Poor neglected little blog- Ten years ago you were the adventure in social media. I was connecting with friends, getting my writing out there, and trying to find my voice. There have been a few restarts and some side projects, but for the most part this little blog has all but dried up. I'm connecting on Facebook, in a sense, maybe, I think. My writing is tucked away, hibernating, waiting to re-emerge when inspiration strikes. Those strikes seem few and far between. My voice is this one. It doesn't feel as wacky as it once did. The vocal cords are rusty. If they were in a wagon, they'd need a push down the hill.
Yet, somehow, I can't quite give this up. Both of my readers might be disappointed. What would they read once every month? Where would they go for the latest in vague statements and stories about running.
At 10, I sense it might be time for a change, but I don't know yet what that change might be. I thought there would be more shocks to the system, more giant spotlights pointing me in the right direction, more trumpets heralding the path, more giant arrows, but instead I find just little clues. Life is a lot more like a scavenger hunt and lot less like a movie than I was expecting.
Showing posts with label blogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogs. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Trying to take the hippo from the hypocrite
I'm aware that what I'm about to write borders on hypocritical, but like a non-resident alien, I don't really have anywhere to go with this.
I'm worried about the written word.
This concern has been expressed before, probably quite loudly in a few newsrooms, but it comes to my fingertips from an unexpected source.
I was buying greeting cards last night. On the surface, this seems to show a traditionalist's support of the postal service, Hallmark, and words. Upon closer examination, we find that I was wholly unable to resist the charms of the musical cards. Even with the 150% mark-up in price and my usually conservative wallet, the music could not be stopped. Dear Mr. Mclean, the music did not die, they just made it really small and hid it in the grocery store aisle inside birthday greetings. Love, Dave.
I'm certain there were suitable cards for dads, bros, nieces and nephews, but again and again I was drawn to the cards that could make the recipient sing and dance. This makes some sense when buying for my nieces. They will sing and dance with a musical card. They will open and shut that card until the music does visit good old Don or the paper wears away to shreds, but my brother-in-law? He might chuckle, but he won't keep that card around until it wears thin. He'll toss it. Logically, I know it, and yet, as I said, I couldn't resist. The musical cards spoke to me (some quite literally) and they made me smile fondly and think of my family. The regular cards failed to capture that same spirit. I didn't regret my decision until I was home. The music was too strong and had moved me too far from the 99 cent rack. Now, I wonder if I also helped to kill the radio star. What's next? Bookstores?
Oh yeah... Speaking of that, author Ann Patchet just opened a book store in her town because she didn't want to live in a town without a bookstore after the last independent one closed. I'm impressed on a number of levels, but most impressed by the idea that Ms. Patchet is successful enough to say bookstores and words mean so much to me, I'm not letting them go down without a fight. That's a fight I might like to join.
I was buying greeting cards last night. On the surface, this seems to show a traditionalist's support of the postal service, Hallmark, and words. Upon closer examination, we find that I was wholly unable to resist the charms of the musical cards. Even with the 150% mark-up in price and my usually conservative wallet, the music could not be stopped. Dear Mr. Mclean, the music did not die, they just made it really small and hid it in the grocery store aisle inside birthday greetings. Love, Dave.
I'm certain there were suitable cards for dads, bros, nieces and nephews, but again and again I was drawn to the cards that could make the recipient sing and dance. This makes some sense when buying for my nieces. They will sing and dance with a musical card. They will open and shut that card until the music does visit good old Don or the paper wears away to shreds, but my brother-in-law? He might chuckle, but he won't keep that card around until it wears thin. He'll toss it. Logically, I know it, and yet, as I said, I couldn't resist. The musical cards spoke to me (some quite literally) and they made me smile fondly and think of my family. The regular cards failed to capture that same spirit. I didn't regret my decision until I was home. The music was too strong and had moved me too far from the 99 cent rack. Now, I wonder if I also helped to kill the radio star. What's next? Bookstores?
Oh yeah... Speaking of that, author Ann Patchet just opened a book store in her town because she didn't want to live in a town without a bookstore after the last independent one closed. I'm impressed on a number of levels, but most impressed by the idea that Ms. Patchet is successful enough to say bookstores and words mean so much to me, I'm not letting them go down without a fight. That's a fight I might like to join.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Neglect and vacations
If not for the posts I just snuck into March and early April about vacation, it had been nearly a month since I've posted to the old blog. I tried some new things on vacation this round. It was a more relaxing brand of vacation and it included Internet access. I knocked out two books and while I intended to do some "writing", all I really came up with were the posts below. Rather than just take notes, I wrote my posts on the road. I found it interesting to reread because I could sense the feeling of the day better than with the notes, but as I slightly edited my work I realized that I missed recreating the vacation days in my head. I suppose a different kind of vacation calls for a different kind of record.
I have Sectionals tales to tell now after just a few days after getting back to the US of A and holiday pictures which appear to be particularly grainy to edit and post to other places, so perhaps more is to come. This record of life goes on, round and round, and for the moment, in a groove.
If not for the posts I just snuck into March and early April about vacation, it had been nearly a month since I've posted to the old blog. I tried some new things on vacation this round. It was a more relaxing brand of vacation and it included Internet access. I knocked out two books and while I intended to do some "writing", all I really came up with were the posts below. Rather than just take notes, I wrote my posts on the road. I found it interesting to reread because I could sense the feeling of the day better than with the notes, but as I slightly edited my work I realized that I missed recreating the vacation days in my head. I suppose a different kind of vacation calls for a different kind of record.
I have Sectionals tales to tell now after just a few days after getting back to the US of A and holiday pictures which appear to be particularly grainy to edit and post to other places, so perhaps more is to come. This record of life goes on, round and round, and for the moment, in a groove.
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Christmas letter you didn't get from me
Dear Friends and Family,
I am going to share with you my year in Facebook status updates. I thought it might accomplish the same thing as a good letter, but I'm really quite vague.
Love,
Dave
Oh, yeah, the updates:
January:
David is looking for the team to come together after this.
David feels his philosophy shifting.
David is going to make popsicles… on the track.
David is kind of pretty sure we can. Maybe.
David is trying to fathom 1.8 million people.
David was on the wrong side of 15-14.
February:
David cannot think of a fitting superlative for Evie’s cookies.
David feels the sting of beard-ism.
David sends bearded kisses in your general direction.
David is wondering if anybody wants to go with him to support Kyle in the 24 hour musicals?
David's favorite moment of the day was entering the darkness on the first turn of the first 400 meters.
March:
David is frisbee crush on Sam, dance crush on Anne, general crush on February 28.
David is no longer amused by the Not-so-great Depression.
David is aw yeah.
David thinks marriages shouldn't last forever just so there can be more weddings.
David really just wants more parties with families, dancing, and love, not divorce as the genie named Aaron has pointed out.
David has a theory, will never tell, and walks through the fire.
David has a lot to learn.
Whatever it is, it isn’t here.
David just asked a squirrel, "Are you ok?" after it fell out of a 25-foot tree. The squirrel didn't answer, but scurried away.
April:
David has already been fooled.
Sometimes you get what you deserve and even though you want more, you can't be too sad about that.
David is on the verge of creating a series of surveys about himself to send to his friends.
David thinks a run is in order. Wishes Borman lived up the street.
David was in second place for about three steps, fortunately they were the last three. Yeah.
David is 2nd again.
David’s legs didn’t quit, but everything else is striking on their behalf.
David has auto-tuning on his mind.
“He lives vicariously through himself”
May:
David saw two pirates making out and couldn’t resist shouting, “Pirate love!”
The rain will not deter us. It will only moisten our spirits.
If I achieve nothing else, at least I taught Tedward to dance.
The intensity got fixed but the mark got broken.
David wants to make out with this weather.
David suspended “your mom” jokes for the day. No need to thank me.
David is quietly rocking the red.
David is quietly watching the red get rocked. Ouch.
David needs Parks and Rec to go away or needs some self control. Both seem unlikely.
David is all about the slow start this weekend.
David had a dream about cleaning and is now making that a reality. Hopefully, that’s the start of a trend.
David might become a loyal customer of Southwest after all.
David wonders if overreaction might be the right reaction.
June:
David is pretty sure his hamstrings are tuned an octave too high.
David is no match for an armored King Hippo.
David blames it on the al-al-al- weather.
David hopes Betty bounced back and was glad to spend time with familiar faces.
David is warming up his weirdness. The leftovers will be slathered in BBQ sauce.
everything but the canoe
David is going for an unofficial tubing record today. The late start won't do us any favors.
dodging rain drops and responsibility.
David would rather be night-tubing.
David experienced a glitch in the Matrix.
David would like to auto-tune father's day. I'm not sure it would do anything, but it makes T-Pain and the news better, so maybe it would work for Dads.
David is alive. Thanks for asking.
David laughed and cried at "The Proposal". That's one perfectly predictable romantic comedy.
Wait? What? Michael Jackson is dead? Inconceivable. (Also, Billie Jean. Not my girl.)
David wants to shed material possessions in theory, but not in practice.
David is whaddaya know? 2nd place again (This time in my age group).
July:
David is trying to hold off a thunderstorm with just an outstretched hand.
David is in the promised land of leftovers.
David was not second, but is feeling a little fast.
David has got the beach vision, but still needs the beach attire (half of it anyway.)
David can't believe it. Turns out I was second in my age group on Friday.
David is in the peloton, but always considering a breakaway.
David wrestles with the age-old Sunday night question: watch low quality Lohan movie or do something productive?
David enjoyed downtown Fort Worth and is now headed to the land of diving in the sand!
The faux-Brits DO drink from a faux-golden cup!
David has finished his championship laundry and grocery shopping. Next up: Championship bathroom cleaning. There's nothing like glory.
