The Lion Sleeps Tonight

Uncivilized.

2008-01-23T18:55:00.000-08:00

Main Entry: un·civ·i·lized
Function: adjective
Pronunciation: -'si-v&-"līzd
1 : not civilized : BARBAROUS
2 : remote from settled areas : WILD

I had a bad weekend. Which extended midway through the week, until now.

And everyone's phones, and/or the fingers they use to dial them are broken.

So yeah. I'm uncivilized right now.

Because I heard it on the radio today

2007-10-10T18:47:00.000-07:00

When I wake up yeah I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you

When I go out yeah I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you

If I get drunk yes I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you

And if I haver yeah I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you

But I would walk 500 miles

And I would walk 500 more

Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles

To fall down at your door

When I'm working yes I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you

And when the money comes in for the work I'll do

I'll pass almost every penny on to you

When I come home yeah I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you

And if I grow old well I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you

But I would walk 500 miles

And I would walk 500 more

Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles

To fall down at your door

When I'm lonely yes I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man whose lonely without you

When I'm dreaming yes I know I'm gonna dream

Dream about the time when I'm with you.

But I would walk 500 miles

And I would walk 500 more

Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles

To fall down at your door

-The Proclaimers

Tuesday night

2007-08-28T22:14:00.000-07:00

If you ever wonder: don't.
Listen not to the words of doubt from others.
Only you know what is truth.
Victory comes to those patient enough to see it through.
Eventually, all that should be, will be.
Yesterday may be theirs, but tomorrow is yours.
Of this, I can promise you.
Until then, shine on.

My cats.

2007-07-30T20:52:00.000-07:00

The bigger black one is Max, and the grey striped one is my Stormy.

And now, the Plain White Ts

2007-07-30T15:17:00.000-07:00

Hey there Delilah
What's it like in New York City?
I'm a thousand miles away
But girl tonight you look so pretty
Yes you do
Times Square can't shine as bright as you
I swear it's true

Hey there Delilah
Don't you worry about the distance
I'm right there if you get lonely
Give this song another listen
Close your eyes
Listen to my voice it's my disguise
I'm by your side

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me

Hey there Delilah
I know times are getting hard
But just believe me girl
Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar
We'll have it good
We'll have the life we knew we would
My word is good

Hey there Delilah
I've got so much left to say
If every simple song I wrote to you
Would take your breath away
I'd write it all
Even more in love with me you'd fall
We'd have it all

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me

A thousand miles seems pretty far
But they've got planes and trains and cars
I'd walk to you if I had no other way
Our friends would all make fun of us
and we'll just laugh along because we know
That none of them have felt this way
Delilah I can promise you
That by the time we get through
The world will never ever be the same
And you're to blame

Hey there Delilah
You be good and don't you miss me
Two more years and you'll be done with school
And I'll be making history like I do
You'll know it's all because of you
We can do whatever we want to
Hey there Delilah here's to you
This ones for you

Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me.

Matt Kearny on a sunday morning

2007-06-24T11:22:00.000-07:00

Something’s in the air tonight
the sky's alive with a burning light
you can mark my words something's about to break

and i found myself in a bitter fight
while i've held your hand through the darkest night
don't know where your coming from but your coming soon

to a kid from oregon by way of california
all of this is more than i've ever known or seen

come on and we'll sing, like we were free
push the pedal down watch the world around fly by us
come on and we'll try, one last time
i'm off of the floor one more time to find you

and here we go there's nothing left to choose
and here we go there's nothing left to lose

so i packed my car and headed east
where i felt your fire and a sweet release
there's a fire in these hills thats coming down

and i don't know much but i found you here
and i can not wait another year
don't know where your coming from but you coming soon

to a kid from oregon by way of california
all of this is more than i’ve ever known or seen

come on and we'll sing, like we were free
push the pedal down watch the world around fly by us
come on and we'll try, one last time
i'm off of the floor one more time to find you

and here we go there's nothing left to choose
and here we go there's nothing left to lose

i can still hear the trains out my window
from hobart street to here in nashville
i can still smell the pomegranates grow

and i don't know how hard this wind will blow
or where we'll go

come on and we'll sing, like we were free
push the pedal down watch the world around fly by us
come on and we'll try, one last time
i'm off of the floor one more time to find you

and here we go there's nothing left to choose
and here we go there's nothing left to lose

Father's Day 2007 Storm report. Caveat Emptor.

2007-06-18T14:27:00.000-07:00

...was preceded by a woeful Father's Day eve, if such a thing exists.

Saturday was a rough day at work. I got in some trouble for a technical violation of a rule even though it was justifiable in my eyes and a judgement call i chose to make. What the details are aren't important, but what is important is the strength of my character in saying that if this is the policy regarding such matters, then this is not a company i wish to continue working for. In the next couple of days we'll find out what comes, and I'm not too concerned either way.

My sister called me, which is a rare thing. She's got 4 kids, one of them brand new out of the box, so i'm sure she's busy with reading the instructions and following schematics and downloading the user's manual and whatnot, so i'm not too too hurt by any omission. She left me a message while i was at work letting me know she had a couple things she wanted to tell me, so I decided to call her after work as these things are rarely, if ever, good news.

Note: One day, my Spider-Sense is going to be wrong, and I will be struck dead from shock.

And onwards we go.

My sister had a message for me from my Father. Evidently, I owe a telephone company who's name may or may not start with AT&T about 30 bucks dating back about a decade. Given that my Father's and my names are incredibly similar (barring a different spelling on our middle names) he was eventually contacted by way of 50-50 chance to be sending the collection letter to the right guy.

So. He calls up my sister, and instead of:
a) Saying "Hey, Let Dave know there's a bill here for him, and let's find out a way to get it to him so he can take care of it"

b) Paying it. C'mon Dad, 30 bucks isnt too much. Think of all the money i saved you on all those birthdays and meals and failed forays at college you stiffed me on.

c) Even asking how i am.

He went with:

d) "Do me a favor. My name isn't on anything, so there's no way anyone should have been able to find me. You tell your brother that if he is out there using my name and information to get shit, I *will* find him."

Note for those at home. This was a threat, and one I have heard many times in my life. Just never aimed at me.

Ok, so. Upon hearing this, I ran through my own gamut of feelings.

a) Fear. Dad-fear. My dad is Hulk Hogan, but shorter. Same male pattern baldness, same fu-manchu moustache, same build and same intense physical presence. Also well skilled in "Whip-your-ass-fu."

b) Outrage. For starters, my credit is likely better than y ours. There's a reason his name isn't on anything, and it starts with "my credit is shot and they won't let me."

c) A mad giggle. I'm better at hiding than my dad is.

d) Anger. As in "Ok, Well, you tell your father that if he threatens me again, I'll find him first."

and finally

e) Sadness. He's really gone, and really not my father anymore.

The solution I decided upon was to attempt to take the high ground. I contacted the phone company, asked for the balance, and after some research, they found my account and i paid it off. 28.32, for those of you keeping score.

A clear head, and appendix A prevailed.

There's some residual effect though from the experience, especiall happening so close to the day of fathers. I wonder if i would have been as affected on another day.

But speaking of Father figures, i had more good news. My sister is a damned fountain of it.

My other Father Figure was a man my mother married after my parents divorce. They parted ways after an "unfortunate event or events" involving my sister.

I am neither elaborating, nor drawing pictures.

Well, it turns out that this "gentleman" now has a new ladyfriend who he is going to be moving in with. This is none of my business, of course, and why i was being told, i dont know for certain. I suppose in an abstract manner i should be pleased, if for no other reason than karmically, it's time to let things lie. Live and let lie, as it were.

But it turns out that his new ladyfriend has a teenage daughter.

It's none of my business. Ignore the spider-sense, ignore the feeling of moral responsibility. It's not my business.

Right?

That one i haven't resolved yet. I can stay away, not involve myself, and pray something much larger than myself will take care of it.

I can involve myself, open myself up to negative enrgy, in the heroic hope that i can somehow make up for not seeing it happen to my sister and prevent it from happening again.

I can pray that something has changed, and that like me, and my father, he isnt the same man that he was then.

The problem is with being a hero, that you take responsibility for things that you really have no business taking them for. If i do nothing, and something happens, am I really responsible? The scoundrel in my brain says no.

But that lion in my heart says something different.

After thinking about all this as i walked through the old neighborhood last night, I began to wonder why my sister told me this, and I became aware of the fear that i was being manipulated into a course of action by somoene who wanted the action taken but did not want to be involved themselves. I got angry, but then i can also see that side of why. If something bad happens to you, and you want to do something, but cant or wont, why not call your heroic lion brother?

I wish i could see a path clear of all this.

So there was Father's Day, which my Stormy (the cat) spent curled up with me, her soft paws on my arm whenever i was motionless.

Thanks Stormy.

Little Wonders, Rob Thomas.

2007-06-03T08:33:00.000-07:00

Let it go,
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in,
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels

Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain

Let it slide,
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine
Until you feel it all around you
And i don't mind
If it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by,
It's the heart that really matters in the end

Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain

All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But i can not forget
The way i feel right now
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
but these small hours
These small hours, still remain,
Still remain
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders still remain

Hanging by a Moment, Lifehouse

2007-05-29T20:37:00.000-07:00

Desperate for changing
Starving for truth
I'm closer to where I started
Chasing after you
I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you

Forgetting all I'm lacking
Completely incomplete
I'll take your invitation
You take all of me now...

I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
I'm living for the only thing I know
I'm running and not quite sure where to go
And I don't know what I'm diving into
Just hanging by a moment here with you

There's nothing else to lose
There's nothing else to find
There's nothing in the world
That can change my mind
There is nothing else
There is nothing else
There is nothing else

Desperate for changing
Starving for truth
I'm closer to where I started
Chasing after you....

I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
I'm living for the only thing I know
I'm running and not quite sure where to go
And I don't know what I'm diving into
Just hanging by a moment here with you

Just hanging by a moment (here with you)
Hanging by a moment (here with you)
Hanging by a moment here with you

The Hero Wears a Thousand Faces.

2007-05-07T21:44:00.000-07:00

How far will you go?
How deep is your love?
Your body's bruised and on fire
Cant stop the world
Cant stop desire

-Gavin Rossdale

I'm supposed to be writing a vivid tale full of imagery and reflection about my recent road trip, but as ever, things have come up to put a bump in my literary road.

I read somewhere that only through conflict do we find resolution. That said, it is becoming apparent that I am about to reach resolution with about 90% of my world over the next short span of time. It sounds exaggerated, but it feels true to say it.

The hero may wear a thousand faces, but mine is the one that I have to look at in the mirror.

And I haven't, not for a while.

We're told that on the path of a hero, we reach a point that the decision is made to pick up one's sword and fight. The underlying difficulty with that is that despite rumours and literary allegory to the contrary, the mere act of holding one's sword does not in fact restore strength to old muscles. There is more to it. There must be preparation before execution, else the decision and the fight are both in vain.

This has been my error in days past.

Today I spent some time reacquainting myself with...myself. I have long believed that part of my problems have stemmed from a lack of focus or self discipline, but today I discovered why.

On my trip, I learned from a Spidey comic that Hope has three daughters: Anger at the state things have fallen to, Courage to change them, and Truth.

So what's the truth?

The truth is that I've been true to everything and everybody except one: me. This has led me to unending trouble that primarily starts when I begin to feel resentment towards the people that seem to come before me, even though I put them there. I made the decision, and then I propogated the problem by training them to grow accustomed to this way of things. When the time comes to put me forward there is often a feeling of betrayal on their part, because I am suddenly appearing to be exceptionally selfish. It's a vicious cycle that I continue along because I'm so disdainful of conflict that I allow it to go on, and on, and on simply because I don't want to fight. So I give in. And I grow more resentful. And I continue to do shit I don't want to all in the name of keeping the peace, and not hurting anyone.

Other than myself that is.

So I took that long look today. I took stock. I started with my physical body, getting to know it's status, it's strengths, it's weaknesses. I made a checklist of damage wrought over the years that needs repair. I'm still flexible, and my muscles are in that state of disuse that will quickly repair once I begin using them again. I could use a meal or two extra a week, but it needs to be leaner, high protien food. And yes, I need to quit smoking and drinking regularly.

Mentally I'm sound, likely too sound. I did a week's worth of the daily newspaper's "Cryptoquotes" in a half hour.

Then there's that soul. Or heart. Or anima, or whatever you want to label it. How's that?

It's glowing quietly, that's how it's doing. It's glowing because of a phone call at the dramatically appropriate moment to yank me out of the bar. It's glowing because I understand something now I didn't previously:

That without someone special, there are no things worth fighting for. Only ones worth dying for. And that's not really the same thing now, is it?

So I took the advice. I stopped drinking, and did nothing until today.

So what'd I do today?

The one thing I've never done. I quit reacting. I quit accepting. I looked around....

and Decided.

Homecoming haiku?

2007-05-04T22:44:00.000-07:00

My key hits the lock,
Your hair looks nice that way,
I brought dinner home.

No syllables were counted or harmed in this very late, very tired entry. Tale to follow when recovered.

Thoughts.

2007-04-24T22:32:00.000-07:00

The past 36 hours have been a trial by fire. I'm handling it well, but I am exceptionally tired.

I realized something though.

The first is that I can't go out and get busted up anymore. Not because I can't take it, but rather that there is someone who takes every beating I take right there along with me. It's something that I didn't realize before and only now have. I always said that it didn't matter what happened to me, because I am tough/macho/bulletproof or whatever, but it isn't just me. I wouldn't take care of myself because I figured it didn't affect anyone but me.

I am exhilerated and frightened to be wrong.

I have a reason to protect myself now. I have a reason now to do the right things, both for myself and others, not just for me, but because they reflect on someone else, and they affect someone else.

It's a hell of a thing. A hell of a thing.

