I'll have your cake and beat you too

The great Cheech-Meister has left me. Granted, he'll be back in a month (just in time for his first birthday), but I do miss the little guy already.

I sat with him on my bed this morning listening to Guns n' Roses and smiled as he rocked back and forth, clapping his hands (sounds a bit special, eh? Well, given the fact that he has little or no control over most of his movements, he's doing very well for himself thank you very much).
He digs Guns N' Roses, Maroon 5, Dave Matthews Band, and The New Pornographers seemingly more than anything else we've played for him. I've taught him well.

Oh my Cheech.

Q-tip for the weary

He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city that is broken down, and without walls.

sudden, inexplicable bursts

Muse and abuse any standard passerby for hopes of bringing a realization to the world that not all things are as they seem - laser beam your deepest desires onto the wall of hope, that is to say that someday your dreams may become the most brutal reality and your current reality a distant dream of the past, a thought that will last until your dying day, at which time you will lay in not-so-solitary stillness and think of a time when you were young, and in love, and possessing a stark willingness to lay it all out for the greater good of those would-be geniuses surrounding your every-day realness...

Reality barks - I'm the one who bites.

Today was Alex's first real experience with grass. No, no, not the illegal narcotic substance, but actual grass. Green, lush, lawnery (is that a word?)
Kelly and I were lazy most of the day and decidedly so. We marched out to the front yard (the back yard was a swamp after yesterday's glorious storm), blankets, pillows, and good books in hand. It was 2:30 PM and the sun was still high, as high as our spirits even. We were determined to spend the afternoon reading and working on our quickly fading tans.

*sidenote* Kelly and I seem to think that we will manage to achieve great success in the department of tanning despite our refusal to actually remove any clothing. The activity of tanning SELDOM involves a swimsuit where Kelly and I are concerned. Nay, the swimsuit is often ignored and over it is preferred a skirt or even loose fitting pajama pants, a tank top, and a pair of sunglasses. We will defy the principles of basic tanning and walk away shiny and bronze just the same. We've managed thus far, I'm fairly certain we can manage even farther. *end sidenote*

My recent mental block against reading kicked in after about 20 pages and I fell asleep with my book on my face and was promptly met with bizarre thoughts of crazed hula dancers sweating to the oldies (dreams are funny things, are they not?)
Kelly fared far better in the reading department and managed to finish an entire novella.
I awoke 2 and a half hours later with not much of a tan line, but to magnificent lines created by the sun. The spectacular fireball was low enough to begin casting shadows our way. Everything looked a little more curious than it had in full on day light. It made me want to start taking pictures. Perfect lighting for pictures, it was.
Cristina brought Alex out into the yard as he had just awoken from his afternoon nap.
His eyes appeared still slightly tired as she put him down on my blanket wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants, his diaper causing his bum to portrude out in the most adorable and appealing rotundra. He was happy to be outside with us. Happy to be alive, in fact. And, I'm sure, happy that the sun was casting shadows because, well, let's be honest - who wouldn't be?

Seeing as how crawling is a recently learned skill of his, Alex was a bit skeptical with his new found liberties. He was completely capable of crawling off the blanket out into the grass... but did he WANT to? He put out his feelers a few times, almost venturing out into the great unknown, but then quickly changing his mind. The grass was too prickly. Too cumbersome. Oh, it was a glorious shade of green, but there was just too much going on that he was unsure of. Carter wandered out of his reach to the far corners of the earth, or, seemingly so if you are 11 months old and not 100% certain that you wish to venture five feet away, across the grassy vast of bug and mud ridden lawn.
But Carter was there. The dog, which he loves so much, has become his new motivation. He rocks back and forth cautiously one or two times and leans forward from his sitting position so that his hands land him in an "all fours" position, revved and ready for crawling.
One hand moves forward, ignoring the pricklyness of the grass, and then the other. Oh, this boy is brave. His face winces slightly as he feels the vegetable daggers poke at his plentiful baby leg. The other leg moves to follow but then hesitates, and stops. He rocks forward, his lips portruding into a definite pout, and then he backtracks to the blanket, safe, whole, comfortable. Carter is still an eternity away, but the grass is no longer a mystery. He knows what that mess is all about. And the dog can come to him from now on.

My motivations have weakened slightly over the past two years. I fear not the grass, but things that are equally ridiculous I suppose. And I fear hypocricy - that thing that I've always loathed. If it gets the better of me, I will be worse than horrid; I will be mediocre, which is far worse.
What is wrong with being extraordinary? Or with being average? Or with being extraordinarily average?

** I'm trouble everywhere I go, but unseemingly so. I stare with great mishief. Isn't it grand? I love to get into conversations with political people who expect a dissertation on the importance of government reform only to announce that I hate discussing politics and wish only to leave the political world forever and be completely engrossed in art school... I value shock value. I keep growing my hair just to cut it and for this very reason.
And for this very reason I might just quit my job, sell all my belongings, become a nun, and move overseas to run a mission in tibet.

