Original entry drafted 6/26/05, edited slightly 6/3/06:
A few weeks ago, mid-sentence, during a instant messenger conversation, Ben told me that Charlie (his roommate, and our mutual friend) was wearing a T-shirt that read: "Gay, Fine By Me". I immediately said, "what does that mean? Charlie isn't a complete asshole?" and Ben confered, "I guess so." He really should have said, "I guess ... not?"
I am offended for my fellow human beings. Can we be so stupid that we have to come up with gay rights campaigns (for straight people) that praise people for giving basic equal rights to gays? Oh, but wait, the campaign doesn't go so far as being pro-gay marriage or pro-gay family...this organization only goes so far as to say that Gay is Okay...
Sound familiar? Fine by you? Who cares what you think? Gay people...real gay people, the couple dozen I know in real life and not from the movies, don't want to be FINE in straight people's eyes. They want to be free to live their lives. Who doesn't? like all of us, they just want to be unique and in the same vain like everyone else.
Here in Oregon, our anti-gay marriage proposal was called 36. YES was a vote for a proposal that was poorly worded and meant gays could not be married. And I was shocked to see so many "YES on PROPOSAL 36" signs in my neighborhood. The YES campaign went with the simple "ONE MAN, ONE WOMAN" slogan...at first, even I thought the proposal was about poligamy...The first thing that crossed my mind was, "is someone proposing that ONE MAN should be with THREE WOMEN?"
I was even more shocked, amazed and uplifted to see that the "NO on proposal 36" campaign was coming at it so level-headedly. The TV commercials showed straight couples and families, saying, "I don't know how I feel about gay marriage, but I know Proposal 36 is poorly writen."
What does gay marriage threaten? Family? The families that already exist with two same-sex parents, without equal rights to their child? No, family values only serve the families that are practically extinct in our culture, the nuclear one mother, one father, two-point-five child homes. That isn't our America. It isn't our place to say if it should be, but I know it isn't right. Step-mother, step-fathers, half-children and grand-step-cousins-once removed, that is today's family. Children shouldn't be punished for the world they inhabit. And I do not mean that children should be punished for having gay parents. But instead, I mean children shouldn't be punished for their human parents short-commings and the close-minded settings of their community.
What does gay marriage threaten? Straight-marriage? I have had this conversatation a dozen times with my favorite Catholic Democrat Bartender, Glenn. Glenn is 50+ years old, he's been Catholic all of his life, married only 20 years of his life and worked at the same company over 25 years of those 50-plus, under 3 or more different owner/managers. Glenn is very educated and very political. He loves to stress both of these features. Glenn, like myself, doesn't feel gay marriage threatens what him and his wife hold as holy vows. He doesn't think a man marrying a man takes anything away from him, as a man, marrying a woman. He is very level-headed, hard-working, likes to drink and enjoy himself, and knows bullshit when he sees it.
What does gay marriage threaten? God? "It's against The Bible", being the most common response I can get from those so opposed. My response never falters, "Who are you to judge? Let them bring it up with God." If we all believe in The Bible and Judgement Day, and it actually turns out to be truth, we will all have to face our maker on the day of our demise. We will all have to account for the sins we have concured along the way...being gay and "acting upon" that gayness is no difference. Who are we to judge? God, did not put us here for that purpose. The great scripture states..."judge not lest ye be judged", "no one but God has the right". Jesus himself says, “Judge not, that we cannot judge." (Matthew 7:1). Let us all just stop playing God for a minute (in the form of the Father, Son or Holy Ghost) and let's try to live our own lives in the way of The Savior. Let us try to lead our own lives down a path of salvation and bring as many as will join us along. Jesus didn't want it and not even angry, vengeful New-Testimate God wanted us to live bullying and dragging people by their ears down the path of salvation.
I won't believe in a God who doesn't love all of his creatures.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
A Face Only A Mother Could Love
Kids are cute. There is no question that newborns are hideous and unbearably vulnerable. We all come into this world with the same life-skills, in other words none. We leave this world at different levels of achievement.
Newborns are only beautiful to their parents and close relatives. For the first year of life, when puking, pissing, eating, sleeping and shiting are the primary functions of human life, it is a biological fact that you must look like the person your parents love the most: be that themselves or their partner (depending on the co-dependancy level involved) or in the instance of adoption, guilt plays also plays into the equation.
We have all heard the expression, "He's got a face only a mother could love." This means, that left to his own devices out in the middle of wilderness this butt-ugly child couldn't defend, protect or survive on his own. Humans are very fragile creatures, being mammals, we need to be born into the world before our heads get to big (physically, but also psychologically) and way, way before we actual developed enough brain-power to support of ourselves.
My son, and I am not just saying this, is beautiful. He is photogenic, charming, strong and beautiful. He has a face (and personality) that not only a mother, father, step-cousin, friend-of-a-friend's brother's mother or stranger could love. The problem lies in his speech.