I also realize it goes both ways, that anything that happens on their side affects me also. It's new territory for me to be so involved with another human being, to worry and share, and rejoice and mourn, with trust. It's something that is really hard for me to do given my background and such. It's frightening too, but I'm ready to face it.

I'm leaving you tonight with a quote I found inside my brand-new Spider-Man Handbook: The Ultimate Training Manual by Seth Grahame-Smith:

"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

WARNING:

2007-04-23T19:29:00.000-07:00

They took my car.

Let me say it again.

They took my car.

I came home after being out all day running errands and getting my roomates car worked on. All day I had a nagging feeling in the back of my skull, but I chalked it up to a bout I have been having with depression and the need for reassurance. I tried to be nice. I even reached up and got something off of a high shelf for a lady in a store I didn't even work in, because it was nice. Because it was the right thing to do.

Well I guess no good deed goes unpunished.

I got home, and my car was gone.

Turns out the apartment decided that it was abandoned, or dirty, or something. The office manager gleefully smirked as she presented me with a copy of my lease agreement regarding the parking of automobiles in the lot.

Here's the play-by play, highlighted by who will be referred to now henceforth as "The office bitch":
My notes will be included in parenteses.

We may regulate time, manner, and place of parking all cars, trucks, motorcylces, bicycles, boats, trailers and recreational vehicles. Motorcycles or motorized bikes may not be parked inside an apartment unit or on sidewalks, under stairwells, or in handicapped parking areas. We may have unauthorized or illegally parked vehicles towed according to state law at the owner or operator'sexpense if it:
a flat tire or is otherwise inoperable; or
(Car runs. been working on it daily for a week now. all tires are good.)

2) is on jacks, blocks, or has wheel(s) missing; or
(None of these apply)

3) Takes up more than one parking space; or
(nope. just one.)

4) belongs to a resident or occupant who has surrendured or abandoned the apartment; or
(i still live here. my cats and all my stuff is here)

5) is in a handicap space without the legally required handicap insigina; or
(it wasnt)

6) is in a space marked for office visitors, managers, or staff; or
(it wasnt)

7) blocks another vehicle from exiting; or
(it wasnt)

8) is in a fire lane or designated "no parking" area; or
(it wasn't)

9) is in a space marked for other resident(s) or unit(s); or
(it wasn't)

10) is on the grass, sidewalk, or patio; or
(it wasn't)

11) blocks garbage trucks from acess to a dumpster; or
(it wasn't)
12) has no current license, registration, or inspection sticker, and we give you at least 10 days notice tht the vehicle will be towed if not removed
(everything is current, and they didn't)

So my crime was that my car was dirty, and I haven't been driving it lately.

Now, some of you may think "It's just a misunderstanding. I'm sure it will be worked out tomorrow."

Nay, gentle readers. I'm afraid that's not how this tale goes. See, the way I found out was that I contacted the office, and the Office Bitch who worked there provided me, complete with smirk, a highlighted copy of my lease containing the rules and regs listed above. When confronted with the fact that i, and my car, violated exactly ZERO of these stipulations, she retreated into another office, locked the door, and informed me that if I did not depart that the police would be called. I hadn't even yelled yet.

Yes. The Police.

I could breathe fire right now. I am half through a fifth of Jack and about ready to go get what's mine on my own and drive it thru their gorramed office just to show them what's what. I am THAT mad. I am BRICK mad.

One thing is stopping me. Appendix A.

You know, I try to do what's right, I do. I do even when it hurts. I do ESPECIALLY when it hurts, because at least then I can look myself in the mirror and say "That sucked Dave, but you did the right thing."
I pay my bills. No one helps me. I try to be responsible. I try to be an upstanding member of the adult community and contribute my time and effort into helping others, even in the mall on my day off.

Where I did NOT find replacement sunglasses, which is a seperate issue.

I don't even want to talk right now. I'm writing this as a means to vent, or to explain that "Diplomacy has failed, and I may be off the radar for a couple of days trying to take care of some unpleasant business." I hate feeling like this, and I love feeling like this. It's empowering and frightening because it isn't "proper." It isn't what we do in a civilized society. And that's exactly why I love it because it allows me to be defiant. It allows me to be justifiably angry in a world where I don't get that oppurtunity. It tempts me to do the dangerous things that the snarling beast that lives in all our guts tells us that we should even though we know better.
And I do know better.

And I may be calmer tomorrow, but I can't guarantee it.

And somebody is going to get verbally assaulted to the point that they either lose or quit their job. And I'm going to do it without cursewords, too.

I'm tired, and i'm angry, and my skull is splitting, and my upsetedness over this has killed my appetite. It feels like the world wants a fight, and all I want to do right now is to get shitfaced drunk and give them what they want.

Am I better than that though?

To the dismay of the beast in my gut, I am.

Rough tides.

2007-04-18T21:45:00.000-07:00

It's been a trying few days.

Saturday night I felt my blood pressure drop, my temperature rise, and my head go light. It was less than fun. I didn't pass out...though I think my body wanted to.

Something still needs adjusting, physically, emotionally, and just overall.

I've spent a year adjusting things trying to get life back in order. Something is still off. I tried to spend a couple hours the past couple days tinkering with the Camaro to try and drag me out of this funk that i'm in, but it doesn't seem to be 100% reliable as each thing I fix reveals a couple other things wrong.

It's like a damned hydra, really.

Something inside me says that it needs fixing, now, all of it. So I'm listening to that instinct.

I used to live my life under the assumption that everything was fine unless specifically told otherwise. When that backfired (well, not really, I was just being manipulated) I began to overcompensate by assuming that everything was fouled up unless told specifically otherwise. This level of insecurity has me reeling a bit and I am...well, I'm pissed off about it as it isn't very leonine of me. I'm not sure what to do about it, though something needs done.

I guess there's a wrench in my hand, and a bunch of bolts needing to be tightened up, but I'm not sure where to start. It's overwhelming how many little things there are to do. On the surface or from a distance, everything looks fine, but up close and personal, well....

I rattle like a used and abused 1987 Camaro. Go figure.

I looked around for some old pictures of me from days gone by, but they seemed to have vanished. It's hard sometimes not to have anything solid besides memory to reflect ont hings with. Though my memory is excellent (I've been caught "memorizing" things, events, and people before) its not the same as something you can touch. It's saddening somewhat, but I guess I'll get through it. I'll keep looking, as there are a couple nooks and crannies I haven't explored in my pile o'stuff here, so who knows.

Laying awake in the warmness of spring,
with a cat on my chest thinking just of one thing.
Moving forward each day, with each turn of the wrench
Tightening up all the bolts that make me come unclenched.
Though the reasons are far to many to list here,
I will battle through all this and conquer my fear.
And I'll say again now, like I do every night:
It's for you that I do this, because... fighters fight.

Adventure? Excitement? A jedi craves not these things.

2007-04-09T20:12:00.000-07:00

He knows a hero when he sees one. Too few characters out there, flying around like that, saving old girls like me. And Lord knows, kids like Henry need a hero. Courageous, self-sacrificing people. Setting examples for all of us. Everybody loves a hero. People line up for them, cheer them, scream their names. And years later, they'll tell how they stood in the rain for hours just to get a glimpse of the one who taught them how to hold on a second longer. I believe there's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble, and finally allows us to die with pride, even though sometimes we have to be steady, and give up the thing we want the most. Even our dreams.

Aunt May, Spider-Man 2

So some apologies are in order. I spent the past couple days decompressing. I was exceptionally selfish, I didn't return any phone calls, do any chores, think too deeply about anything other than how soft my cat Storm's fur is.

Part of that is due to a migraine, first one in months, and let me tell you, they were NOT missed, not one bit.

But, here's a tale I'd like to spin,
of wild adventure and spirit within.
A tale of a man who left it all on the stage...
And I'll put it right down for you, here on this page.

He felt a little insane as he prepared to take the stage. Pulling off his clothes to reveal the private thing beneath, he felt a twinge of fear in displaying himself in such a manner. That fear, however, was countered by something else. A straightening of the spine, a pounding in his heart, an exhileration he didn't quite believe could actually exist. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he awaited his turn in the wings, trying to calm his nerves and concentrate on the task at hand.

Then he heard his name. Well, it wasn't "his" name, his given one anyway. Tonight he was using a pseudonym, an alias, something he created out of nothingness, leaving himself behind with his clothes in the staging area for the performers.

"Be athletic," he told himself. "Be graceful. Be energetic, and charming. Be fluid, and stylish and witty and funny. Be seductive and proud, and all in between."

He stepped out from behind the curtain, music and cheers and the feeling of nakedness threatening to overcome him. A cartwheel, a hop, and a crouch, with a smile to the crowd he leapt to the stage like a man half his age. When the sounds begin to abate, they asked him his name.

"I'm the ArachKnight," he said proudly while striking a heroic pose, his midnight-blue spandex outfit seeming to shimmer some under the lights.

Mmmm, gotcha.

Ok, here's how it went down. Last Monday I heard there was a Marvel Super Heroes live action show being held here on Friday, and afterwards a "Superhero Tryout." So in a rush of creative enterprise, I assembled a costume, complete with neck-to toe spandex, a maroon sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders and a styilized spider spray painted on the front, the obligatory Utility Belt, and a domino mask to top it off. The idea was similar to "American Idol" or "Who wants to be a SuperHero, complete with question and answer session, interview, and performance.

Wow was I scared though.

But it was good. I had a really good time putting on a show for people, explaining my powers of super speed, and that I was an homage or legacy to my hero, Spider-Man, and did battle in the style and example he set out for us. I didn't have a plan, or a script or anything for myself, everything I did was completely done on the fly, from the hip, off the cuff, or other euphemism for "I made it up as I went along."

Now, I've been known to play Spider-Man for birthday parties, but this was different. This was me, but not, out there. It was frightening and exhilerating. I felt naked yet invulnerable, confused yet profound, and a dozen other contradictory things that somehow worked for me that night.

A lot of it passed by me in a rush, I remember that I made sure that I asked everyone to applaud for the tryouts that came before me, and I remember being really excited and it was hard to concentrate, especially the q&a session. I remember of course being asked the pertinent questions such as:

Q: "Where did you get your powers?"

A: "Off the internet. Man, you really CAN get anything off of eBay."

Q: What's in your Utility Belt?"

A: "That's classified, sir. You might be a Super-Villain in your secret identity."

Q: "Do you have any weaknesses?"

A: "Do red-haired girls count?"

I got a lot of laughs, which was great, and it's a hell of a thing when the crowd responds to you positively. I only lost them at one point, when I was asked what I was fighting for.

I answered that I didn't want them to believe in me, but that I just wanted to give them something to believe in.

That was met by some crickets, so I amended my answer to "Truth, Justice, and the American way!"

That brought them back.

Other things are kind of a blur. They asked for a demonstration of my powers, so I did a couple of flashy high kicks, and asked for a volunteer to join me on the stage. I picked out a kid, who came up there with me. His name was Javier, and I made sure to tell everyone to clap for him too.

So as I stood there trying to come up with a suitably impressive demonstration of my super speed, I channelled Muhammad Ali (the boxer), and a cut scene from the movie starring Will Smith about his life.

I told him I wanted him to hold his hand out in front of him, with the palm towards me. I got down on one knee and explaiend that I was going to hit his hand three times in the time he took to blink once. I asked him if he was ready a couple of times, and he started to flinch some. I watched his eyes very closely, and he didn't take them off my right hand, which was poised in a fist and prepared to strike the target he had displayed for me.

Timing it just right, I waited for him to blink, and when he did, he flinched. Grinning, as I had actually stayed motionless, I looked at him and said:

"Did I hurt you?"

The crowd loved it, I loved it, and I'm pretty sure Javier did too.

So that's my super-hero story. I had a great time doing it, and I don't even cae if I get any callbacks or invitations or job offers or anything else. The icing on the cake was Spider-Man shaking my hand as I left the stage, which put me at a 47 on the scale of 1-10 on the geekometer. I had a great time, and everyone else did too.

Especially the New Vixen Mafia, who seemed to believe that a super hero costume consisted of lingerie and a cape.....

But that my friends, is a tale for a different time.

Couple mondays ago

2007-04-01T10:57:00.000-07:00

Restless tonight
Cause I wasted the light
Between both these times
I drew a really thin line
It’s nothing I planned
And not that I can
But you should be mine
Across that line

Finger Eleven, One Thing

That's the first thing I heard when I entered the NMSU Pan American Center for the concert a couple of weeks ago. Yes, this concert review is a little bit late, but there have been the sort of unusual happenstances that occur in my life, thus causing it to be delayed.

But let's Tarantino it some. Lets go back in time a little bit.

I arrived a little late, due to traffic and lines, and missed most of Finger Eleven's set. I was able to hear some of it while in line outside waiting to get in. I had floor seats to this event, a pair of them, but no one to go with. So I scanned the people around me, looking for someone to give my ticket to, and after about fifteen minutes of looking w hile standing in line, I saw him.

He might have been 17. I have trouble telling ages of people now since the young look older and the old look younger than I remember them being. He was standing off to the side of the line next to five or six girls who he knew, but he didn't seem to be "in line." This was a less than physically superior fellow, and he apeared somewhere between nervous and doomed, and I wondered briefly if I would get the pleasure of watching a young Scoundrel try to crash the gate. As the girls in line neared the door, he split off from his group, and they reminded him to pick them up after the show.

Oh no, he wasn't with them. He was their bitch. He got to drive them there, he got to pick them up, but he didn't have a ticket to the show, and because he liked one or more of them, he was putting up with it. The sidelong glance he cast the blonde affirmed that as he walked away sadly to sit under a tree outside the Center and wait.

Shit. I used to be that guy. We can recognize our own, you know.

So I hop out of line, and trot over to the tree, and say "Hey."

He flinched some. We sensitive types get a little flinchy when suddenly approached by other men. It's a survival reflex. Sort of the survival reflex that mice have to flee for their lives when confronted by cats.

