488

I’m moving ever-closer to 500 entries since I’ve started blogging.  That reduces to about 100 a year, but who’s counting.  Well, I am.  Obviously.

I’ll have a top 10 entries-palooza.  It’ll be big fun.

In unrelated news, I don’t like it when the past catches up with me.  When my regrets and missteps have to be relived.  It’s difficult, even if nothing comes of it.  I’ll probably write more about those issues later, but I’m on dial-up now.

Peace.

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mushaboom

Usually, at this time, I’m just finishing up my first Christmas celebration.  My mom’s parents would have come after Christmas Eve service, and we would have been unwrapping presents at some ungodly hour because we obviously wouldn’t have slept well the night before.  This always meant we’d be done by 11:30 or so, and then eat brunch.  My grandparent’s would leave by 3:00, only to have the other side of the family come at 6:00 or so.  This year is different.  My brother has to work at his job (2.5x regular pay, however.  Tough to pass up), and so we’ve split up Christmas, with my dad’s family coming tonight as usual, and my mom’s parents coming tomorrow.  Which in one way is nice, becuase how often do people get to have Christmas the day after.  And tradition, while it’s something I value, is a concept that is flexible with me – I’m okay with having Christmas the day after, so long as it happens.

Anyway, all of this made me think of this song… I like the Feist version a lot.

Peace.

Mushaboom

Helping the kids out of their coats
Oh wait the babies haven’t been born oh
Unpacking the bags and setting up
And planting lilacs and buttercups oh

But in the meantime we’ve got it hard
Second floor living without a yard
It may be years until the day
My dreams will match up with my pay

Old dirt road,
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
knee deep snow
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Watching the fire as we grow
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
o-o-o-o-old

I got a man to stick it out
And make a home from a rented house oh
And we’ll collect the moments one by one
I guess that’s how the future’s done oh

How many acres, how much light
Tucked in the woods and out of sight
Talk to the neighbours and tip my cap
On a little road barely on the map

Old dirt road,
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
knee deep snow
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Watching the fire as we grow,
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
o-o-o-o-old
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Old dirt road rambling rose
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Watching the fire as we grow
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
well earned soul…

story

“If there’s one thing I’ve always spotted in a man, it’s bull.” Veronica often began her alcohol-induced tirades this way. Her friends, while often supportive, listened just enough to make the expected nods of affirmation.

“Yeah, all of ’em. You remember that one boy I had a year ago? What the hell was his name? Oh yeah… Ty’ree. Ty’ree – who did he think he was, all with that splittin’ his name in half like it was some contraction or somethin’. Stupid, stupid, stupid… all men… stupid, stupid, stupid…”

Nod, and a lazy stir of their drinks.

“I could tell he was full of bull, too, ol’ Ty’ree. Talks to me like he knows me. Sends me a text message at work, tells me he’s gonna take care of me and love me and three weeks later he’s asking me for cash like I owe it to him because he cooked me dinner once…”

Nod again. At this point one could listen to Veronica every third phrase and still ascertain what she was saying:

“Lair… Ty’ree… money… money… not-on-my-couch-you-don’t… your mama don’t like me?… waste of time, that’s what he was… I’d had better…”

Twenty minutes pass by and a brand new song blasts through the club, the bass easily shaking the rest of the audience away from the table and Veronica onto the dance floor. I don’t dance. I’m a dance virgin, I suppose you could say. Just haven’t found the right song I want to give my pride and self-esteem away to. These are precious things not given away lightly.

Veronica, however, continued to whore my listening skills.  I give in and listen, but only for ascethic reasons.  Everywhere I looked, I saw pairs.  Speakers were always in pairs: left-right, left-right, front-back, top-bottom.  Dancers were in conglomerations of pairs, lovers were in pairs.  And here I was, Veronica’s pairing.  And while she continued to accost my airspace, I couldn’t imagine my alternatives, and instead joined in the fray.

“Well, Veronica, Ty’ree just wasn’t your pairing,” I said it, but had forgotten the pair idea was just something in my head, and not common knowledge.

“What the hell are you talking about?  Have you been listening to me?  I don’t even know what you’re saying.  Pairing?”

I tried to explain, but to no avail.  Really, Veronica’s not my pairing either.  But in the end, sometimes it’s better to be the puzzle piece that doesn’t really fit except when forced in than be the piece that doesn’t connect anywhere at all.

new poem

Two Drink Query

It’s flattering.
The way you smiled at me,
Eloquence in eyes and nose and teeth,
Books strewn across tables.

As you study diligently I find myself
Dreaming about casual conversation –
     what you study
     why two drinks
And do you like Earl Grey because it’s what I currently
Bring to my lips.

I practiced my clarity with the girl at the counter
(who, obviously, is a lackluster substitute)
Turned around, and he answered my
Two drink query.

I place my glasses (eye
and tea)
Down in a veiled indignance, and retreat
To lesser pursuits.

“adam”, a play by adam anderson

I like to think of my life sometimes like a novel or a play, each line carefully written.  It makes my internal monologue more interesting, because I can picture it scripted.  This has been in my head for a couple days, since my trip to Barnes and Noble:

 “Adam watched the people as they crossed back and forth his line of sight.  Periodically, when the words he was reading struck him less than the words he was hearing, he’d just watch the conversations the fellow patrons had.  It was easy to create generic stereotype for each of the sets of people in the cafe – the friend of the family entertaining said family who happened to show up, the couple who just met, the couple who’s pre-marriage, the couple who’s dated too long.

Everyone looked tired – not from lack of sleep – but worn.  Everyone was there because they had to be.  The couple across from him were there because they had to study for their medical classes.  The couple who dated too long had to be there because they patched things together this way.  Everything was predicated upon this notion.  People who were working were there to make money, people were not working were there to spend money.  And really, if he were honest, Adam thought, he’s working under the same assumption.  He’s there because he has to be.”