David is not happy with non-confrontational double-speak. Make a decision and mean it, punks.
August:
David is watching his own every move on the Internet in a mirror. Don't raise your eyebrow at me, mirrorDave.
David is unable to handle his rock and roll lifestyle; considering something more bluegrass-y.
It takes very little to create the illusion of security: just a few pieces of wood can do it.
David has the best non-roommate ever and I'm not talking about the giant dead beetle.
the modern amateur philosopher inside of me asks, "If I cannot tweet or share my status update, do I really exist?"
David finds an increasing number of things irrelevant. Why not this thing?
As I pack the artifacts from my life into boxes I realize that the people in it have helped make it pretty awesome.
Newsflash: Usain Bolt= Fast. Wow.
David curses stuff.
“don’t stop ‘til you get enough!”
“Goodnight, Moon”
David is tempted by the prospect of a landline. Really, really tempted.
David met his adorable second cousin, ran up the side of a little mountain, watched the bright orange sunrise and is using up his adjectives in hot Arizona.
September:
David was only over Facebook when he couldn't get to it.
David ran a practice on the turf in the rain with 25 people. Did I slip into an alternate universe?
Field space is on my mind.
David is after fjords and bjork.
David wonders if he can be a fan of Finse.
The ants are throwing a welcome back party and lots of them are invited.
David feels a low constant hum of the question, "is this important?"
October:
David is going to plop his priorities in a coliseum, have them battle gladiators, and if they live then he'll know what to do.
David played crab soccer in the park this morning. It was a crabtacular day to abuse my arms and hands.
David is quite pleased to know you.
David is ham and cheese, ham and biscuits, hamhocks, ham and pineapple, honey-baked ham, MC Hammer, green eggs and ham...
David screamed like mad for a tie and walked home with chants of U-S-A ringing in his ears.
David quietly wrestles some big questions. The questions appear to have both a size and tactical advantage.
David just found out that deep down inside, he's still a Chiefs fan.
As the Kool-Aid man once said as he broke through the wall, "Oh yeah!"
Wayne's World?
Adversity is the test. Defeat is the education. Pay attention and pack some extra socks next time.
David thinks the Internet should know that Roller Derby is awesome. See, look, I even said it on the Internet.
November:
David is turning left.
David thinks daylight savings time should be an individual choice. This could be problematic when meeting someone at 10 PM give or take 1 hour.
The rain is complicating an already complicated weekend. Biting off more Ultimate than I can chew is catching up with me NOW.
My marathon PR is about 50 seconds slower than Sarah Palin's. Who do I get to blame?
A very late layout on some bad force side defense led to full on cramping in BOTH calves simultaneously. Not the highlight of my day.
David is wondering when he became a planner.
I'm an Uncle x 2. Welcome Parker!
December:
The Internet is good for lots of things, but hugging isn't one of them.
David is brought to you by the number 5.
David is concerned that babies are taking over Facebook. First Facebook, next...
If I get sick, I'm going down fighting. I am not afraid to pull hair.
early to bed and early to rise, hopefully makes this man f-a-s-t.
37:07 in the morning, not shot by John Wilkes Booth at night. Nice day, indeed.
I need some hair to pull. I'm going down...
oh instant karma, why do you take so long to get at me?
David has decided to mentally add "in bed" to all Facebook updates. It's like eating fortune cookies for days.
You can cancel my flight, but you can't cancel my fun. Yeah, snow!
David is excited and nervous to tele-ski today.
David hopes status updates and snow blanket you and yours with all the holiday cheer you can handle, and maybe a cup more.
Dear Friends and Family,
I am going to share with you my year in Facebook status updates. I thought it might accomplish the same thing as a good letter, but I'm really quite vague.
Love,
Dave
Oh, yeah, the updates:
January:
David is looking for the team to come together after this.
David feels his philosophy shifting.
David is going to make popsicles… on the track.
David is kind of pretty sure we can. Maybe.
David is trying to fathom 1.8 million people.
David was on the wrong side of 15-14.
February:
David cannot think of a fitting superlative for Evie’s cookies.
David feels the sting of beard-ism.
David sends bearded kisses in your general direction.
David is wondering if anybody wants to go with him to support Kyle in the 24 hour musicals?
David's favorite moment of the day was entering the darkness on the first turn of the first 400 meters.
March:
David is frisbee crush on Sam, dance crush on Anne, general crush on February 28.
David is no longer amused by the Not-so-great Depression.
David is aw yeah.
David thinks marriages shouldn't last forever just so there can be more weddings.
David really just wants more parties with families, dancing, and love, not divorce as the genie named Aaron has pointed out.
David has a theory, will never tell, and walks through the fire.
David has a lot to learn.
Whatever it is, it isn’t here.
David just asked a squirrel, "Are you ok?" after it fell out of a 25-foot tree. The squirrel didn't answer, but scurried away.
April:
David has already been fooled.
Sometimes you get what you deserve and even though you want more, you can't be too sad about that.
David is on the verge of creating a series of surveys about himself to send to his friends.
David thinks a run is in order. Wishes Borman lived up the street.
David was in second place for about three steps, fortunately they were the last three. Yeah.
David is 2nd again.
David’s legs didn’t quit, but everything else is striking on their behalf.
David has auto-tuning on his mind.
“He lives vicariously through himself”
May:
David saw two pirates making out and couldn’t resist shouting, “Pirate love!”
The rain will not deter us. It will only moisten our spirits.
If I achieve nothing else, at least I taught Tedward to dance.
The intensity got fixed but the mark got broken.
David wants to make out with this weather.
David suspended “your mom” jokes for the day. No need to thank me.
David is quietly rocking the red.
David is quietly watching the red get rocked. Ouch.
David needs Parks and Rec to go away or needs some self control. Both seem unlikely.
David is all about the slow start this weekend.
David had a dream about cleaning and is now making that a reality. Hopefully, that’s the start of a trend.
David might become a loyal customer of Southwest after all.
David wonders if overreaction might be the right reaction.
June:
David is pretty sure his hamstrings are tuned an octave too high.
David is no match for an armored King Hippo.
David blames it on the al-al-al- weather.
David hopes Betty bounced back and was glad to spend time with familiar faces.
David is warming up his weirdness. The leftovers will be slathered in BBQ sauce.
everything but the canoe
David is going for an unofficial tubing record today. The late start won't do us any favors.
dodging rain drops and responsibility.
David would rather be night-tubing.
David experienced a glitch in the Matrix.
David would like to auto-tune father's day. I'm not sure it would do anything, but it makes T-Pain and the news better, so maybe it would work for Dads.
David is alive. Thanks for asking.
David laughed and cried at "The Proposal". That's one perfectly predictable romantic comedy.
Wait? What? Michael Jackson is dead? Inconceivable. (Also, Billie Jean. Not my girl.)
David wants to shed material possessions in theory, but not in practice.
David is whaddaya know? 2nd place again (This time in my age group).
July:
David is trying to hold off a thunderstorm with just an outstretched hand.
David is in the promised land of leftovers.
David was not second, but is feeling a little fast.
David has got the beach vision, but still needs the beach attire (half of it anyway.)
David can't believe it. Turns out I was second in my age group on Friday.
David is in the peloton, but always considering a breakaway.
David wrestles with the age-old Sunday night question: watch low quality Lohan movie or do something productive?
David enjoyed downtown Fort Worth and is now headed to the land of diving in the sand!
The faux-Brits DO drink from a faux-golden cup!
David has finished his championship laundry and grocery shopping. Next up: Championship bathroom cleaning. There's nothing like glory.
David is not happy with non-confrontational double-speak. Make a decision and mean it, punks.
August:
David is watching his own every move on the Internet in a mirror. Don't raise your eyebrow at me, mirrorDave.
David is unable to handle his rock and roll lifestyle; considering something more bluegrass-y.
It takes very little to create the illusion of security: just a few pieces of wood can do it.
David has the best non-roommate ever and I'm not talking about the giant dead beetle.
the modern amateur philosopher inside of me asks, "If I cannot tweet or share my status update, do I really exist?"
David finds an increasing number of things irrelevant. Why not this thing?
As I pack the artifacts from my life into boxes I realize that the people in it have helped make it pretty awesome.
Newsflash: Usain Bolt= Fast. Wow.
David curses stuff.
“don’t stop ‘til you get enough!”
“Goodnight, Moon”
David is tempted by the prospect of a landline. Really, really tempted.
David met his adorable second cousin, ran up the side of a little mountain, watched the bright orange sunrise and is using up his adjectives in hot Arizona.
September:
David was only over Facebook when he couldn't get to it.
David ran a practice on the turf in the rain with 25 people. Did I slip into an alternate universe?
Field space is on my mind.
David is after fjords and bjork.
David wonders if he can be a fan of Finse.
The ants are throwing a welcome back party and lots of them are invited.
David feels a low constant hum of the question, "is this important?"
October:
David is going to plop his priorities in a coliseum, have them battle gladiators, and if they live then he'll know what to do.
David played crab soccer in the park this morning. It was a crabtacular day to abuse my arms and hands.
David is quite pleased to know you.
David is ham and cheese, ham and biscuits, hamhocks, ham and pineapple, honey-baked ham, MC Hammer, green eggs and ham...
David screamed like mad for a tie and walked home with chants of U-S-A ringing in his ears.
David quietly wrestles some big questions. The questions appear to have both a size and tactical advantage.
David just found out that deep down inside, he's still a Chiefs fan.
As the Kool-Aid man once said as he broke through the wall, "Oh yeah!"
Wayne's World?
Adversity is the test. Defeat is the education. Pay attention and pack some extra socks next time.
David thinks the Internet should know that Roller Derby is awesome. See, look, I even said it on the Internet.
