Whatever Works
Mr. BC recently scored a zero on his test. What a loser. The test had a scoring range from zero to four hundred and Mr. BC scored a zero, what a loser. Did I already say that? It was a heart disease test and zero was the best score. So BC is not a loser. He wins with a zero. No plaque on his heart. Mr. BC is the Tiger Woods of the heart disease game. When I do BC residential duty at the home between Langley and Great Falls, VA., I sometimes look in on the one goldfish living in his bathroom and while there count the valium in BC's medicine cabinet to make sure he's not doing too many of them. I can't see that he's doing any at all but I don't like to take chances with his health so I pop a couple myself because friends look after friends. I don't mess with his Lipitor. Is that like cheating taking Lipitor and then scoring a zero on your heart test? Doesn't matter. It is good to rule out heart disease as the life squelcher of a friend. Mr. BC said I should have some medical tests too because I am an old crusty caretaker. He said have the company which is him pay for it. He later went on to say that he would sometime this year be having a colonoscopy. I said have one for me while he was there. He said he wasn't looking forward to having a Sony up his Guadalcanal. But that's how it goes. You start out with a simple 20 minute check up and the next thing you know you are being made love to in a non traditional way by a sexless recording device that assures you cooingly that this is for your own good, sweetcakes. But don't think any of the nurses are snickering behind your back even though they are. What does professionalism mean? Well it certainly doesn't mean you lack sense of humor regarding easily made fun of medical procedures. Let's move on, and make fun of me.
Last night I woke feeling parched and went into the kitchen and got a Vitamin Water. It was the opaquely pale yellow citrus flavor. I came back, put the expensive well marketed and designed plastic encased liquid on my bedside table, had a few sips, screwed the white plastic cap back on and laid back. I felt instantly at peace. In a narcotic trance was how I described myself to the me that was drifting away. I drifted away. Some time later I looked up and framed in the doorway was a tall black man dressed in an early 20th century policeman's uniform. I wasn't exactly asleep is the thing. And it is kind of frightening this state of mine not exactly unprecedented but usually suppressed in sleep as a thing leaving behind no picture, only the sensation of being pistol whipped all night, hey good morning. But this imposter for a couple of different reasons has no control over me, this I know so I ordered him away. If you press your tongue tightly against your upper palate and yell at the top of your lungs you will get the auditory sense of how impressively I rule as master of my own universe. The cop moved back into the dark unseen recesses of this place I call a cottage but isn't, really, and I could hear him about the place, touching things, and I got up, but not really up or anywhere did I go, I stayed in bed and transported part of me to the back door and yelled in that aforementioned inimitable fashion, for him to leave, get out, embarrassing myself frankly but unable to stop.. Just listening to this half awake half sleeping mutedly screaming me having no effect on this night's intruder. I was hoping Bernadette could not hear this, hoping that I was not making the noise I know I make. But she did wake up, more or less, long enough to tell me gently and kindly but no kidding around to shut the hell up. I said I was sorry, without my tongue pressed tight against my palate, and the spell was broken. I was so happy to be done with it. Damn ridiculous ghosts in the night. I'm going to lock the doors now. I do that sometimes because it seems to help.
...more recent posts
Damn Of An Old Scar
Periodically, a man comes by Mt. Pleasant to communicate to me his problems. Months ago the problem was, by all appearances, a grifter woman taking advantage of his son. As my moderate understanding of the Internet was superior to his, he asked would I attempt some background checks on the woman. I did so and came up with just a little dirt (and while looking also found a reference to a mistake from my own past.) The man later contracted someone more curious and better equipped for this type of investigation. For weeks after I was--despite my inclination towards eye wandering mountain gazing--his patient and attentive sounding board for each new clod of fresh dirt dug up on the woman taking advantage of his son. All of this culminated in the son loosing his cool and punching the woman in the face and going to jail for a few weekends. The woman, now the perceived if not actual victim, runs free tugging effortlessly a rather remarkable list of malfeasance. The son is now quit of the woman, but not the debt she helped incur.
At times the man would punctuate his stories of fiscal woe with ones of health, as his two sons would offer and then rescind the offer of their extra kidneys, so that the man could annul his marriage to the dialysis machine. Focused so long on health issues he would speak of his end with the resignation of one who has watched for years the seasons commence and then conclude, with some of the good and the bad in between, but never too much of one to make you forget the other.
