Temporarily Blind

I'm hideously vain, it seems. Or maybe just a little. You decide:

My ten year high school reunion is this weekend, and for reasons I can't really explain, I'm very excited. Part of it is, after a month or so in New York, this will be my first trip home and I will get to see my family, friends, etc. And I'll get to drink with some of them. The other part is, like most nerds, I want to show everyone I went to high school with how much I've changes. There, I said it. I can explain it, it's just embarrassing.

One very noticeable change is I no longer wear glasses. In high school, I not only wore glasses, I wore huge, thick glasses. The kind that Buddy Holly would refuse to wear because they were too geeky(this was true of every year except my senior year, I think, when I adopted more sensible frames). So I'm excited to show up sans-two of my four eyes. Then, yesterday, disaster struck.

I'm down to my last pair of lenses before I need to order new ones. I thought, for some reason, they would last until the reunion. Having just moved, I hadn't found a new optometrist and my vision insurance card hadn't -- and still hasn't -- arrived in the mail. A long-winded way to excuse myself for not having a back-up pair of lenses. So yesterday, my left lens develops a tear, and promptly disintegrates in my hands.

Oh-fucking-no...what am I going to do? I thought. I am NOT wearing glasses to this thing...think...think...eye exam? lenses? in two days??

The thought of going to that reunion wearing glasses flat-lined my excitement. I don't want people to see me as I was; I want them to see me as I am now!

Sure, my hair is a lot longer, scraggly, I'm not as helplessly skinny, and I'm not as socially inept as I was -- but goddammit -- I don't wear glasses anymore! That's the important thing that everyone should see.

Everyone being an entity that has yet to be defined. I have no idea who will come, who I will remember and who will remember me. It could all be an empty exercise, like doing squats while eating a Big Mac.

So, I had an eye exam this morning, and luckily -- despite astigmatism in my right eye -- they had a pair of lenses in stock I could wear while waiting for my prescription to come in. Disaster averted.

Someone better notice. I'll try and post some pictures of the hopefully splendid event.

We All Know Who Would Do It

There are things and times you don't miss until they are happening, usually because you're taking life way too seriously. That's been a problem for me lately, so Saturday afternoon I sauntered up to Paul's car at the Greenbelt Metro in the least serious way possible(short of hopping and skipping).

I brought Weird Al's "Straight Outta Lynwood" because I thought Paul would find it funny, but we talked and caught up over all the best parts. That bothered me a little. I wanted him to marvel at how funny it was, because I'm vain; it was a very foolish whim in retrospect. But I'm a fool at heart.

If there is one person in the world everyone should talk to, it's Paul; I always have animated, hilarious conversations with him. Whatever talking to Dick Cheney is like, talking with Paul would be the complete opposite. Paul and I get into trouble when talking in cars, though, and it's all the fault of The Simpsons. Once, The Simpsons made us two hours late; today, the pop-culture heavyweight nearly got us killed¹.

Nine years ago, Paul was driving me and our friend Aaron to visit another friend at Washington College, which is in Maryland's Eastern Shore. It was freshman year for all four of us(Paul, me, Aaron, mutual friend attending college in the vast marshes of the Eastern Shore; yep, that's four), so this was our first visit to WC. Jamie -- the mutual friend -- had given us good directions, which we ignored while we traded Simpsons' quotes for hours and hours after crossing the Chesapeake Bay. We ended up some absurd distance(that increases with each retelling of this story) past our exit, and we've joked since then that we are forbidden to discuss the show while Paul is driving(or while Aaron is sleeping).

Today, ignoring our past experience, we traded Simpsons' lines for a mere thirty seconds before Paul almost slammed into the back of a car stopped at a red light.

"Paul, you're gonna hit that guy," I mumbled.

After coming to a screeching halt behind the oblivious near-accident-victim, Paul gave me a thoughtful look.

"I'm surprised how calmly you told me I was about to kill us, 'Paul, you're gonna hit that guy...just, putting that out there...'," he said.

I replied I was frozen with fear and it happened too fast. In reality, I was eerily calm because of all my friends, if you -- Paul -- end up getting me killed, I will be very surprised.

¹Paul disputes that this was the fault of The Simpsons. He says he was distracted because he was pointing out the dental office of a friend. Paul, I know quoting The Simpsons is fun, but we can get our fix in non-vehicular settings. We shouldn't even do that shit on the Metro; we would kill dozens of people.

Gym Security

I never used a padlock to protect my gym locker until today. That's roughly twelve years of leaving my belongings naked to whoever came upon them. Why do that? I never felt it was a serious threat; not serious enough to spend eight or nine dollars to prevent, anyway. Of course, if you ask people who know me, they would say something different:

A Random Friend: He's too trusting.