So I ask him his name, and he asks why. I was already late and irritated, so I asked him his name again, while inserting a curseword in the question this time. He responded that it was Tony, and I asked if he had a ticket. He said no, and looked forlorn, so I went straight to the point and said "Now you do," and handed my extra to him. He yelled thank you at me as I ran back to my place in line and entered the arena.

Alright, I'm a big softy, even when I'm not being particularly nice about it. I did have an agenda this evening you know.

So Finger Eleven is playing, and after a quick stop for some merch, I entered the arena proper and made my way down the stairs to the floor where my tickets (now ticket) was valid for. Finger Eleven seemed to be a group of really cool guys, a cross between a pack of stand-up comedians and musicians. The lead singer reminded me of Jeremy Piven for some reason, in his mannerisms and the way he talked. I wish I'd seen more of their set, but my time travel powers are limited to literary linearisms, as the Flux Capacitor is out on the Camaro.

Ah well.

The lights come up, as the second band of the evening prepares to do their set. They were a band named Chevelle, who I'm not a huge fan of, but I like a couple of their songs, and they seemed like really cool guys too.

I'm in a new place, with the same face
And nothing is familiar to me,
But theres a storm rush, then the wind starts
And its bringing out the woman in me
I know that you're out there somewhere
Waiting on a deeper connection
Now I'm lookin to my left, searching on my right
'Cause we could be the greatest adventure, I'm
Ready
Come and find me, I'm not gonna hide
I got the sun on my side, it's
Heavy 'cause I'm finally open for the one and
I'm ready, ready
-I'm Ready, by Chevelle.

Chevelle's set ends, and I start to feel the rumble as the lights fall down and the band I'm waiting to see is about to go on. I'd seen them once, had tickets to another show that got cancelled, and this was something the universe owed me. I forced my way to the front of the pit, ten feet from the stage.

Then it hits me, like a sledgehammer, sound and fury coming out of the twenty foot high speakers above my head.

It's true, we're all a little insane
but its so clear
now that I'm unchained
Amy Lee of Evanescence's voice rips through me. My heart started to thunder, as she continued into the next line of "Sweet Sacrifice," and although I can never prove it, she looked at me before it came out.

fear is only in our minds
taking over all the time
fear is only in our minds but its taking over all the time

I love this band. I love their driving guitar, their thunderous drums, the voice and words of their singer. And I love the message they always somehow bring to me. They played some of their older and then newer stuff, songs that I enjoy but don't love too too much, but then when the song "Tourniquet" begins, I know I"m about to get something special.
You never call me when you're sober, my battle cry song from 2006.

Paper flowers, complete with snowfall (!) in the arena.

Going under, another battle song from another time.

Don't turn away, my Get up and Fight song.

They played all my favorites, but two were missing as the lights came up and they left the stage. Part of me inside yelled "WTF?" but I know the rules.

Save the best for the encore.

How can you see into my eyes
Like open doors?
Leading you down into my core,
Where I've become so numb.

Without a soul,
My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold,
Until you find it there and lead it back
Home.

Wake me up inside.
Wake me up inside.
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run.
Before I come undone.
Save me from the nothing I've become.
Bring me to life.
Bring me to life, Evanescence.

So there it was. The thunder I needed. I didn't get it at the time due to some other things happening in my life, but it's what I needed. All I needed and more, enough fuel to get me through til the next phase. I just wish you'd been there with me.
So this is yours, the last thing I heard before leaving the arena that night. From My Immortal:

When you'd cry I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
I've held your hand through all of these years
And you still have
All of me

Thanks, universe.

Tired lion.

2007-03-17T23:44:00.000-07:00

A very minor stormwatch is in effect for the duration of this post.

When I was in third grade, we used to go to the school library for an hour every tuesday before lunch. We would learn about things such as the Dewey Decimal System, Shelving things by alphabetical order, how to use reference books and the like.

Other times we would simply have free time to peruse the shelves to find a book we liked, to read and return on the next tuesday. It was through this time that I found and read many of what I feel are classic tales, such as Charlotte's Web, The Black Stallion, and many others that I really can't be bothered to think of and enumerate right now. I remember with vivid detail watching the old Charlotte's Web cartoon on CBS one night, with required public service announcement that advised us if we'd like to know more, to visit our local library. Sure enough, as it played on a Monday evening, Tuesday morning before lunch I was asking Ms. Watrous the librarian if she had a copy of that book.

I always liked Ms. Watrous. Her first name was Keith, and even though I figured she was wierd for having a boy's name, she was alright with me. I think she got me better than some parents I've had.

Anyway, I'm drifting.

One Tuesday morning, we had scheduled to watch a movie on the then-newfangled VCR the school had recently purchased. Now as this was library time, we would watch movies or animated cartoons

huh. As opposed to the non-animated cartoons one watches on tv. Right. Now back to your irregularly scheduled post.

based on literary works. This particular day in third grade, we were watching the animated version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I'd never seen or read this tale before, and I was instantly captivated, especially by (in my view) the hero of the story, one Aslan the lion. In this adaptation, Aslan was white, from nose to tail, symbolizing his herioc purity.

I loved him. He was wise, and fierce, and...a lion. What more could you ask for?

So on I watched, as some of the other children grew restless or bored, and chatted amongst themselves while the tale unfolded. I fell in love with this lion, and what in my mind he represented. Courage, wisom, and all of that.

Warning: spoiler ahead. How's that for netiquette?

The trouble began when Aslan Made a Deal. I didn't get it at first. Why was he laying down? Why did he let them shave him and tie him up and drag him to the stone table and embarass him. He was Mighty. He could wipe the floor with these guys. What is the White Witch doing with that...

...and then I fled the library, in tears. I didn't want to see it happen. I didn't want to lose him.

I missed school the next day, I was so distraught. I was teased and made fun of for crying, as boys aren't supposed to cry over dumb cartoons. And here's a secret for you: I NEVER went back, not to the cartoon, and not to the book, to find out what happened. Over twenty years from that day would pass before I learned what happened, and it was with MUCH trepidation that I went to see this tale on the big screen. I was thirty years old and scared to death to relive this moment.

But it turned out okay. And I would have known that twenty years earlier, had I just seen it through.

So it's been a long week. I've had a certain amount of upheaval, and later in the week I got hit in the face with a brick-sized piece of depression, the source of which I am not completely certain of. I'm battling through it, but sometimes it isn't easy. Today, for example, was spent curled up on the couch staring at my cottage-cheese ceilings and wondering just how many bumps were up there. It's times like these I develop a bad case of "Fuck it," and give up for a while.

But I can't do that anymore. I'll find a way to battle through. I can do this, I can beat this. All I have to do...

...is see it through.

Sometimes it's hard...

2007-02-25T22:00:00.000-08:00

...to be patient. To know that I'm feeling better, and that I have a clear mind, and an even clearer focus on what I want. It is a dangerous time for me, where I will be tempted to do more than I should.

But sometimes it's hard to be patient.

I know that it's best, in my head. That it isn't the right time yet for things to go as I'd like them to. I get frustrated and impatient, because as all proper lions are, I am very instant gratification oriented. I wants what I wants, and I wants it now!

And tho I long for those days to be now, I know that I need to be patient. That there is still work to be done, and healing to finish, and a dozen other miniscule matters that need attending to first.

I know I can take on the world, and tonight, I think I could win. No, and sorry gentler readers, but fuck that, tonight I know I could win.

But it's not time yet. I'm excited and excitable, and full of piss and vinegar and love and springtime and all that comes with it.

I tuned in, I turned on, I fought my way back from the dead...
-Edwin McCain

I've missed out on so many oppurtunities in life that I worry now for them, I worry that I need to make a move now, quickly, but it's far too soon. I'm afraid I'll miss another one, and that all this fighting will have been for nothing. I'm jumpy and anxious and wanting to get on to the next phase of my life. I want it, I want it all, and I want it now.

Except it's not time yet. If anything, I do have enough wisdom to recognize that.

But it's still sometimes hard to be patient.

Late night, stream of consciousness

2007-02-25T01:31:00.000-08:00

Who am I? You sure you want to know? The story of my life is not for the faint of heart. If somebody said it was a happy little tale... if somebody told you I was just your average ordinary guy, not a care in the world... somebody lied.

But let me assure you: this story, like any story worth telling, is about a girl.

-Spider-Man

First of all, is that not the greatest opening to a tale of all time? Disregard the fact that it is regarding one of the world's (and my personal favorite) most renowned and beloved heroes. Disregard that you know anything about what he has, is, and will go through. Disregard that he has powers above and beyond mortal man. Disregard triumph and tragedy. Disregard all of that, the history, the possibility, and all that comes with it, and what do you have?

Yeah.

Perspective

2007-02-24T07:09:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't how hard you hit; it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward. How much you can take, and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done. Now, if you know what you're worth, then go out and get what you're worth. But you gotta be willing to take the hit, and not pointing fingers saying you ain't where you are because of him, or her, or anybody. Cowards do that and that ain't you. You're better than that!

-Rocky Balboa

Aren't quotes great? Sometimes someone says something so profound that you can't help but to one hundred percent agree with it, feel it, and wish you had said it yourself.

Anyway.

I feel the need to apologize to my readers for taking them off guard recently. Usually my posts are written in an attempted lighthearted manner that belies what may be bothering me underneath, or at least discusses it without outright describing what happened. I have forgotten the lesson of Perspective that I learned at a very young age.

When I was in kindergarden, I was already able to read, and had been able to for some time. This is not a boast, this is simply a fact. I learned at a young age how to escape into the written word, and to me, it seemed perfectly normal that I was able to do this.

What I did not understand, as I Still sometimes struggle to, is that not everyone is the same. That not everyone is like me.

One day in kindergarden, as Miss Martinez was gushing over my literacy skills, by having me help her out in class by reading aloud to them at story time. She had been suffering from laryngitis and I was happy to help out, especially given my 5-year-old boy's crush on her.

Oh shut up, like I'm the only one to have crushed on a teacher. Honestly.

Anyway, I'm drifting. The point of the tale is that one day, while among my peers, I didn't understand why some of the other kids couldn't read like I could. And due to my lack of knowledge about a thing called "Tact," I did what is generally unthinkable.

I asked someone what was wrong with them for not being able to read.

Yeah. Oops.

Ok, so I caught a beating over it, but I learned that people were different. Some people could read. Others could whip your ass and make you eat dirt. That made sense. Lesson learned.

And then somewhere forgot.

When I look back at my life, I see it through the eyes of the one who lived it, and when I wrote of it recently, I didn't take into account that although I can shrug off these events (now, at least) others may not be so prepared for them when presented in a bold, cavalier manner.

I'm very sorry to anyone that was affected by reading about some of the events, and in the future I will include a caveat such as "rough waters ahead" or "avert thy eyes, gentle readers" and so on to warn people to either skip to a different post or to at least prepare them for what may come.

Flash Forward

2007-02-16T00:03:00.000-08:00

There's an irony involving the previous post regarding my best friend.

It has been said that a friend is a single soul dwelling in two bodies. That a man's friend will know him better than his family, his co-workers, and even his wife.

Two nights ago.

Two nights ago I decided not to go home from work directly. I went to Barnes and Noble, a bookselling store and read graphic novels (aka big comic books) for a while before wandering next door to the adjoining Best Buy (electronocs) store. There wasn't anything really good in either place, and I left feeling rather morose about the entire affair.

So I hop in my car and start driving home, and along the way I begin to think, as I always always do. This night in particular my Dad popped into my mind unbidden, and of the things I remembered of him, I remembered that he had taught me a certain means of behaviour which to be honest simply isn't complied to anymore. Fight fair, like men, with your bare hands. You don't need a weapon, and if you do, you shouldn't be in the fight. When the fight is over, it's over. No running to your friends, their friends, anyone. When someone hits the dirt, it's done. There is an obligatory beer to be bought, and then it simply over. Walk away. If you're going to do something wrong, don't get caught. but if you do get caught, own up to it and take it like a man.

There's some inconsistency there, but there's also a certain level of honor. This is what I was thinking about as I drove home, listening to the radio.

As I reached my side of town, I felt drawn to the K-Mart, a place of relative historical significance, to me anyway. My mother worked there for nearly 20 years, and so did I as one of my first jobs. I remember every saturday going with my dad to see her at work at her lunchtime, and standing out front as my dad talked to someone or another he knew from the "old days," as he had went to high school about a block away.

I guess that's one of my roots.

So there I was, drawn to this place with so many bittersweet memories of things long gone. I parked my car and got out, walking inside in nearly a fugue state. I didn't know why I was here, but I knew I needed to be. 50% of you are calling bullshit on this part of the tale, and you need to pull your heads out of your asses and start listening to your instincts.

So there I was wandering the aisles, not thinking, not feeling, just sort of moving to where I guess I needed to be.

And as I got there, he walked around the corner.

No, not my dad, but something close, and maybe a little better. My "Uncle" Steve.

"Uncle" Steve isn't really my uncle, it's a special honorary term reserved for those people that are not related by blood, but rather through the kinhood of friendship. He had grown up with my dad, and known him for most of his life. He recognized me instantly, and his eyes lit up as I approached him to shake his hand.

It was nice to be nice to be seen for once.

So we talked for a while, I asked him about his son while he asked me about my dad, and we had similar answers. It was an...uncomfortable comfortableness we found there, being such parts of the other family's lives for so long. He grinned proudly at me as I told him tales of road trips and adventures I had taken, and I listened to his tales of raising snakes and other things, and was visibly happiest when his daughter showed up.

She didn't remember me, but that's cool. She was 4 the last time I saw her. I guess she's in her 20's now.

I didn't want to interrupt his time with his daughter, so I excused myself, shaking his hand once more before I left.

And that's when it happened.