I would ask questions during these sessions and when appropriate throw out a well placed condemnation, of this person or that, judgments with which he could only agree. Simple judgments of those things we deemed good and those things we deemed bad. The man and I derived comfort from these lines we drew which put us on one side of a moral issue and everyone else, except for good people like us, on the other.
Every so often I would suggest, whether I believed it or not, that things could only get so bad before they got better and patience would win out in the end and that all things have a course if we can endure the twists and turns of it. Yeah, he would agree, with appropriate skepticism.
On Wednesday he stopped by looking ill and said he was visiting so as to avoid killing the man with whom his wife of 30 years was having an affair. I told him I was glad he came by and not jokingly said he should always stop by before killing someone.
I offered him his preferred drink of sparking fresh spring water and poured myself some cold Russian vodka. He told me his wife had moved out and was the next day going to give him her decision as to whether the move was permanent, and precedent to her asking for 50 percent of everything they owned together. He talked for a good while until we both started yawning and he said he would have to leave soon to go hook himself up to the machine. Before he left he wiped clean from his cheek the three tears that had over the course of the conversation sprouted from the outside corner of his left eye and run down one deep crevasse in his tired face to form a small reservoir of clear despair, against the dam of an old scar.
Periodically, a man comes by Mt. Pleasant to communicate to me his problems. Months ago the problem was, by all appearances, a grifter woman taking advantage of his son. As my moderate understanding of the Internet was superior to his, he asked would I attempt some background checks on the woman. I did so and came up with just a little dirt (and while looking also found a reference to a mistake from my own past.) The man later contracted someone more curious and better equipped for this type of investigation. For weeks after I was--despite my inclination towards eye wandering mountain gazing--his patient and attentive sounding board for each new clod of fresh dirt dug up on the woman taking advantage of his son. All of this culminated in the son loosing his cool and punching the woman in the face and going to jail for a few weekends. The woman, now the perceived if not actual victim, runs free tugging effortlessly a rather remarkable list of malfeasance. The son is now quit of the woman, but not the debt she helped incur.
At times the man would punctuate his stories of fiscal woe with ones of health, as his two sons would offer and then rescind the offer of their extra kidneys, so that the man could annul his marriage to the dialysis machine. Focused so long on health issues he would speak of his end with the resignation of one who has watched for years the seasons commence and then conclude, with some of the good and the bad in between, but never too much of one to make you forget the other.
I would ask questions during these sessions and when appropriate throw out a well placed condemnation, of this person or that, judgments with which he could only agree. Simple judgments of those things we deemed good and those things we deemed bad. The man and I derived comfort from these lines we drew which put us on one side of a moral issue and everyone else, except for good people like us, on the other.
Every so often I would suggest, whether I believed it or not, that things could only get so bad before they got better and patience would win out in the end and that all things have a course if we can endure the twists and turns of it. Yeah, he would agree, with appropriate skepticism.
On Wednesday he stopped by looking ill and said he was visiting so as to avoid killing the man with whom his wife of 30 years was having an affair. I told him I was glad he came by and not jokingly said he should always stop by before killing someone.
I offered him his preferred drink of sparking fresh spring water and poured myself some cold Russian vodka. He told me his wife had moved out and was the next day going to give him her decision as to whether the move was permanent, and precedent to her asking for 50 percent of everything they owned together. He talked for a good while until we both started yawning and he said he would have to leave soon to go hook himself up to the machine. Before he left he wiped clean from his cheek the three tears that had over the course of the conversation sprouted from the outside corner of his left eye and run down one deep crevasse in his tired face to form a small reservoir of clear despair, against the dam of an old scar.
New York Times Breaking News
Wall Street Journal, AP Win Pulitzers 3:06 PM ET
NEW YORK (AP) -- The Wall Street Journal won two Pulitzer Prizes on Monday, including the public service award for its coverage of the stock-options scandal that rattled corporate America in 2006. The Associated Press captured one for breaking news photography for a picture of a Jewish woman defying Israeli security forces in the West Bank.
Report: S. Korea May Halt Aid to North 13 minutes ago
SEOUL, South Korea (AP) -- South Korea may suspend rice shipments to North Korea to ratchet up pressure on the North to comply with its nuclear disarmament pledges after it missed a deadline to shut an atomic reactor.