My Brother: He's fucking stupid.

Girlfriend: He's too trusting...and fucking stupid.

Today, though, I bought a metallic green lock to protect my locker. Why? It was the first time I had my laptop with me. I was planning on hitting up an Internet cafe right after my workout. Access at my apartment has been slow and sporadic lately. And has trusting -- or stupid -- as I may be, I'm not leaving a two-thousand dollar computer sit by itself, unprotected, while I do singe leg raises¹.

So World(or as my mother calls it, common sense), you win. I'm using a padlock. Happy?

¹Interestingly, I have no problem leaving my laptop -- albeit in its carrying case -- next to sweaty gym clothes while I shower.

And Duke Lost Too

I was already having a good weekend Saturday. I was watching football with friends and family on my parent's brand new 46" high-def television, playing pool, snacking and just relaxing. I asked myself, can things get any better? And then, they did: my weekend achieved perfection with 1:19 to go in the Cowboys/Seahawks game.

Romo dropped the ball.

I don't usually partake in schadenfreude(no more than any other American), but I gorged on it Saturday night. The failure, the shock, the head hanging, the barely held back tears during the press conference, all of it was such a delight. I'm still half wearing the same shit-eating grin I had while I was pointing and laughing at the TV while NBC showed Romo on the bench, all alone, staring at the ground. If karma really does exist, I'm sure all of this will come back at me three fold, but I suspect the payback for laughing at multi-million dollar athletes fucking up routine plays will be having to wait an extra five minutes at Starbucks or something.

My friend Jamie wondered aloud if this was the end for Tony Romo. After all, such a confidence shattering mental lapse during the biggest play of his young career could send him into Chuck Knoblauch forever choking territory. As Jamie noted, the re-play of "The Drop" will be played during the off-season, the preseason, next season, and any playoff game where a field goal is kicked for the rest of eternity. And people will post the video on their blogs, like this:





I don't think Romo is done, however, even though all the Carrie Underwood hummers in the world will never make Romo feel better. I'm sure that won't make him turn them down, though, would you? I can just seem him now:

ROMO(driving): This just isn't helping like I thought it would. (Carrie's head pops up from under the steering wheel) I didn't say stop.

Anyway, I can't wait to see the Super Bowl on that high-def set(official motto, provided by Jamie: A picture so good, you can see Shannon Sharpe's razor burn). Everyone I know is unofficially invited.

After that, the rest of the weekend was a blur. I think I went to Best Buy to spend a gift certificate for Christmas, but who the hell knows. Romo dropped the ball, and that's all that matters.

Oh, and this(as the title of the post says):

Avec une araignée

Ah, the morning shower. I like to run the hot water for a bit before I get in, brushing my teeth and letting some steam build up. That's my perfect morning shower: hot water, steam, and a spider.

Right. By. My. Head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see something dangling at eye level. For less than a split second, I thought I was losing my hair(the spider was dark brown, which is what dead, wet falling out blond hair would look like I guess). Then it wrangled it's legs around it's little spider sling and paused right in front of my face as if to say, "Hey, how's it going. Nice shower this morning. Whoa, calm down fella...what are you doing with that tissue paper?...you know what, I'll just be going."

It climbed back up to the ceiling, where I killed it. Sorry, it was a primitive reaction. I flushed it and still had the willies all morning.

It's a mad world.

I'm going to the Redskins game Sunday; my first at FedEx, and the first since 1987. The only thing I remember about that game was my father seemed to be some sort of giant among men(I was eight). I'm going with him again, two of my three brothers are going but they will be seated elsewhere.

Again, congrats to my friend Jamie and his new job, hope the first day is going well.

Jamie's Got A Job

Dedicated to my friend Jamie, who starts a great new job tomorrow. To the tune of "Janie's Got A Gun":

Jamie's Got A Job

Dum, dum, dum, look what jamie's done
Dum, dum, dum, guess he won't become a bum
Dum, dum, dum, look what jamie's done
Dum, dum, dum, become a bum, a bum...
Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah....

Jamie's got a job
Jamie's got a job
His whole world's full of fun
Future looking bright as the sun
What did his resume do?
Is he glad unemployment is through?

They say Jamie was real invested
To find a job that wouldn't fry his brain
Oh man, he had it comin'
Now that Jamie's got a job
He's gonna buy tons of new games

Jamie's got a job
Jamie's got a job
His best day's just begun
You know his last job, it wasn't fun
Don't tell him now it's untrue
He told that job 'screw you!'

