Welcome. I'm beginning a new essay series called "Serious Corner," where i'm going to discuss more grown-up topics than in recent history. To begin i'd like to mention that i'm wearing a new pair of pre-worn jeans, which are incredibly comfortable and handsome. What does this truly say about our society? Perhaps, fundamentally, that we would prefer the result without the labor. Get me on that wagon.
It's a red letter day and i'm an amalgal failue. I'm feeling oracular to the theories of love and conception. It takes parents to have children and children to make parents. It takes connection to bring two people together and commitment to consummate marriage. Love and/or an accident can play major roles in unity. It's okay if mommy yells a little and has a habit of burning things in the oven. And, it's okay if daddy takes off, drinks a little too much, and leaves the toilet seat up. But, if there's too many undesirable items on each person's list, chances are likely the relationship won't survive.
I find that it's terribly easy to love someone that loves you. I'm speaking regardless of whether that love is tinged with pity or egomaniacism, as often the case. I'm also being inconclusive about the probability of relationship deterioration due to one-sided madness in love affairs.
Essentially, everyone is on a quest for a healthy habit of love. This is an ecumenical law. To counter what i said earlier, it's also fairly easy to love someone that doesn't love you... but that's not the point. We're talking about 100% possibilities for the one swooning your way. And i'm speaking of "love" in the sense of caring and consideration (The Big C's), not of passion, jealousy or infatuation. Due to our quest's completion in finding another, future recondite issues may be temporarily overlooked. One may quickly see that their chosen partner makes for an unsound pairing, yet it's difficult to sever ties notwithstanding.
I believe that we will fight for a crummy love. We will try again and again and again. We will wound all those present. On the fortieth revelation of incompatibility we will leave our partner. And then begin anew...
Friday, April 21, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Booze and boo-birds
My mother and i are true baseball fans of a losing team. My father has yet to elucidate his favor; but, he doesn't seem to mind drinking in the stands. Rooting for a loser helps absolve the absurdity of professional sports. In other words, we may be fans and consumers of a grossly irrelevant and diseased product, but at least we're not Yankee fans, right?
In moments of natural pentothal, we admit that our adulations and afflictions for the Seattle Mariners are ridiculous to say the least. But there's something there that relates directly to what my parents love to call "The human condition." This reference can be made numerous times in a singular conversation. There's some humble admittance to being human, a quality of entertainment both superfluous and inane, that proves to be unburdening. It's the accession to being human and accepting all that that entails, which releases us from unnecessary punishment.
In one of yesterday's ballgames, a fan threw a tube of muscle pain reliever at Barry Bonds as he ran into the outfield. The fan was immediately arrested and taken out of the park. This is the second time already for Barry. A few weeks ago in San Diego a fan threw a syringe at him. Apparently a new demarcation between fanaticism and humor is being established.
It was always fun to boo Jose Canseco; everyone enjoyed themselves and could be seen smiling as they assaulted the airwaves with the letter 'b.' No harm was ever done. It was wholly necessary to boo Alex Rodriguez when he accepted $252 million and claimed that the money wasn't a concern. And who could forget the creationist Carl Everett who lives in a world without space travel, gay people, or dinosaurs. I'd boo him except he's on my team now.
As i head toward Seattle to catch another game at Safeco Field, i hope for only three things: that we may drink good beer in our $600 million stadium, find a Texas Ranger (the visiting team) to blithely harass, and win the fucking game!
In moments of natural pentothal, we admit that our adulations and afflictions for the Seattle Mariners are ridiculous to say the least. But there's something there that relates directly to what my parents love to call "The human condition." This reference can be made numerous times in a singular conversation. There's some humble admittance to being human, a quality of entertainment both superfluous and inane, that proves to be unburdening. It's the accession to being human and accepting all that that entails, which releases us from unnecessary punishment.
In one of yesterday's ballgames, a fan threw a tube of muscle pain reliever at Barry Bonds as he ran into the outfield. The fan was immediately arrested and taken out of the park. This is the second time already for Barry. A few weeks ago in San Diego a fan threw a syringe at him. Apparently a new demarcation between fanaticism and humor is being established.