It's Hard Out Here Being a Taxpayer 14 minutes ago
WASHINGTON (AP) -- The deadline is upon us, and people across the country are finishing up an estimated 3.18 billion hours figuring out and filing their tax returns.
Wall Street Journal Wins 2 Pulitzers 15 minutes ago
NEW YORK (AP) -- The Wall Street Journal won two Pulitzer Prizes on Monday, including the public service award for its coverage of the stock-options scandal that rattled corporate America in 2006. The Associated Press captured one for breaking news photography for a picture of a Jewish woman defying Israeli security forces in the West Bank.
Jury Selection Begins for Jose Padilla 18 minutes ago
MIAMI (AP) -- Jury selection began Monday for the trial of alleged al-Qaida operative Jose Padilla and two co-defendants, with potential jurors questioned about their knowledge of Padilla's link to a purported ''dirty bomb'' plot.
Top Official Linked to Macedonian Attack 27 minutes ago
THE HAGUE, Netherlands (AP) -- Rami Jusufi was asleep when Macedonian police forced their way into his parents' yard on Aug. 12, 2001. As he walked to his front door, still wearing his pajamas, he was shot in the stomach, U.N. prosecutors said Monday.
AP: Edwards Says He's Strongest Pick 27 minutes ago
NASHVILLE, Tenn. (AP) -- Presidential candidate John Edwards said Monday that he is the strongest general election candidate in the Democratic field because he's won in the South and his chief rivals have not been tested there.
Bush Shocked at College Shootings 30 minutes ago
WASHINGTON (AP) -- President Bush was described Monday as shocked and saddened by the mass shooting at Virginia Tech, the deadliest campus violence ever in this country.
Wall Street Journal, AP Win Pulitzers 3:06 PM ET
NEW YORK (AP) -- The Wall Street Journal won two Pulitzer Prizes on Monday, including the public service award for its coverage of the stock-options scandal that rattled corporate America in 2006. The Associated Press captured one for breaking news photography for a picture of a Jewish woman defying Israeli security forces in the West Bank.
Report: S. Korea May Halt Aid to North 13 minutes ago
SEOUL, South Korea (AP) -- South Korea may suspend rice shipments to North Korea to ratchet up pressure on the North to comply with its nuclear disarmament pledges after it missed a deadline to shut an atomic reactor.
It's Hard Out Here Being a Taxpayer 14 minutes ago
WASHINGTON (AP) -- The deadline is upon us, and people across the country are finishing up an estimated 3.18 billion hours figuring out and filing their tax returns.
Wall Street Journal Wins 2 Pulitzers 15 minutes ago
NEW YORK (AP) -- The Wall Street Journal won two Pulitzer Prizes on Monday, including the public service award for its coverage of the stock-options scandal that rattled corporate America in 2006. The Associated Press captured one for breaking news photography for a picture of a Jewish woman defying Israeli security forces in the West Bank.
Jury Selection Begins for Jose Padilla 18 minutes ago
MIAMI (AP) -- Jury selection began Monday for the trial of alleged al-Qaida operative Jose Padilla and two co-defendants, with potential jurors questioned about their knowledge of Padilla's link to a purported ''dirty bomb'' plot.
Top Official Linked to Macedonian Attack 27 minutes ago
THE HAGUE, Netherlands (AP) -- Rami Jusufi was asleep when Macedonian police forced their way into his parents' yard on Aug. 12, 2001. As he walked to his front door, still wearing his pajamas, he was shot in the stomach, U.N. prosecutors said Monday.
AP: Edwards Says He's Strongest Pick 27 minutes ago
NASHVILLE, Tenn. (AP) -- Presidential candidate John Edwards said Monday that he is the strongest general election candidate in the Democratic field because he's won in the South and his chief rivals have not been tested there.
Bush Shocked at College Shootings 30 minutes ago
WASHINGTON (AP) -- President Bush was described Monday as shocked and saddened by the mass shooting at Virginia Tech, the deadliest campus violence ever in this country.