November:
David is turning left.
David thinks daylight savings time should be an individual choice. This could be problematic when meeting someone at 10 PM give or take 1 hour.
The rain is complicating an already complicated weekend. Biting off more Ultimate than I can chew is catching up with me NOW.
My marathon PR is about 50 seconds slower than Sarah Palin's. Who do I get to blame?
A very late layout on some bad force side defense led to full on cramping in BOTH calves simultaneously. Not the highlight of my day.
David is wondering when he became a planner.
I'm an Uncle x 2. Welcome Parker!
December:
The Internet is good for lots of things, but hugging isn't one of them.
David is brought to you by the number 5.
David is concerned that babies are taking over Facebook. First Facebook, next...
If I get sick, I'm going down fighting. I am not afraid to pull hair.
early to bed and early to rise, hopefully makes this man f-a-s-t.
37:07 in the morning, not shot by John Wilkes Booth at night. Nice day, indeed.
I need some hair to pull. I'm going down...
oh instant karma, why do you take so long to get at me?
David has decided to mentally add "in bed" to all Facebook updates. It's like eating fortune cookies for days.
You can cancel my flight, but you can't cancel my fun. Yeah, snow!
David is excited and nervous to tele-ski today.
David hopes status updates and snow blanket you and yours with all the holiday cheer you can handle, and maybe a cup more.
Friday, December 11, 2009
The posts that got away
I didn't quite get through the blogging month, but I'm pleased with what I did get through. I found a few things out. When I work at it my interests do still extend slightly beyond running, Ultimate, and working out. I also found that writing every day made me more observant. In the last few weeks as I've fallen out of the habit of posting, days sometimes go by both instantly and terribly slowly. All of this can't be attributed to blogging, but I think blogging takes my awareness of interaction and purpose up a notch.
I can't decide if the daily writing also loosened up some other creativity inside of me. I had a quick spell where I was feeling all kinds of creative. I came up with projects for myself. I hardly ever do that.
I haven't meant to stop blogging completely, although the thought did cross my mind, but somehow each day has managed to get away. I'd like to tackle a few of the items in brief for my memoirs before moving into this weekend and adding a few more.
Hiking on Thanksgiving
For the second year in a row I was in the Smokey Mountains with C's family and we did a little hiking on Thanksgiving. The fresh air and the sense of completing a hike pre-turkey is extremely satisfying for me. It's all made possible by the fine cooks who stay behind, but it certainly gives me something to be thankful for. I don't know if two years are enough to make a tradition, but tradition or not, it's a great way to enjoy Thanksgiving.
Roller Derby Fan Club
Friends gathered together to cheer on LBJ in her first full bout. We brought signs. I had my face painted. When I sat down, I forgot that most of my face is covered in beard, but the artist did well to work around it. As a fan, I had a terrible time sitting still. I paced. I worried that LBJ wouldn't get playing time. I worried about how she'd do. I worried about her getting hurt because she seems to think that injury is a foregone conclusion. She played. Her team had a stirring come from behind victory. She had some nice hits and either hunger or nerves left a curious feeling in my tummy.
Girls on the Run
I don't even remember how I got roped into this one, but somewhere along the line I signed up to be a "buddy" for a fifth grade girl. I didn't know what to expect, but I was told that I'd been placed with the fast girl. Running a 5k at that age is impressive, but what's fast? I didn't have a clue. Up at 5:30 AM and riding with a stranger, I soon was on a bus full of young girls and their buddies (mostly moms and teachers). The girls seemed excited. They'd been working for several months building up to this distance. The chaos had only just begun. About 6,000 girls and their buddies later, we were crossing the starting line in waves and my buddy was rearing to go. The road was packed and my buddy tripped and fell. It was snowing. Buddy picked herself up and wiped away the pain and made her way on. There was lots to complain about- snow, cold, puddles, crowds, falling, but I tried to keep it positive. I offered to sing songs, but for some reason buddy wasn't buying it. She struggled a bit, but kept after it and finished in about 40 minutes. I think she was a little disappointed, but mostly proud as were her classmates. They had a lot to be proud of. It's a big deal to run that long at that age. I might consider returning in the spring, but probably only for the same buddy. I think it's a great program, but the race and be done involvement is likely not as rewarding as seeing the girls become runners. On the flip side, I feel great about my 5 hours of community service.
Symphony
I probably should have napped after the run, but instead I went to the Symphony to support a friend and her viola. The snow continued. I felt so cultured, warm, and sleepy.
Dance party
I've lost track of the days, but I'm pretty sure that some time after the Symphony I ended up at a dance party. It's well told that I enjoy dancing, but I'm primarily a wedding dancer. Club dancing to me is a bit like ice dancing to a figure skater. Maybe it was the size of the group I was in or the thump-thump-thump of the music hit me just right, but I awoke from my club dancing stupor and got into it. I wasn't as into it as the chubby guys GETTING DOWN to "All the single ladies," but I was into it. I've got moves. I'm pretty sure my moves are all about enthusiasm, but it seems to fool most people. I wonder where else that would work.
I didn't quite get through the blogging month, but I'm pleased with what I did get through. I found a few things out. When I work at it my interests do still extend slightly beyond running, Ultimate, and working out. I also found that writing every day made me more observant. In the last few weeks as I've fallen out of the habit of posting, days sometimes go by both instantly and terribly slowly. All of this can't be attributed to blogging, but I think blogging takes my awareness of interaction and purpose up a notch.
I can't decide if the daily writing also loosened up some other creativity inside of me. I had a quick spell where I was feeling all kinds of creative. I came up with projects for myself. I hardly ever do that.
I haven't meant to stop blogging completely, although the thought did cross my mind, but somehow each day has managed to get away. I'd like to tackle a few of the items in brief for my memoirs before moving into this weekend and adding a few more.
Hiking on Thanksgiving
For the second year in a row I was in the Smokey Mountains with C's family and we did a little hiking on Thanksgiving. The fresh air and the sense of completing a hike pre-turkey is extremely satisfying for me. It's all made possible by the fine cooks who stay behind, but it certainly gives me something to be thankful for. I don't know if two years are enough to make a tradition, but tradition or not, it's a great way to enjoy Thanksgiving.
Roller Derby Fan Club
Friends gathered together to cheer on LBJ in her first full bout. We brought signs. I had my face painted. When I sat down, I forgot that most of my face is covered in beard, but the artist did well to work around it. As a fan, I had a terrible time sitting still. I paced. I worried that LBJ wouldn't get playing time. I worried about how she'd do. I worried about her getting hurt because she seems to think that injury is a foregone conclusion. She played. Her team had a stirring come from behind victory. She had some nice hits and either hunger or nerves left a curious feeling in my tummy.
Girls on the Run
I don't even remember how I got roped into this one, but somewhere along the line I signed up to be a "buddy" for a fifth grade girl. I didn't know what to expect, but I was told that I'd been placed with the fast girl. Running a 5k at that age is impressive, but what's fast? I didn't have a clue. Up at 5:30 AM and riding with a stranger, I soon was on a bus full of young girls and their buddies (mostly moms and teachers). The girls seemed excited. They'd been working for several months building up to this distance. The chaos had only just begun. About 6,000 girls and their buddies later, we were crossing the starting line in waves and my buddy was rearing to go. The road was packed and my buddy tripped and fell. It was snowing. Buddy picked herself up and wiped away the pain and made her way on. There was lots to complain about- snow, cold, puddles, crowds, falling, but I tried to keep it positive. I offered to sing songs, but for some reason buddy wasn't buying it. She struggled a bit, but kept after it and finished in about 40 minutes. I think she was a little disappointed, but mostly proud as were her classmates. They had a lot to be proud of. It's a big deal to run that long at that age. I might consider returning in the spring, but probably only for the same buddy. I think it's a great program, but the race and be done involvement is likely not as rewarding as seeing the girls become runners. On the flip side, I feel great about my 5 hours of community service.
Symphony
I probably should have napped after the run, but instead I went to the Symphony to support a friend and her viola. The snow continued. I felt so cultured, warm, and sleepy.
Dance party
I've lost track of the days, but I'm pretty sure that some time after the Symphony I ended up at a dance party. It's well told that I enjoy dancing, but I'm primarily a wedding dancer. Club dancing to me is a bit like ice dancing to a figure skater. Maybe it was the size of the group I was in or the thump-thump-thump of the music hit me just right, but I awoke from my club dancing stupor and got into it. I wasn't as into it as the chubby guys GETTING DOWN to "All the single ladies," but I was into it. I've got moves. I'm pretty sure my moves are all about enthusiasm, but it seems to fool most people. I wonder where else that would work.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Notes on Facebook from a desperate blogger
If memory serves (and it often doesn't) I "liked it" for the first time in my personal Facebook history. I never really understood why someone would click the "like it" button instead of just commenting or letting the whole thing go. I had no trouble doing either for quite some time. There's so much going on that it's pretty easy to let items just slide right off the feed without comment. There are a few things that resonate, certain updates from certain people do seem to prompt comment, but they usually stir something inside of me like a memory or compel a direct response. This was a fine way to live my life. Then along came Bob Dylan's Must be Santa and although I think it's a bit early for Christmas songs and I very easily could burn out on this one, I liked it. I don't know that I ever would have found this ditty on my own. It doesn't really stir anything inside me except for a smile and maybe the desire to dance around the room. I suppose I could have said all that, but "like it" and that little thumb up seemed so much more efficient.