My son, speaks a language "only a mother can understand". I don't mean to be sexist, so I will clarify. Riley speaks a sincere combination of "sign", "English" and "baby-talk" that anyone who spends more than 5-hours-a-week with him could understand in context. That being about 2.3 people, no one understands what the hell he is saying besides his mother, father and an occational other adult now-and-then.
I began writing this entry a few weeks ago and since then Riley's speech has developed considerably. I started to write this entry about the phrases Riley uses and how he has seemed to skip right from infancy to teenagehood.
"'quit bug me" and "i say what mama say" are excellent examples of phrases that make me want to lock my child in his room. His phrases have become more complex and his parroting less severe. But the biggest break-through happened this weekend with the word "yo-yo".
You may or may not remember the yo-yo as a childhood toy that caused you either humiliation or a great sense of achievement. "Yo-yo" is also one of the first words that Riley began saying about 2 years ago, right along with "mama" and "dada".
How I have tried to solve the puzzle of this word, and yet for two years, this word has left me mystified. The problem with "yo-yo" is that Riley uses this words in a multitude of contexts and the contexts surrounding the word are misleading and contradicting. For example, Riley laughs and says, "YO-YO" when he his excited and happy. He also yells, "YO-YO" when you are reprimanding him and he wants you to stop. For a while I thought I had "yo-yo" figured out, when he seemed to be expressing "yo-yo" in place of "I don't know" when probed for an answer.
All this time, I thought it wasn't possible that he knew what a "yo-yo" toy was. Yesterday, on our back porch, Riley and I were having a water fight and he delightfully began saying "yo-yo" over and over. I sat him on my lap and said, what is "yo-yo", like I have done dozens of times before, not expecting an answer, when Riley looked me in the eye in disbelief that I could not understand this concept. "Up, down and all round", Riley said giving me a visual with his hands.
I was slightly taken a back. I don't believe he is talking about the toy "yo-yo", but the energy level, instead. Yo-yo is everything, the universe, his safe word, his chi, his zen, his meditative emptiness, it is all incompassing, "up, down and all around".
Newborns are only beautiful to their parents and close relatives. For the first year of life, when puking, pissing, eating, sleeping and shiting are the primary functions of human life, it is a biological fact that you must look like the person your parents love the most: be that themselves or their partner (depending on the co-dependancy level involved) or in the instance of adoption, guilt plays also plays into the equation.
We have all heard the expression, "He's got a face only a mother could love." This means, that left to his own devices out in the middle of wilderness this butt-ugly child couldn't defend, protect or survive on his own. Humans are very fragile creatures, being mammals, we need to be born into the world before our heads get to big (physically, but also psychologically) and way, way before we actual developed enough brain-power to support of ourselves.
My son, and I am not just saying this, is beautiful. He is photogenic, charming, strong and beautiful. He has a face (and personality) that not only a mother, father, step-cousin, friend-of-a-friend's brother's mother or stranger could love. The problem lies in his speech.
My son, speaks a language "only a mother can understand". I don't mean to be sexist, so I will clarify. Riley speaks a sincere combination of "sign", "English" and "baby-talk" that anyone who spends more than 5-hours-a-week with him could understand in context. That being about 2.3 people, no one understands what the hell he is saying besides his mother, father and an occational other adult now-and-then.
I began writing this entry a few weeks ago and since then Riley's speech has developed considerably. I started to write this entry about the phrases Riley uses and how he has seemed to skip right from infancy to teenagehood.
"'quit bug me" and "i say what mama say" are excellent examples of phrases that make me want to lock my child in his room. His phrases have become more complex and his parroting less severe. But the biggest break-through happened this weekend with the word "yo-yo".
You may or may not remember the yo-yo as a childhood toy that caused you either humiliation or a great sense of achievement. "Yo-yo" is also one of the first words that Riley began saying about 2 years ago, right along with "mama" and "dada".
How I have tried to solve the puzzle of this word, and yet for two years, this word has left me mystified. The problem with "yo-yo" is that Riley uses this words in a multitude of contexts and the contexts surrounding the word are misleading and contradicting. For example, Riley laughs and says, "YO-YO" when he his excited and happy. He also yells, "YO-YO" when you are reprimanding him and he wants you to stop. For a while I thought I had "yo-yo" figured out, when he seemed to be expressing "yo-yo" in place of "I don't know" when probed for an answer.
All this time, I thought it wasn't possible that he knew what a "yo-yo" toy was. Yesterday, on our back porch, Riley and I were having a water fight and he delightfully began saying "yo-yo" over and over. I sat him on my lap and said, what is "yo-yo", like I have done dozens of times before, not expecting an answer, when Riley looked me in the eye in disbelief that I could not understand this concept. "Up, down and all round", Riley said giving me a visual with his hands.
I was slightly taken a back. I don't believe he is talking about the toy "yo-yo", but the energy level, instead. Yo-yo is everything, the universe, his safe word, his chi, his zen, his meditative emptiness, it is all incompassing, "up, down and all around".