I don't hate many things, but I hate melted chapstik. And I hate feathers that wander from the confines of my featherbed and poke into my back. And I hate lower back pain. And I hate this blog, for real.

the egg on your race

often spinning a spool of verbal cool - slipping into this pool of watery dark, dark, dark... Spark! My wit and prose hit you up with a mega dose of rhyming, two-timing verbosity of audio atrocity

Olympimania

Could someone please inform Mr. Tom MySpace that August is spelled incorrectly in the drop-down menu for the Blogs? It's somewhat unnerving. Or funny... I can't quite decide which.

"Vargas, a 22-year-old from a boxing-crazy family in Toledo, Ohio, impressed the crowd at Peristeri Olympic Boxing Hall with his dominance of El Haddak. Moving nimbly and surprising the Moroccan with even the simplest jabs, Vargas showed that his work on skill and strategy over the past six months has turned him into much more than a brawler.

“I think I’m peaking at just the right time,” Vargas said. “He looked a little nervous, a little scared. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I’m just trying to enjoy this and have fun.”

The fight was stopped 82 seconds into the third round on the 20-point mercy rule.

“I have decent power, but I’ll save it until someone gets on me and I need it,” Vargas said."

I don't know why, but I read this article this afternoon and found this particular group of paragraphs to be written funny. Quirky almost.

Gotta love the olympics. I haven't watched one single second of it.

me and phil hoffman

Philip Seymour Hoffman.
Me.
Republican National Convention 2000.
Releases on DVD and Video nationwide on August 17th.
I am pleased.

My truth is I am a monkey American

Apparently my Governor is a gay American. Bravo!

The past two days have been absolute pandemonium and I love it! CNN, ABC, NBC, CBS, MSNBC, Fox, Good Morning America, Time Magazine, Wall Street Journal, NYT... and about three dozen radio call-in programs, gosh - the list goes on and on. We have not had to call one single media source to garner coverage (hell, we haven't had time - we've been FAR too busy trying to field the calls coming in at a seemingly endless rate)! It's been crazy, but for the most part good. Every one wants a piece of my candidate and I'm loving it.

And, amazingly, I still manage to NOT have to work this weekend! We kick ass so much it kills me sometimes.

the same mistakes

Defy the world - that's what I'm aiming for. Defy everyone and laugh while I do it. Defy everyone by dinner time and cap off the evening with a seven and seven.

Sometimes I am happy making everyone else happy. Other times I'm happiest making everyone else miserable. I'm arsenal, I'm destructive in its most generous sense.
Match for match with a gallon of gasoline, sometimes I'd rather be burning bridges than building them.
- My construction hat has a crack in it from the last time I leveled you anyway.

For the time being, I'll light this bridge ablaze with great glee.
I'll leave you to extinguish the flames with the piss and vinegar running through your veins.

I've laid down my cards (count them, one through five).
I don't know what I'm doing, but I'll be damned if I let YOU tell me that.
Want a magic trick? I got one up my sleeve, or, where you're concerned, up the hem of my skirt - is it a trick, a dirty trick? You bet your bottom lip it is. You'll get more than you ever put your chips down for and walk away beaten, I'm sure.
Pick a card, any card, just be careful which one you pick, my friend. You might be a loser in the end.
What about the King? Is this your card? No wait, here it is - the card with the joker.
It's impressive what I can learn from just one game of poke-her.

Through the deck we go - you're a few cards short, you know.
Your Queen ran off with a club to beat the six out of your sorry Ace. While seven and two were busy drowning their sorrows with Jack, your King of spades was digging holes in my back.
We're done here now, my trick is through. I've played my cards and who the hell are you to tell me that I've played them wrong?

I'm proud of the mountains I've climbed and proudest of the ones I've made crumble -- Don't worry about a thing, babe -- let ME worry about keeping YOU humble. And when you're down at your lowest, with a rock in your mouth, your nose is all bloodied and your ears filled with grout, I will have compassion (like compassionate conservatives do). I will help you back up to your feet that fit so well in my mouth.
Humility is the price to pay for having prideful things to say. You think this is something I haven't been through before? No. Think again.

I lost a friend

And I can't figure out who it was. Apparently, it wasn't anyone of which I'm terribly fond.
It is tragic just the same. Before I was striving to keep my friends list to 30 people, now I'm struggling to reach 30. Pity, pity.

Where have you gone, dear friend? And who were you in the first place?

almost there

It's the small things in life. Trees. Rain. Grass - these are all things that Jack had missed while away for the past year and a half in Iraq. Things that I hadn't necessarily even thought about him missing per se.
He told us stories of having no electricity or power for four months. Another time he spent a month and a half living out of the front seat of his truck because they were on special mission - out in the middle of nowhere. He was on night shift then, which means that he had to sleep during the day. During the 120* heat. You don't sleep in that heat, you just pass out.