He went to Baltimore with his lady
We moved their shit in the rain
With nothing to hide under
The lightnin' and the thunder
We'll never help him move again

Run away, run away from the rain
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Run away, run away from the rain
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Run away, run away, run, run away

Jamie's got a job
Jamie's got a job
His best day's just begun
You know his last job wasn't fun
Don't tell him now it's untrue
He told that job 'screw you!'

That job it wasn't easy
Almost put a bullet in his brain
The work it made him queasy
His boss was such a sleeze
And the compensation was so very lame

Run away, run away from the strain
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Run away, run away from the strain
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Run away, run away, run, run away

Jamie's got a job
Jamie's got a job
Jamie's got a job
Everybody is on the run

Jamie's got a job
Long days just begun
Now he can buy some rum (but he doesn't have a drinking problem)
'Cause Jamie's got a job (like me he's really white)
Jamie's got a job (it can't be used for robbin')
He'll need a place for the rum (His frigde is full of sprite)
This weekend we'll have some fun
'Cause Jamie's got a job

A Late Weekend Recap

Friday

A Foosball table cut my wrist up good this weekend. It looks like I tried to kill myself with a slab of concrete, skinning my wrists instead of slitting them.

I was helping my friend Jamie unload the table at his house; he's storing it for our friend Aaron who is moving to an apartment too small to handle his table. One of the sides caught my wrist when we turned it over. I didn't even notice cut for a while.

Jamie picked me up at the Greenbelt Metro, in a truck, with a small wooden table in the passenger seat. That I was expected to have in my lap for the drive back to Baltimore. Not exactly the ideal set up for having good conversation ("Sup, table bitch!"), to say anything about safety. So I shoved that fucker in the back, despite Jamie's reservations about being decapitated.

"Well, before I would have been decapitated."

"Yeah, but I was fine with that."

On the way to Baltimore, we stopped at my parents' house in Laurel. They were painting the kitchen(they means my brother Scott, which is the real reason I wanted to stop by; I hadn't seen him in at least two months). Now, the last time I saw the kitchen it was in a series of re-paints. I had misunderstood my mother's explanation on what part of the stage they were at, and I thought the color I was looking at was the old color. I said it was hideous; then she told me that was actually the color they had settled on.

"Oh...well, it's dark in here. I'm sure it will look great with all the lights on." I said this in the midst of broad daylight with a straight face.

Anyway, the room Friday night looked great. The hideous color actually looked gorgeous once it dried and was set against some white trim.

Scott seemed a little out of it; I learned later he was taking sleeping pills because he had been staying up for 40 hours at a time the past two weeks. Jamie, Scott and I admired my parents new HD TV for a while, talked some bullshit about football and I agreed to be at my parents house to watch the game with Scott and my Dad.

Jamie and I went the rest of the way to Baltimore with the table still in Jamie-decapitating position; thankfully we made it without any heads rolling. Our friend Paul met us for dinner at a nice Chinese restaurant, were we learned that Jamie and Paul were born in the year of the Monkey, and I was born in the year of the Horse. According to the calendar, I should marry a Dog. Which, according to my ex-wife's birthday, I did. The description of the year of the Dog said Dog's were known for their loyalty.

What do the Chinese know?

Afterwards, the three of us and Jamie's wife Cheryl played a fun game whose name I can't remember. It involved playing roads, castles, and churches(some with roads, and some in the middle of nowhere I guess). Paul was hyped and couldn't stop from looking at his piece before his turn and come up; I was forced to hide the box with the pieces in it.

I slept on a couch in the basement and had a dream that Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers was force feeding me the world's worst chili at the DC 101 Chili Cook Off. This reminded me I had to buy some cans of Turkey Chili Sunday when I went grocery shopping(I forgot, and I'm terrified of what dream Flea will do to me now).

Saturday

"Your face it dances and it haunts me
Your laughter's still ringing in my ears
I still find pieces of your presence here
Even after all these years"

- Colin Hay, I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You

Saturday morning I awoke to Flea's voice morphing into Jamie's. It was 10 am; time to head over to Aaron's to help him move. We stopped at McDonald's for some breakfast. The cashier in training had a unique way of handing me my change: she just stuck her open hand out, palm up - evidently expecting me to snatch it out of her hands. Jamie observed the trainer of the trainee struggling with removing his ordered milk without spilling the coffee creamers that were piled on top of the milk.

"She'd be a shitty Jenga player," he observed.

We arrived at Aaron's to find his parents, his sister and her husband were already there. Aaron raised his hands in exasperation at our time of arrival, which was curious because he must of known there was no way we would be there any earlier that 11 am on a Saturday.