Saturday, April 29, 2006
iPod Generation
Upon moving to a "real" city, like Chicago, I immediately realized how popular mp3 players are. Call me naive, but I honestly had no idea.
Of course I have a medium size mp3 collection and I thought people mostly listened on the computers (while working on their computers) or burned CDs to take with them to parties or in the car. Of course, I knew that iPods and other mp3 player existed. I just didn't know that 90% of city commuters had one (or more) mp3 playing device(s) and that 95% of those were iPods.
I had no idea Apple was still thriving in the electronics business. No idea.
I've been commuting from the outskirts of Chicago to my job in the loop for over six months. I've been killing two hours, five-days-a-week catching up on my reading, tearing through novels, works of non-fiction and short stories, surpassing my whole literary experience in that six month time frame.
I've noticed the millions of faces reading newspapers or more frequently free local lifestyle rags put out by the major newspapers. But the countless number of headphones and wires on a single El train on a weekday morning is overwhelming.
A few weeks ago, I received a free iPod Shuffle at work. I have to admit after six months of holding my head high and looking down my nose over the pages of written word at my fellow white ear-bud studded passengers, I loaded my shuffle only minutes after arriving home from work.
I just threw a random selection of my computers mp3 collection onto the shuffle and during the next day's commute spent most of the time skipping songs that I didn't really feel like listening to at 7:24AM or 6:37PM.
That night I took a mp3 CD of David Sedaris readings, that my father had burned for me and that I hadn't had a chance to listen to at home, and committed them to my iPods memory.
I am not an expert iPod user. My novice is most evident when I try to find a focal point in a crowded train, while listening. The problem with listening to David Sedaris instead of music, is that I frequently cannot contain laughter on a train void of human noises. The random bursts of laughter at the inopportune time of, say catching the eye of someone on a cell phone who looks as though they having their last conversation with a close and drying relative, generates quite unaffectionate looks in my direction.
Outward joy is not something tolerated, but instead loathed, in a big city (even a fairly friendly big city, like Chicago). People don't understand happiness in general, and especially not speifically related to the mindless stimuli of an iPod.
"What song could possibly be making that girl laugh so much?"
I am a nerd, but I consider the urge that I hardly fight to laugh at the writings of David Sedaris highly superior to the urge that I fight quite well to sing-along to every song worth listening too. I consider the "winable" fight with songs tiresome and unenjoyable, while on the other hand people noticing my laughter, possibly thinking me insane, can only protect me.
For, everyone knows that no one is going to strike up a conversation and try to take advantage of the crazy woman in the back of the train giggling while trying desperately not to look you directly in the eye.
Of course I have a medium size mp3 collection and I thought people mostly listened on the computers (while working on their computers) or burned CDs to take with them to parties or in the car. Of course, I knew that iPods and other mp3 player existed. I just didn't know that 90% of city commuters had one (or more) mp3 playing device(s) and that 95% of those were iPods.
I had no idea Apple was still thriving in the electronics business. No idea.
I've been commuting from the outskirts of Chicago to my job in the loop for over six months. I've been killing two hours, five-days-a-week catching up on my reading, tearing through novels, works of non-fiction and short stories, surpassing my whole literary experience in that six month time frame.
I've noticed the millions of faces reading newspapers or more frequently free local lifestyle rags put out by the major newspapers. But the countless number of headphones and wires on a single El train on a weekday morning is overwhelming.
A few weeks ago, I received a free iPod Shuffle at work. I have to admit after six months of holding my head high and looking down my nose over the pages of written word at my fellow white ear-bud studded passengers, I loaded my shuffle only minutes after arriving home from work.
I just threw a random selection of my computers mp3 collection onto the shuffle and during the next day's commute spent most of the time skipping songs that I didn't really feel like listening to at 7:24AM or 6:37PM.
That night I took a mp3 CD of David Sedaris readings, that my father had burned for me and that I hadn't had a chance to listen to at home, and committed them to my iPods memory.
I am not an expert iPod user. My novice is most evident when I try to find a focal point in a crowded train, while listening. The problem with listening to David Sedaris instead of music, is that I frequently cannot contain laughter on a train void of human noises. The random bursts of laughter at the inopportune time of, say catching the eye of someone on a cell phone who looks as though they having their last conversation with a close and drying relative, generates quite unaffectionate looks in my direction.
Outward joy is not something tolerated, but instead loathed, in a big city (even a fairly friendly big city, like Chicago). People don't understand happiness in general, and especially not speifically related to the mindless stimuli of an iPod.
"What song could possibly be making that girl laugh so much?"
I am a nerd, but I consider the urge that I hardly fight to laugh at the writings of David Sedaris highly superior to the urge that I fight quite well to sing-along to every song worth listening too. I consider the "winable" fight with songs tiresome and unenjoyable, while on the other hand people noticing my laughter, possibly thinking me insane, can only protect me.