This song and my reaction to it reinforces some value in Facebook for me. I've been losing interest a bit of late. Even with the recent surge brought on by my sister's sudden entrance, I recognize that I'm approaching friend capacity. It seems like I only know about six more people that I'm not connected to on Facebook. Does most of the thrill come from finding past lives or can the constant intersection of the now with the then keep Facebook's heart beating? I also wonder how much Twitter detracts from Facebook. It seems like the stuff I read has quieted on both topics a bit of late, well except for the word of the year being "unfriend" instead of "defriend". That must be regional. Yet, if my friends and acquaintances, at least those I've kept, can show me a great new Christmas song, then maybe I don't need the thrill of finding old friends or the media to keep the fire going. Maybe the exchange and the faux-community are compelling enough.
Oh, Facebook. Where do you see yourself in five years? Will you be a shadow of your former self like blogs or myspace or Orkut? Or will you manage to stay relevant? I'll give you two more years and then I'm afraid something new and shiny is going to replace you. That something new? It's going to be like those brainstorming clusters only all the input is going to come from iPhone/blackberry style devices and somehow navigation between clusters is going to be possible. I don't have it all worked out yet, but if I work it out, I'm sure it will be worth about 1.52 million dollars. Give or take .52. Or more.
If memory serves (and it often doesn't) I "liked it" for the first time in my personal Facebook history. I never really understood why someone would click the "like it" button instead of just commenting or letting the whole thing go. I had no trouble doing either for quite some time. There's so much going on that it's pretty easy to let items just slide right off the feed without comment. There are a few things that resonate, certain updates from certain people do seem to prompt comment, but they usually stir something inside of me like a memory or compel a direct response. This was a fine way to live my life. Then along came Bob Dylan's Must be Santa and although I think it's a bit early for Christmas songs and I very easily could burn out on this one, I liked it. I don't know that I ever would have found this ditty on my own. It doesn't really stir anything inside me except for a smile and maybe the desire to dance around the room. I suppose I could have said all that, but "like it" and that little thumb up seemed so much more efficient.
This song and my reaction to it reinforces some value in Facebook for me. I've been losing interest a bit of late. Even with the recent surge brought on by my sister's sudden entrance, I recognize that I'm approaching friend capacity. It seems like I only know about six more people that I'm not connected to on Facebook. Does most of the thrill come from finding past lives or can the constant intersection of the now with the then keep Facebook's heart beating? I also wonder how much Twitter detracts from Facebook. It seems like the stuff I read has quieted on both topics a bit of late, well except for the word of the year being "unfriend" instead of "defriend". That must be regional. Yet, if my friends and acquaintances, at least those I've kept, can show me a great new Christmas song, then maybe I don't need the thrill of finding old friends or the media to keep the fire going. Maybe the exchange and the faux-community are compelling enough.
Oh, Facebook. Where do you see yourself in five years? Will you be a shadow of your former self like blogs or myspace or Orkut? Or will you manage to stay relevant? I'll give you two more years and then I'm afraid something new and shiny is going to replace you. That something new? It's going to be like those brainstorming clusters only all the input is going to come from iPhone/blackberry style devices and somehow navigation between clusters is going to be possible. I don't have it all worked out yet, but if I work it out, I'm sure it will be worth about 1.52 million dollars. Give or take .52. Or more.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Seven years of blogging
On this date seven years ago I made my way on to the Internet of public consumption. It was a timid beginning full of vague aphorisms and run-on sentences. In a time before Facebook, I was writing status updates calling out to the world with digital smoke signals. As time went on, I've come to require more from my writing, not a whole lot more, but a bit more. I've chronicled ups and downs, runs, dives, sweet catches, whimsical tales, vanity, tales from the city, tales from vacation and a other things that cross my path. Until this month, my posts had grown more sporadic, but more complete, or at the very least longer. The range of topics has become more narrowly focused and my delight in turning a phrase harder to come by. I've been ready to call it quits many times, but so far something always brings me back. It's nice to be heard and since my memory seems to be failing, it's nice to have a record of some of the major achievements and goings on of the last seven years. There are milestones missing that were too private or too complicated, but much of my life appears in this very space.
I never thought this would be a project that lasted seven years when I started, nor that this would be my seventh year with my employer or my seventh year with the Ultimate team. If I were a slot machine, this would be a winner. There is the sound of change that slowly clinks out in triumph. It's not the rush of a jackpot, but it is change and triumph nonetheless.
In seven years, I've gone from jobless to temp to employed to snug as a bug in an office (sometimes maybe a little too snug). I've run a marathon, written 50,000 words in a month, traveled to Paris, Iceland, Norway, Idaho, read a bunch of books, watched even more movies, run 5k after 5k after 5k with a few miles and lots of Ultimate mixed in. I've become a coach, an uncle, a brother-in-law, a boyfriend. I've been tested and challenged. I've given up my car. I've turned to the darkness and purchased a cell phone and then lost the darkness and am trying to find my way back to a landline. I've struggled with my place in the world and the rules I should follow. I've moved. I've biked. I've changed. I don't know what it will be like to read this in seven more years or if it will even be here, but I know that at this moment I'm pleased to take a moment to celebrate life, the Internet, and a pursuit I'm not sure I even understand.
Maybe I'll figure it out tomorrow.
On this date seven years ago I made my way on to the Internet of public consumption. It was a timid beginning full of vague aphorisms and run-on sentences. In a time before Facebook, I was writing status updates calling out to the world with digital smoke signals. As time went on, I've come to require more from my writing, not a whole lot more, but a bit more. I've chronicled ups and downs, runs, dives, sweet catches, whimsical tales, vanity, tales from the city, tales from vacation and a other things that cross my path. Until this month, my posts had grown more sporadic, but more complete, or at the very least longer. The range of topics has become more narrowly focused and my delight in turning a phrase harder to come by. I've been ready to call it quits many times, but so far something always brings me back. It's nice to be heard and since my memory seems to be failing, it's nice to have a record of some of the major achievements and goings on of the last seven years. There are milestones missing that were too private or too complicated, but much of my life appears in this very space.
I never thought this would be a project that lasted seven years when I started, nor that this would be my seventh year with my employer or my seventh year with the Ultimate team. If I were a slot machine, this would be a winner. There is the sound of change that slowly clinks out in triumph. It's not the rush of a jackpot, but it is change and triumph nonetheless.
In seven years, I've gone from jobless to temp to employed to snug as a bug in an office (sometimes maybe a little too snug). I've run a marathon, written 50,000 words in a month, traveled to Paris, Iceland, Norway, Idaho, read a bunch of books, watched even more movies, run 5k after 5k after 5k with a few miles and lots of Ultimate mixed in. I've become a coach, an uncle, a brother-in-law, a boyfriend. I've been tested and challenged. I've given up my car. I've turned to the darkness and purchased a cell phone and then lost the darkness and am trying to find my way back to a landline. I've struggled with my place in the world and the rules I should follow. I've moved. I've biked. I've changed. I don't know what it will be like to read this in seven more years or if it will even be here, but I know that at this moment I'm pleased to take a moment to celebrate life, the Internet, and a pursuit I'm not sure I even understand.
Maybe I'll figure it out tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
He googled what?
Slate recently had a contest of sorts where people submitted some interesting Google suggest search disparities. Language and spelling brought to light some disturbing and curious searches that folks are doing. Check it out here. It's getting hard to remember a world without search engines (aside: like saying facial tissue instead of Kleenex, saying search engine instead of Google almost seems silly, sorry Bing).
I'm too late for the contest and I don't have any terribly interesting results to report, but I am amused that "Where is" yields a search for Chuck Norris. Who is looking for Chuck Norris? What will they do when they find him? Nothing I'm sure, because I've heard that Chuck Norris does whatever he wants, even when God asks nicely. I also just discovered a site called makemebabies.com where a person can use two photos or celeb photos to create a picture of their future baby. I'm a little curious to find out how this works with beards, but not so curious that I'm actually going to try it. The Internet is a crazy place and I usually forget that I hang out in just a tiny little portion.
Slate recently had a contest of sorts where people submitted some interesting Google suggest search disparities. Language and spelling brought to light some disturbing and curious searches that folks are doing. Check it out here. It's getting hard to remember a world without search engines (aside: like saying facial tissue instead of Kleenex, saying search engine instead of Google almost seems silly, sorry Bing).
I'm too late for the contest and I don't have any terribly interesting results to report, but I am amused that "Where is" yields a search for Chuck Norris. Who is looking for Chuck Norris? What will they do when they find him? Nothing I'm sure, because I've heard that Chuck Norris does whatever he wants, even when God asks nicely. I also just discovered a site called makemebabies.com where a person can use two photos or celeb photos to create a picture of their future baby. I'm a little curious to find out how this works with beards, but not so curious that I'm actually going to try it. The Internet is a crazy place and I usually forget that I hang out in just a tiny little portion.
Monday, November 02, 2009
I can do whatever I like
I've been told that it's National Blog Post Writing Month. It's supposedly this less-involved lower-key version of National Novel Writing Month. As a NaBloPo writer, I'm supposed to post something to my blog everyday. I'd link to the official site, but it's got all of these rules that I don't want to follow. Mostly the rules I don't want to follow are that since I didn't post yesterday I am no longer eligible for prizes. So, I'm making up my own rules while I try to build on my NaNoWriMo success of some five years ago by actually trying to get a little bit of writing done this month. In that less-than-inspired way, I plan to write more posts, post more writing, and find meaningful* ways to rearrange the language to suit my needs.
If I were betting, I'd say my readers can expect more posts about Ultimate, running, my vanity, lost cell phones, and the ongoing struggle of being a thirty-something man with the mindset of a twenty-something. If I'm feeling particularly feisty, I may again combine all five.
All of this is available for the low, low price of time. In the time it takes to brush some teeth, I can offer insight and brightening power.
*Meaningful in this case refers more to the act of making sense or attempting word play and less to the general appeal to the senses or emotions.