He didn't let go. It wasn't a firm grip, or frightening, he just held on a second longer, because he had to tell me something.

"Dave," he said. "Your dad isn't the easiest person in the world to get along with. It isn't your fault."

Now, I've heard this tale from people before, and not to take anything away from those people or what they tried to tell me, but there wasn't exactly a "weight" to it. They weren't there. They didn't know. They were saying what was proper to be said, but how could they know?

But this man, this man was my father's lifelong best friend. He Knew. I could trust him.

The rest of the ride home I only remember in patches. I was stunned by what had happened, least of all by the bizarre happenstance that set the stage for it.

(I'll take "Shit that can only happen to Dave" for $200, Alex)

So there we have it. In characteristic surreal style, I deal with a ghost from the past, and an echo of pain that has now gone away. My father may not have been redeemed by his best friend, but I think that in a small way, I was.

One less chain around my heart.

One less thorn in the Lion's paw...

Flashback

2007-02-15T23:27:00.000-08:00

There's the tell-tale sound of the crackling that can only come from a hi-fi phonograph player in the air, giving way to the high-pitched sound of a man's voice.

"In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight..."

...and he dreams. And Remembers.

1992. Winter. Snow on the ground, a rare occurance in the land of Texas where there are but two seasons, referred to as "Football" and "Christmas." Even rarer in the desert city of El Paso. Due to ongoing difficulties with my stepmother, I'm out in it at six in the morning.

A little background on that seems necessary.

See, this woman, who's name begins with the letter "Charlotte" wasn't the nicest of ladies. She had (and likely still has, but I'll never know) my father tightly in her grip. For a time, she had me also, with my adolescent will sapped by the troubles that came with the rite of passage known as puberty.

Yes, I was seventeen. I also developed slowly physically.

No comments about emotionally.

Charlotte couldn't seem to tighten her grip on me. That's largely because she and I, or more to the point, the rest of the world and I don't live on the same plane of reality. Even in an addled state, there was only so far I could be pushed.

I'd learn more about that later that evening, though at the time, I had no clue.

This woman whose name may or may not be Charlotte (it is) had decided that she would use good old Mother Nature to break me. My father worked construction, so she decided that because I played role playing games (Advanced Dungeons and Dragons (first edition, the only true D&D. Fuck off if you don't agree.) that I was not allowed in the house when he was not present, as I was obviously preparing myself for a life of cultdom.

Problem is, it didn't seem to be the cult of Charlotte.

So when Dad left for work, and on the days he didn't too, I was exiled from my domicile at six am. Unsupervised, unlooked after, and generally unnoticed unless I accidentally said something out loud. Rain, sun, heat, cold, and on this day, yes, even snow, I was cast out into the streets, and largely unfed to boot, unless my father remembered the son he had "fought" so hard for in a battle with my mother needed to eat every other day or so.

There's nothing like being a trophy, folks. Nothing like it. You sit on a shelf and collect dust, because the winning was more important than the prize.

I wonder if she ever realized that she was running the cult playbook page by page. Weaken the subject through malnutrition, exposure to the elements, and isolation from his fellow man. Continue to erode his defenses through repetitious "lessons" while encouraging him to leave "whenever he wants." Good thing I played D&D, and knew about saving throws. Rolled a 19, bitch. Take that.

That's a joke, actually. There was another reason I survived this.

And his name is Eddie.

Eddie was always a good friend to me, even when he didn't want to be. He and his family opened their home to me and gave me a place to weather the elements, even feeding me when Mom noticed my ribs through my shirt. There was never anything said about it, it was just "taken care of." Had it not been for them, I might not have made it, or worse, made it and come out a person so hardened and cold that there wouldn't have been a man left.

I even learned how to shave from Eddie, even though it was just from watching him do so as we talked before going out. I learned what to do (and not to do, sorry bro, it had to be said) in matters regarding the opposite sex. He showed me more than he knew, and reaped the advantage of my nimble mind in showing him new ways to overcome problems. And walls.
So off I went on a snowy day to Eddie's house like normal. If normal is the word for a kid kicked out of his house on a daily basis to fend for himself, and having no working knowledge of how the outside world worked and how to interact with people in it. It had snowed, so I stole a pair of combat boots off of someone's porch to keep my feet warm and dry.

Yes. I stole. It was their feet or mine, and they were allowed inside. I call it a fair karmic trade.
It took about an hour to walk the five or so miles to Eddie's house from where I lived with my dad, and it was quiet. I learned to appreciate the quiets in the morning on those long walks to Sherman Park., and I learned to appreciate the snow even more, because it made it even quieter. Often I would even read as I walked, burning through half a novel on the way there, and finishing it on the way back.

Yes, I know it was dangerous. But I somehow, in spite of all things, lead a charmed life and am here telling you about it, so it obviously must have worked out alright.

So on this Saturday I arrived, and stepped inside silently as I often did, knowing the door was unlocked, and watched some tv in the living room before people started to get up. As the day grew on, people slowly started to gather at Eddie's house as it was the generally recognized hub of our Loser's Club. We decided we were going to go practice stalking and sniping techniques with our air rifles and pistols out in the snow.

We sort of were preparing ourselves for the apocolypse, the fall of civilization, and so forth. There wasn't much to do in El Paso, you know.

I had an air pistol I had bought at Wal-mart that shot darts, pellets, and bb's, and there were a few air rifles as well. I was a better shot with the pistol than Eddie, but he could always smoke me with a rifle. We always balanced out that way somehow. We were a group of noncomformists sitting around in the dining room getting ready to go pretend to play war.

Somehow, I picture Pentagon Briefings operating in a strikingly similar manner.

So the camofluage came out, and we started to get dressed. Eddie had loaned me a set of fatigues, and as I got dressed, I felt wierd. Wrong, somehow. I couldn't explain it, but I simply couldn't wear them. Even among nonconformists I was a nonconformist. I felt terrible, so I had to do something about it.

So I took them off. Eddie asked me what was up, if i was ok, and I said yeah, I just couldn't wear them. He seemed mildly disappointed, but shrugged it off and said "That's okay man, we always need a guy in the private sector anyway. Let's go shoot some cans."

So off we went, and fun was had, and I never thought much of it again. I went home, and had the usual browbeating brainwashing session and banishment to my room without dinner (little did they know I'd already eaten that day. Twice.). Near midnight as I lay sleeping, the door opened as it often did, and Charlotte loomed in the dark at me. This night, she made me take down and tear up my Alyssa Milano and Batman posters, and also made me cut off my beloved ducktail from my hair.

Then she stood in the doorway and stared at me, looking for a weakness.

"You don't really think you're going to win, do you?" she asked me.

"I don't have to win," I told her. "All I have to do is survive."

She slammed the door. The rest of that year, and the one after that would go badly.

But that night, I slept well.

The lion stirred, remembering ferocity and the will to survive. He remembered that even basic survival instincts were rooted in Defiance, in this case, of death.

The roar grew louder.....

Triumph is inevitable. (period. no question mark)

2007-02-15T18:32:00.000-08:00

Hmm. That sounds a lot like "Resistance is futile," doesn't it?

Anyway. Behold, quake and/or giggle as I am revealed through the secret language of birthdays.

August 13th

The Day of Long Odds

numbers and planets- 4 and uranus
tarot- death
strengths- indomnitable, spirited, courageous
weaknesses- quirky, oversensitive, insecure

Normally 13 is not an unlucky number, per se, but those born on August 13 at various times in their lives have to face seemingly unsurmountable odds in their fight to come out on top and stay there. Securing a desired position, struggling to reach personal goals, or searching for a fufilling relationship are lifelong challenges for them. Whether born unusual or made unusual through circumstance, August 13 people have a highly unique personality and outlook on life.

One might think that those born on this day would be depressed by the sometimes crushing weight of difficulty or challenges. Yet, although they occasionally suffer from quite deep depressions, understandably, and feel beaten down by life, they more often maintain a cheerful, bouyant disposition to the world. Highly sensitive to criticism, and prone to thinking the worst of themselves, the may nonetheless keep any insecurities to themselves and manage to remain friendly, open, and above all, active. One should not make the mistake, however, of thinking one can get close to an August 13 person easily; those born on this day generally have to know someone for months or even years before they allow that person into their private life.

Being unique, even strange individuals, August 13 people are attracted to others of an unusual nature as well; conversely they have little in common with straight-laced or highly conventional people. Yet, while those born on this day may soar toward the highest forms of idealism in their own philosophy or projects, they generally remain suspicious of those whose ideas seem unrealistic or overly optimistic. A powerful urge to rebel against any form of imprisonment, facism, or oppression marks this day. Yet, as they themselves have leadership potential, August 13 people must keep their authoritarian tendencies in check.

Many August 13 people have an attraction to danger that is not so much about risking death or injury, but trimphing over great odds. Achieving the impossible is what they are after, and even the timid born on this day generally reject a life without challenge where saftey or security is assured. Indeed, those August 13 people who have somehow been protected from accident or misfortune are quite capable one day of amazing those around them by taking great risks. All August 13 people have the strength of the long breath- they are willing to wait for what they want, and most often they know the right moment to strike. Unfortunately, what they achieve or aquire is not always of lasting value, as ironic misfortunes seem to dog their footsteps. Those born on this day that recognize and take pleasure in how unusual they are are unlikely to even bother to achieve social stability or acceptance but prefer to cut their own strange path through life. But through all their trials and tribulations, just enough good fortune seem to smile on August 13 people to get them through, and they can recieve help at the most unexpected moments

-From the Secret Language of Birthdays.

Courtesy Martina McBride

2007-02-09T22:59:00.001-08:00

If there were no words
No way to speak
I would still hear you

If there were no tears
No way to feel inside
I'd still feel for you

And even if the sun refuse to shine
Even if romance ran out of rhyme
You would still have my heart
Until the end of time
You're all I need
My love, my valentine

All of my life
I have been waiting for
All you give to me
You've opened my eyes
And showed me how to love unselfishly

I've dreamed of this a thousand times before
In my dreams I couldnt love you more
I will give you my heart
Until the end of time
You're all I need
My love, my valentine

La da da
Da da da da

And even if the sun refuse to shine
Even if romance ran out of rhyme
You would still have my heart
Until the end of time
Cuz all I need
Is you, my valentine

You're all I need
My love, my valentine

Stirring

2007-01-30T23:20:00.000-08:00

The lion stirred in his sleep, for he was dreaming.

No, he was remembering....

It was 1987. I was in sixth grade, and it was spring.

I've traced the fall of my life back to one day, April 9th, 1993, but thats not the tale I wish to explore this evening.

I forgot, or never knew, where it began for me. Where it really began.

It was 1987. I was in sixth grade, and it was spring. My teacher's name was Mrs. Davis, an older German lady who was obviously well educated. She spoke multiple languages, including English, French, and her native German among others, though she carried a thick accent from her mother tongue that never quite went away.

It was nearing the end of the school year, and young minds were wandering as they are wont to do, with thoughts of long lazy days of summer vacation looming ahead, and the idyllic boredom that is both blessing and curse that would come with it. She was trying valiantly to teach us about World War II, but we didn't "Get" it, having never felt with any form of oppression in our cable-tv fueled children's lives.

It was 1987. I was in sixth grade, and it was spring. Mrs. Davis decided to try to get our attention in a different way to teach us about World War II and the conditions that they lived under. She did so by beginning to scream at us in German.

It's funny how you quickly begin to understand a foreign tongue when it is being bellowed at you. The words maybe not, but we all clearly understood to look forward. Sit up straight. Don't move. Don't talk. And we understood the sound of a ruler being slammed upon the desk to punctuate her words.

A lot of children learned fear that day.

She began to stalk up and down the aisles in which we sat, eying us viciously, and continuing to speak in her mother tongue in that harsh commanding tone. One by one she stared us down, showing us how small we were, how weak we were. It wasn't that she was trying to frighten or demean us, but rather trying to teach us, to show us what it was like during that time.

I understood it. Not many did.

And I didn't like it.

I remember clenching my little fists as she roamed up and down the aisles, carrying her ruler like a swagger stick. I remember her stopping in turn at my desk as she had done all the others, and boring her piercing gaze into mine.

Something happened just then, that I only recently realized the weight of. She smiled, and looked at me strangely. She said "Oh ho, now you, you would have been trouble." She said it in that thick, unforgettable accent of hers.

I didn't uderstand it then. I only now do.

I was stunned by her pronouncement, but was soon forgotten as her mood broke, and she smiled again, and returned to her normal self. Several of the other children began to ask her "What about me, Miss? Would I have been trouble?" she answered no, to their disappointment, each in turn, which seemed to only earn me the wrath of the larger boys who fancied themselves lone wolf isolationists who were prepared to be trouble.

I remember that Mrs. Davis tried to challenge me. She gave me books to read, not as in novels or advanced texts, but rather books like Reader's Digest's How to Increase your Word Power, which was full of words that not even my precocious young mind knew the definitions to.

My mother always accused me of stealing that book.

There were other books I devoured that she had given me, not all of them I remember save for the thousand page Word Power book I mentioned.

But I'm drifting. It was 1987. I was in sixth grade, and it was spring, and my schoolteacher had advised me that I would have given the Nazis trouble.

Astute payers of attention will note that at around this same time, in Van Nuys, California, a certain battleship gray Chevrolet Camaro was rolling off the production line.

The lion stirred in his sleep, drifting further into memory.

My mother used to tell me that I was "born angry, and haven't gotten over it yet." She also used to tell me such encouraging things as "you have a perfect criminal mind," and "you're just like you're goddamned father." As mother is the word for god to most children, I took these things to heart, and never questioned their validity until given the free time to do so recently. I always assumed I was fueled by, ruled by, and devoted to nothing more than simple anger and rage.

But that wasn't it. Anger is only a feeling. It's a tool. It's the reaction I was having to something else, the motivation behind everything I do, both consciously and subconsciously.