It was always fun to boo Jose Canseco; everyone enjoyed themselves and could be seen smiling as they assaulted the airwaves with the letter 'b.' No harm was ever done. It was wholly necessary to boo Alex Rodriguez when he accepted $252 million and claimed that the money wasn't a concern. And who could forget the creationist Carl Everett who lives in a world without space travel, gay people, or dinosaurs. I'd boo him except he's on my team now.
As i head toward Seattle to catch another game at Safeco Field, i hope for only three things: that we may drink good beer in our $600 million stadium, find a Texas Ranger (the visiting team) to blithely harass, and win the fucking game!
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Fecundity and Florida
Seated on Park Avenue sipping a two-dollar cup of Cafe arabica (i.e. a sloppily grown and roasted cup of Brazilian joe), i was watching the flow of golf carts carrying the filthy rich residents of Boca Grande, a Floridian island off the southwestern coast. Thinking about my day thus far...
I took a walk early this morning and saw a brilliant red disc rise out of Charlotte Bay, a sight that everyone beholds each morning. Zigzagging through the quiet streets of an upper-upper-class caucasian community toward one of the many beaches and adjacent mangroves. Binoculars about my neck, bag of books biting into my shoulder and feeling one of the most pleasant states of euphoria. Observed a cluster of staunchly perched brown pelicans outnumbered by a company of caspian terns and double-crested cormorants. Further down an osprey sailing over a few arctic terns who hovered still above the water spying herring below the surface.
On the way back to town i decided to attempt a good cup of coffee, something Florida sadly lacks. Nearing the cafe i found a banyan tree and neighboring palm full of chattering green parrots and a smaller band of monk parakeets. Thinking this is certainly a good life i stepped into the cafe. And that's where i began... I was seated outside on the sidewalk trying to find a comfortable position in a poorly structured metalloid chair, a task i failed. Looking out at the future skin-cancer patients and flipflop fatties with whiteknuckle grips on their tiki-bar prize maids. White, white everywhere... not the people, but the color. White tennis shoes and bleached, starched shirts... always collared. White jaguars and hummers. White pickets fences and golf carts parked on the lawn. Everyone is experiencing symptons of burgeoning vitamin-D levels.
I haven't always cared much for the tropical regions of this earth. They seem to attract a certain type of person, either inherently poor yet often hospitable and kind third-world product, or as one songwriter sings "and in the other corner(wearing the white trunks) today's tourists already sweating." But for every thesis an antithesis. People in one corner and birds in the other. And for every day another species unseen always moving northward with the warming climate. And for every negative thought, I realize time may go... and i could spend a long time here not talking to a soul. Content...
I took a walk early this morning and saw a brilliant red disc rise out of Charlotte Bay, a sight that everyone beholds each morning. Zigzagging through the quiet streets of an upper-upper-class caucasian community toward one of the many beaches and adjacent mangroves. Binoculars about my neck, bag of books biting into my shoulder and feeling one of the most pleasant states of euphoria. Observed a cluster of staunchly perched brown pelicans outnumbered by a company of caspian terns and double-crested cormorants. Further down an osprey sailing over a few arctic terns who hovered still above the water spying herring below the surface.
On the way back to town i decided to attempt a good cup of coffee, something Florida sadly lacks. Nearing the cafe i found a banyan tree and neighboring palm full of chattering green parrots and a smaller band of monk parakeets. Thinking this is certainly a good life i stepped into the cafe. And that's where i began... I was seated outside on the sidewalk trying to find a comfortable position in a poorly structured metalloid chair, a task i failed. Looking out at the future skin-cancer patients and flipflop fatties with whiteknuckle grips on their tiki-bar prize maids. White, white everywhere... not the people, but the color. White tennis shoes and bleached, starched shirts... always collared. White jaguars and hummers. White pickets fences and golf carts parked on the lawn. Everyone is experiencing symptons of burgeoning vitamin-D levels.
I haven't always cared much for the tropical regions of this earth. They seem to attract a certain type of person, either inherently poor yet often hospitable and kind third-world product, or as one songwriter sings "and in the other corner(wearing the white trunks) today's tourists already sweating." But for every thesis an antithesis. People in one corner and birds in the other. And for every day another species unseen always moving northward with the warming climate. And for every negative thought, I realize time may go... and i could spend a long time here not talking to a soul. Content...
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