I've been told that it's National Blog Post Writing Month. It's supposedly this less-involved lower-key version of National Novel Writing Month. As a NaBloPo writer, I'm supposed to post something to my blog everyday. I'd link to the official site, but it's got all of these rules that I don't want to follow. Mostly the rules I don't want to follow are that since I didn't post yesterday I am no longer eligible for prizes. So, I'm making up my own rules while I try to build on my NaNoWriMo success of some five years ago by actually trying to get a little bit of writing done this month. In that less-than-inspired way, I plan to write more posts, post more writing, and find meaningful* ways to rearrange the language to suit my needs.
If I were betting, I'd say my readers can expect more posts about Ultimate, running, my vanity, lost cell phones, and the ongoing struggle of being a thirty-something man with the mindset of a twenty-something. If I'm feeling particularly feisty, I may again combine all five.
All of this is available for the low, low price of time. In the time it takes to brush some teeth, I can offer insight and brightening power.
*Meaningful in this case refers more to the act of making sense or attempting word play and less to the general appeal to the senses or emotions.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
John started it
Inspired by John's recent Blogging is fun? post and the generous comments, I decided to take a moment and reflect on my consumption of the Internet. There are five places I go on a daily basis- my email account, Facebook, John's blog, Alan's, and washingtonpost.com. Why?
I check my email multiple times a day in hopes that someone has written me. My inbox is filled with real new messages at a rate far below my compulsion to check. I've found that the collision of Facebook and my thirties has driven email traffic way down.
I turn to Facebook to make up for the deficit. Here, I find messages that aren't directed to me specifically, but might as well be since they are from my sister's high school friend and relate to her most recent trips across the country. This does not fill me up in the way I hope, but that doesn't stop me from checking back later just to make sure. Sometimes I manage a pithy little status update to entertain my 150 some odd friends. I sense the initial thrill of Facebook wearing off. It's nice to see familiar faces, but I find myself needing more.
I then check Alan's blog. He posts on a regular basis, and although he has taken to making his blog a workout journal, I find this a little inspiring. I usually end up doing some extra push ups on days that Alan works out. He also provides good tidbits on fitness, Ultimate, and music. I can appreciate that.
Alan's blog leads me to John. John posts regularly and with a nice variety. He provides entertainment, sports, and music commentary, insight into the leading edge of journalism, and some nice visuals. I can't go wrong there, although I do sometimes skim the American Idol posts as I don't know the players.
Next, I check the Washington Post. I read the Sports section, the advice columns, and any Opinion section or other item that leaps off the page. I'm very comfortable with my local online paper. I no longer miss the feel of the paper in my hand, although I do sometimes miss the comics section. It's just not the same online.
After the regulars, I trust my RSS feed to direct me to new content. I used to read a variety of friends' blogs, but many are now dead or dying. The Gig is still kicking and I follow my friends entertainment opinions there faithfully. Some side reading occurs at The Art of Manliness, but sometimes it gets too manly or too preachy. I was reading the Happiness Project, but now it's in Slate, so I catch it there when the Post sends me in that direction. For Ultimate related thoughts, nothing beats The Huddle. I mean to keep up with Gwen Bell and Inhabitat, but they post with incredible frequency.
I'm sure I'm missing something, but I don't have time to read it unless I stop checking my email or looking for my fifteen minutes of fame.
Inspired by John's recent Blogging is fun? post and the generous comments, I decided to take a moment and reflect on my consumption of the Internet. There are five places I go on a daily basis- my email account, Facebook, John's blog, Alan's, and washingtonpost.com. Why?
I check my email multiple times a day in hopes that someone has written me. My inbox is filled with real new messages at a rate far below my compulsion to check. I've found that the collision of Facebook and my thirties has driven email traffic way down.
I turn to Facebook to make up for the deficit. Here, I find messages that aren't directed to me specifically, but might as well be since they are from my sister's high school friend and relate to her most recent trips across the country. This does not fill me up in the way I hope, but that doesn't stop me from checking back later just to make sure. Sometimes I manage a pithy little status update to entertain my 150 some odd friends. I sense the initial thrill of Facebook wearing off. It's nice to see familiar faces, but I find myself needing more.
I then check Alan's blog. He posts on a regular basis, and although he has taken to making his blog a workout journal, I find this a little inspiring. I usually end up doing some extra push ups on days that Alan works out. He also provides good tidbits on fitness, Ultimate, and music. I can appreciate that.
Alan's blog leads me to John. John posts regularly and with a nice variety. He provides entertainment, sports, and music commentary, insight into the leading edge of journalism, and some nice visuals. I can't go wrong there, although I do sometimes skim the American Idol posts as I don't know the players.
Next, I check the Washington Post. I read the Sports section, the advice columns, and any Opinion section or other item that leaps off the page. I'm very comfortable with my local online paper. I no longer miss the feel of the paper in my hand, although I do sometimes miss the comics section. It's just not the same online.
After the regulars, I trust my RSS feed to direct me to new content. I used to read a variety of friends' blogs, but many are now dead or dying. The Gig is still kicking and I follow my friends entertainment opinions there faithfully. Some side reading occurs at The Art of Manliness, but sometimes it gets too manly or too preachy. I was reading the Happiness Project, but now it's in Slate, so I catch it there when the Post sends me in that direction. For Ultimate related thoughts, nothing beats The Huddle. I mean to keep up with Gwen Bell and Inhabitat, but they post with incredible frequency.
I'm sure I'm missing something, but I don't have time to read it unless I stop checking my email or looking for my fifteen minutes of fame.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The strangeness of September
It's a little scary to re-enter the blog world. I dipped my little toe in the other day and it doesn't appear that I lost any skin. I thought I'd try again before September ended. This month didn't go the way I thought it would, though, I don't really think much about how a month will go. I don't usually have the energy to live in chunks that large. I entered the month with a renewed interest in writing and finding some voice and then like a storm front blowing through, that interest was gone. It was usurped by Ultimate. In spare moments, I think about trying to revive that interest. The word play suits me, but I think I better understand the scores of folks who make a hobby out of intending to write.
At the end of August and the beginning of September, I accepted a volunteer coaching position. It's similar to the position that I've had over the last few years helping out at a local university, but this year the captains and I have formalized it and are trying to take the steps to move the team forward. We've come up with a curriculum that takes us roughly through November and we've run practices with more intent and planning. It's exciting, but I'm discovering that I'm more a creature of habit than I realized. Changes to the schedule or personnel have thrown me for a loop. Disappointing dips in attendance have boiled my blood in ways I'm not proud to admit. It's a learning experience and it's hard work. I'm trying to master a number of fears and challenges at once. It's a constant juggling act and it seems like someone keeps adding items to juggle. It has taken years to even get to a point where I'm ready to think about juggling. There's so much that I could talk about right here, that I think I'll wait and see if I can't use some of October to draw together my coaching experiences and my desire for word play.
In other strange September doings, I injured my knee last week. I stayed off it as best I could all week (which did nothing to improve a recent mood prone to sour spells) and then bought a knee brace. I strapped on the knee brace Saturday before playing Ultimate in a tournament. The knee brace cut the back of my knee, but otherwise seemed effective. After 5 games of Ultimate, some without the knee brace, my knee now feels better. I'm trying to convince myself that my dreams of Ultimate curing all my ills has finally come to pass. There are some personal Ultimate anecdotes from the weekend that also need a home here, but those too will have to wait.
Here are some lyrics to say it better while I prepare for October.
Don't mind me, it's just September....
....so afraid that what you'll find is all you deserve...
Perhaps September has reluctantly agreed to serve as an outline for future blog posts.
It's a little scary to re-enter the blog world. I dipped my little toe in the other day and it doesn't appear that I lost any skin. I thought I'd try again before September ended. This month didn't go the way I thought it would, though, I don't really think much about how a month will go. I don't usually have the energy to live in chunks that large. I entered the month with a renewed interest in writing and finding some voice and then like a storm front blowing through, that interest was gone. It was usurped by Ultimate. In spare moments, I think about trying to revive that interest. The word play suits me, but I think I better understand the scores of folks who make a hobby out of intending to write.
At the end of August and the beginning of September, I accepted a volunteer coaching position. It's similar to the position that I've had over the last few years helping out at a local university, but this year the captains and I have formalized it and are trying to take the steps to move the team forward. We've come up with a curriculum that takes us roughly through November and we've run practices with more intent and planning. It's exciting, but I'm discovering that I'm more a creature of habit than I realized. Changes to the schedule or personnel have thrown me for a loop. Disappointing dips in attendance have boiled my blood in ways I'm not proud to admit. It's a learning experience and it's hard work. I'm trying to master a number of fears and challenges at once. It's a constant juggling act and it seems like someone keeps adding items to juggle. It has taken years to even get to a point where I'm ready to think about juggling. There's so much that I could talk about right here, that I think I'll wait and see if I can't use some of October to draw together my coaching experiences and my desire for word play.
In other strange September doings, I injured my knee last week. I stayed off it as best I could all week (which did nothing to improve a recent mood prone to sour spells) and then bought a knee brace. I strapped on the knee brace Saturday before playing Ultimate in a tournament. The knee brace cut the back of my knee, but otherwise seemed effective. After 5 games of Ultimate, some without the knee brace, my knee now feels better. I'm trying to convince myself that my dreams of Ultimate curing all my ills has finally come to pass. There are some personal Ultimate anecdotes from the weekend that also need a home here, but those too will have to wait.
Here are some lyrics to say it better while I prepare for October.
Don't mind me, it's just September....
....so afraid that what you'll find is all you deserve...
Perhaps September has reluctantly agreed to serve as an outline for future blog posts.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Dear Blog,
I've had some time to think since we last talked. I said some things and you said no things. Things just got left in a place that I'm not very happy about.