That motivation is simple. It's Defiance.

To understand this, you have to understand my basic world view. Authority, as defined by me, is the recognized or cited supervisory and overseeing person or comittee that generally attempts to tell people what they should be doing, and where, when, why, how, and with whom.

There's a key word in there though. Recognized. I...don't recognize anyone as being superior to me. We're all the same flesh and blood. We all are subject to both the strengths and frailties and greatnesses and terriblenesses as the one next to us. This is not to say that I feel that I am better than everyone else, (other than the one's I'm better than) (That's a joke) but rather that I am just different, seperate, and equal. Not parents, not teachers, not police, not military officers, not bosses, no one. Should I EVER show submission or supplication to another living soul, it is because they have earned either my respect, my love, or my admiration, and once given, it is unquestionably theirs.

Until you bite me, that is. Then it's on, and all bets are off.

Given this newfound epiphany, I have re-examined certain portions of my life and applied this newfound information.

Example: Easiest way to get me to do something is to tell me that I can't. Not that I shouldn't, or that it might not be the best idea, but that I flat out am not capable of doing so. This will put me into a semi-obsessive mindset that will leave me applying each and every erg of my mental and physical energy working to prove you wrong.

The easiest way to get me to NOT do something is to either tell me to directly, or point out how everyone else is.

Mom always wanted me to conform. She advised me to, begged me to, threatened me when I didn't.

Dad wasn't much better.

1988. Clarice Setzer, the babysitter, told me to help the other children clean up the play room. I informed her that because I had not been a party to contributing to the mess, that I would also not be a party to cleaning it up. Three things happened. The first was that she said that I had to, and if I didn't, she would be informing my parents. I offered to call them for her and explain the situation. The second was that she informed me that if I did not help, that I would not be eating lunch that day. I nodded and explained that I wasn't hungry anyway.

Then she put her hands on me. She grabbed me by the wrist, and attempted to force me to pick up a puzzle piece laying on the floor. I resisted. She released me, and realized what she had done, and fled the room. The other children cleaned up the room, and I sat there motionless, and 45 minutes later, she brought me a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich.

I used to think I won something. I used to think I was just a jerk. That isn't so. All I did was remove the illusion of authority by simply questioning it.

2006: My "boss" Mike is in the middle of reaming me, about my job, my attitude, the whole nine yards.

Then he says the words that did it.

"I'm not trying to end your career here David."

You don't have that power, sir. I took it back. I walked out. I decided. Nobody controls my destiny. Nobody owns me.

No one.

The instant I walked out...I felt tons better. I thought it was leaving a stressful environment. I now understand that it was simply taking back control.

Now I realize...that it's just me returning to my basic nature.

There's an old parable about a scorpion and a fox, and their attempt to cross a river. The scorpion asks for a ride, and the fox refuses because he knows that the scorpion will surely sting him. The scorpion promises not to, and after a short time, the fox allows the scorpion to crawl up on his back and ride him across the river.

Halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the fox. As they began to dip beneath the water, the fox cursed him. "Why did you sting me," the fox cried. "Now we'll both drown."

"You knew what I was when you picked me up," the scorpion replied. "It's just my nature."

Now, this parable isn't the best illustration of how one should act, but it does explain certain things about my behaviour.

Why 900 people at New Mexico Military Institute couldn't get me to conform or toe their line.

Why every time I reach my breaking point I beg someone to tell me what to do.

Why? Because the second they do...I can say No. I can remember how to Fight.

Anger doesn't fuel me. It's just one of the tools available to me. One of, and not the only, nor the most potent of them.

I know that now.

This understanding opens up in me a wellspring of...not happiness, but contentment. Things are clearer now. I'm no longer confused, or in pain. I know that I may lose out or not recieve or experience certain things because of my nature, but I'm okay with that. If it was that easy, it wouldn't be worth it, and it will keep me from becoming one of the many, many, mindless two-legged cattle that roam across this world. Not to say that there isn't anything good to be said about idyllic idiocy, but it simply is not, and never will be for me.

I feel better. I feel empowerd again, and with this newfound wisdom comes confidence, and with that things are already starting to move my way again.

The lion stirred, and opened his eyes. He yawned lazily and wandered out of his cave, blinking in the long-unseen sun. They were a deep soulful brown, but now flecked with hints of wisdom green. He heard a song in the distance.

In the midst of a dream I swear I saw you... standing there
In a sea of emotion with faithful devotion... you were there
In heat of the night under the street lights... once again
At the edge of the fire for the love of the jungle... again and again, oh yeah

They can't tame the lion
Can't tame the lion
They can't tame the lion
-Journey

The lion was awake, and he remembered one other thing: the basic unit of humanity was the human, singular and selfish, but the basic unit of lionkind was the Pride, with double entendre intended.

He sat upon his rock and roared once, not in anger, not in pain, nor despair or confusion, but rather in exultation.

"I'm awake," it said. "I am not broken, nor bent, nor sprained, nor will I be. And I'm still here."

Status report

2007-01-28T19:57:00.000-08:00

So we're a few weeks into 2007, and something is inside me, bursting to get out.

I wish I knew what it was.

Let me begin by saying that 2006 was a trial by fire for me. A year where I fought every battle and lost, and slunk away defeated to hide in a cave for the latter quarter of the year.

A year without any form of victory other than moral or phyrric. And those simply do not count. Not to a lionhearted warrior.

I've recovered though, for the most part. I feel like a man recovered from a grievous injury. He knows he's healed, but he's fearful any time he puts any pressure on the aggrieved part, worried that it will go out from under him. These fears are foundless as eevry test placed before me is conquered and completed with little to no difficulty.

But the fear remains. I tell myself it's just part of the process. Some days I even believe it.

Obligatory Firefly quote:
Live with a man forty years. Share his house, his meals, speak on every subject. Then tie him up and hold him over the volcano's edge, and on that day, you will finally meet the man." Shepherd Book

So I've been over the volcano's edge. And I met the man. I thought I was broken. I wasn't. I thought I couldn't believe. I still do. With that in mind, I am unveiling my 2007 theme song.

Faith of the Heart, Rod Stewart

It's been a long road,
To get from there to here.
It's been a long time,
but my time is finally here.

And I can feel a change in the wind right now.
Nothing's in my way.
And they're not gonna hold me down no more.
No they're not gonna hold me down.

'Cause I've got faith of the heart.
I'm going where my heart will take me.
I've got faith to believe.
I can do anything.
I've got strength of the soul.
And no one's going to bend or break me.
I can reach any star.
I've got faith,
I've got faith,
Faith of the heart.

It's been a long night,
Trying to find my way.
Been thru the darkness,
Now I finally have my day.

And I will see my dream come alive at last.
I will touch the sky.
And they're not gonna hold me down no more.
No they're not gonna change my mind.

'Cause I've got faith of the heart.
I'm going where my heart will take me.
I've got faith to believe.
I can do anything.
I've got strength of the soul.
And no one's going to bend or break me.
I can reach any star.
I've got faith,
Faith of the heart.

I know the wind's so cold,
I've seen the darkest days.
But now the winds I feel,
Are only winds of change.
I've been thru the fire,
And I've been thru the rain,
But I'll be fine.

'Cause I've got faith of the heart.
I'm going where my heart will take me.
I've got faith to believe.
I can do anything.
I've got strength of the soul.
And no one's going to bend or break me.
I can reach any star.
'Cause I've got faith,
'Cause I've got faith,
Faith of the heart...

Faith of the heart.
I'm going where my heart will take me.
I've got faith to believe.
And no one's going to bend or break me.
I can reach any star.
'Cause I've got faith,
'Cause I've got faith,
Faith of the heart...

It's been a Long Road...

Stuf i did.

2007-01-19T03:18:00.000-08:00

100 Things I may or may not have done.

01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. Said “I love you” and meant it!
09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise
14. Seen the Northern Lights
15. Gone to a huge sports game
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars
20. Changed a baby's diaper
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. Watched a meteor shower
23. Gotten drunk on champagne
24. Given more than you can afford to charity
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
27. Had a food fight
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger
30. Had a snowball fight
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb
33. Seen a total eclipse
34. Ridden on a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. Visited all 7 states and territories in Australia
40. Taken care of someone who was drunk
41. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
42. Watched wild whales
43. Stolen a sign.
44. Backpacked in Europe
45. Taken a road-trip
46. Gone rock climbing
47. Midnight walk on the beach
48. Gone sky diving
49. Taken a train through Europe
50. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
51. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger's table, and had a meal with them
52. Milked a cow
53. Alphabetized your CDs
54. Sung karaoke
55. Lounged around in bed all day
56. Gone scuba diving
57. Kissed in the rain
58. Gone to a drive-in theatre
59. Started a business
60. Taken a martial arts class
61. Been in a movie
62. Crashed a party
63. Gone without food for 5 days
64. Gotten a tattoo
65. Got flowers for no reason
66. Performed on stage
67. Been to Las Vegas
68. Recorded music
69. Eaten shark
70. Buried one/both of your parents
71. Been on a cruise ship
72. Spoken more than one language fluently
73. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
74. Walked the Sydney Harbour Bridge
75. Had plastic surgery
76. Survived an accident that you shouldn't have survived
77. Wrote articles for a large publication
78. Lost over 50 kilos
79. Piloted an airplane
80. Petted a stingray
81. Broken someone's heart
82. Broken a bone
83. Eaten sushi
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Parasailed
86. Skipped all your school reunions
87. Shaved your head
88. Caused a car accident
89. Pretended to be "sick"
90. Surfed in the ocean
91. Saved someone's life
92. Fainted
93. Been in the room while someone is giving birth
94. Hitchhiked
95. Adopted a child
96. Been caught daydreaming
97. Been to Ayers Rock
98. Called off a wedding engagement
99. Donated your blood

Courage of the heart is very rare. The stone has a power when it's there...

2007-01-17T23:36:00.001-08:00

Ahhh, the Secret of NIMH. Animated literature at it's finest, in my small world view. I love this move. The theme song has been in my head for about four hours now, so I'm sharing it here with you.

Flying Dreams

Dream by night
Wish by day
Love begins this way.
Loving starts
When open hearts
Touch, and stay.
Sleep for now
Dreaming's how
Lover's lives are planned.
Future songs
And flying dreams,
Hand, in hand.

Love it seems
Made flying dreams
So hearts, could soar.
Heaven sent
These wings were meant
To prove, once more.
That love is the key....
Love is the key.
You and I
Touch the sky
The eagle and the dove.
Nightingales
We keep our sails
Filled with love.
And love it seems
Made flying dreams,
To bring you home to me....

(Instrumental section)

Love it seems
Made flying dreams
So hearts, could soar.
Heaven sent
These wings were meant
To prove, once more.
That love is the key....
Love is the key.

You and I
Touch the sky
The eagle and the dove.
Nightingales
We keep our sails
Filled with love.
Ever strong
Our future song,
To sing it must be free.

Ev'ry part
Is from the heart,
And love is still the key.
And love it seems
Made flying dreams
To bring you home
To me..

Music by Jerry Goldsmith. Lyrics Written and Performed by Paul Williams
1982

Not Even Close

2007-01-17T23:36:00.000-08:00

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Inland North You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
Philadelphia
The Northeast
The Midland
The South
The West
Boston
North Central
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

This Story brought to you by the letter S

2006-12-26T00:24:00.000-08:00

I like Spider-Man.

There's reasons for this, whether superficial or psychological, such as my lack of male role models, and affinity for Spandex clad Superheroism at its finest. He taught me to try to do what is right, and to try and be responsible, and to never, ever give up.

But I like Spider-Man. There's a humanity to him. An everyman quality. He's a man that can Save the world, but still Struggle to pay the rent.

So this is my favorite Spider-Man Story.

In an ironic twist, it doesn't involve Super-villains, bank heists, or any measure of Saving the day.

Back in the late eighties/early nineties, in what will from now forward be referred to as Comic Book Reality, Spider-Man, in his Secret Identity of Peter Parker, married Miss Mary Jane Watson, Supermodel and actress. But as art imitates life, over the years the Parkers have had their Share of trouble.

Getting back to the point, my favorite Spider-Man Story doesn't involve a fight, or a trouncing, or even any Spider action. It was about two people: Peter and MJ.

See, they were separated, as MJ was having trouble dealing with the stresses that came from being a Superhero's wife. She had left New York, and was working on making a movie on the west coast. Peter missed her terribly, and upon prompting by his Aunt May, he hopped on a plane, flew west, and begged her for five minutes of her time.

Now, during this time there was the obligatory Super-hero fight that threatened once again his Spousal bliss, but it's what came after that that touched me.

When he finally got his five minutes, Peter asked for another chance. MJ hesitated, and said she didn't know, that there was a lot She had to think about.

So my hero made the Sacrifice. He nodded, and said "I love you. Take all the time you need. I will wait, as long as it takes. I'll wait for you until the Stars turn cold."

And that's my favorite Spider-Man Story.

Nine questions about poetry.

2006-12-16T13:05:00.000-08:00

Hey, why not, right?

1. The first poem I remember reading/hearing/reacting to was...

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!
They'd advertise - you know!
How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one's name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

-Emily Dickinson

As a small, freakishly intelligent, non-athletic, and unsocially skilled kid, I was able to get an emotional response that I could empathize with.

Number two is anything by e.e. cummings. I remember reacting negatively to his lack of adherence to capitalizing proper nouns. But, I was also eleven at the time. It still irritates me, but I understand that he's being unconventional, and doing it on purpose now. Well not now, but then. I understand it now I mean to say. Stupid English.