Personal Maintenance
One recent morning, fog on the mountain, fog in my head, compressed and tangled up under the covers, I reached for something that turned out to be me and gashed myself on a knuckle with a fingernail not long enough to be lethal, but hurtful just the same. Later that day orchestrating a symphony of awkward movements I sliced a line across my chin with the same weapon. A man working for me said how did you cut your chin? I know you didn't do it shaving, he went on to say. I had run out of shaving cream awhile back and was for days pondering what to do about it, while my lazy beard pretended to have purpose. Self conscious about too much laziness surrounding my scheme I purchased some shaving cream, and, certainly no more than a day later smeared it about my faced and scraped over it with a triple or perhaps quadruple bladed razor, and cut my lip in the process, which bled profusely and reminded me of all the school yard fights I avoided, except for the one where the kid spit in my ear. After shaving, and compressing my wound, risking no more, I trimmed my fingernails.
One recent morning, fog on the mountain, fog in my head, compressed and tangled up under the covers, I reached for something that turned out to be me and gashed myself on a knuckle with a fingernail not long enough to be lethal, but hurtful just the same. Later that day orchestrating a symphony of awkward movements I sliced a line across my chin with the same weapon. A man working for me said how did you cut your chin? I know you didn't do it shaving, he went on to say. I had run out of shaving cream awhile back and was for days pondering what to do about it, while my lazy beard pretended to have purpose. Self conscious about too much laziness surrounding my scheme I purchased some shaving cream, and, certainly no more than a day later smeared it about my faced and scraped over it with a triple or perhaps quadruple bladed razor, and cut my lip in the process, which bled profusely and reminded me of all the school yard fights I avoided, except for the one where the kid spit in my ear. After shaving, and compressing my wound, risking no more, I trimmed my fingernails.
Dumaine Boys Hit The Road
Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, MA: April 4, 2007
"We had a great showing and audience response...
Joshua and Mario, featured in the film, attended an MIT class the next morning. As an adjunct to the screening, a group of students in city planning/urban design were required to propose and implement a rebuilding program in New Orleans. Some chose to work on educational problems, some chose economic development. The class lasted an hour and a half and throughout it all they asked questions of Mario and Joshua who provided them with a background tapestry of the city: the police, the crime, the schools, jobs, families, etc. At the end of the class, the teachers and students enthusiastically thanked Mario and Josh for their insights and explanations. Not bad! How many local guys can say they lectured at MIT?
Harvard University, Cambridge, MA: April 5, 2007
Beautiful Harvard lecture theater; great crowd of enthused and engaged students. The response was overwhelming and the discussion went on for a good hour afterwards. A terrific group of panelists engaged the students on a range of issues brought out in the film. In fact, the Harvard Graduate School of Education is interested in incorporating the film into an educational curriculum for high school and college students. We will do everything we can to assist them in this effort.
'Wow! Wow! Mario and Joshua, just . . . what you've been through. I want everyone to give you a standing ovation.' -- Moremi Singleton, Harvard Student
250 Harvard students gave them a standing ovation."
Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, MA: April 4, 2007
"We had a great showing and audience response...
Joshua and Mario, featured in the film, attended an MIT class the next morning. As an adjunct to the screening, a group of students in city planning/urban design were required to propose and implement a rebuilding program in New Orleans. Some chose to work on educational problems, some chose economic development. The class lasted an hour and a half and throughout it all they asked questions of Mario and Joshua who provided them with a background tapestry of the city: the police, the crime, the schools, jobs, families, etc. At the end of the class, the teachers and students enthusiastically thanked Mario and Josh for their insights and explanations. Not bad! How many local guys can say they lectured at MIT?
Harvard University, Cambridge, MA: April 5, 2007
Beautiful Harvard lecture theater; great crowd of enthused and engaged students. The response was overwhelming and the discussion went on for a good hour afterwards. A terrific group of panelists engaged the students on a range of issues brought out in the film. In fact, the Harvard Graduate School of Education is interested in incorporating the film into an educational curriculum for high school and college students. We will do everything we can to assist them in this effort.
'Wow! Wow! Mario and Joshua, just . . . what you've been through. I want everyone to give you a standing ovation.' -- Moremi Singleton, Harvard Student
250 Harvard students gave them a standing ovation."
Oh Gussymay
The snow from two days ago has melted, except for in shaded areas here and there. This morning I decided to check the weather without getting out of bed so I awkwardly reached behind my head and lifted the window a few inches. An arctic blast blew in against my neck and down my collar and along my spine. I quickly shut the window, onto my thumb, and expelled a few select obscenities. It is Easter Sunday and I am still in bed, listening to the Choir of the Abbey of S. Pierre de Solesmes. The music is making me a little sleepy, which reminds me of those youthful days gone by sitting on a wooden pew in a Methodist church in Dallas. But whereas it was considered bad form to nod off in church I cannot see that nodding off in bed should be a problem, except perhaps to a jealous insomniac. The rising sun is on the back of my head now. Now its not. Now it is. Now its not. The wind conspires with clouds. I don't want to fall asleep. I just woke up. I might miss the benediction. Now I am bathed in white light, listening to a chanting choir, in bed, on Easter Sunday.