You've been there for me for five years and that has really meant a lot to me. Due to the length of our relationship, I think I started to develop certain expectations. These expectations were as much about me as they were about you. It really isn't fair. You've been a consistent, almost machine-like, presence in my life. You ask for so little and give me so much in return. When I started to need more- stories, essays, stuff with a point, it wasn't fair for me to ask you to deliver it. You and I weren't about those things and besides most of my writing and its various shortcomings are my problems, not yours. I need to take some responsibility here.
I've given it some thought and I still want you in my life. I think there's room for both the present and the future in our relationship. We can work together and perhaps bring the world some of that vague mad-cap spew of words about everyday observations that they've grown accustomed to. What do you say?
I'd like to end my letter to you there, but I think that if we're going to avoid the expectation-creep from the past, there are a few more items that I should be honest about. In order to reach the conclusions of this letter, in order for me to accept that it was really our partnership that I missed, I did a little experimentation in the last month. It pains me to give you the sordid details, but it's a sacrifice I fear we must make for this to work.
First, I tried to use the status line in Facebook to communicate my feelings in just a few words. This was an empty attempt and it meant nothing to me. I'm sorry.
I also tried to tell people my observations. I must admit that I really wanted this one to work. It was ok, but my verbal abilities pale in comparison to those that you bring out in me. I also found my audience to be less receptive. This turn of events did bring some tears to my eyes, but it also brought me here.
Blog, can we re-join forces, just in time for Christmas? There are so many potentially witty thoughts for us to share. Please don't react immediately. Think about things and let me know how you feel. And Blog, if you decide that this just won't work out, that I finally said too much or not enough, understand that these five years have been very special to me and I hope you will find happiness wherever the Internet takes you.
Love,
David
I've had some time to think since we last talked. I said some things and you said no things. Things just got left in a place that I'm not very happy about.
You've been there for me for five years and that has really meant a lot to me. Due to the length of our relationship, I think I started to develop certain expectations. These expectations were as much about me as they were about you. It really isn't fair. You've been a consistent, almost machine-like, presence in my life. You ask for so little and give me so much in return. When I started to need more- stories, essays, stuff with a point, it wasn't fair for me to ask you to deliver it. You and I weren't about those things and besides most of my writing and its various shortcomings are my problems, not yours. I need to take some responsibility here.
I've given it some thought and I still want you in my life. I think there's room for both the present and the future in our relationship. We can work together and perhaps bring the world some of that vague mad-cap spew of words about everyday observations that they've grown accustomed to. What do you say?
I'd like to end my letter to you there, but I think that if we're going to avoid the expectation-creep from the past, there are a few more items that I should be honest about. In order to reach the conclusions of this letter, in order for me to accept that it was really our partnership that I missed, I did a little experimentation in the last month. It pains me to give you the sordid details, but it's a sacrifice I fear we must make for this to work.
First, I tried to use the status line in Facebook to communicate my feelings in just a few words. This was an empty attempt and it meant nothing to me. I'm sorry.
I also tried to tell people my observations. I must admit that I really wanted this one to work. It was ok, but my verbal abilities pale in comparison to those that you bring out in me. I also found my audience to be less receptive. This turn of events did bring some tears to my eyes, but it also brought me here.
Blog, can we re-join forces, just in time for Christmas? There are so many potentially witty thoughts for us to share. Please don't react immediately. Think about things and let me know how you feel. And Blog, if you decide that this just won't work out, that I finally said too much or not enough, understand that these five years have been very special to me and I hope you will find happiness wherever the Internet takes you.
Love,
David
Sunday, November 18, 2007
It's my blog's party and I'll cry if I want to
Conical party hats are out, the pins for pin-the-tail on the donkey have been located, cake could be served- It's been 5 years of blogging action. After 1,120 posts I should know what I want to say and how I'm going to say it, but I don't. Years ago, my posts tended to be aphorisms plopped onto the screen. Now I tend to give those aphorisms more context, or at the very least a cushion of words to protect them from the uncaring outside world. I suppose that's progress.
In my 5 years, I have often excitedly, and at times less excitedly, tried to define why blogging was important to me. I feel like I've never been able to fully express it. Let me try again. One of the first reasons was the re-connection it gave me. There were a number of people, my friends, who I had lost contact with. Blogs put us back together; we became friends again, stopping for a moment to share some thought or frustration in the hallways of the Internet. It was important to re-establish this connection and has led me to laugh and worry and furrow my brow along with people that I care about and some I've never met. Blogs have led me to real-life visits, discussions, trips, accomplishments, and relationships. It's almost scary how much can be tied to these little boxes. That's the world I'm living in.
That world is moving on and it appears to me that blogs are getting left behind. More and more I find myself in different hallways of the Internet, often with the same people. Social networking sites are taking over the connection function and in my limited experience they do it quite well. I'm now connected and more aware of the comings and goings and birthdays of more people than I know what to do with. I'm also keeping up with reading habits of much of that same crowd. It's incredible and a little odd.
The second important aspect of blogging for me has been the writing. Perhaps in a gesture unfair to my readers, this blog has allowed me to spew my musings out into the world with very little attention to how satisfying or unsatisfying that experience might be. I have an internal editor, but I get the sense that he drinks a bit and doesn't always show up to work on time or at all. Even with an unreliable internal editor, the repetition of writing, an average of 18 times a month, was bound to change some things. One of those things has been my confidence and the other I've already mentioned is the structure of my thoughts.
The writing has slowed lately and the structure has been stuck. I want stories instead of descriptions. I want fully-formed opinions and ideas. The managing editor in my head is starting to crack down and it isn't always pleasant. Fortunately, the ombudsman has remained mostly silent.
What has been pleasant, despite the apparent newsroom in my skull, has been the opportunity to share the mundane and commonplace. I recognize that not everyone in my life wants to hear that I miss the TV show Ed or constantly hear about Ultimate, but this space has allowed me to share that information, sometimes even in a way that tickles me because I was able to mash up words in a pleasing way. This has benefitted my memory too. This function can't be underestimated. It makes me feel heard. However, I think that it has started to hold me back. I've allowed myself to be satisfied with getting the thought or description out there and let that be enough. It may be important to me, but it's no longer enough just to be heard. Somewhere, during the course of the last 5 years, I was able to make my observations into descriptions. I am now asking myself to make those descriptions into complete thoughts or opinions that are about more than just me. I think it may be the only way I can continue to justify blogging. If I can't do this, it may be time to take my writing elsewhere. That threatening-sounding sentence was for my benefit, not for my readers. I don't know yet how I want this next step to go. I may want to move toward fiction or my life may be able to generate the fodder I require. Time will tell if I can accomplish either or if this remains the right space to worry about it.
My party hat is drooping a bit. The ice cream has made my cake soggy and it appears that the donkey's tail has been pinned.
Sorry blog, grown-up birthday parties include reflection. Look a pony!
Conical party hats are out, the pins for pin-the-tail on the donkey have been located, cake could be served- It's been 5 years of blogging action. After 1,120 posts I should know what I want to say and how I'm going to say it, but I don't. Years ago, my posts tended to be aphorisms plopped onto the screen. Now I tend to give those aphorisms more context, or at the very least a cushion of words to protect them from the uncaring outside world. I suppose that's progress.
In my 5 years, I have often excitedly, and at times less excitedly, tried to define why blogging was important to me. I feel like I've never been able to fully express it. Let me try again. One of the first reasons was the re-connection it gave me. There were a number of people, my friends, who I had lost contact with. Blogs put us back together; we became friends again, stopping for a moment to share some thought or frustration in the hallways of the Internet. It was important to re-establish this connection and has led me to laugh and worry and furrow my brow along with people that I care about and some I've never met. Blogs have led me to real-life visits, discussions, trips, accomplishments, and relationships. It's almost scary how much can be tied to these little boxes. That's the world I'm living in.
That world is moving on and it appears to me that blogs are getting left behind. More and more I find myself in different hallways of the Internet, often with the same people. Social networking sites are taking over the connection function and in my limited experience they do it quite well. I'm now connected and more aware of the comings and goings and birthdays of more people than I know what to do with. I'm also keeping up with reading habits of much of that same crowd. It's incredible and a little odd.
The second important aspect of blogging for me has been the writing. Perhaps in a gesture unfair to my readers, this blog has allowed me to spew my musings out into the world with very little attention to how satisfying or unsatisfying that experience might be. I have an internal editor, but I get the sense that he drinks a bit and doesn't always show up to work on time or at all. Even with an unreliable internal editor, the repetition of writing, an average of 18 times a month, was bound to change some things. One of those things has been my confidence and the other I've already mentioned is the structure of my thoughts.
The writing has slowed lately and the structure has been stuck. I want stories instead of descriptions. I want fully-formed opinions and ideas. The managing editor in my head is starting to crack down and it isn't always pleasant. Fortunately, the ombudsman has remained mostly silent.
What has been pleasant, despite the apparent newsroom in my skull, has been the opportunity to share the mundane and commonplace. I recognize that not everyone in my life wants to hear that I miss the TV show Ed or constantly hear about Ultimate, but this space has allowed me to share that information, sometimes even in a way that tickles me because I was able to mash up words in a pleasing way. This has benefitted my memory too. This function can't be underestimated. It makes me feel heard. However, I think that it has started to hold me back. I've allowed myself to be satisfied with getting the thought or description out there and let that be enough. It may be important to me, but it's no longer enough just to be heard. Somewhere, during the course of the last 5 years, I was able to make my observations into descriptions. I am now asking myself to make those descriptions into complete thoughts or opinions that are about more than just me. I think it may be the only way I can continue to justify blogging. If I can't do this, it may be time to take my writing elsewhere. That threatening-sounding sentence was for my benefit, not for my readers. I don't know yet how I want this next step to go. I may want to move toward fiction or my life may be able to generate the fodder I require. Time will tell if I can accomplish either or if this remains the right space to worry about it.
