmother's curtains had to die for her to wear that dress?"
I use laughing from this comment to move in and go for my forte, flirting with older women.
Once again, for my own sake, I'll spare you the exact particulars. But I can assure you I chose from some of my many lines I've honed from years of working in a Drug Store where 70% of the clientele is Senior Citizen women buying medicine in the hopes of making them feel better. Life is so much easier for everyone involved when one intrepid enough is willing to ask Mrs. Meckimson when exactly she is going to run away with him. The look of surprise as it melts into a smile and laugh is still music to the ears of this young former employee of Arnell Drug Co.
So, we're flirting... okay, I'm flirting when Mr. Soon-to-be-Secretary-of-State Colon Powell begins to leave. All of a sudden the my "bull-o-meter" begins to go off and I know that no one is going to believe this happened. So I say, "man, I wished I would have gotten a picture."
My heart instantly deflates as I realize there is no way I'm going to be able to fight through the other Scholars to get to him. As my shoulders drop, the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention when the woman to whom I've been speaking grabs my arm and yells "Colon! Honey!"
The next few moments blur a little and I'm not sure exactly how to describe it but only as my head felt as though it was Gumball rolling down one of those swirly dispensers you see in Wal-Mart. I do remember reaching for a fork as Mrs. Colon Powell dragged my by my arm, laughing as my cheeks flushed crimson, towards her husband and a slew of photographers. Ah, but if only the shrimp fork I snagged were sharp enough to slit these mortified wrists of mine! Sweet dagger! Find thy sheath in the jugular of this tortured soul!
Alas, I had to "deal with my media" as a million lightbulbs flashed when Mr. Colon Powell and I shook hands.
Alma Powell waved to me as she and her husband walked back to her table. I could only think to thank God for humbling me and once again, reminding me who really brings the funny.
True Story.
5 minutes ago I got the "wink and the gun" from Ed McMahon. Earlier in the day we bonded over brunch. He told me how he met his wife as we dined on poached eggs and fresh fruit.
I see Bob Dole across the room.
At lunch that day I ate lobster, scallops and caviar with Clarence Thomas, Wayne Huizenga (owner of the Florida Marlins, Miami Dolphins and Pro Player Stadium) and a killer blonde to whom I was extremely attracted.
And I have just given a short speech of a lifetime. Life is good.
Then I see Colon Powell making his way over in my direction. We shake hands. I'm sure he said something, but for the life of me, I cannot remember. I only remember my roommate and fellow Scholar, Patrick, telling me I'm a lucky... well for my mother's sake, I'll skip the particulars...
Life is great.
Then, as if God were trying to remind me that my life is a comedy, I see a woman walk by me nearly falling out of her dress. Which was a bad thing since she was like 70. I made a face. And might have made a little comment beneath my breath. I hear a giggle and I turn behind me to see a stately looking woman laughing at me and only laughing all the harder when she sees me begin to blush as I realized the degree to which I was "busted".
Well, I've never been one to back down from an audience so I quickly rationalized, verbally, my earlier statement as only I could: "Well, its a $1000 dollar-a-plate meal, you think she could wear a whole dress."
More with the laughing.
"How many of my Grandmother's curtains had to die for her to wear that dress?"
I use laughing from this comment to move in and go for my forte, flirting with older women.
Once again, for my own sake, I'll spare you the exact particulars. But I can assure you I chose from some of my many lines I've honed from years of working in a Drug Store where 70% of the clientele is Senior Citizen women buying medicine in the hopes of making them feel better. Life is so much easier for everyone involved when one intrepid enough is willing to ask Mrs. Meckimson when exactly she is going to run away with him. The look of surprise as it melts into a smile and laugh is still music to the ears of this young former employee of Arnell Drug Co.
So, we're flirting... okay, I'm flirting when Mr. Soon-to-be-Secretary-of-State Colon Powell begins to leave. All of a sudden the my "bull-o-meter" begins to go off and I know that no one is going to believe this happened. So I say, "man, I wished I would have gotten a picture."
My heart instantly deflates as I realize there is no way I'm going to be able to fight through the other Scholars to get to him. As my shoulders drop, the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention when the woman to whom I've been speaking grabs my arm and yells "Colon! Honey!"
The next few moments blur a little and I'm not sure exactly how to describe it but only as my head felt as though it was Gumball rolling down one of those swirly dispensers you see in Wal-Mart. I do remember reaching for a fork as Mrs. Colon Powell dragged my by my arm, laughing as my cheeks flushed crimson, towards her husband and a slew of photographers. Ah, but if only the shrimp fork I snagged were sharp enough to slit these mortified wrists of mine! Sweet dagger! Find thy sheath in the jugular of this tortured soul!