For, everyone knows that no one is going to strike up a conversation and try to take advantage of the crazy woman in the back of the train giggling while trying desperately not to look you directly in the eye.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
It's Been A While...
I started this blog a little over a year ago...It has been a while since I last created a post.
I started to think about all that has happened in one year. I'm overwhelmed. This time last year I had just moved into a huge house in Portland with Bill (& Wade & Riley, of course). I was getting ready to turn 24. I was without "my bowling alley", it had closed down leaving me on unemployment and working under-the-table for a local vendor, listing items on eBay. The bowling alley closing had left me more than laid-off, it had left me ungrounded and mildly depressed.
I had lost more than the bowling alley (as if that wasn't enough). I had lost Heather. Heather, the only true friend I had made in Portland. I had other friends but I consider her the only "true" friend because she didn't work with me at the bowling alley. Yes, she had been introduced to me through Adam, who did work at the bowling alley with me, but she didn't work there. She was a great outside view. She loved the bowling alley almost as much as I did or more in a certain way. She didn't have to spend anytime there, but she chose to.
I lost Heather. And my heart was broken into a million pieces. My heart hadn't been broken that way since High School and I honestly didn't think I was capable of that kind of loss at that point in my life. I survived, of course, as I've always done. I didn't understand the loss and along with my bowling alley being "gone", as I liked to say, I felt completely isolated.
I had lost Jason. I had only begun to really find Jason...and almost instantly I realized I had made so many mistakes with him. At the point of that epiffany, he was long gone.
I had lost my day-to-day contact with Troy, but Troy had lost a lot too. Troy had lost 12 years of his youth to that bowling alley that had taken my youth as well, just in a smaller portion. Troy still loves me and I love Troy endlessly. So he is not completely lost to me, but I wish things had turned out differently sometimes.
This past year was the first year I began to understand regret. The feeling is something that I have never quite grasped. The concept, yes, but never the feeling behind it. Joe loved that about me. When I was with him, in High School (and beyond), I knew I had made mistakes. Those mistakes never seemed to define me the way others (namely Joe) let them.
I became much better friends in the past year with an old family friend, Matt. He has been my knight-in-shining-armor numerous times. A knight is something that is hard for this longing princess to admit she desires. He has been a true diplomat, as he always was, at explaining to me all the things that are not easy, but instead necessary to hear. And doing so in the most loving and kind way. He is more kind then I will ever be.
Benjamin began dating Brenna. Which I am not fully ready to comment on, but has left me feeling somewhat alone and neglected. This feeling has been rising in me since the bowling alley closed it's doors, but Ben always seems to be the one to put the nail in the coffin. I know that Ben loves me. I know that his love is something as permenant as the love I feel for him. But it doesn't make me any less lonely.
I know there are so many people that I should become friends with. There are so many things at work and at home I should try to improve. I believe that my co-workers genuinely like me. Which is very nice. They don't expect me to kiss their ass, which is a good thing, because it isn't my strong suit. They are blown-away by my candidness with them and my tackfulness with our counter-parts.
Work has been going really well lately. It has made me willing to accept my position. Not as a resignation to my love of the bowling alley life I created in Portland, but as new belief that I can truely do my job well and contribute to my co-workers and employer.
This year has not been a complete bummer. Of all these disappointments and heart-breaks learnings abound. That which doesn't kill me...Stronger I am today. Strong than yesterday or one year ago, which seems like a lifetime.
Stronger than I ever thought I would be.
I started to think about all that has happened in one year. I'm overwhelmed. This time last year I had just moved into a huge house in Portland with Bill (& Wade & Riley, of course). I was getting ready to turn 24. I was without "my bowling alley", it had closed down leaving me on unemployment and working under-the-table for a local vendor, listing items on eBay. The bowling alley closing had left me more than laid-off, it had left me ungrounded and mildly depressed.
I had lost more than the bowling alley (as if that wasn't enough). I had lost Heather. Heather, the only true friend I had made in Portland. I had other friends but I consider her the only "true" friend because she didn't work with me at the bowling alley. Yes, she had been introduced to me through Adam, who did work at the bowling alley with me, but she didn't work there. She was a great outside view. She loved the bowling alley almost as much as I did or more in a certain way. She didn't have to spend anytime there, but she chose to.
I lost Heather. And my heart was broken into a million pieces. My heart hadn't been broken that way since High School and I honestly didn't think I was capable of that kind of loss at that point in my life. I survived, of course, as I've always done. I didn't understand the loss and along with my bowling alley being "gone", as I liked to say, I felt completely isolated.
I had lost Jason. I had only begun to really find Jason...and almost instantly I realized I had made so many mistakes with him. At the point of that epiffany, he was long gone.
I had lost my day-to-day contact with Troy, but Troy had lost a lot too. Troy had lost 12 years of his youth to that bowling alley that had taken my youth as well, just in a smaller portion. Troy still loves me and I love Troy endlessly. So he is not completely lost to me, but I wish things had turned out differently sometimes.
