Good things you've had

The only purpose of fetishistic attention to our bodies, as in too much focus; is self loathing. And, the world around us is only too happy to nudge that along as frequently and as persistently as possible.
Let's place things in context; it's important, especially as we age, to take care of ourselves, make sure we're strong, hearty and in good shape. But from this vantage point it's clear that in terms of the younger folk, the word is skeletal twelve year old boy, or nothing. I have been working on a theory about this and it's not going to be seen as what it is, until I've explained what it's not.
The homosexualization of the female body started with designers who found that a form of narrow, hip-less, lean and tall shapes were the optimal for their creations, disregarding that women really don't look like that; in hopes that they would try to achieve it to any end. Well founded! Women and more men of late, have found it in their best interest to suffer, starve and fixate on their appearance, present company included, to achieve the ultimate; nonentity

Wasn't what you'd call living really

We live in a not so idyllic neighborhood, visually it's sub-rural but underneath it's a dark and not so much Lynchian as Bush like. Not that a description regarding how it appears will really give anyone a sense of it, but for the most part, it just seems bright and empty.
Yesterday, Eamon and I had the day off together. These are rare days and add that there were no children home and it's a true anomaly.
So, we went out spent some time in the world and returned home. Normally he would have parked his car in the drive, but as I hired some landscapers, and they managed to show up three weeks late and with no warning, they were all about filling up the space with tools and mulch.
We parked on the street and went to bring stuff in the house. I happened to look out the window just as his car was being hit by the 86 year old grandma who lives across the street with her family. She hit it and then pulled away with nary a pause. Now, this is no scratch there is a deep and obvious dent in the car and her's was showing some damage as well. So Granny hit and run must have known that she hit a stationary object, but felt like that trip to say, Walgreens or Drugmart, was more important to attend to than leaving the scene of an accident.
I'm just glad it wasn't a kid or a dog because that would most certainly have left a mark.

Against the wall

I have a little engine and it will not quit, even at night, I can almost hear it revving in anticipation of the next series of tasks.
Eamon had an interesting analysis, he thinks it's my hormones keeping me awake at the outside chance that I might produce one more baby before the "change".
I don't think that's all that far off, except that some of my behaviors also seem to be somewhat manic.
In accordance with my new world view, I'll go with his approach and ignore the other voices as well.

If you will

A few people who have been revisiting some of my older posts have let me know that there are a few dead links. I apologize for any of those, but could absolutely never come up with replacements because I have no idea what I was trying to get across that day, or that moment. I do however appreciate the interest regardless.
Last night while I was watching The Signal, and yes, I yelled at the screen a few times, so we know it was something special or at least that I'm still a dork. Either way, there was much hand wringing and eye covering and, a tremendous amount of laughter. It's a scathing commentary on pest control, well no actually on technology and the never lacking of it.
So, this morning as I attended a baby shower for a gloriously pregnant friend, I thought about the hopelessness of the movie and how well it communicated how scared and alone people can feel, even when they are indeed not.

A piece of that bubble

Is it sad to get excited when you find a picture of yourself on the web?
I was checking to see the dates for the Coventry Street Fair and who did
I find but me, or at least my aft.

Up and down

Tonight at work;
"Can I help you?"
"No, no one wants to help me here, that's why I'm going to call the main office, because none of you will help."
"So, I can't help you."
"No, no you can't."

What in the world did I do

The old girlfriend is crazy and the ex-wife is nuts. I've heard this for every relationship of any guy I've ever known. With the exception of Demi Moore, we are all guilty of mental illness.
Alas, in my old age, I'm just figuring out that it's merely a short hand for men. It enables them explain away the person who was once part of their lives but is no longer and in such a way, that they feel okay about it and their current partner has no questions, until of course, she becomes the same. I was the crazy a few times, and yes indeed I really was, no holds barred, messed up but good. It's embarrassing on top of the heartbreaking time already in motion.
How come at times when I did the breaking up, no one was crazy, it was just the right time? Wherein I think it's the overlap that qualifies the classification, and men being the ones doing the defining are often about the intersection. I am never going to just nod again when I hear it, not that I'll argue lest I reveal how touched I actually am.

And it isn't just talk talk talk

Yesterday I went to a liquor store to buy Cassis for a cocktail Ina Garten aka The Barefoot Contessa, made on her show I caught a snippet of.
The drink looked very much like the life I would like to lead, it was light and breezy and was connotative of a paradigm that is so out of reach, or even perhaps non-existent.
Jack and I went in because he wanted gum and then was disappointed at the lack of choices.
There is something about the process of buying alcohol that makes me feel like both an adult and a twelve year old trying to act like one. I was looking at the smaller bottles behind the counter as if I was trying to pick out some penny candy, and the guy asked me if he could help me, to which I replied; "I'm just looking" , because I was. I am fascinated by all of the possibilities and the shapes, sizes and colors of all the stuff that they sell to make you drunk.

Just below the boiling point

I'm an underachiever. There I said it. I'm smart and capable but I don't seem to have that extra something to propel me into the land of the advanced degree.
So, as I was waiting to see the Doctor today who confirmed that my knee is messed up and will need some repairs, she subsequently prescribed me a non-narcotic painkiller so I can't even get wasted and feel okay about it; I thought about what I had accomplished and what I had managed to succeed at in my approach to living.
There is a nice list, I can acknowledge that I've done some worthwhile things. The one that came to mind while I was looking at the dropped ceiling was that I had two kids at home and didn't have any sense of what that experience was going to be like or what the outcome would be beyond having a baby.
It's a leap of faith; in that I didn't know anyone who had forged ahead into the realm of home birth yet tried it anyway.
Conversely, I had babies.

I've got no reason

Seventh grade is where it really began to break down. My inability to navigate the social topographical maps become so very apparent.I had been invited to a birthday party, it was just a few days into the school year, I was coming from another district so consequently most of the kids were new to me but my first years of elementary had been there so I did know a few.
Mindy A. had asked me if I wanted to come to her party, she was in my homeroom so we would be in close proximity for three or more years. I remember going home that day and taking a nap, waking up and getting a phone call from her asking if I was coming. Luckily, there was someone home to drive me, I was late and had no present.
After that, over the course of Junior High Mindy said about ten words to me. I just had not realized the importance that event would hold on my entire experience.
Recently, a similar event occurred, though it was more of a communication issue rather then somnolence, I still feel the outcast yoke weighing hard. I will never really get it, but I still strive to find a balance between wanting to say fuck it all, I'm no good at this, and walking around with a big fake smile plastered on my face.

It's gonna happen now

In my attempts to get Gus and Griffin, the resident agoraphobics out of the house, I have to hear myself speak with this false enthusiasm and high pitched tone, that could easily remove the rust off of Jake's new fifteen year old car leaking oil on my driveway.
I was meeting a friend and her daughter for a walk, I thought daughter/son, so I had to come up with one, and because Gus actually gets up before three in the afternoon, he would be the best prospect.
We walked with them and their normal large happy dogs. To describe Griffin as tense would be the understatement of a lifetime. He walks with, his shoulders, if dogs had shoulders, hunched, his head thrust forward and down and his tail firmly tucked over his non-existent balls, frequently he'll stop and check if his penis is still there, and in the case of his former parts having been removed, that is something I can understand.
Needless to say, he does not enjoy himself; and then there's Gus who being above ground without a controller or drumstick in his hands makes for the same image, sans missing body part issues.
I just love to watch as the other dogs swim, chase sticks and act like there is nothing they have to be serious and determined about, unlike my two who seem to feel that home is the only safe possible place to let it all hang out.