Alas, I had to "deal with my media" as a million lightbulbs flashed when Mr. Colon Powell and I shook hands.
Alma Powell waved to me as she and her husband walked back to her table. I could only think to thank God for humbling me and once again, reminding me who really brings the funny.
True Story.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
Moments lost
Anyone who says they don't have regrets is more than just ignorant. They're a fool. We all have things we wished we would have done. We've all gone out on the date that made us wish we would have "been washing our hair". We've all gotten that haircut that looked really cool in the magazine, but just didn't quite work well with our bone structure.
Everyone reading this has, at one point of time or another, grooved to New Kids On The Block.
Yes, we all have things we wished we wouldn't have done. But today, I was wondering about the things that we wish we would have done. Things like investigating whether that cute Pi Phi in your chem lab was flirting with you when she always asked to borrow your lab notes. Or what would have happened if you would have tried out for the baseball team at your new school? What would have happened?
But even more specifically, I've been thinking about those points in time where lives intersect. Like those moments where you could have done something that could have affected people or a situation. We've all been in situations where we're at the edge of a cliff. You can jump, you can run away. Or perhaps a better analogy for the situation would be to consider it a Bomb. Its just that volatile. You can excite it or snuff out the fuse.
Here's a for instance: Lady and the Tramp eating spaghetti. Tramp decided not to take that exact moment to put the move on Lady. He didn't. Now if you forget the rest of the story, would you have wondered how things might have gone differently in that situation if he'd played ball in that moment? Do you think Tramp would have ever wished back in frustration?
Everyone has situations like that. Times where, in retrospect, you wish you would've had the gusto to grab that bomb and light the damn fuse and to hell with the consequences?
I remember the first time I ever had a girl tell me she loved me. (Other than family, of course.) I completely blew it, man. I have no doubt she meant it. It was just so unexpected because she was usually so emotionally unavailable. (A trend in ex and most likely future ex-girlfriends that continues today). And then you have me, love first and ask questions later. The glancing comment hit me like a 2x4 to the skull. I'm told that a train running break-neck can be thrown by a penny on the track. Such was the case in that lost moment. I blew it and said something stupid. It haunts me still today.
I try my best not to let my lost moments punish me, but to make them experiences to learn from. Testimonies of "what could have been". It just kind of sucks when I think of how their number seems to grow.
Yeah, so not much of a point. Just typing to hear the sounds of the keys.
Check out Punjabi MC. He owns.
Everyone reading this has, at one point of time or another, grooved to New Kids On The Block.
Yes, we all have things we wished we wouldn't have done. But today, I was wondering about the things that we wish we would have done. Things like investigating whether that cute Pi Phi in your chem lab was flirting with you when she always asked to borrow your lab notes. Or what would have happened if you would have tried out for the baseball team at your new school? What would have happened?
But even more specifically, I've been thinking about those points in time where lives intersect. Like those moments where you could have done something that could have affected people or a situation. We've all been in situations where we're at the edge of a cliff. You can jump, you can run away. Or perhaps a better analogy for the situation would be to consider it a Bomb. Its just that volatile. You can excite it or snuff out the fuse.
Here's a for instance: Lady and the Tramp eating spaghetti. Tramp decided not to take that exact moment to put the move on Lady. He didn't. Now if you forget the rest of the story, would you have wondered how things might have gone differently in that situation if he'd played ball in that moment? Do you think Tramp would have ever wished back in frustration?
Everyone has situations like that. Times where, in retrospect, you wish you would've had the gusto to grab that bomb and light the damn fuse and to hell with the consequences?
I remember the first time I ever had a girl tell me she loved me. (Other than family, of course.) I completely blew it, man. I have no doubt she meant it. It was just so unexpected because she was usually so emotionally unavailable. (A trend in ex and most likely future ex-girlfriends that continues today). And then you have me, love first and ask questions later. The glancing comment hit me like a 2x4 to the skull. I'm told that a train running break-neck can be thrown by a penny on the track. Such was the case in that lost moment. I blew it and said something stupid. It haunts me still today.
I try my best not to let my lost moments punish me, but to make them experiences to learn from. Testimonies of "what could have been". It just kind of sucks when I think of how their number seems to grow.
Yeah, so not much of a point. Just typing to hear the sounds of the keys.
Check out Punjabi MC. He owns.
Sunday, July 04, 2004
A prince or a frog?
I was about to go to bed when I decided that maybe listening to Coldplay loudly wouldn't exactly be conducive to a good night of sleep.