2. I was forced to memorize Robert Frost in school and........

...I still remember it. Stupid mnemonic cues.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

3. I read/don't read poetry because....

...nine times out of ten I don't understand or feel it. I need auditory cues to express the emotional content to me. This is why I appreciate "music as poetry" as opposed to simply reading it quietly, partularly the works of Billy Joel, Amy Lee of Evanescence, and John Ondrasik of Five for Fighting. I'm more apt to understand or "get" a poem that has a rhythm to it that I can feel. Edgar Allan Poe's "The Bells" is one of the earliest memories I have of "feeling" the rhythm of a poem.

4. A poem I'm likely to think about when asked about a favourite poem is ...........something about that girl from Nantucket. That's a joke, son.

Actually, I found this in high school. We were studying poetry in lit class, and had to make a poetry journal full of 10 poems we found and liked. Kids looked at me funny, because the "minimum" was a poem of 10 lines, and I had found one that spoke to me that was substantially longer. Also, this was in the dark ages, so it all had to be written by hand with pen and paper, hence the insistence of most lazy kids to do the bare minimum.

Casey's Revenge

There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more;
There were muttered oaths and curses- every fan in town was sore.
"Just think," said one, "how soft it looked with Casey at the bat,
And then to think he'd go and spring a bush league trick like that!"

All his past fame was forgotten- he was now a hopeless "shine."
They called him "Strike-Out Casey," from the mayor down the line;
And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh,
While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey's eye.

He pondered in the days gone by that he had been their king,
That when he strolled up to the plate they made the welkin ring;
But now his nerve had vanished, for when he heard them hoot
He "fanned" or "popped out" daily, like some minor league recruit.

He soon began to sulk and loaf, his batting eye went lame;
No home runs on the score card now were chalked against his name;
The fans without exception gave the manager no peace,
For one and all kept clamoring for Casey's quick release.

The Mudville squad began to slump, the team was in the air;
Their playing went from bad to worse - nobody seemed to care.
"Back to the woods with Casey!" was the cry from Rooters' Row.
"Get some one who can hit the ball, and let that big dub go!"

The lane is long, some one has said, that never turns again,
And Fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men;
And Casey smiled; his rugged face no longer wore a frown-
The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.

All Mudville had assembled - ten thousand fans had come
To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the bum;
And when he stepped into the box, the multitude went wild;
He doffed his cap in proud disdain, but Casey only smiled.

"Play ball!" the umpire's voice rang out, and then the game began.
But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan
Who thought that Mudville had a chance, and with the setting sun
Their hopes sank low- the rival team was leading "four to one."

The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score;
But when the first man up hit safe, the crowd began to roar;
The din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard
When the pitcher hit the second and gave "four balls" to the third.

Three men on base - nobody out - three runs to tie the game!
A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's hall of fame;
But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night,
When the fourth one "fouled to catcher" and the fifth "flew out to right."

A dismal groan in chorus came; a scowl was on each face
When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place;
His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed, his teeth were clenched in hate;
He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.

But fame is fleeting as the wind and glory fades away;
There were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day;
They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored: "Strike him out!"
But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.

The pitcher smiled and cut one loose - across the plate it sped;
Another hiss, another groan. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
Zip! Like a shot the second curve broke just below the knee.
"Strike two!" the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.

No roasting for the umpire now - his was an easy lot;
But here the pitcher whirled again- was that a rifle shot?
A whack, a crack, and out through the space the leather pellet flew,
A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.

Above the fence in center field in rapid whirling flight
The sphere sailed on - the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight.
Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit,
But no one ever found the ball that mighty Casey hit.

O, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun,
And somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun!
And somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall,
But Mudville hearts are happy now, for Casey hit the ball.

-Grantland Rice.

I had of course read the tragic tale of Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, but it offended the sense of heroism that lays deeply engrained withiin me. Though I don't even like baseball, this poem redeemed a fallen hero for me, and let me sleep better at night for a while.

4.5: There are some poets/poems that I don't like or don't understand...
um, True? See #3.

5. I don't write poetry, but...
...I try to, when appropriately inspred to do so. I tend to focus entirely too much on the rythm, rhyme, and cadence, making it more of a technical excercise than an emotional one. I think that's wrong somehow.

6. My experience with reading poetry differs from my experience with reading other types of literature.....
...because poetry when written properly (in my view) is a far more visceral and emotional insight into the author, rather than depiction of places or events they are scribing about.

7. I find poetry...
...in my email box from time to time, from a special person that is far, far better at expressing themselves than I am.

8. The last time I heard poetry...
....was on the phone with someone that was sharing something they had written. Goosebumps.

9. I think poetry is...
...great for those that understand it, better for those that love it, and like fine women and wine, your love and appreciation for it increases with age and exposure.

Courtesy of Anniina by way of someone else.

2006-12-16T12:06:00.000-08:00

Your 'Do You Want the Terrorists to Win' Score: 23%

Fairly well done, fellow patriotic citizen. You have taken a decisive stand behind our dear leader and against the terrorists. However you do not march completely in lockstep conformity, and that is troubling. Steel your commitment to the defeat of evil! Bow in unquestioning loyalty to George Bush! Afterall you don't want to be a liberal, do you?

Do You Want the Terrorists to Win?
Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Congratulations, Dave!

2006-12-16T12:00:00.000-08:00

Your IQ score is 135

This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others.

Your Intellectual Type is Visionary Philosopher. This means you are highly intelligent and have a powerful mix of skills and insight that can be applied in a variety of different ways. Like Plato, your exceptional math and verbal skills make you very adept at explaining things to others — and at anticipating and predicting patterns. And that's just some of what we know about you from your IQ results.

Congratulations my ass. It used to be higher. Stupid blows to the head.

Holiday Trip

2006-12-02T10:38:00.000-08:00

I travel. Not habitually, or not in the esoteric "We're all travelling through space at a billion miles per hour" manner, but nevertheless, I travel.

I generally do so by car, as I have discovered that there is no more blissful feeling for me than hurtling along by motor vehicle (or horseless carriage, car, automobile, hot rod, or the like) at slightly-more-than legal speed with wind in my hair, music blaring, and a cigarette dangling between my lips.

All you smokers, take a puff and enjoy the bliss.

I usually take my beloved 1987 Camaro on these trips. It's old, and four different colors (five if you count rust and six if you count dirt), and beat up, and held together primarily with luck, duct tape, and what is generally suspected to be "The Dark Side of the Force."

That's a joke, really. It's actually more of a tribute to my questionable mechanical aptitude, and love.

Sometimes people tease me when I show up to visit them in said rolling deathtrap, wondering how I made it out of town, not to mention across the country. This year alone I have roamed through New Mexico, Arizona, California, Nevada, Texas, and most recently Oklahoma. (More on Oklahoma later.) I just smile, knowing that under the skin is the heart of a champion, and think of the words of Shepherd Book. "Sometimes how you get there is the worthier part."

But, though I wax poetic about my Millenium Falc...er, Camaro, this last trip was taken sans trusty steed (with factory-equipped Wookiee, dry bar, and Astromech Droid), in a different car as I was travelling with my roommate to visit her family for Thanksgiving.

In Oklahoma. It's supposed to be said slowly, with clear enunciation, and with a dramatic pause before the word itself. Here's an example:

"Hey everyone, I'm going to........Oh-claw-home-uh."

Now, this blog doesn't like to make fun of states (other than ignorance, denial, and Rhode Island), so please, dear residents of Oklahoma (both of you), take no offense to what comes later. It isn't aimed at you.

There were highs and lows on the trip. We left town at about sundown on a Thursday night, and traffic was sparse and the weather was cool yet comfortable, as it tends to be in the desert southwest. Residents of this part of the country will nod knowingly, understanding that we have but two seasons here, referred to as "Summer" and "Christmas." The drive was relatively nice, though crossing Texas is well, boring. Cows and oil rigs. That's it. It looks like an economic map of the state, with litle oil derricks and cows delineating our industries, only in real life. I looked around for the compass rose telling me which way was north, but got smacked when I explained what I was doing later. Anyway, the radio was on, and the stars were shining, and all in all, it was fairly pleasant.

High point of the drive to Oklahoma: Clear skies and multiple shooting stars to make wishes on. Seriously, it looked as if everything was flat out falling out of the sky.

Low point: Christian Rock dressed up as real music. Now, I respect artistic expression both religious and otherwise, but when you are in scan mode for 45 minutes listening to, well, nothing, and it stops, and you hear a guitar, loud drums, and begin to think "Yes! Road music! Woohah!" this is a good thing. But when the singer of said faux-rock music begins screaming "Christ is lord! Christ is lord!" at you, it realllly throws off your internal balance. Note: I purposefully left out the plethora of spanish radio stations prevalent down here. Artistic expression is artistic expression, and there isn't a (CENSORED) thing artistic OR expressive about the accordion. End Rant.

So Good Time was made, as all men nod approvingly of as they read this, travelling 600 miles or so to Lawton, Olahoma in just under nine hours (Ten with the time-zone change. Gorramed farmers.) and we arrived a little after sunrise. I was wrecked from the drive, as I had been suffering from insomnia caused by Too Much Playstation2 and the Marvel Ultiimate Alliance game, where I have a level 99 Spider Man with close to 1400 hit points. Eat that, WOW players.

Anyway, I crashed out and slept the day away peacefully after letting the relevant people (ok, ok, person) in my life know that I arrived safely. It was cooler than it was at home, but comfortably so, and realized that Brenda (roomies mom) was a Pretty Cool Lady, as defined by three six-foot shelves filled with fantasy and sci-fi paperbacks. So the night owl in me (and the geek, which goes without saying) took over, and I began voraciously devouring the buffet of near-boundless imagination there, whilst laying in a hammock, smoking and lit by the light of the motion-sensitive light kept on constantly by the swaying of the hammock.

And yes, Anniina, I read Edding's "The Mallorean." Twice. You see what happens when you aren't here to protect me from myself?

As a side note, while reading said tale, featuring one Polgara the Sorceress (known to take the form of an owl when she shapechanged), I did glimpse a HUGE owl alighting the grass about 50 feet away. It was vaguely surreal, but will be filed under "Highlights."

Things quickly degenerated, though, as I began to get ill due to the evil, tyrranical race of Non-smokers residing in the house, and the appearance of my deadly nemesis. Superman has his Lex Luthor, Spider-Man his Green Goblin, and I found...

The Boy.

Now The Boy has a name. It's Nathan. I know this, and will never forget it, because it was repeated three times in every sentence spoken by anyone residing in the house. Here's an example:

"Goddamit Nathan, stop it, good morning, Dave, goddamit Nathan, stop it, want some coffee or anything, goddamit Nathan stop it."

It was like the army, except louder and nerve shattering. And it went on for two weeks.

Now, The Boy (it's important to use your nemesis' Code Name when referring to him or her in rhetoric and not their real name, as it violates section 459.3 of the Secret Identity Code) wasn't necessarily bad, just young and rambunctious and in need of a certain amount of attention. That certain amount being "All of it." This caused him to develop the super-powers of Knocking On Three Doors Simultaneously, Bursting Into Your Bathroom Unexpectantly, Groin-Headbutting +3, and Ear-Shattering Screeching While Referring To Himself In The Third Person. Luckily, he had the weaknesses of Inability to Tie His Shoes, Short Legs, and Fear of the Dark Side, so for the most part I was able to stifle his nefarious plots of Attention Domination and Keeping Me Awake by hoisting him eight feet into the air and promising to drop him into the very cold outside above ground pool if he did not "goddamit Nathan stop it" right now.

I got bored, and drunk, and lonely though, and ended up sitting outside a place called "Bubba's Gas and Bait Shop" (which was adjoining "Tamis Country Cravins") on the curb, drinking a Mr Pibb (not as good as Dr Pepper) and eating a 100 Grand candy bar as suggested to me a couple of days earlier. Saw a couple more shooting stars, made a couple more wishes, pondered if the world was about to end with all the stuff falling out of the sky, and bought a bottle of moonshine.

Hey, quit judging me The sky was falling. If Chicken Little was legal, he'd have hit the 'shine too.

The holiday came and went, with little excitement, and I had a week to go, and was running out of books. The last one I had read, "1984," by George Orwell had pissed me off. Yes, it was the first time I had read it, though I understood the gist of it, but the ending left me angry and unsatisfied. Why? Go read it yourself. (CENSORED) Big Brother. (CENSORED) him right in his (CENSORED) (CENSORED).

We took a mini-trip, up to Oklahoma City, and visited what's called Bricktown, where there is a little canal where you can pay six bucks to ride a boat up and down it, kind of like the Riverwalk in San Antonio. There was a Hooters restaurant, which was nice, and then we visited the Oklahoma City memorial, the site of, well, a very naughty thing involving children and a bomb that doesn't need to be discussed further. I expected the grounds to have a dark, angry feel to them, as if the people wronged there were holding a grudge, as I envisioned myself doing if I had been caught in that situation. They didn't, though, and the place was very peaceful. At the gift shop I bought a "worry stone" that had the word "Courage" engraved on it, and was nearly moved to tears by the ceramic tiles made by the surviving children thanking their rescuers for their help that were part of the memorial.

Definitely a "moment." The ground felt hallowed and quiet, and goddamit Nathan stopped it the entire time we were there.

A couple days later I visited Geronimo's Grave. I thought I could feel the power of that ancient warrior still lingering. Another moment.

It was just about time to depart when Winter caught me, in the form of a blizzard that decended from Missouri into north Texas.

Let me make something clear. I'm from the desert. I live in a city that becomes paralyzed when we get that inch of snowfall every other year or so. I was very, very unprepared to deal with this. Almost zero visibility. Roads covered, icy, and nearly invisible. 40 mph wind kicking the snow off the flat plains onto the windshield. 17 degrees, -2 with the wind chill. Typical to some, frightening and alien to me.

And no car heater, and me in my Adventuring Slippers.

But I wanted to go home. I missed my cats, my internet, my cell service, and my 55 degree Decembers very, very badly.