My party hat is drooping a bit. The ice cream has made my cake soggy and it appears that the donkey's tail has been pinned.
Sorry blog, grown-up birthday parties include reflection. Look a pony!
Thursday, October 25, 2007
The state of my Internet address
Fellow Internet inhabitants,
We are all presidents in a land with none, which is why I choose to address you so. I have shown up on your rss feed, you happened to stop by, you have no idea why you've come, and I share your automation, good fortune, dumb luck. Thank you for coming this October, I promise to keep this relatively short. How short? Let's just say if I had written out this speech and placed it in my left breast-pocket, an assassination attempt using only steel-tipped darts would probably do me in. Not to fear though, my secret service personnel have been put on high alert to watch for excellent dart marksmen. My personnel are very thorough and have spent weeks leading up to this evening studying darts at establishments far and wide. They have also sampled some of the finest in October-flavored beer. Very thorough indeed.
My point, the plastic tipped dart which compels me to write today, is on the state of the Internet. It appears that porn continues to drive the Internet bus, but I will leave that portion untouched here today. I want to focus my discussion of the Internet in a way that the Internet seems to appreciate. I want to focus the discussion on me and the way the Internet is meeting my needs. Obviously, my abiltity to share in this very space is telling about one important part of the Internet. This continues to be my bulletin board for the thoughts and conversations that I'm not sure anybody even wants to listen to; or if "thoughts and conversations" strikes too intellectual of a tone, this is at least the space where my half-formed word combinations can go to rest comfortably in the knowledge that they are at least available for someone's consumption. I've had exciting moments here, but the babble seems more one-sided of late. My interest in me tends to outstrip others' interest in me. I understand that since you unlikely have a self to focus on. But, this has left me still searching for that social, or at least *favorite word of the month* parasocial connection.
Before I address that though, I would like to point those still listening to the upcoming National Novel Writing Month at nanowrimo.org. It's babbling with a goal and a story, so maybe a step up from blogs like this. It's also a great challenge.
Now, back to the parasocial universe that I inhabit. Facebook has sort of, kind of connected me with a number of people that I was sort of, kind of connected with before. It's pleasant enough finding out that people I like, but don't talk to that often like certain movies or songs and come from towns that I never thought to ask about, but it's also addictive and other than that sort of, kind of connection I'm not quite sure what it buys me. It does allow me another new way to use up my time and this time there are pictures.
Pictures are good, but I'm motivated by words. That's why goodreads.com is emerging as my favorite new place on the Internet. It's cozy, friendly, and fun. It's like a cute little coffee shop without the charming proprietor, the real people, the thick smell of fresh coffee, and the overpriced Internet connection. Well, that last one probably still exists. It does lack some of the tactile joys of a cute little coffee shop, but it makes up for that in its connection for readers. I believe I've touted the site in this space before, but I continue to see benefit. The site is keeping me reading. It's allowing me to get recommendations from my parasocial pals who probably wouldn't reach out otherwise. It's giving me a place to track my books, keep my reviews, and stay excited about reading. It's quickly moving to the top of my list of life-improving Internet addresses. Your blog is undoubtedly right up there in second place, don't worry.
And now for those who stayed and skimmed my every word, I give you a small piece of joy which comes not from the Internet, but instead a book I read. A joke book.
Question: What's the hardest part about hunting elephants?
Stop me if you've heard this one.
A: Carrying the decoys.
I KNOW!
Fellow Internet inhabitants,
We are all presidents in a land with none, which is why I choose to address you so. I have shown up on your rss feed, you happened to stop by, you have no idea why you've come, and I share your automation, good fortune, dumb luck. Thank you for coming this October, I promise to keep this relatively short. How short? Let's just say if I had written out this speech and placed it in my left breast-pocket, an assassination attempt using only steel-tipped darts would probably do me in. Not to fear though, my secret service personnel have been put on high alert to watch for excellent dart marksmen. My personnel are very thorough and have spent weeks leading up to this evening studying darts at establishments far and wide. They have also sampled some of the finest in October-flavored beer. Very thorough indeed.
My point, the plastic tipped dart which compels me to write today, is on the state of the Internet. It appears that porn continues to drive the Internet bus, but I will leave that portion untouched here today. I want to focus my discussion of the Internet in a way that the Internet seems to appreciate. I want to focus the discussion on me and the way the Internet is meeting my needs. Obviously, my abiltity to share in this very space is telling about one important part of the Internet. This continues to be my bulletin board for the thoughts and conversations that I'm not sure anybody even wants to listen to; or if "thoughts and conversations" strikes too intellectual of a tone, this is at least the space where my half-formed word combinations can go to rest comfortably in the knowledge that they are at least available for someone's consumption. I've had exciting moments here, but the babble seems more one-sided of late. My interest in me tends to outstrip others' interest in me. I understand that since you unlikely have a self to focus on. But, this has left me still searching for that social, or at least *favorite word of the month* parasocial connection.
Before I address that though, I would like to point those still listening to the upcoming National Novel Writing Month at nanowrimo.org. It's babbling with a goal and a story, so maybe a step up from blogs like this. It's also a great challenge.
Now, back to the parasocial universe that I inhabit. Facebook has sort of, kind of connected me with a number of people that I was sort of, kind of connected with before. It's pleasant enough finding out that people I like, but don't talk to that often like certain movies or songs and come from towns that I never thought to ask about, but it's also addictive and other than that sort of, kind of connection I'm not quite sure what it buys me. It does allow me another new way to use up my time and this time there are pictures.
Pictures are good, but I'm motivated by words. That's why goodreads.com is emerging as my favorite new place on the Internet. It's cozy, friendly, and fun. It's like a cute little coffee shop without the charming proprietor, the real people, the thick smell of fresh coffee, and the overpriced Internet connection. Well, that last one probably still exists. It does lack some of the tactile joys of a cute little coffee shop, but it makes up for that in its connection for readers. I believe I've touted the site in this space before, but I continue to see benefit. The site is keeping me reading. It's allowing me to get recommendations from my parasocial pals who probably wouldn't reach out otherwise. It's giving me a place to track my books, keep my reviews, and stay excited about reading. It's quickly moving to the top of my list of life-improving Internet addresses. Your blog is undoubtedly right up there in second place, don't worry.
And now for those who stayed and skimmed my every word, I give you a small piece of joy which comes not from the Internet, but instead a book I read. A joke book.
Question: What's the hardest part about hunting elephants?
Stop me if you've heard this one.
A: Carrying the decoys.
I KNOW!
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Tiny pink hearts are all we need
Facebook has a tiny little icon of a pink heart separated by a squiggly line of space. There's a lot in the parasocial universe I haven't seen and don't understand, but that little icon made sense immediately- it's a broken heart. I'm sitting here trying to remember what it was to have a broken heart at 15. All I can really remember is that I couldn't eat for a few days. Would it have been easier to announce the heartbreak to everyone at once with just the click of a button? Or is there value in the play by play to every one of your friends? Hashing and re-hashing every detail, working it out in your own mind. Maybe that happens anyway. I suppose there's something pleasing in the way facebook would allow this communication to all of the peripheral friends; the ones that wouldn't get a first-hand account anyway. And yet, how much harder is reconciliation when all your friends have already read with their own eyes that it is done? There's very little opportunity for the "But I thought they were..."
I remember the break-up as a lonely time, early journal evidence calls the event "...traumatically dumped in Nov." There was an upperclassman named Bill. He had 5 pairs of jeans and ironed shirts for the week hung on the back of his door. He was a little dark with his slicked-back black hair and his cigarettes. I think he had a car. I was just a freshman, innocent, quiet, and fearful of authority. I was no match for Bill in the high school hierarchy. I struggled with this for a while. I kicked things. I ran until the ache in my lungs matched the ache in my chest. I fasted with emotional pain. Some of this I remember well, but most of it is a shadow of a feeling. It's an extrapolation backwards from pain inflicted since then. That wasn't my first rejection, but it was shocking in its swiftness.
The squiggly line compresses over time, eventually all but disappearing. Cliches fly out of mouths- "other fish in the sea" was my favorite. Time wears on and the events become less about her and more about how we deal. Does the little pink heart icon pulsate with new love? I haven't been around online long enough to find out, but whether the icon appears or not, tiny pink hearts will prevail.
Facebook has a tiny little icon of a pink heart separated by a squiggly line of space. There's a lot in the parasocial universe I haven't seen and don't understand, but that little icon made sense immediately- it's a broken heart. I'm sitting here trying to remember what it was to have a broken heart at 15. All I can really remember is that I couldn't eat for a few days. Would it have been easier to announce the heartbreak to everyone at once with just the click of a button? Or is there value in the play by play to every one of your friends? Hashing and re-hashing every detail, working it out in your own mind. Maybe that happens anyway. I suppose there's something pleasing in the way facebook would allow this communication to all of the peripheral friends; the ones that wouldn't get a first-hand account anyway. And yet, how much harder is reconciliation when all your friends have already read with their own eyes that it is done? There's very little opportunity for the "But I thought they were..."
I remember the break-up as a lonely time, early journal evidence calls the event "...traumatically dumped in Nov." There was an upperclassman named Bill. He had 5 pairs of jeans and ironed shirts for the week hung on the back of his door. He was a little dark with his slicked-back black hair and his cigarettes. I think he had a car. I was just a freshman, innocent, quiet, and fearful of authority. I was no match for Bill in the high school hierarchy. I struggled with this for a while. I kicked things. I ran until the ache in my lungs matched the ache in my chest. I fasted with emotional pain. Some of this I remember well, but most of it is a shadow of a feeling. It's an extrapolation backwards from pain inflicted since then. That wasn't my first rejection, but it was shocking in its swiftness.