I am not an expert on the French language but I think the XM radio guy just swallowed and then briefly choked on a French word. Now he is speaking in a non-committal tone about the death of Christ, as if he wants to make it perfectly clear that he is a scholar of music, not religion.
I have an on again off again relationship with neatness. From where I lie I cannot really see the clothes strewn about the floor. Pushing them to the foot of the bed is a technique you can borrow from me, with attribution. The kitchen though, oh gussymay, don't make me get up and go into that kitchen. If I had any art cred the kitchen could be a much discussed piece of work.
The kitchen was already an ill-attended mess two days ago, an hour before it snowed at 10 p.m. when Bernadette emailed and said she was hungry, in NYC. I said I was hungry too. She said I could put anchovies in a pan and melt them. What else? I said, perking up to the possibility of an actual meal existing amidst the sparse stores of my cupboard and fridge. Sauteed garlic and roasted pine nuts and throw in some currants if I want, over pasta. Oh my dear God, I have all those things. And I grated fresh Parmesan or some other fancy cheese-like product over it. It was goodalicious. I didn't clean up afterwards.
Mr. BC emailed me this morning with a link to an article which was to remind me that long term marijuana use does not adversely affect the brain. I don't know why he sent it to me. Its not like I have ever judged him, nor in 42 years have I ever seen him smoke pot or ever been aware of his having smoked pot. But I guess there are things you just can't know, and also, I suppose, he wanted to unburden himself. Hey man, I'm not judging you, you can count on that.
Yesterday I had breakfast at the cafe and overheard a rather learned sounding blowhard Republican tourist go on about how President Bush is right, was right, will always be right. I went back for dinner and had the crabcake and grilled shrimp platter while listening to stories from a table full of visiting jazz musicians. They were behind me and I did not know who or what they were until one of them made some obviously first hand experienced commentary about Lionel Hampton. I then had to turn around a bit to see who I was dining with, and for whatever reason, I began deriving comfort from their presence.
The snow from two days ago has melted, except for in shaded areas here and there. This morning I decided to check the weather without getting out of bed so I awkwardly reached behind my head and lifted the window a few inches. An arctic blast blew in against my neck and down my collar and along my spine. I quickly shut the window, onto my thumb, and expelled a few select obscenities. It is Easter Sunday and I am still in bed, listening to the Choir of the Abbey of S. Pierre de Solesmes. The music is making me a little sleepy, which reminds me of those youthful days gone by sitting on a wooden pew in a Methodist church in Dallas. But whereas it was considered bad form to nod off in church I cannot see that nodding off in bed should be a problem, except perhaps to a jealous insomniac. The rising sun is on the back of my head now. Now its not. Now it is. Now its not. The wind conspires with clouds. I don't want to fall asleep. I just woke up. I might miss the benediction. Now I am bathed in white light, listening to a chanting choir, in bed, on Easter Sunday.
I am not an expert on the French language but I think the XM radio guy just swallowed and then briefly choked on a French word. Now he is speaking in a non-committal tone about the death of Christ, as if he wants to make it perfectly clear that he is a scholar of music, not religion.
I have an on again off again relationship with neatness. From where I lie I cannot really see the clothes strewn about the floor. Pushing them to the foot of the bed is a technique you can borrow from me, with attribution. The kitchen though, oh gussymay, don't make me get up and go into that kitchen. If I had any art cred the kitchen could be a much discussed piece of work.
The kitchen was already an ill-attended mess two days ago, an hour before it snowed at 10 p.m. when Bernadette emailed and said she was hungry, in NYC. I said I was hungry too. She said I could put anchovies in a pan and melt them. What else? I said, perking up to the possibility of an actual meal existing amidst the sparse stores of my cupboard and fridge. Sauteed garlic and roasted pine nuts and throw in some currants if I want, over pasta. Oh my dear God, I have all those things. And I grated fresh Parmesan or some other fancy cheese-like product over it. It was goodalicious. I didn't clean up afterwards.