So, there I was, knuckes as white as the sky as they gripped the steering wheel, travelling through this (to me) hell. It took 14 hours to drive the 600 miles home, and that storm was pissed at me. It chased me all the way past Abilene and left snow on the ground as far west and south as Midland, where I was further accosted by a State Trooper who was trying to get that last ticket in for his quota (it was the 30th).

We were pulled over as the sun was setting while we were exiting to get gas and try to warm up at a truck stop for a bit. He had been sitting in my driver's side blind spot for about a quarter mile (I knew he was there. All Scoundrels come factory equipped with Authority Sense) before getting behind me and lighting me up as I pulled into the Chevron.

Coming to my window, I greeted him and asked the problem. He asked me if I knew that my passenger wasn't wearing her seat belt.

-Twitch-

First things first. We were in a 94 Tempo. With automatic seat belts. You don't really have a choice in the matter.

I explaind that she was, and he disbelieved me. He asked if I knew he was a Police Officer, and that you shouldn't lie to the police, son.

-Flinch-

I pointed out to him that the seat belts were automatic, and that she was in fact wearing hers. As a side note, my roommate is NOTORIOUS for not wearing her seat belt, so the irony that we got pulled over the ONE TIME she was wearing it was lost on me at the moment but discovered later.

So he wanders over to the passenger side, and asks that we roll down the window there, where he proceeds to reach in and "manually inspect" the seat belt without further preamble. "Where does this detach?" he asked.

It doesn't. It's built in, and automatic. Say it with me. Aw-toe-mat-ick.

He makes a face and tugs on it some, then says "Oh, well, she was wearing it wrong then" and gets out his citation book.

-SNAP-

Ok. Me and authority, we don't mix. It's like oil and water, or democrats and republicans, or common and sense. But I had just braved a blizzard and was halfway home, and this guy was being a dick.

So after watching him fill out a false ticket and listen to him tell a story about how he had just worked a traffic accident where a woman lost use of her legs and arms and couldn't hold her children and that we should know better, I lost my mind.

But I was cool. Jedi cool baby.

I said to him "Officer, that must have been a traumatic experience for you to have affected you enough to worry about us so much that you wanted to advise us about seat belt safety."

He nodded somberly, and continued to fill out his ticket.

Then, I asked him what her name was. "Who's name?" he responded.

The lady in the accident. He looked stunned. Then I asked him what kind of car she was driving, and if anyone else was hurt, and how many children she had that she couldn't hold.

See folks, this trooper was a poor, poor liar, and there's one thing I cannot abide, and that's a bad liar. Especially one in a position of authority. He couldn't answer any of my questions. He began to stammer and stutter and lose his tenuous position.

Then I asked him how good his vision was, as he was wearing glasses. He said he had a little farsightedness.

So I asked him how he saw from the driver's side of my car to the passenger side, that an automatic, non-detachable seatbelt was not being worn, in the dark.

Mate in two, folks.

Then I proceeded to ask him to make sure that his name, badge number, and extension number were on the ticket, as I would be needing more information regarding this matter shortly.

The look on his face as he tore up the ticket and told us to "drive safe" before departing was priceless.

He never even asked us for ID or proof of insurance. Just some hillbilly flashing his badge and oozing "respect mah authority" at me. Jerk.

We drove on, and the oil light came on on the car. The blzzard had kicked the shit out of us, and we actually lost 2+ quarts of oil somewhere. We refilled it and limped home, finally arriving near midnight, where I checked the mail, made a phone call, and collapsed on the couch, where my kitties curled up on me, forgiving me for my absence and purring me to sleep.

So there you have it folks. The Oklahoma Adventure, complete with Man vs Man, Man vs Nature, and Man vs Himself conflicts, which are the important elements of drama. Exotic locales. Stirring characters. Daring escapes. And a hero with an edge.

Coming soon to theatres in 2007.

Advance tickets on sale Friday.

Afloat on the stream of consciousness.

2006-11-15T21:15:00.000-08:00

A hundred days have made me older
Since the last time that I saw your pretty face...
-Three Doors Down

Another quiz

2006-09-03T02:35:00.000-07:00

Which Shakespeare Character are You?

You are Viola from Twelfth Night. You feel things deeply, and you have a great capacity to love. Unfortunately, your love seems destined to remain unrequited. You still have some hope though, which may be what makes the relationship possible. You are hiding your true self from those around you. Revealing yourself might lead to a happier ending than what seems possible right now.
Take this quiz!

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More quiz fun

2006-09-03T01:49:00.000-07:00

You scored as Thor.

Thor

70%

Tyr

60%

Odin

50%

Freyr

40%

Bragi

30%

Heimdall

20%

Hel

20%

Loki

20%

Skadi

20%

Sif

10%

Balder

Frigg

Freya

Njord

Which Norse God or Goddess are you most like?
created with QuizFarm.com

Birthday musings

2006-08-17T14:32:00.000-07:00

She turns to me sometimes and asks me what I'm dreaming
And I realize I must have gone a million miles away
And I ask her how she knew to reach out for me that moment
And she smiles because it's understood there are no words to say

-Billy Joel

Had one, it wasn't the greatest, but it wasn't the worst. I found out there are a couple of people out there that care enough to mention or to do something for me, despite distance. And that made it special.

So here's me, reaching across the distance to return some of that on your special day, with a litte touch of of my own beloved bard. The above is from "It's all about Soul."

Unclear clarity, irony and a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.

2006-07-21T13:25:00.000-07:00

Triumph and tragedy intertwine as ever, never too much of one or the other. Things are clearer now, given new information I have recieved. I heard somewhere once that there can be no future until you settle the past. I suppose that it is now, or at least things make sense. It doesn't make me happier about the series of unfortunate events, but at least they make sense, and I no longer feel as if I am insane.

It was good to know my instincts had not let me completely astray, that there was in fact something deeper involved, though a caveat has remained to not trust in them completely. I'm hesitant to heed that caveat, given that I did find a level of accuracy in them again finally, which restored a lot of my confidence. I almost even swagger again, if you can believe that.

Or perhaps temperance is needed, balance that instinct with what remains of my once-keen intellect into something else. Write a new program, synergize, adapt, and overcome. I may not know what to do right now, but at least now I know that I CAN do something. Either way, now I can deal. My feet are on firmer ground, and there's no more quicksand under me. And even if there is, I'll figure out what to do.

I went to Wal-mart last night. You people may know how I feel about that, but I went anyway. It was quiet and nearly empty, which makes it more acceptable. I bought a new pair of shoes, some jeans, and some cat food.

It was odd buying the jeans and shoes. I haven't spent a dime on myself in months. Unless you count bail, fines, and impound fees. Which I don't.

As I was leaving the store, I saw a little black kitten. It seemed lost, yet playful, as it pounced a stray piece of garbage there in the parking lot. As I approached I saw it was thin and gaunt, but then it fled and hid in a storm drain. That made me sad somehow, but I knew it wouldn't come near me. And that made me sad too. Poor little thing, it just was scared, needed something to take care of it, but wouldn't come near me so I could.

So I wandered back to the car, and realized that duh, I had just bought cat food. So I opened the bag and took a couple of handfuls out, and placed them at the edge of the storm drain. I sat in my car for a bit, and though I realized it might not let me hold it or pet it, that I could do Something for it. The kitten came out timidly, and sniffed the food, and started to eat. It would be okay, for tonight anyway.

And that made me happy.

Thanks Kitty.

Yo, ho, ho, ho, a Pirate's life for me...

2006-07-14T02:05:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, I bought a watch. Then, I bought a watchband to go with my watch, its came with what is called a "sport compass" built into the band.

No, not one of those things you draw a circle with in geometry, but rather one that supposedly tells you which way is north. I say supposedly because it is ridiculously inaccurate.

When asked about my compass, usually in jest, I would feign wisdom. They would ask "are you lost?" My reply would be that "This doesn't tell me where I am, it tells me where I'm going."

I replaced said watch and watchband several times over the years, each time replacing the watch with an exact duplicate, and the band as well.

Until my last trip to Las Vegas, that is, where the band broke, and I was indeed very lost for a long time. I didn;t know which way to go, or where I was going. A dark time.

A few weeks ago, I found what appears to be virtually the last "sport compass watchband" on the face of the planet. I attatched it to my watch, and put it back on, and felt infinitely better about being me. I had a silly belief that by doing so, I would find my way, that it would lead me to where I am supposed to be.

It didn't appear to work. Was I out of magick? Did I spend it all surviving the beginning of this year?

It would appear so.

Until I saw Pirates of the Caribbean part 2.

Now, I won't be giving any spoilers, nor will I entertain questions from those of you who haven't seen it. I won't even remark on whether or not I thought it was good.

But when you watch it, think of me, and my watch.

For with this ship true,
I will outrun the devil
Just show me the way.

A Scoundrel's Pride.

2006-06-25T11:55:00.000-07:00

I still remember the first time I saw her.

I was on foot, walking to get some breakfast, or some comics, that part I don't remember. I do remember that it was windy, and it was cool, and I was irritated about being on foot.

Something struck me then, as I walked along, in the forehead, just above my right eye. There was a flutter in the wind, and a rustle of something I didn't recognize, and then pain. I clutched my offended forehead and cursed, and looked around to see what had hit me.

Looking down upon the ground, I saw a long strip of yellow vinyl, trailing away from my feet. It was a streamer, really, that the wind must have kicked up that had attacked me. Following the offensive end to its source, some 15 feet away, I saw her.

She was battleship gray, yet somehow shone in the morning sun, light reflecting off of windshield and roof. Angular yet curved at the same time. I wasn't a "Car guy" at this point, but between the badges she bore, and vague knowledge, I discovered she was a Camaro. The word means "companion" in French, I believe, but I didn't know that at the time.

And she was beautiful. To me, anyway.

I approached her with trepidation, feet creeping up to her, and I placed a hand on the fender. Steel, cool and hard in the morning air. As I rubbed her gently I felt more than saw and heard images from her, visions of charging into adventure and out of trouble, and she sang a siren song of speed and power.

I made a deal. A bad deal, but she was mine 24 hours later. I paid too much, but we often do for the things we desire, when we feel The Call.

And oh, how I did.

Over the next few years, she taught me. She taught me everything I now know about cars, and maintenance, and repair, and mechanics. She carried me to work, to fun, to battle, and gently swept me home when it turned bad. I began to lose count of all the times she had saved me with her strength, speed, and resilience, or I her with my cunning, my skill, or luck. We got better, together, me working on her and thinking about things, repairing both her and my systems, improving them with every turn of a wrench or grounding of a wire.

She saved me so many times. She saved me by breaking down, forcing me to funnel cash into her instead of some stupid girl whose affection I would try to buy. She saved me by being a haven, somewhere I could go to hide, and hide anywhere. She saved me by giving me freedom, and mobiity, and a suit of armour made of steel.

Then things began to happen, and I would forget the bond we shared. She got all but abandoned, if not literally then at least metaphorically. I no longer put my soul into her as I once did, for I was shaken and shorn from the battles in my life. I no longer improved her, or myself. We simply put just enough into ourselves to get us back on the road.

To survive, but not strive. Once again, she teaches me. She's never given up on me, though I clearly did her for a time.

In recent days someone suggested that I needed to make myself a place, a haven, a sanctum. It puzzled me for a time, as I had never recognized that I already had such a place. I drove up to the mountains a couple nights ago, and pulled the t-tops off to look up at the stars. I thought about a lot of things, about so many adventures and misadventures. I chuckled at
rememberances of words said about the pair of us, about how crazy we were to travel so far, in such a "hunk of junk." That we made it at all, is a testament to our combined talents, her willingness to do whatever I ask, and my skill and aptitude with keeping her together.

But she isn't a hunk of junk. And neither am I.

I sat on the mountain for a long time, thinking and looking through my notebook of plans and dreams for the pair of us that I had set aside while I searched for other things. I looked for a long time at the co-pilots seat, and of all the people who had sat there next to me inside her, and it didn't feel entirely right that it was empty.

But it wasn't entirely wrong, either. There was a long time, before any friend or lover that had sat there beside me, when it was just me. And that was okay. Maybe life is better with a co-pilot, but not having one isn't the end of the world. I made it by just fine on my own before. Now is no different than then.

Another lesson.

There are those among you who may not understand how it feels, or may think it is silly to regard a "thing" as a person. "It's just a car," they say. It's just a thing.

That may be true.

But this car, this companion has taught me more about life, and myself, than any other thing or person on this planet. She's never failed me, nor I her, and I do not intend to start now.

She will be my shelter, and my strength. I will be her deftness, and her skill. We will save each other again, in large and small ways.

For from the first day I saw her until the stars burn out, she will remain, The Scoundrel's Pride.

From the ashes?

2006-06-20T02:30:00.000-07:00

A Warrior must understand that failure should never be the end. The Warrior's Code places a heavy load on a man's* shoulders, requiring almost superhuman abilities for them to accomplish all its demands. In large and small ways, all men* eventually fail some of the challenges eventually. We might feel anger, or frustration, or succumb to temptation. We might work against the universe in desperation, even with the best of intentions. We fall from the high ideals we hold ourselves to.

The true failure of a Warrior is not in stumbling or in failing to live up to the ideals we live by. The true failure occurs if, once having fallen, we refuse or fail to rise again. There are those who, having failed in one of their tasks, consider themselves beyond redemption or forgiveness.

I am guilty of this at times myself.

We strive to live up to the ideals that we set forth for ourselves, but when (not if, but when) a man* fails to attain those goals, the only choices are to let the failure dominate his* life, or to rise from the ashes of that defeat and make peace with himself*, and try once more.

Or as the dearest of hearts told me, "Learn to be gentle to yourself."

That is the way of the Warrior.

*Feel free to substitute She, Her, or Woman where applicable. This blog does not contain gender or other bias towards those Woman Warriors out there.

Crushed

2006-06-12T22:16:00.000-07:00

The short version is that I spent most of the weekend in jail, and that it was unpleasant, and that I am now broke.