The squiggly line compresses over time, eventually all but disappearing. Cliches fly out of mouths- "other fish in the sea" was my favorite. Time wears on and the events become less about her and more about how we deal. Does the little pink heart icon pulsate with new love? I haven't been around online long enough to find out, but whether the icon appears or not, tiny pink hearts will prevail.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Dear Big Brother
Here's the key to my house. Come on in. Ransack that. Here's the music I'm listening to, the books I'm reading, the thoughts I'm thinking, the friends I have (or at least the friends who also welcome you and yours and me). It's all here- where I went to school, what I had for breakfast, the amount of space between my toes.
That's right, I joined facebook. It's possible that I'm about to become a parasocial butterfly. I will flit all over the place without ever leaving the seat that I stole from my roommate. Am I ok with this? I don't know, but at least I get to see some photos and videos that I was missing. I'm also exploring a whole world that I was only vaguely aware was in existence. The kids these days are terrifying, but man they take a lot of pictures. I'm still having a bit of trouble with facebook. I feel a bit like the grandparent and the VCR. It just isn't as intuitive as I thought it would be for some reason. I'm sure I'll get it figured out, so that I can soon paste the remaining pieces of my soul online. In the meantime, I need to find a way to consolidate my online presence. It's getting too spread out. I can't remember which email addresses go where and who signs in to what selling place how. I need a computer just to track my computer use.
If I sound a little frantic, it's because I think I may have just gone to stuck my toe in the fountain of the Internet and I ended up falling in. My clothes are soaked. My unmentionables are wet (are there any unmentionables left?). I'm not exactly sure where the nearest towel is located, but I'm willing to extend a metaphor...
In conclusion, I'm going to steal a transition from Frankie Two Toes, and say that I had some free acupuncture on Sunday. It was trippy. That belongs in another post.
Good day, sirs. Enjoy my soul and all of its pieces.
Here's the key to my house. Come on in. Ransack that. Here's the music I'm listening to, the books I'm reading, the thoughts I'm thinking, the friends I have (or at least the friends who also welcome you and yours and me). It's all here- where I went to school, what I had for breakfast, the amount of space between my toes.
That's right, I joined facebook. It's possible that I'm about to become a parasocial butterfly. I will flit all over the place without ever leaving the seat that I stole from my roommate. Am I ok with this? I don't know, but at least I get to see some photos and videos that I was missing. I'm also exploring a whole world that I was only vaguely aware was in existence. The kids these days are terrifying, but man they take a lot of pictures. I'm still having a bit of trouble with facebook. I feel a bit like the grandparent and the VCR. It just isn't as intuitive as I thought it would be for some reason. I'm sure I'll get it figured out, so that I can soon paste the remaining pieces of my soul online. In the meantime, I need to find a way to consolidate my online presence. It's getting too spread out. I can't remember which email addresses go where and who signs in to what selling place how. I need a computer just to track my computer use.
If I sound a little frantic, it's because I think I may have just gone to stuck my toe in the fountain of the Internet and I ended up falling in. My clothes are soaked. My unmentionables are wet (are there any unmentionables left?). I'm not exactly sure where the nearest towel is located, but I'm willing to extend a metaphor...
In conclusion, I'm going to steal a transition from Frankie Two Toes, and say that I had some free acupuncture on Sunday. It was trippy. That belongs in another post.
Good day, sirs. Enjoy my soul and all of its pieces.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
"Parasocial" behavior and the potential for the anti- of such
The interesting and entertaining storyRules of Thumb: Love in the Age of Texting introduced me to the term parasocial, supposedly those who believe that constant virtual contact is more than just pretend intimacy. If I'm allowed to interpret recklessly and without the argument that immediately bubbles up regarding the gray areas between virtual and actual intimacy, I do believe I've been a bit anti-parasocial in the last few weeks. There's really no telling what effect that has had on either of us.
I'm only shedding this anti-parasocialism because the washingtonpost.com story overlaps with thoughts of my own from Friday night. I live in a very different world. I recognize many of my friends, or mostly Daimon and Alan, have been telling me this for some time. I noticed this difference acutely on a Metro ride Friday night. My friend and seatmate held an entire conversation, including making plans for when he got off the train in a series of text messages. He found out where to meet, when to meet, who would be there, and even extended an invitation to another friend in a matter of moments. I have never done that. If I'd been alone, I would have gone all the way home and then been annoyed to even have to consider returning to the Metro to prolong my evening.
A friendship with me now requires an almost unheard of and/or unremembered level of advanced planning and patience. If I'm late somewhere those meeting me will know strictly by my absence. If we don't agree on a place to meet or don't understand one another, the only way our paths will cross is by force of will and dumb luck. I see a certain amount of beauty in my built-in requirement for patience (not to mention a certain amount of irony), but knowing how prevalent technology is in everyone's pocket makes me see how my resistance could be considered slightly less than charming. Thanks to those that indulge me and to those who don't, GR2BR.
The interesting and entertaining storyRules of Thumb: Love in the Age of Texting introduced me to the term parasocial, supposedly those who believe that constant virtual contact is more than just pretend intimacy. If I'm allowed to interpret recklessly and without the argument that immediately bubbles up regarding the gray areas between virtual and actual intimacy, I do believe I've been a bit anti-parasocial in the last few weeks. There's really no telling what effect that has had on either of us.
I'm only shedding this anti-parasocialism because the washingtonpost.com story overlaps with thoughts of my own from Friday night. I live in a very different world. I recognize many of my friends, or mostly Daimon and Alan, have been telling me this for some time. I noticed this difference acutely on a Metro ride Friday night. My friend and seatmate held an entire conversation, including making plans for when he got off the train in a series of text messages. He found out where to meet, when to meet, who would be there, and even extended an invitation to another friend in a matter of moments. I have never done that. If I'd been alone, I would have gone all the way home and then been annoyed to even have to consider returning to the Metro to prolong my evening.
A friendship with me now requires an almost unheard of and/or unremembered level of advanced planning and patience. If I'm late somewhere those meeting me will know strictly by my absence. If we don't agree on a place to meet or don't understand one another, the only way our paths will cross is by force of will and dumb luck. I see a certain amount of beauty in my built-in requirement for patience (not to mention a certain amount of irony), but knowing how prevalent technology is in everyone's pocket makes me see how my resistance could be considered slightly less than charming. Thanks to those that indulge me and to those who don't, GR2BR.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Word
The word fairy has pointed out that "fervent" may not have been the word to use in yesterday's post. fervent (adj.) having great warmth or intensity of spirit. I might have been able to get away with it once, but twice really elucidated the awkwardness.
Ripe might have been a better word. The banana joke certainly points in that direction. ripe (adj.) advanced to the point of being ready to use.
Words have been tricky for me lately. They aren't coming out so well and I'm second-guessing them when they do. Times like these make me pleased that blogging doesn't put food on the table.
The word fairy has pointed out that "fervent" may not have been the word to use in yesterday's post. fervent (adj.) having great warmth or intensity of spirit. I might have been able to get away with it once, but twice really elucidated the awkwardness.
Ripe might have been a better word. The banana joke certainly points in that direction. ripe (adj.) advanced to the point of being ready to use.
Words have been tricky for me lately. They aren't coming out so well and I'm second-guessing them when they do. Times like these make me pleased that blogging doesn't put food on the table.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
This game wouldn't be fun if we were perfect
There are moments when discs stick to hands like crazy glue is somehow involved, days where the sun shines brighter than an HDTV, and times when words fall into this box like they were wild horses released from a pen. Then there are moments, days, and times when the very opposite occurs.
Yesterday, in my first game of the day after my first cut, I had a moment when the disc hit my hand and glanced off, floating away in a sea of surprise and disappointment. It was a harbinger. The day was not filled with those moments, but we were never quite able to right the ship. And we sank.
The day was overcast. Rain has threatened us for nearly a week. It hasn't made good on those threats, perhaps realizing it is too drunk to fight, or maybe hoping that the threats will be enough to keep us in line. With the threat still lingering somewhere between cloud and sky..... Soaked. Shirt, shorts, face dripping with water. The weather had risen to the challenge and fulfilled the threats in a storm of nature's tears. With drops of rain rolling down my bike helmet and into my beard, I could not help but sing.
Rain. Rainbows. Lemons. Lemonade.
Times. Times just like these. When the wild horses can't be found and the pen isn't even mightier than the sod. Not that grass can't cut deep. They don't call 'em blades for nothing.
There are moments when discs stick to hands like crazy glue is somehow involved, days where the sun shines brighter than an HDTV, and times when words fall into this box like they were wild horses released from a pen. Then there are moments, days, and times when the very opposite occurs.
Yesterday, in my first game of the day after my first cut, I had a moment when the disc hit my hand and glanced off, floating away in a sea of surprise and disappointment. It was a harbinger. The day was not filled with those moments, but we were never quite able to right the ship. And we sank.
The day was overcast. Rain has threatened us for nearly a week. It hasn't made good on those threats, perhaps realizing it is too drunk to fight, or maybe hoping that the threats will be enough to keep us in line. With the threat still lingering somewhere between cloud and sky..... Soaked. Shirt, shorts, face dripping with water. The weather had risen to the challenge and fulfilled the threats in a storm of nature's tears. With drops of rain rolling down my bike helmet and into my beard, I could not help but sing.
Rain. Rainbows. Lemons. Lemonade.
Times. Times just like these. When the wild horses can't be found and the pen isn't even mightier than the sod. Not that grass can't cut deep. They don't call 'em blades for nothing.
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