This past year was the first year I began to understand regret. The feeling is something that I have never quite grasped. The concept, yes, but never the feeling behind it. Joe loved that about me. When I was with him, in High School (and beyond), I knew I had made mistakes. Those mistakes never seemed to define me the way others (namely Joe) let them.
I became much better friends in the past year with an old family friend, Matt. He has been my knight-in-shining-armor numerous times. A knight is something that is hard for this longing princess to admit she desires. He has been a true diplomat, as he always was, at explaining to me all the things that are not easy, but instead necessary to hear. And doing so in the most loving and kind way. He is more kind then I will ever be.
Benjamin began dating Brenna. Which I am not fully ready to comment on, but has left me feeling somewhat alone and neglected. This feeling has been rising in me since the bowling alley closed it's doors, but Ben always seems to be the one to put the nail in the coffin. I know that Ben loves me. I know that his love is something as permenant as the love I feel for him. But it doesn't make me any less lonely.
I know there are so many people that I should become friends with. There are so many things at work and at home I should try to improve. I believe that my co-workers genuinely like me. Which is very nice. They don't expect me to kiss their ass, which is a good thing, because it isn't my strong suit. They are blown-away by my candidness with them and my tackfulness with our counter-parts.
Work has been going really well lately. It has made me willing to accept my position. Not as a resignation to my love of the bowling alley life I created in Portland, but as new belief that I can truely do my job well and contribute to my co-workers and employer.
This year has not been a complete bummer. Of all these disappointments and heart-breaks learnings abound. That which doesn't kill me...Stronger I am today. Strong than yesterday or one year ago, which seems like a lifetime.
Stronger than I ever thought I would be.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Amazement of Humanity
I step outside to have a cigarette at 1:30 in the morning and instantly begin to shiver. After the 5.75 minutes it takes to smoke in cold weather I am hit with the amazement of modern humainty.
It hits me that we learn to adapt so quickly. I know it isn't this cold in Portland, or San Francisco, or other places peices of my heart are left behind, but yet, it seems somewhat commonplace. I don't have the luxury of a finer climate at this point at 1:30AM, therefore that place ceases to exist. Maybe it true, 'what's bred in the bone will not out in the flesh' or maybe I am completely misinterpreting literature, as usual.
Somehow we are supposed to just live our lives traveling from one to another many stanges of conciousness. That might sound new-age to you, so let me put it another way.
15 minutes ago, I was finishing the last couple of pages of a chapter of John Irving's A Prayer For Owen Meany. In the not-so-distant background was the sound of Teletubies and their bizarre adventures. Then I stepped outside and was reminded that I am not from here, this is not my home and yet I live here and I live in much the same way I did before I lived here.
Okay, maybe I didn't make my point, let me stick it to you this way: we have an amazing ability, gift, curse to be able to block things out that happen. They may effect us, but their effect is not visible to the human eye and therefore not significant in our culture.
I know, I'm still not getting there...I probably never will because a big piece of my conciousness is about not saying too much. I don't know where it comes from: nature, nuture, a combination of neither or both, but it is here, within me.
One at a time we just get through, the things that need getting through. But we don't win awards or earn degrees for that. While we are out "in the world" winning degrees and earning awards, we lose site of all the other shit that "gets in the way". It's unexplained and yet, expected.
It is one thing to be vague, another to be cleaver and an entirely different beast to be mysterious. And so I sit in mystery, in awe of humanity.
It hits me that we learn to adapt so quickly. I know it isn't this cold in Portland, or San Francisco, or other places peices of my heart are left behind, but yet, it seems somewhat commonplace. I don't have the luxury of a finer climate at this point at 1:30AM, therefore that place ceases to exist. Maybe it true, 'what's bred in the bone will not out in the flesh' or maybe I am completely misinterpreting literature, as usual.
Somehow we are supposed to just live our lives traveling from one to another many stanges of conciousness. That might sound new-age to you, so let me put it another way.
15 minutes ago, I was finishing the last couple of pages of a chapter of John Irving's A Prayer For Owen Meany. In the not-so-distant background was the sound of Teletubies and their bizarre adventures. Then I stepped outside and was reminded that I am not from here, this is not my home and yet I live here and I live in much the same way I did before I lived here.
Okay, maybe I didn't make my point, let me stick it to you this way: we have an amazing ability, gift, curse to be able to block things out that happen. They may effect us, but their effect is not visible to the human eye and therefore not significant in our culture.
I know, I'm still not getting there...I probably never will because a big piece of my conciousness is about not saying too much. I don't know where it comes from: nature, nuture, a combination of neither or both, but it is here, within me.
One at a time we just get through, the things that need getting through. But we don't win awards or earn degrees for that. While we are out "in the world" winning degrees and earning awards, we lose site of all the other shit that "gets in the way". It's unexplained and yet, expected.