Things went very smoothly. We loaded most of Aaron's stuff into a large crate for storage; the care was being picked up later and driven to a warehouse. I was completely unaware that such a service existed.

The only thing that went wrong was when Jamie, Aaron's brother-in-law Glenn and I dropped Aaron's mattress in a puddle. It was only one corner, but it was very noticeable since we dropped it right in front of Aaron, in the parking lot. Technically, Glenn lost his grip and it caused his and Jamie's end to drop. However, whenever Aaron referred to the incident again, he eyed me and Jamie exclusively. Such is family loyalty.

After the bed, Aaron's bedroom was barren save a few discarded items from his desk on the carpet. Aaron asked me to get a box from his room. It was near his closet, and next to it, out of the corner of my eye, I caught something peculiar. A flash of some familiar colors. Two pictures were partially concealed beneath a sheet of printer paper. Through the paper I could make out one of the pictures.

Me and my ex-wife, on our wedding day. Probably the last thing I expected to see while helping my friend move. She looked beautiful; I looked happy. I wish there was a word for all the sorrow, foolishness and grief I felt. Only for a second. I wiped away a few tears(thankfully I was alone), asked if I could throw them away, and that was that.

Sunday

I went over to my parent's house to watch the game. The Redskins lost 20-17 to the Bucs, and Scott, James, my father and I screamed at the TV the entire time. It was a frustrating loss.

Afterwards, I helped Scott move a couch and love seat into his girlfriend's house. He and his girlfriend both work at Outback Steakhouse; the furniture was generously donated by a regular. An older, almost sad regular who was giving three waitresses some furniture because he probably gets a thrill getting some bought attention from young, pretty girls.

Sunday night I worked on some record reviews(that hopefully you will be able to read soon), bought some songs off of iTunes(including the Mad World cover from Donnie Darko and the Gears Of War commercial).

An Evening

Saturday, I met up with a couple friends for dinner.

We ate at a restaurant in the town I grew up in, more or less. I don't count the six months spent in Hawaii, or the four years spent in Greenbelt. I can barely remember any of that, but Laurel is a fixture in the back of my brain.

Laurel is going through some kind of chain-establishment revival, added since my departure are a Starbucks, California Tortilla, Coldstone Creamery, Shoppers Food Warehouse, Applebees, and a LoneStar Steakhouse. The steakhouse is where we ate.

My three younger brothers work at an Outback Steakhouse. I wondered this meal counted as an act of betrayal. Instead of boomerangs and upside down maps of the world(putting Australia in it's proper place, playing second fiddle to Antartica I suppose), there were fake steer horns and paintings of cowboys taming the wild west; or maybe the taming was already done, since there were no Indians in any of the paintings. The Maryland football game was on the flat screen TVs hanging over the bar; we briefly discussed it and it became apparent none of us had any idea or interest in how the season was going for a school we all used to go to(and should therefore care about), but it was a game on TV, what else were we going to talk about while waiting to be seated.

The food and service were adequate. I briefly speculated as to how many waiters I could trip before they realized I was doing it on purpose. The consensus we reached was three to six, depending on what they were carrying. Then we discussed the best domino strategy, since the staff often traveled in packs of two or three. Trip the lead, the middle, or the straggler? Cases were made for each.

Our waiter himself presented an interesting conundrum, at least to me: how does someone so devoid of charisma get by being a waiter? Saturday night was the closet I have ever come to being served by a robot. An instantly forgettable man. My theory is he gets by because people, not being able to remember much about him, can't remember how the service was and tip at least fifteen percent. I tipped him twenty, because I always tip twenty, and I couldn't remember how the service was. Hell, I didn't remember him taking our order; when the food came I was surprised. Who ordered this? Have we been here that long?

The girl who brought the food, however, was very memorable.

A Fun Night

It's about 10:30 - I just got home from drinks with friends - and I'm happy.

For the last two or so years, there has always been at least one major problem in my life. The kind of problem that you go out and have drinks with friends to forget, but you know will be waiting for you when the fun ends. Sticky problems that gunk up your brain at night and pull at it during the day.

A failing marriage, then divorce, money, and finally regaining independence(financial and spiritual) - problems were always there. After a while, it just seemed normal. This is what life is like, I told myself, one problem after another, and you go out and do your best, and wait for the next one.

Tonight the next one seems far over the horizon. I still have problems, I haven't channeled Tony Robbins or anything. The difference is, the future doesn't keep me up at night. Which is strange, because it for the first time in a while, it seems bright.

Of course, my ancestors have a saying: An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy which sustains him through temporary periods of joy.