Well anyways, as I was about to type in the "alt F4" to end out the winamp function on my computer, thus halting the "Ooooooooh yeah" in "Daylight", I noticed my MSN messenger popping up with a "jessicabozarth.blogspot.com". I was intrigued, so I checked it out.
Her latest blog was about kissing.
Man, that is so girly. If I was forced to come up with a list of things that a girl would be most likely to blog about, that would be like number 2.5. No crap.
I'm actually surpised I hadn't apostolized upon the subject.
The basic thrust about her blog was basically a "what if this (blank) was the one of my prince charming" type of thing. A basic girl blog stand-by.
She talked about kisses for the whole thing. And strangely enough, I found it interesting. Although I'd expect nothing less from Jessica.
So anyway, for the interesting stuff. Like how I feel about kissing.
I think I'm a pretty good kisser, actually. As a matter of fact, I've even had an ex-girlfriend say as much to another girl who, quite rudely I might add, asked me point blank if I was any good. Like I would know. But much to my surpise, I was given a highly favorable rating.
That ex-girlfriend hasn't said a nice thing about me to another girl that I've admitted I might be interested in, ever. At least, not that she or I know of.
I remember my first kiss. I was a junior in High School and was actually not even expecting it. I was more sort of hoping for a peck on the lips. I'd never even had that much.
I just remember being shocked as I moved in, (I had asked permission, of course) only to find a gaping, saliva-rimmed hole surrounding the entirety of my mouth. I swear my eyes would have shot wide-open if they had been any less clamped shut from shear nervousness.
Ah, the whiles of dating an older girl.
You know, when I stop to think about it, I hate myself more when I think of how I've even kissed more than one girl than I do at any other time in my life. I honestly wish to God that I could say that I've only kissed but one girl in my life.
I hate the idea of having any background knowledge as to kisses. I hate the idea that the idea of how well any girl kisses as compared to another might cross my mind. I despise it.
But that being said. I love to kiss. I'm a kisser. My family has always been a very affectionate family. To this day, I still kiss all of my immediate family members upon the lips every once in a while, when pains of distance hurt most. I remember the last time I kissed my father on the lips.
I kiss some of my dearest friends on the head every once in a while. Okay, I rarely do it to my male friends, but that's mostly because they'd freak. Damn Texan homophobes.
When it comes to girls... I'm more than slightly ashamed of how many girls I've kissed in my life. I never go "past" that. But I do sincerely love to kiss. I do'nt know what it is about having a hand upon the side of an angelic face, guiding someone I feel so incredibly close to into a long, meaningful kiss that gets my heart beating just to think about it. The sociologist in me might want to postulate that it has something to do with exposing such vulnerablility that excites me so. And the nerd part of me would find that fascinating.
However, the romantic part of me wants to think that, if only for a moment, I'm joined with someone else beyond words. The dance that is a kiss can tell you so much about a person.
All of that being said, I should let anyone reading this know that I am not someone who kisses lightly. I never kiss on the first date. Hell, I rarely even kiss on the second date.
Most of the time I ask permission. No crap.
Sometimes she makes the move. As a matter of fact, most of the time she makes the first move. But then again, I have definitely been the first one to tip my hand.
I think the best kiss I've ever had was completely unannounced. Just like some stupid movie. The moment was just right and as a result, is forever chrystalized in my memory. I guess I don't have to be proud of something like that to appreciate it.
My knees still get weak.
Did you know that according to a Stanford Survey, men place approximately twice as much importance on the first kiss as the average woman? Of course, they also place about half the emotional importance upon the first time of intercourse, but that's another blog.
Well anyways, as I was about to type in the "alt F4" to end out the winamp function on my computer, thus halting the "Ooooooooh yeah" in "Daylight", I noticed my MSN messenger popping up with a "jessicabozarth.blogspot.com". I was intrigued, so I checked it out.
Her latest blog was about kissing.
Man, that is so girly. If I was forced to come up with a list of things that a girl would be most likely to blog about, that would be like number 2.5. No crap.
I'm actually surpised I hadn't apostolized upon the subject.
The basic thrust about her blog was basically a "what if this (blank) was the one of my prince charming" type of thing. A basic girl blog stand-by.
She talked about kisses for the whole thing. And strangely enough, I found it interesting. Although I'd expect nothing less from Jessica.
So anyway, for the interesting stuff. Like how I feel about kissing.
I think I'm a pretty good kisser, actually. As a matter of fact, I've even had an ex-girlfriend say as much to another girl who, quite rudely I might add, asked me point blank if I was any good. Like I would know. But much to my surpise, I was given a highly favorable rating.
That ex-girlfriend hasn't said a nice thing about me to another girl that I've admitted I might be interested in, ever. At least, not that she or I know of.