It is one thing to be vague, another to be cleaver and an entirely different beast to be mysterious. And so I sit in mystery, in awe of humanity.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Rock N Roll
I was raised to believe that doing the dishes involved rock n roll music. But not just any rock n roll, the music in it original concert volume deafening state.
This life-long moral so deeply ingrained, thrills my family to no end.
Riley is napping, Wade is trying to watch golf, its Sunday afternoon and there is a growing pile of dishes overflowing from the kitchen sink.
So here they come...The Donnas, The Waitresses, Cher, R.E.M., Rick Springfield, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Madonna, Rod Stewart, Steve Miller, Sheryl Crow, Roy Orbinson, Tom Petty, Ani Difranco, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Shins, The Ramones, The Libertines, John Cougar Mellencamp, Jon Bon Jovi, Grateful Dead, Iron and Wine, Eric Clapton, and so many more...
I know not all of these qualify as "Rock n Roll", but the term is so relative and all the above "artists" are my only tried and true friends. Their music quickly devolves the grease on my dishes and the ache of loneliness in my heart.
This life-long moral so deeply ingrained, thrills my family to no end.
Riley is napping, Wade is trying to watch golf, its Sunday afternoon and there is a growing pile of dishes overflowing from the kitchen sink.
So here they come...The Donnas, The Waitresses, Cher, R.E.M., Rick Springfield, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Madonna, Rod Stewart, Steve Miller, Sheryl Crow, Roy Orbinson, Tom Petty, Ani Difranco, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Shins, The Ramones, The Libertines, John Cougar Mellencamp, Jon Bon Jovi, Grateful Dead, Iron and Wine, Eric Clapton, and so many more...
I know not all of these qualify as "Rock n Roll", but the term is so relative and all the above "artists" are my only tried and true friends. Their music quickly devolves the grease on my dishes and the ache of loneliness in my heart.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Gale Island
I am so excited to be planning Riley & Wade's first trip to Gale Island.For those of you who don't know, Gale Island is a small island on Isle Royale National Park. My mother's grandmother bought the property in icy Lake Superior before it was turned into a National Park in 1931. At the time when the government bought the property to turn into a National Park, The Park Service offered my grandmother two options; sell back the land to the government at the going rate of one dollar an acre or sign a life-lease. My grandmother was smart enough to take thelesae option and put it in the names of her two teenage sons; my grandfather, John (14 at the time, currently decessed) and my great-uncle, Phil (16 at the time, now in his 80s).
Gale Island is one of the biggest reasons that I ended up growning up in Ann Arbor. My parents both grew up in the South and meet at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia.
Ann Arbor drew my hippy parents in with lax pot laws, large liberal/hippy population and a free place to stay. But of course the appeal of being close to my mother's childhood cabin, was up there on the priority list.
When I was growing up, we went about every other year. It isn't an easy trip to make. The trip starts with a 600 mile drive from Ann Arbor to Houghton (you can make the drive in one day, but typically our family, at least in the chilren years, took two days to complete this trip). Then a 6 hour boat ride from Houghton to Rock Harbor Dock on The Ranger III. Then at least a couple of hours getting all your luggage and supplies from the boat over to Tobin Harbor and then into the family boat and over to Gale Island.
Then your vacation truly begins. Void of electricity, cell phones, running water, it takes a certain kind of person to appriciate this vacation. Like any good vacation and any time we are forced to spend much time with family, a lot of boose is involved.
Our cabin was designed by architects in my Great-grandmothers town of St. Louis and constructed by her teenage boys: John and Phil. Thinking about how they got the lumber and materials onto that island, still brings my heart wonder. Needless to say my Great-grandmother, Mother Gale, had money.
We are taking our trip in early August and I have to begin planning now. We are going with my father, his live-in girlfriend and her lover and daughter. Riley will be the first 7th generation Gale to stay on Gale Island.
There was a bit of family politics about the 6th generation (me) reserving time on Gale Island without a 5th generation Gale (my mom). They practically ignored that my dad was going with me. There is no way I would request to go to Gale Island with just Wade and Riley. There is too much that can go wrong and too few ways to get help.
Danger is a strong appeal. The ice cold water, the rocky beaches, the beautiful evergreens, moose, and boats are such key parts of my childhood. I can't wait to share them with Riley and Wade. I am so excited. I can't stop talking about it. I am putting in for my vacation time this week, just to make sure.
"Some day it will all be gone, along with this song..." - except from "Gale Island" by Eva del "Groovie", 1994.
But until then, it was one of the motivating factors drawing me back to the midwest. I gave up northwest pot and mosturized skin, so damn straight I'm going to my island this summer.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Snow of The Future
Wednesday it snowed here in Chicago.
It's always been amazing to me how many different types of snow there are. When I was a kid, growing up in the wintery mid-west, we would say there were two kinds of snow, packing and powder...and only one kind was of any interest to us kids for snowballs and snowmen and snow-angels.