I'm incredibly awed by his peace, his willingness, his balance. He has no complaints. He smiles often. He looks a little thin, but not too.
Here is one of the most peaceful people I know telling me how grateful the local nationals were to have American soldiers amongst them. They were more than well received by 90% the people they came in contact with. A handful of Iraqis tearfully stood in line to wish him farewell when word spread that he was leaving Iraq to head back stateside. They brought gifts and gave him hugs. They were sad to see an entire unit leave. They were glad that the soldiers were there. That speaks volumes to me.
I've grown somewhat weary of hearing what the media has to say about all this. Are they fighting this war? Then they can keep their opinions to themselves. Is the news ever objective? I fear not (this goes for Fox as well).

I want this all to be over just as much as the next person. In an ideal world, there is no war. Sadly, we do not live in an ideal world. This is the world we live in and we've tried to make the best of it (this is how America was founded in the first place, as I recall).
This dispute will end and millions will have been liberated as a result.
This dispute will end and the next will be right around the corner, waiting.

much to the world's ourtrageous benefit

outrageously much to the world's benefit.
much to this outrageous world's benefit.
much to the world's benefit, outrageously.

I'm so glad that this advertisement is not a joke:

HOW TO CHOOSE A BIRTHDAY CARD
(if you can't read)

Have a clerk point you to the right section.

Look for a picture of a cake.

Hope that you haven't chosen an anniversary card.

***

The simplest of tasks can be major hurdles for people who can't read.
Please help by becoming a literary volunteer.
Call Literacy Volunteers of America at 1-877-HELP-LVA for information

the unbearable lightness of being a twinkie

** Matt Morris makes me swoon. **

I stared, and for quite some time. An elderly couple sat to my right and seemed bothered by the fact that I did not have a traditional way of sitting in my airplane seat - wait, is there a traditional way? Not sure.
Is it all that un-traditional to sit with one's knees curled up next to one's chest while sitting in an airplane seat? They thought so. I will call them Melba and Hank, for I would hate to continue to reference them as "the elderly couple".
So Melba sent many wondering gazes my way. She smiled sweetly when I returned her quick glance, but otherwise was not friendly per se. Hank slept. He slept hard-core with his head tilted back and his mouth open. I wanted to drop a nickle in his mouth just to see what would happen, but I figured the outcome would be nothing on the helpful side. I wouldn't want to be un-helpful to Hank. No, not I.
So I'm convinced that Melba did not enjoy the way that I was sitting on the plane. I don't guess that it was necessarily disturbing her, although it did take some maneuvering to contort my body into the proper position in such a small space.
She didn't like what I was reading, or, at least she seemed to be curious. The cover too bright, the title too large, the tagline too unorthodox. I was not reading fine literature, nay, I was reading Nick Hornby. How intelligent could I possibly be?
Eh, I delight in shirking Melba and Hank's expectations. I am a monkey, afterall.

So I stared and worked my best to ignore Melba and Hank and their outrageously high expectations for my entire generation and especially for me.

Another wedding.
Another friend (2 friends!) married.
Another empty champagne flute.
Another sexual advance from Scott.
Another dance with a ridiculously drunk Tiedeman.
Another 1200 airline miles.

I love flying through the clouds. I watch closely, waiting because I know what's coming. I know that we're right on the edge (of reason, perhaps?) and I know that the sun is shining on the other side.
So I stare and watch and wait. The cloud's darkness completely envelopes the aircraft and if I look closely out my window, I can see the mist that makes up the entire cloud. I can see it passing rapidly by my window quicker than... well, quicker than something really, really fast.
Even though I'm expecting it at any moment, I am surprised when suddenly, in an instant, in a moment, in less than a moment, we are out of the cloud and the sun is shining so brightly I have to turn away from the window. I smile. I think what it must look like from the cockpit. What it must be like to head straight into it like that. You're flying through a cloud for one moment, two moments, a lifetime, when suddenly, out of nowhere, you are surrounded by bright sunlight and the darkness of the cloud is nowhere to be found. I wonder if the pilots watch this still, if it makes them smile. I wonder if they love it as much as I think they do.

The wedding was good, good, good. I've never seen Manny and Meg so happy.
And this is the last time that I know I'll see the merry CRNCsters. I've been seeing them all rather consistently since I moved from DC and everytime I've seen them there's always been a "next time" that we were getting together in the near future. Convention, CPAC, Parker's wedding, Meghan's wedding... now, there's nothing set and I'm not sure when I'll see them again. I know I'll see them - I just don't know when. That makes me somewhat sad.

I need to stop cracking my knuckles.

I have a rather long story I want to tell about a family I saw in the airport, but I don't have the time to type it right now. Later... I shall save it for later. But for right now it's going to be warm showers and quick breakfast and then my hour commute into Jersey City for a day at the Bret2005 headquarters.

I can't wait to get into my car. I can't wait to drive. I can't wait to be surrounded by the sound of "Origin of Symmetry" and to feel empowered all over again.