Mr. BC emailed me this morning with a link to an article which was to remind me that long term marijuana use does not adversely affect the brain. I don't know why he sent it to me. Its not like I have ever judged him, nor in 42 years have I ever seen him smoke pot or ever been aware of his having smoked pot. But I guess there are things you just can't know, and also, I suppose, he wanted to unburden himself. Hey man, I'm not judging you, you can count on that.
Yesterday I had breakfast at the cafe and overheard a rather learned sounding blowhard Republican tourist go on about how President Bush is right, was right, will always be right. I went back for dinner and had the crabcake and grilled shrimp platter while listening to stories from a table full of visiting jazz musicians. They were behind me and I did not know who or what they were until one of them made some obviously first hand experienced commentary about Lionel Hampton. I then had to turn around a bit to see who I was dining with, and for whatever reason, I began deriving comfort from their presence.
I Rented Rocky Balboa
Shame and his little brother, embarrassment, will kill you. You have to outwit shame and his little brother embarrassment.
I'm eating some fat, fancy Medjool dates to get my strength up to go on with this. I don't want to go out for food. I went out for breakfast. I have a number of items in the cupboard and the fridge that can be classified as food even though if you came over right now and were looking for something like a meal you would be disappointed. I have a half of a shad roe pair and I might cook that up later if I can get over being disgusted to look at it. Being disgusted is not a good start to a meal. I have a jar of anchovies that if my head were a little smaller I could say is bigger than my head. I could put a couple of anchovies on a cracker later and that would be like a snack. There is a nice jar of garlic stuffed olives in the fridge and that is making me think of having a martini. I don't however have any gin. Fortunately, in various bottles in a couple of different freezers I do have almost a gallon of vodka, so woe is me settling for a vodka martini.
Bernadette can visit me in VA from NY for extended visits because she can work from here, may God bless the Internet.
She recently left out from one of those visits and the day before the exit, due to my general nature, the fineness of Bernadette, and an occasional over sensitivity to a waning moon, I became noticeably depressed. Then, I got over it, more or less. I did not the next day wail to Bernadette before the Dulles backdrop, Please Don't Leave Me, I Can't Be Trusted Alone, I May....
Ah, now we're getting somewhere. The mere suggestion of self-destructive behaviour, that's something to be ashamed of.
Mr. BC sent me an email the other day with a link for a dumb game site and in his brief subject line message he said something like, waste a few hours. I have over time, not exactly begrudgingly, but certainly hesitantly, come to realize that Mr. BC is right a fair amount of the time. I have therefore made it part of an ongoing concerted-effort-program to do whatever Mr. BC tells me to do. Except when I really don't feel like it and then I just say to hell with that idea. I might go on to mumble--that's the dumbest idea I have heard in some time.
So Sunday, and Bernadette is gone a day already, the college basketball semi-final games of Saturday night, watched alone, were a disappointment and a bore, and I am considering work versus something else I am actually quite good at, not working. Yeah, I know, the suspense is killing you. I went back to the game site, which I had looked at perfunctorily when Mr. BC had sent it. That day I had become quickly bored throwing 2-D darts at 2-D balloons.
But Sunday I found new dart throwing purpose and I made it through 20 of the fifty balloon levels before deciding to take a break. I spent my break time looking at some of the other choices and found a dueling tanks game that occupied me for the next three hours. What? Yeah it was a beautiful spring day outside. I could see it out the windows. I was very close to it, separated only by some sheetrock and rough cedar siding. I had the windows open. I could hear the wind through the pines and the chirping birds while I decimated the enemy computer tank. Whenever I felt guilty for wasting time I just reminded myself that Mr. BC is almost always right.