Wedenesday's snow was exactly like Dippin' Dots. You know, the ice cream of the future. I thought about all the snow needed was sugar and cream and artificial flavoring to be the most delicious treat on my way home from work.
I guess I have a hankering and I need to get me some Dippin' Dots.
It's always been amazing to me how many different types of snow there are. When I was a kid, growing up in the wintery mid-west, we would say there were two kinds of snow, packing and powder...and only one kind was of any interest to us kids for snowballs and snowmen and snow-angels.
Wedenesday's snow was exactly like Dippin' Dots. You know, the ice cream of the future. I thought about all the snow needed was sugar and cream and artificial flavoring to be the most delicious treat on my way home from work.
I guess I have a hankering and I need to get me some Dippin' Dots.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
How The Bowling Hottie Came To Be
Back in my formative years, working in a run-down bowling alley in the smalltown city of Portland, Oregon, there was a personal ad published in one of the alternative papers (The Portland Mercury).
It was published in the "I Saw You" section. You know the one for chance incounters. The place where people write ads to people that caught their attention, but they were too nervous to give their number to. In other words, it was published in the best part of the paper and the ad read something like this:
Jason, my bitter love, found the ad and showed it to me and the others we worked with. He was certain The Bowling Alley Hottie mentioned was me, as was everyone else surveyed.
I was flattered, I was over-joyed. I tried to remember who this stranger who took such notice could be...an answer escaped me, but it certainly seemed plausable. I seemed more worth of the title than most anyone else who worked behind the bowl desk, handing out "used" shoes.
I was married, but I was also curious. So I went home and emailed the address linked to the ad. I wrote:
My response came and informed me that yes, it was Grand Central. But it appeared that the name was somewhat feminine...hard to tell sometimes from email names. I asked if the bowl desk attendant was a man or woman. And she explained that it was a man with dark scruffy hair.
It took me a minute but I knew exactly who she was talking about: Dave. Dave is in his mid-30s. He is a very nice guy who plays in a band. He is a very nice guy, who has a bizarre temper that he frequently unleases on pesky, yet undeserving customers (an attribute he was later fired for).
I forward her message on to Dave.
I went to work the next day and explained to Jason and all that the famed Bowling Alley Hottie was Dave. Sneers were exchanged and I declared that I was the rightful owner of the title. No one argued and I have worn it proudly, drunkenly, nievely and honorably ever since.
I miss my bowling alley. I miss Jason. I miss Troy. I miss Portland. But the Bowling Alley Hottie in me lives on forever and always. It is something that formed me, something I can never forget and something that presents itself to me in the form of demons that I struggle everyday. The struggle is not in remembering, but in calculating and justifying that those years were not squandered away. Convincing myself that I was born, right there and everything I need to know, I learned by being The Bowling Alley Hottie.
It was published in the "I Saw You" section. You know the one for chance incounters. The place where people write ads to people that caught their attention, but they were too nervous to give their number to. In other words, it was published in the best part of the paper and the ad read something like this:
BOWLING ALLEY HOTTIEIf I could find the archieve I would quote directly, but you get the idea.
You're the hot one who works at that bowling alley across the street from that strip club. You gave me used shoes, retrieved my ball from the ball return and made funny jokes.
Jason, my bitter love, found the ad and showed it to me and the others we worked with. He was certain The Bowling Alley Hottie mentioned was me, as was everyone else surveyed.
I was flattered, I was over-joyed. I tried to remember who this stranger who took such notice could be...an answer escaped me, but it certainly seemed plausable. I seemed more worth of the title than most anyone else who worked behind the bowl desk, handing out "used" shoes.
I was married, but I was also curious. So I went home and emailed the address linked to the ad. I wrote:
I am responding to the Bowling Alley Hottie ad. I work at Grand Central. Is that the bowling alley you were refering to?
My response came and informed me that yes, it was Grand Central. But it appeared that the name was somewhat feminine...hard to tell sometimes from email names. I asked if the bowl desk attendant was a man or woman. And she explained that it was a man with dark scruffy hair.
It took me a minute but I knew exactly who she was talking about: Dave. Dave is in his mid-30s. He is a very nice guy who plays in a band. He is a very nice guy, who has a bizarre temper that he frequently unleases on pesky, yet undeserving customers (an attribute he was later fired for).
I forward her message on to Dave.
I went to work the next day and explained to Jason and all that the famed Bowling Alley Hottie was Dave. Sneers were exchanged and I declared that I was the rightful owner of the title. No one argued and I have worn it proudly, drunkenly, nievely and honorably ever since.
I miss my bowling alley. I miss Jason. I miss Troy. I miss Portland. But the Bowling Alley Hottie in me lives on forever and always. It is something that formed me, something I can never forget and something that presents itself to me in the form of demons that I struggle everyday. The struggle is not in remembering, but in calculating and justifying that those years were not squandered away. Convincing myself that I was born, right there and everything I need to know, I learned by being The Bowling Alley Hottie.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Love Monkey
Wendesday night at a work-related dinner I told Sara, "I am getting old. I really am starting to like CBS primetime." She reassured me that wasn't the case. "No, CBS is getting better: younger." That being said, I can write the following review.
