up in the air
I was at jury selection for some retarded (yeah, I said it) trial involving a woman who slipped on the stairs outside a cookie bouquet store on 35th. She was suing b/c there was no rail to grab on to when her fat ass flew backwards on the second step. I shit you not. The bailiff came in and whispered something to the judge who, upon recollection, flipped the freak out and told everyone in the courtroom there was a terrorist attack in New York city and that we all needed to evacuate the building (this being a courthouse and all). I remember the confusion and the general sense of rising fear in the room. A kind of creeping panic. The cookie bouquet owner was on the stand answering some questions. She looked distraught beyond measure. Someone whispered something who whispered something to someone else and I caught it. Her brother was in New York city. She pulled out her phone and, I’m guessing, was frantically trying to call him. I tried to call a friend of mine in Brooklyn. Service was out. I remember the cookie bouquet owner’s face. I remember driving through traffic, desperately trying to get a hold of the pre-school my boys were at. I remember feeling like it was all up in the air. All of it. And now, eleven years on, I can’t forget. I won’t forget.
- 9/11/2012 7:27:22 PM |
it's the application of talent that matters
And also, for your consideration, The Offenders.
- 9/2/2012 7:56:00 AM |
dead letter office
Back in the saddle...
See You Tomorrow
- 2/6/2012 6:36:19 PM |
a little late, but still resolute...
Itís 2012 jokers. I know you know this, but Iím going to say it anyway. Itís 2012. Wake up!
Not like thereís a disaster coming or anything, but you never know. Blam!
Iím going to start working out like I mean it. Not like some pansy-ass 40-something who just got a trainer and calculated his BMI [which, letís face it, is probably 80% accurate for me], but stripped down bark-eating shit. Like Ali in his day when he was up against Foreman, that mean old son of a bitch.
"I done tussled with a whale. I done handcuffed lighting, thrown thunder in jail."
Amen. Whereís Foreman now? Selling grills on infomercials, thatís where.
Iím going to start writing every day. Not journal inputs and outputs or recording the time and place or lame-ass Facebook/Twitter comments, but what matters and how. Thereís nobody to say it like me. Nobody. Not now.
Iím going to keep on grabbing my wife and kissing her and telling her how much I love her. I’m going to take her dancing. Every kind of dancing. You think of a dance and you’ll think of us. I bought her a dozen roses before Valentineís Day, just to count off the days until. Goddamn, sheís a beautiful site. Do you ever feel that? That your wife is a goddamn miracle? Sorry God, Iím not damning you. Iím saying my wife is amazing. I think God can take it. I bet he says it, too, sometimes.
"Goddamn, I did right by her." - God
Iím going to praise my boys. My two boys. Theyíre probably embarrassed me just saying that. Praise us? Jesus, Dad. But seriously, my boys are also superstars. They could rope the moon, the two of them. Thomas just ran a half-marathon. A [I have to expletive delete here] half-marathon! Thirten.whatever miles and he made it in one hour and fifty minutes. Yes, you read that right. He ran 13.x miles in 1:50:00. Top that. Heís fourteen. And he plays guitar like Yngve Malmsteen if Yngve Malmsteen were cool and had shorter hair. I donít even care if I spelled Yngve Malmsteen right. I probably did though. And William is playing trumpet (on and off 1st chair!) and guitar and growing into his own charming self. Sweet Lord, watch out girls. I mean it. Watch. Out. This kid is going to plow through like an International Harvester. And youíll thank him. You absolutely will.
Iím going to take it all in. Iím going to be patient. Iím going to stay positive in the face of a crap ton of down-and-outers. Iím going to be kind. Iím going to take my time. Stop rush rush rushing. This rushed out rushed up rushed on world is spinning fast enough for me to sit back and watch sometimes. Or not even watch. More like spin my own.
Itís 2012 mother-[man, I canít cuss like that anymore, but you know what I mean].
- 2/1/2012 9:04:14 PM |
Hereís possibly the worst thing he could think to say about her: He could see what she would look like when she was old.