I remember my first kiss. I was a junior in High School and was actually not even expecting it. I was more sort of hoping for a peck on the lips. I'd never even had that much.
I just remember being shocked as I moved in, (I had asked permission, of course) only to find a gaping, saliva-rimmed hole surrounding the entirety of my mouth. I swear my eyes would have shot wide-open if they had been any less clamped shut from shear nervousness.
Ah, the whiles of dating an older girl.
You know, when I stop to think about it, I hate myself more when I think of how I've even kissed more than one girl than I do at any other time in my life. I honestly wish to God that I could say that I've only kissed but one girl in my life.
I hate the idea of having any background knowledge as to kisses. I hate the idea that the idea of how well any girl kisses as compared to another might cross my mind. I despise it.
But that being said. I love to kiss. I'm a kisser. My family has always been a very affectionate family. To this day, I still kiss all of my immediate family members upon the lips every once in a while, when pains of distance hurt most. I remember the last time I kissed my father on the lips.
I kiss some of my dearest friends on the head every once in a while. Okay, I rarely do it to my male friends, but that's mostly because they'd freak. Damn Texan homophobes.
When it comes to girls... I'm more than slightly ashamed of how many girls I've kissed in my life. I never go "past" that. But I do sincerely love to kiss. I do'nt know what it is about having a hand upon the side of an angelic face, guiding someone I feel so incredibly close to into a long, meaningful kiss that gets my heart beating just to think about it. The sociologist in me might want to postulate that it has something to do with exposing such vulnerablility that excites me so. And the nerd part of me would find that fascinating.
However, the romantic part of me wants to think that, if only for a moment, I'm joined with someone else beyond words. The dance that is a kiss can tell you so much about a person.
All of that being said, I should let anyone reading this know that I am not someone who kisses lightly. I never kiss on the first date. Hell, I rarely even kiss on the second date.
Most of the time I ask permission. No crap.
Sometimes she makes the move. As a matter of fact, most of the time she makes the first move. But then again, I have definitely been the first one to tip my hand.
I think the best kiss I've ever had was completely unannounced. Just like some stupid movie. The moment was just right and as a result, is forever chrystalized in my memory. I guess I don't have to be proud of something like that to appreciate it.
My knees still get weak.
Did you know that according to a Stanford Survey, men place approximately twice as much importance on the first kiss as the average woman? Of course, they also place about half the emotional importance upon the first time of intercourse, but that's another blog.
Friday, July 02, 2004
Sometimes its actually okay when your baggage gets lost...
Maybe its a delayed spring thing. Maybe its hormones. Maybe its the fact that I lost the remote for the digital cable and as a result had to watch Lifetime television for 4 hours the other day. For whatever reason, I'm beginning to think about "love".
For the first time in a loooooong time, I'm not thinking about love in the "sell your crazy someplace else, buddy. We're full up, here" type of way. Every time a girl flirts with me, (and yes, it happens) I've begun to stop mentally whipping myself for even thinking about being attracted. Though I doubt I'll ever stop being surprised. ;)
I've begun to stop avoiding movies whose plot obviously revolves around romance. I've watched a couple of my own chick-flicks and hell, I've even told myself I'd go see "the notebook" the first time an opportunity presents itself.
I woke up around 6 am this morning and couldn't sleep. So I went for a walk. It was a good chance for me to have a little quiet time and sort out some of the feelings that've been bouncing around in my head. I was just walking when I felt like talking to Jesus for a little while. So, I sat down on the steps in front of one of the most beautiful places on earth, Armstrong Browning Library to talk.
I don't know how it is. It makes no sense to anyone else. But when I talk to Jesus, its like I know what he's saying back to me. Or at least what he would say back to me. But anyway, I've begun to notice how lately, life has just gotten easier. Believe it or not, I laugh even more often now than I usually do.
Spending time with others has become not so hard, taxing. I even had a dream the other night I was writing a love-letter. For the life of me, I can't remember to whom it was addressed, or even if it was addressed to anyone in particular, but I remember meaning it.
I've rediscovered how much fun it is to make eye-contact with a beautiful woman. How even that fleeting glance makes that back of your eyeballs feel like they're going to explode. I've remembered how nice it is to share a knowing look with a very dear friend.
Lately, wine tastes sweeter. Compliments touch me more deeply. And the Ginger-Peach iced tea is so much cooler sliding down my throat.
Time passed with cousins I haven't seen in 3-4 years picks up as if it had been 3-4 days. And for the life of me the only reason why I can see that this has all come about is that I've simply let it.