CBS premiered it's new show, Love Monkey, on Tuesday January 17th. The initial attraction for me was Tom Cavanagh. Of course Tom first broken into our hearts with the comedy/drama ED about a New York city lawyer who returns to his quirky small, midwest hometown of Stuckeyville after being fired and finding out his wife is sleeping with a mailman. He runs into Carol Vessey, the most popular girl from High School who he crushed on all four years. Under the temporary insanity caused by losing his wife and job, Ed ends up kissing Carol in the town's bowling alley and buying it the next day. Instantly he becomes the bowling alley lawyer, begins his 4 year love-struggle with Carol in a show that was Northern Exposure, plus bowling pins and Michael Ian Black.
That was Ed. Love Monkey is not Ed. First it doesn't have bowling alley appeal. Second, although the show starts in a similar way (Tom Cavanagh's character being fired), Tom's character "Tom" is no "Ed". Tom Cavanagh shows us he has testicles as he portrays a mans man in the dog eat dog musc world. Unlike the love-sick, fairy-tale romance of Ed, Love Monkey a cross between High Fidelity and Jerry Maguire. I say High Fidelity because the show has a TV-audience milder, but still very Nick Hornby feel. Also the lead character "Tom" is deeply involved both on a professional and personal level with music. Where High Fidelity (the movie) has John Cusack talking to the camera for the narrative device, Love Monkey uses the over-played voice over narration. I say Jerry Maguire for the plot of agent (music, instead of sports) being fired from a huge company to be independent and get back to the reason he loves the industry in the first place.
Love Monkey has heart centered in reality. Tom drinks with his friends, attempts to get women in the sack, finds challenge in his female best-friend (who of course will eventually be a love interest) and smack-talks with his three male buddies (one of whom is a slightly overweight Jason Priestley).
We will have to wait and see but Love Monkey could prove to be one of my favorites. Which of course, if it is anything like Ed, would mean that it would get moved around from night to night, then interupted for baskball games and eventually taken off the air.
The title of the show is the second biggest reason I tunned in for the pilot premiere and I am glad I did. I give it a 4 out of 5. Good job CBS. Let's see if you can keep it up.
CBS premiered it's new show, Love Monkey, on Tuesday January 17th. The initial attraction for me was Tom Cavanagh. Of course Tom first broken into our hearts with the comedy/drama ED about a New York city lawyer who returns to his quirky small, midwest hometown of Stuckeyville after being fired and finding out his wife is sleeping with a mailman. He runs into Carol Vessey, the most popular girl from High School who he crushed on all four years. Under the temporary insanity caused by losing his wife and job, Ed ends up kissing Carol in the town's bowling alley and buying it the next day. Instantly he becomes the bowling alley lawyer, begins his 4 year love-struggle with Carol in a show that was Northern Exposure, plus bowling pins and Michael Ian Black.
That was Ed. Love Monkey is not Ed. First it doesn't have bowling alley appeal. Second, although the show starts in a similar way (Tom Cavanagh's character being fired), Tom's character "Tom" is no "Ed". Tom Cavanagh shows us he has testicles as he portrays a mans man in the dog eat dog musc world. Unlike the love-sick, fairy-tale romance of Ed, Love Monkey a cross between High Fidelity and Jerry Maguire. I say High Fidelity because the show has a TV-audience milder, but still very Nick Hornby feel. Also the lead character "Tom" is deeply involved both on a professional and personal level with music. Where High Fidelity (the movie) has John Cusack talking to the camera for the narrative device, Love Monkey uses the over-played voice over narration. I say Jerry Maguire for the plot of agent (music, instead of sports) being fired from a huge company to be independent and get back to the reason he loves the industry in the first place.
Love Monkey has heart centered in reality. Tom drinks with his friends, attempts to get women in the sack, finds challenge in his female best-friend (who of course will eventually be a love interest) and smack-talks with his three male buddies (one of whom is a slightly overweight Jason Priestley).
We will have to wait and see but Love Monkey could prove to be one of my favorites. Which of course, if it is anything like Ed, would mean that it would get moved around from night to night, then interupted for baskball games and eventually taken off the air.
The title of the show is the second biggest reason I tunned in for the pilot premiere and I am glad I did. I give it a 4 out of 5. Good job CBS. Let's see if you can keep it up.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Flickr
I hate Yahoo...yet they seem to buy everything I love.
I just uploaded a bunch of stuff from the holidays on flickr...some of my favorite tags include annarbor, drinking, riley and chicago.
Check 'em out: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bowlinghottie/
Love to all.
I just uploaded a bunch of stuff from the holidays on flickr...some of my favorite tags include annarbor, drinking, riley and chicago.
Check 'em out: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bowlinghottie/
Love to all.
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