- 1/16/2012 6:16:57 PM |
Boy, time flies. Itís been 2 years, 3 months, and 6 days since my last confess...err, post. I donít know what happened. I think I got sick of it. And Facebook. Yeah, letís blame Facebook. Or Twitter. Our tolerance for >140 character ponderings on the nature of the universe has taken a turn for the worse. And, letís be honest, most people do blather on when unlimited.
So whatís different now? I honestly donít know. I think itís that I just had to come back to it. Had to have a forum for whatever nonsense comes to mind. Had to have a place to stash these lame, half-hearted ideas so that they might grow, might turn into something else.
So whatís different now? Iím remarried to a beautiful, amazing, kind, generous woman. Something about the everydayness of life gets immediately more bearable when youíre every day is so damn good and you look forward to coming home. Of course, things still reak in the outside world, but Iíve got a fortress or a reef or a barrier through which not as much slips through.
I disabled the comments. Not b/c I didnít like the comments, but b/c I donít really have a good way to stop the spam. Iím sure I could come up with one, but I honestly donít care enough to do that. So, your comments were always welcome and it wasnít anything you said. Really. I have a few more gasps in me. Weíll see, right?
So whatís different?
- 11/6/2011 5:21:12 PM |
If it's worth it, we'll tax the hell out of it...
P.J. O’Rourke on bailouts, easy women, and the ruination of the American automobile industry.
ďPolitics is the attempt to achieve power and prestige without merit.Ē
- 7/11/2009 8:29:50 AM |
Happy Fathering Day
Just back from a transformative and less debauched gathering of men at Hidden Falls. The focus was fatherhood; biological, emotional, spiritual. We shot guns, roasted whole hogs, and acted like wild-haired buffoons...except when we didnít. We talked about what we desired in our own fathers and how we could use that desire as a sort of compass in our own lives. Simple, I know. But powerful. And so understated in our own lives as we live them. Many of us sons are fatherless, either estranged, abandoned, or simply distant from the men who raised us. Many fathers feel diminished, useless, lost, confused. Our own President is fatherless, raised by his mother and grandparents.
As my Fatherís Day kicks off, I wanted to offer up a prayer for all us fathers and sons and also harken back to a recently-recovered biograph entry that highlights all my jumbled emotions.
Even as a divorced dad, I still have the opportunity to influence my children for good, to seek out the opportunities to be with them, to hold them, to guide them, to be the father I had only too briefly. The central tenets of life still hold true. Itís never too late. You can break the cycle and reconnect the distant chords. You can make a difference.
Thomas posted his own blog entry on Fatherís Day (or Childrenís Enslaved Day as he calls it). Like he said, he and William made me breakfast (all by themselves) and they got me a brand new Weber BBQ grill (fancy). I really could not be happier.
- 6/21/2009 7:17:16 AM |
You forget what you want to remember...
...and you remember what you want to forget.
Dimension Films has released the first trailer for The Road.
"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."
Esquire, known for its understatement in all things entertainment, has declared it the most important movie of the year.
- 5/16/2009 2:49:16 PM |
I'm sorry, the page is out of order
In other news...
Bud Shrake passed away earlier in the week. After Poodie and Stephen Bruton, this comes as hard news for Willie Iím sure. Too many damn good Texans are dying up in here.
Some good advice from a new book for parents, The Idle Parent:
Drink as much beer as you can and lie in bed.
Children actually have an inbuilt self-protective sense that we destroy by over-cosseting. They become independent not so much by careful training but in part simply as a result of parental laziness. Last Sunday morning, Victoria and I lay in bed till half past 10 with hangovers. What a result! And the more often you do this, the better, because the childrenís resourcefulness will improve, resulting in less nagging, less of that awful "Mum-eeeeeeeh" noise they make. They can play and they will play.
So lying in bed for as long as possible is not the act of an irresponsible parent. It is precisely the opposite: It is good to look after yourself, and it is good to teach the children to fend for themselves. Our offspring will be strong, bold, fearless, much in demand wherever they go! Capable, cheerful, happy. It is also the task of the idle parent to ensure as far as possible that all members of the family are enjoying themselves here and now, in the present moment. There is far too much emphasis on that imprisoning capitalist abstraction "the future." There is no point in sacrificing pleasurable todays for the promise of more prosperous tomorrows. So stay in that bed as much as you can.
- 5/15/2009 8:19:38 AM |