The long version is worse. I'm not writing about it publicly.

Know that I feel neither protected, nor served.

Seven things, thanks Anniina

2006-06-08T00:06:00.000-07:00

Seven things to do before I die:

1 Save the day
2 Find true love
3 Build a Lightsaber
4 Swing from a webline
5 Get the Girl
6 Finish my book
7 Live happily ever after

Seven things I cannot do:

1 Touch my elbows together behind my back. Try it. Especially you ladies.
2 Give Up
3 Forget
4 Surrender
5 Go down without a fight
6 Eat fish
7 Live a lie

Seven books (or series of books) I love:

1 Star Wars Expanded Universe (Various) Specifically the Han Solo Trilogy and the Han Solo Adventures
2 The Belgariad/The Mallorean (David Eddings)
3 The Tao of Jeet Kune Do (Bruce Lee)
4 The Art of War (Sun Tzu)
5 S.E. Hinton's Coming of age novels (The Outsiders, Rumble Fish, That was Then, This is Now, etc)
6 The Great Brain (From childhood, about Tom Fitzgerald and his adventures in early Utah)
7 I Want To Go Home! (Gordon Korman)

Seven movies I'd watch over and over again:

1 Hidalgo
2 Star Wars (any)
3 LOTR (any)
4 Spider-Man (any)
5 Armageddon
6 Empire Records
7 The Chronicles of Riddick

Seven people I'd like to tag:

1 Anyone with a tattoo of a rose wrapped around a sword or dagger. Tag them with a fucking BRICK.
2 Jim Carrey. With a Wrecking Ball. With a BRICK attached to it. For balance, of course.
3 George Lucas. Han Shot First, you bastard. The BRICK(tm) treatment again.
4 Eddie B. Always there for me. Even though he got me into trouble to begin with. No brick, just a man-hug
5 The staff at the Phoenix Village Inn. They let you smoke inside! Woo-hoo!
6 The good people at the Jack Daniels Distillery
7 Anniina. an Angel, pure and simple.

2006-05-23T07:06:00.000-07:00

It's remarkable how one can geel stronger and yet worse at the same time. Or perhaps its the strength that comes from doing what is necessary, when its the opposite of what you want.

Recently I began to question my sanity. I had been led to believe that things were a certain way, when they weren't. I was told I led myself to believe that.

But this time I had proof. This time I had a copy of what I had been told. It wasn't my fault.

It wasn't my fault.

Of course, having said proof didn't make things better, it only made the person I had it on mad.

So. Here I am, with proof of my sanity, but other things slipping away.

Nevermind that in the middle of said altercation, I get blindsided by my mother, out of bloody nowwhere.

It's almost as if a unilateral feminine war was declared on me, heh. Okay, that's melodramatic, and not entirely appropriate.

I don't want anything that's unreasonable, out of me, or anyone. I just want a shot, a chance, a legitimate chance at happiness. One Fighting Chance, thats all. That's all I need. I have within me greatness, as all people do. Some let it pass them by. Some deny it, and settle for mediocrity.

I desperately need to acknowledge, accept, and act on mine. It wants out, it desperately wants out. I want to share. Colloborate. Create with someone. But I do not know how.

I used to scoff at the idea of the biological clock. I did. I'd hear about it from people and laugh, saying "Hah, I do what I want, when I want, how I want."

Now...I'm reminded of it constantly. I have this interminable dreadful feeling that the Clock Is Ticking, and it's the fourth quarter, and a hundred other sports euphemisms to make it more manly.

Patience is necessary. But it's a necessary evil that may drive me insane mere moments after having proof that I am not.

The irony is not lost on me.

2006-05-18T21:06:00.000-07:00

I want to write. Somehow I can't. My emotions are in a whirlwind. I can't think. I can't sleep. Not eating either.

I need stability. I need....ten tons of shit i can't have.

There's a hole in my soul that was formed at birth, and hardened and greatened on april the ninth 1993. And all the liquor, cigarrettes, anger, and anything else i try to fill with it doesn't do it.

And the thing is, I finally know what might, and i can't have it. Is that irony? Poetic justice? Dumb fucking luck?

There is no patience left in me, and that's what's most necessary right now.

The DEEPER irony of it all, comes from the fact that having conquered my anger, i have doomed myself. See, in times past, all i had to do was get mad, hulk up, and kaboom, i'm invincible.

Now i don't even have that. I just feel empty. Echoes of better days.

Why am I writing this here? Who here knows me? Maybe that's the point. One of you knows me, the rest of you are only peripherally aware of my existence, and that's okay. I'm only here due to the one person that knows me anyway.

I don't feel better. I only feel the same. Getting it out accomplished nothing.

The temptation to crawl back into my cave, and try this again in another decade is very strong.

Not sure how I feel about this one...

2006-05-13T07:35:00.000-07:00

You scored as Angel. Angel: Angels are the guardians of all things, from the smallest ant to the tallest tree. They give inspiration, love, hope, and positive emotion. They live among humans without being seen. They are the good in all things, and if you feel alone, don't fear. They are always watching. Often times they merely stand by, whispering into the ears of those who feel lost. They would love nothing more then to reveal themselves, but in today's society, this would bring havoc and many unneeded questions. Give thanks to all things beautiful, for you are an Angel.

Angel

75%

Mermaid

50%

Dragon

34%

WereWolf

33%

Faerie

33%

Demon

What Mythological Creature are you? (Cool Pics!)
created with QuizFarm.com

Blame Anniina

2006-05-11T07:34:00.000-07:00

Your results:
You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man		80%
Hulk		65%
Robin		60%
The Flash		55%
Superman		50%
Green Lantern		35%
Catwoman		35%
Batman		30%
Iron Man		30%
Supergirl		20%
Wonder Woman		10%

You are intelligent, witty,
a bit geeky and have great
power and responsibility.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

Sunday Side Job Hell.

2006-05-08T10:22:00.000-07:00

Well, I had intended to go out drinking, but that didn't happen, I got a call for my side-job, which I will describe for you here.

Ok. I do Spider-Man appearances at children's birthday parties. I have a keen costume, and "webshooters" that shoot silly string. I get a job doing this about once every couple of months, I don't advertise or anything, it's primarily friends or friends of a friends that this gets done for.

Several Rules I follow include never drinking, smoking, or cursing in costume. Spidey has to maintain an image, you know, set the example.

Basically I show up, dance about, shoot some silly string, do some cartwheels and stuff. If the roof is low enough, I'll make an entrance by jumping off it. I drop off a present, and then generally spend the rest of the time as a babysitter.

Now. These are sort of cool things. However, there are some sort of bad things that always, always seem to happen.

1) Invariably, half the children go dead quiet upon my appearance. The other haf begin to scream. This usually takes about an hour to overcome.

2) Some child leads an attack on principal, and causes all the children to try to unmask me.

3) Some lady who has had too much too drink tries to fuck me. Ahem, Spider-Man, not me.

4) Some man (usually the wife, husband, or lustful cousin of the woman trying to fuck me) picks a fight with me.

Sigh.

Yesterday went alright, with the exception of mising a cartwheel and nailing my feet on a chunk of concrete that busted them both up pretty badly. It hurts to walk. Oh, and super-heroes get crap health insurance. The docs frown on secret identities I guess.

After the party I limped back to the car, and changed back into Dave.

Wow, that was really fucking wierd to say.

Anyway, I went to the bar. There's no smoking in bars in El Paso anymore, but we were all doing it anyway. I guess living in an area of town the cops don't come to has its perks in that way. I ended up sitting there staring across the bar into the mirror at myself while listening to someone play Bob Marley's entire catalog on the jukebox.

Didn't have a drop to drink, just water.

My legs are tired and sore from crouching and jumping about. And my feet, of course. The rest, I don't know. Rib's a little tender, I guess I'm not healed up all the way after all.

Oh, and no Mary Jane to webswing home to sucks.

I don't have an incredible amount to say right now

2006-04-30T11:19:00.000-07:00

But I will try to say something. Or maybe I'll let someone else say it for me. In song. Natasha Bedingfield, who just inspired the shit out of me.

Unwritten.

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, oh, oh

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten

I've caught Anniina's Quiz Virus.

2006-04-14T21:18:00.000-07:00

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free.

In love, you feel the most alive when things are straight-forward, and you're told that you're loved.

You'd like to your lover to think you are stylish and alluring.

You would be forced to break up with someone who was emotional, moody, and difficult to please.

Your ideal relationship is open. Both of you can talk about everything... no secrets.

Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment.

You think of marriage as something precious. You'll treasure marriage and treat it as sacred.

In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?

Easter

2006-04-14T21:08:00.000-07:00

The word Easter derives from the name of an ancient goddess. Ishtar was known as the goddess of love and fertility in Babylonian society, and others called her Astarte. Eventually, the name changed to Ostara, which is "Eastre" in Old English.

Source:AOL Research & Learn.

Im not going to debate the Pagan associations that surround the Christian holiday in question, I'm simply going to elaborate on my thoughts regarding it and how I feel about it.

Easter is one of those odd holidays that doesn't fall on a "date." It falls on the first Sunday following the first full moon following the spring equinox. Get all that? This is why I never know when it is.

I'm about to get sappy, so hang on.

I love springtime. I do. With the exception of 1993, spring has always always been My Time. I feel regenerated, and recharged. Lets examine it. Springtime, the earth begins to sprout new growth, coming out of its wintery slumber. Ishtar, goddess of love and fertility, whom the day is named for. Not to mention the Christian attatchment of the Resurrection. All things return to life in the spring and bloom anew, and this is what is promised us in nearly every religious and scientific belief and theory that I am aware of.

Love and life blooming.

Love of life blooming.

The air smells clean, the wind is cool, and it isn't death-hot yet even though the sun shines bright. The only thing that could make it better would be to have the vast ocean filling my view, and for that cool wind to smell of the sea. Or possibly a hand to hold. Maybe it's time for another dose, a visit to my happy place while I am on this path to redemption during the renewal time upon us.

I'm healing, and learning, and living, and all that comes with it. I'm calm, and very nearly peaceful.

Happy Easter.

Irony?

2006-04-11T21:27:00.001-07:00

Your True Love Is a Leo

Why you'll love a Leo:

A Leo has a presence and power that you find intoxicating.
Sensual and playful, you'll be thrilled to have your Leo pick you as a playmate!

Why a Leo will love you:

You're willing to let your Leo be the center of attention (both at home and in public)
And you're able to tiptoe around your lion - and put up with the occasional fit.

What Sign Is Your True Love?

2006-04-11T20:35:00.000-07:00

Courage of the heart is very rare. The stone has a power, when it's there.
- Nicodemus, The Secret of NIMH.

I have lived the last ten years of my life in what can only be referred to as a coma. Oh, I was awake, and aware of the things I was doing, yet somehow at the same time powerless to do anything about them.

So I'm awake now, so now what? That's the question. How does a man reclaim the life he should have led? How does he claw his way back onto the path that he fell from, and can he even do so? Or even better yet...should he?

My life is plagued by fear. Of success. Of failure. Of happiness. Of loneliness. I have begun to conquer some of these, with the help of a few beloved souls. Some still remain.

But I have to try. I have to somehow rise above all this. Succeed or fail, it's the effort that will define whether courage exists or not within me still.

I have a hematite ring. Supposedly it helps to heal wounds, and aid wayward warriors, in certain beliefs. Maybe it doesn't matter what other people believe, and it's what I believe that matters.

More on this later.

Well.

2006-04-10T23:50:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. The Lion, as advertised, was sleeping. I feel awake now though, and aware, and a bit miffed at the world I have awoken in.

On our journey, we will learn what it means to be a Lion in the new savannah.
Lets start with what is simple.

From Merriam-Webster:

Main Entry: li·on
Function: nounPronunciation: 'lī-&nInflected Form(s): plural lionsEtymology: Middle English, from Old French, from Latin leon-, leo, from Greek leOn1 a or pl lion : a large heavily-built social cat (Panthera leo syn. Leo leo) of open or rocky areas chiefly of sub-Saharan Africa though once widely distributed throughout Africa and southern Asia that has a tawny body with a tufted tail and a shaggy blackish or dark brown mane in the male b : any of several large wildcats ; especially : COUGAR c capitalized : LEO 2 a : a person felt to resemble a lion (as in courage or ferocity) b : a person of outstanding interest or importance 3 capitalized [Lions (club)] : a member of a major national and international service club - li·on·like /-"līk/ adjective

More will follow. The Lion is hungry.

You all know the song.

2006-01-27T23:30:00.000-08:00

Oh in the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight.....

And he dreams. I know that we aren't supposed to begin sentences with the word "and," but lions don't worry about your semantic grammatical rules. They're the king of the jungle. Or the savannah. Or wherever. And they can use both and, and or to begin sentences with. If you don't like it, stop reading. I'm not here for you.

Why am I here then.

I'm trying to find a balance within me, and the people that have stumbled across me are ruining it. They know who I am, and for some reason I need a certain level of anonymity to pursue my eventual goal.

Which is?

As alluded to in the previous paragraph, I seek a balance. The World is in a conflict, but not the sort you may imagine. As in all great stories, there are plenty of man versus man, and man versus himself scenarios running across this world of ours, but one that escapes (Unless Anderson Cooper shows up to let you know that the Hellstorm of Apocolyptic Proportions has arrived) is man versus nature.

I could go on a long winded rant about how society has decided that things be a certain way, and that people buck the system because in their bones they know it is wrong. But I am not interested in that.* I'm interested in my own nature, and how it has been suppressed by man's law, and man's guidelines. I'm also interested in finding out what I am going to do about it.

Enjoy the ride, gentle and not so gentle readers. I doubt I will.

*Lions can use "but" to begin sentences too. Don't like it, let me introduce you to the suckass portion of the Circle of Life. that's the part where you get eaten.