I could waste the whole day playing computer games but I chose not to. At 6 p.m. I left the house for the first time. Wow. It was pleasant yet alienating. Like I had never been outside before and it would take some getting used to. I was happy with the outside but also put out by it. The nerve of this outside I said to myself because there was no one else to say it to. I had a brainstorm while outside. I got in the Jeep and drove all of one block to the art gallery/video rental establishment. There was something going on. Oh God, not an art opening I cried, to myself, but even if I had cried it out loud and every living resident of this town was listening it would not amount to a group large enough to fill a medium-sized movie theatre. I looked in my mind to my other email inbox that might have warned me of such a thing, an art opening when I just want to rent movies. I circled the block and stopped short of a new family with beau coup kids swarming the yard of a previously uninhabited dwelling. I didn't actually circle the block, I had just turned right past the gallery and movie rental place and was facing a dead end. I stopped short of a kid on a big wheel, feeling the motherly concern of one nearby. I made a deft backwards two point turn and just like that, in this matter of seconds, whatever was going on was done going on. I parked and entered the movie rental part of the gallery. An amiable man was talking to June. Hey June, I said. Hello Jim, she said.
June was munching on colorful peanut M&Ms from a white bowl on the desk behind which she sits. I try when forcing myself outside, to be sociable. You going to eat all of those? I said to June. The amiable man, who had been talking about some business with June, and who clearly had some proprietary relationship with the M&Ms, offered me some. He picked up the white bowl from the imitation wood grained desk and held it out to me. I was chewing gum but I took some anyway. I did not know what to do with my gum so I experimented with chewing gum on one side of my mouth and M&Ms on the other. I was disappointed with the results.
Let's get back to the shame theme.
I picked, from the few shelves reserved for fairly recent films, Rocky Balboa, Invincible, and Jesus Camp.
The man left and I checked out. I asked June if she could not record that I had rented Rocky Balboa. We joked about it some and I left.
I came home but Rocky Balboa would not cue up on my laptop. I took it up to the bighouse and stretched out on the leather couch and watched it on the fifty inch plasma. I have a perverse interest in mediocrity. My critics would say that is just narcissism. I had very low expectations for the film and that is a good way to find yourself pleasantly surprised. It did not however, surprise me in that way. I then watched another uplifting sports related flick, Invincible, with Mark Wahlberg, and there is at least one scene that Disney should delete from all their inspirational sports flicks, but doesn't, yet other than that one scene and a few other minor transgressions, Invincible is pretty good. And Wahlberg is very good.
I was sleepy so I came back down here to the caretaker's residence, and cued up Jesus Camp, in bed, on the laptop. I have watched every major horror movie ever made and a fair amount of minor ones and Jesus Camp is by far the scariest movie I have ever seen, and it is a documentary. The documentary I think should not be seen as a reflection of Christianity as a whole but for that very select and perhaps frighteningly large group of extremist evangelicals, it paints a very disturbing picture.
Bernadette today was concerned for my mental welfare as reflected in my lack of email to her (combined with some first hand experience concerning my mental potential) and when I did get back to her and said that I had last night watched Rocky Balboa she became very disturbed indeed and made me promise not to tell anyone else. So, let's keep this one on the down low.
Shame and his little brother, embarrassment, will kill you. You have to outwit shame and his little brother embarrassment.
I'm eating some fat, fancy Medjool dates to get my strength up to go on with this. I don't want to go out for food. I went out for breakfast. I have a number of items in the cupboard and the fridge that can be classified as food even though if you came over right now and were looking for something like a meal you would be disappointed. I have a half of a shad roe pair and I might cook that up later if I can get over being disgusted to look at it. Being disgusted is not a good start to a meal. I have a jar of anchovies that if my head were a little smaller I could say is bigger than my head. I could put a couple of anchovies on a cracker later and that would be like a snack. There is a nice jar of garlic stuffed olives in the fridge and that is making me think of having a martini. I don't however have any gin. Fortunately, in various bottles in a couple of different freezers I do have almost a gallon of vodka, so woe is me settling for a vodka martini.
Bernadette can visit me in VA from NY for extended visits because she can work from here, may God bless the Internet.
She recently left out from one of those visits and the day before the exit, due to my general nature, the fineness of Bernadette, and an occasional over sensitivity to a waning moon, I became noticeably depressed. Then, I got over it, more or less. I did not the next day wail to Bernadette before the Dulles backdrop, Please Don't Leave Me, I Can't Be Trusted Alone, I May....
Ah, now we're getting somewhere. The mere suggestion of self-destructive behaviour, that's something to be ashamed of.
Mr. BC sent me an email the other day with a link for a dumb game site and in his brief subject line message he said something like, waste a few hours. I have over time, not exactly begrudgingly, but certainly hesitantly, come to realize that Mr. BC is right a fair amount of the time. I have therefore made it part of an ongoing concerted-effort-program to do whatever Mr. BC tells me to do. Except when I really don't feel like it and then I just say to hell with that idea. I might go on to mumble--that's the dumbest idea I have heard in some time.