All of my passions have become arroused as of late. I think the first time I really noticed this was during the Spider-Man 2 movie the other night with two of my best friends. Of course, we got two jerk-high schoolers behind us who didn't realize exactly how little their comments were welcome.
I found myself more and more strained to turn around and inform the two litle punks that I had actually paid to watch the movie, not listen to them make asses of themselves. If it had been only me and Dave in the movie theatre, I almost definitely would have. But, alas, I balked only because I didn't want to make a scene in front of my third friend.
Last night I began to see flashes of the entertainer I used to be. Not that I was really missing that guy, I was just glad to know I still had it in me.
I guess what I'm saying is, I think I've lost my baggage. Yeah, I got hurt pretty badly last summer. And I imagine it will never be pleasant to think about. But I think that maybe, the hurt is going away.
Or maybe sometimes like when my shoulder hurts, I'll stop noticing it after a while. Maybe its like that.
Alls I know is I'm not feeling so tethered. I've gained a bounce in my step. And more importantly, I'm beginning to think that maybe I'll stop worrying about who I can let in and out of my life and focus a little more on just living.
Maybe I'll find a girl. Maybe I won't. Hell, maybe I've already found her.
But whatever the case. I don't care. Either way, win or lose, the Cubbies and I are going to keep playing ball.
"The only thing better than playing a ball game today... is playing two! Lets play two!"- Ernie Banks (first player to be named MVP of a team with a losing record 58' Cubs)
For the first time in a loooooong time, I'm not thinking about love in the "sell your crazy someplace else, buddy. We're full up, here" type of way. Every time a girl flirts with me, (and yes, it happens) I've begun to stop mentally whipping myself for even thinking about being attracted. Though I doubt I'll ever stop being surprised. ;)
I've begun to stop avoiding movies whose plot obviously revolves around romance. I've watched a couple of my own chick-flicks and hell, I've even told myself I'd go see "the notebook" the first time an opportunity presents itself.
I woke up around 6 am this morning and couldn't sleep. So I went for a walk. It was a good chance for me to have a little quiet time and sort out some of the feelings that've been bouncing around in my head. I was just walking when I felt like talking to Jesus for a little while. So, I sat down on the steps in front of one of the most beautiful places on earth, Armstrong Browning Library to talk.
I don't know how it is. It makes no sense to anyone else. But when I talk to Jesus, its like I know what he's saying back to me. Or at least what he would say back to me. But anyway, I've begun to notice how lately, life has just gotten easier. Believe it or not, I laugh even more often now than I usually do.
Spending time with others has become not so hard, taxing. I even had a dream the other night I was writing a love-letter. For the life of me, I can't remember to whom it was addressed, or even if it was addressed to anyone in particular, but I remember meaning it.
I've rediscovered how much fun it is to make eye-contact with a beautiful woman. How even that fleeting glance makes that back of your eyeballs feel like they're going to explode. I've remembered how nice it is to share a knowing look with a very dear friend.
Lately, wine tastes sweeter. Compliments touch me more deeply. And the Ginger-Peach iced tea is so much cooler sliding down my throat.
Time passed with cousins I haven't seen in 3-4 years picks up as if it had been 3-4 days. And for the life of me the only reason why I can see that this has all come about is that I've simply let it.
All of my passions have become arroused as of late. I think the first time I really noticed this was during the Spider-Man 2 movie the other night with two of my best friends. Of course, we got two jerk-high schoolers behind us who didn't realize exactly how little their comments were welcome.
I found myself more and more strained to turn around and inform the two litle punks that I had actually paid to watch the movie, not listen to them make asses of themselves. If it had been only me and Dave in the movie theatre, I almost definitely would have. But, alas, I balked only because I didn't want to make a scene in front of my third friend.
Last night I began to see flashes of the entertainer I used to be. Not that I was really missing that guy, I was just glad to know I still had it in me.
I guess what I'm saying is, I think I've lost my baggage. Yeah, I got hurt pretty badly last summer. And I imagine it will never be pleasant to think about. But I think that maybe, the hurt is going away.
Or maybe sometimes like when my shoulder hurts, I'll stop noticing it after a while. Maybe its like that.
Alls I know is I'm not feeling so tethered. I've gained a bounce in my step. And more importantly, I'm beginning to think that maybe I'll stop worrying about who I can let in and out of my life and focus a little more on just living.
Maybe I'll find a girl. Maybe I won't. Hell, maybe I've already found her.
But whatever the case. I don't care. Either way, win or lose, the Cubbies and I are going to keep playing ball.
"The only thing better than playing a ball game today... is playing two! Lets play two!"- Ernie Banks (first player to be named MVP of a team with a losing record 58' Cubs)
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