So Sunday, and Bernadette is gone a day already, the college basketball semi-final games of Saturday night, watched alone, were a disappointment and a bore, and I am considering work versus something else I am actually quite good at, not working. Yeah, I know, the suspense is killing you. I went back to the game site, which I had looked at perfunctorily when Mr. BC had sent it. That day I had become quickly bored throwing 2-D darts at 2-D balloons.
But Sunday I found new dart throwing purpose and I made it through 20 of the fifty balloon levels before deciding to take a break. I spent my break time looking at some of the other choices and found a dueling tanks game that occupied me for the next three hours. What? Yeah it was a beautiful spring day outside. I could see it out the windows. I was very close to it, separated only by some sheetrock and rough cedar siding. I had the windows open. I could hear the wind through the pines and the chirping birds while I decimated the enemy computer tank. Whenever I felt guilty for wasting time I just reminded myself that Mr. BC is almost always right.
I could waste the whole day playing computer games but I chose not to. At 6 p.m. I left the house for the first time. Wow. It was pleasant yet alienating. Like I had never been outside before and it would take some getting used to. I was happy with the outside but also put out by it. The nerve of this outside I said to myself because there was no one else to say it to. I had a brainstorm while outside. I got in the Jeep and drove all of one block to the art gallery/video rental establishment. There was something going on. Oh God, not an art opening I cried, to myself, but even if I had cried it out loud and every living resident of this town was listening it would not amount to a group large enough to fill a medium-sized movie theatre. I looked in my mind to my other email inbox that might have warned me of such a thing, an art opening when I just want to rent movies. I circled the block and stopped short of a new family with beau coup kids swarming the yard of a previously uninhabited dwelling. I didn't actually circle the block, I had just turned right past the gallery and movie rental place and was facing a dead end. I stopped short of a kid on a big wheel, feeling the motherly concern of one nearby. I made a deft backwards two point turn and just like that, in this matter of seconds, whatever was going on was done going on. I parked and entered the movie rental part of the gallery. An amiable man was talking to June. Hey June, I said. Hello Jim, she said.
June was munching on colorful peanut M&Ms from a white bowl on the desk behind which she sits. I try when forcing myself outside, to be sociable. You going to eat all of those? I said to June. The amiable man, who had been talking about some business with June, and who clearly had some proprietary relationship with the M&Ms, offered me some. He picked up the white bowl from the imitation wood grained desk and held it out to me. I was chewing gum but I took some anyway. I did not know what to do with my gum so I experimented with chewing gum on one side of my mouth and M&Ms on the other. I was disappointed with the results.
Let's get back to the shame theme.
I picked, from the few shelves reserved for fairly recent films, Rocky Balboa, Invincible, and Jesus Camp.
The man left and I checked out. I asked June if she could not record that I had rented Rocky Balboa. We joked about it some and I left.
I came home but Rocky Balboa would not cue up on my laptop. I took it up to the bighouse and stretched out on the leather couch and watched it on the fifty inch plasma. I have a perverse interest in mediocrity. My critics would say that is just narcissism. I had very low expectations for the film and that is a good way to find yourself pleasantly surprised. It did not however, surprise me in that way. I then watched another uplifting sports related flick, Invincible, with Mark Wahlberg, and there is at least one scene that Disney should delete from all their inspirational sports flicks, but doesn't, yet other than that one scene and a few other minor transgressions, Invincible is pretty good. And Wahlberg is very good.
I was sleepy so I came back down here to the caretaker's residence, and cued up Jesus Camp, in bed, on the laptop. I have watched every major horror movie ever made and a fair amount of minor ones and Jesus Camp is by far the scariest movie I have ever seen, and it is a documentary. The documentary I think should not be seen as a reflection of Christianity as a whole but for that very select and perhaps frighteningly large group of extremist evangelicals, it paints a very disturbing picture.
Bernadette today was concerned for my mental welfare as reflected in my lack of email to her (combined with some first hand experience concerning my mental potential) and when I did get back to her and said that I had last night watched Rocky Balboa she became very disturbed indeed and made me promise not to tell anyone else. So, let's keep this one on the down low.
