Niall crosses the room to the shower. He turns the spicket with a grunt. Brown water sputters out angrily for a few seconds before becoming a solid clear trickle. He stands under the ice cold water letting it run over his skin. Goosebumps pop sporadically from the pockets of his skin that still have the wherewithal. He doesn’t bother taking his glasses off. He hears the children from down the street laughing outside as they pass by on their way to the river. Niall turns off the water and pats himself dry with the rag next to the sink.
His eyes reluctantly roll over the turned down picture frame as he shuffles over to his closet. He pulls his white blazer out of the mothballs in the back. As he pulls his tie tight, he flicks his eyes to the mirror in the corner and looks away as quickly as a butterfly flaps its wings. He picks up the rotted coffee mug and pushes open the dilapidated screen door to his porch. The sun blazes with the early morning brilliance of a subdued fury.
Niall squints as he utters a low moan of irritation or grogginess. It doesn’t matter which it is anymore. He puts the mug down on the card table and sits in the rocking chair beside it. The rooster crows again. Niall draws in a long, slow breath and a nettled cough rattles out of his throat in lieu of an exhale.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Necessities of Dwelling
There is a certain understated luxury to living in an apartment or house with more than simply a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Rusty Faucet: Part I
The early morning sun sheds through the fraying curtains like a mole burrowing through tilled soil. The room is again lit by the sepia hue that the faded red of the curtains produces every morning. The cot in the corner of the room creaks as the man turns over restlessly at the new sunrise. His eyes open slowly allowing the light into his faded corneas. A sigh escapes his chapped lips and quickly turns into a nettled cough.
Niall rolls over and slides under the mosquito net hanging over his cot. As he rolls up the net, his eyes pass over the picture frame turned down on the nightstand. He brushes one gnarled finger over it and pulls it away with a fresh coating of dust. He blows it off his finger and picks up the pair of glasses next to the frame. The glasses settle unevenly on the bridge of his nose and he blinks the world back into semi-clarity.
A rooster crows down the street as Niall scrapes the last of the coffee grounds from the rusted can. The cabinet is empty without the pitted can inside it. The steam rises out from the coffee pot. He looks down into the pot and sees a couple flakes of rust swimming in the tepid tan liquid. His reflection drifts back at him through the ripples. He slides the coffee mug across the counter away from him.
Niall rolls over and slides under the mosquito net hanging over his cot. As he rolls up the net, his eyes pass over the picture frame turned down on the nightstand. He brushes one gnarled finger over it and pulls it away with a fresh coating of dust. He blows it off his finger and picks up the pair of glasses next to the frame. The glasses settle unevenly on the bridge of his nose and he blinks the world back into semi-clarity.
A rooster crows down the street as Niall scrapes the last of the coffee grounds from the rusted can. The cabinet is empty without the pitted can inside it. The steam rises out from the coffee pot. He looks down into the pot and sees a couple flakes of rust swimming in the tepid tan liquid. His reflection drifts back at him through the ripples. He slides the coffee mug across the counter away from him.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
R.I.P. My Computer
Blog updates have become few and far between. There is good reason for the scarcity of the literary ideas being published in this medium. My computer decided to die. Two weeks out of its warranty, my hard drive decided to take a metaphorical leap off a tall building with its prescribed destination being the hard pavement below it. I have much of my data backed up, but I'm sure I've lost quite a bit. The brighter side of this is that I'm not exactly sure what I've lost and I don't even particularly care. I'm loathe to buy a new computer. I have access to my roommate's when he isn't using it so I'm not completely devoid of a digital presence. I find that this restricted access is not only sufficient but I find myself extremely amenable to my current lack of a computer.
Every once in a while, I do actually walk around and think that I could use a computer at the moment to quell some boredom. To my pleasant surprise, these are the moments of spare time in which I decide to do something much more productive than surf the internet. I wasn't even spending an inordinate amount of time on my computer when it worked, but now that it's gone, I'm spending even less and I don't miss it. Instead, I'll pick up a book and read even more often than I did before. I'll solve some puzzles, be they crossword or logic. I'll work on an actual puzzle. I'll go sit at the pool and swim laps in the sun. My current favorite though is punishing my body at the gym with my workout buddies/roommate Joe and surrogate personal trainer Joey. (In answer to your question: yes, the names get confusing.) The latter promises to find some way of motivating me through pissing me off with his trash talk, but he has yet to do it without me laughing instead. What can I say? I can't take anything a Ginger says seriously.
I've come to the conclusion that computers sap the life out of life. That being said though, I think I'm going to make a concerted effort to transfer the writings that make it into my numerous composition notebooks floating around my apartment into Joe's computer and subsequently onto this blog more often. If not for any of you reading this, then for myself when my notebooks die as unexpectedly as my hard drive. Don't laugh, it's happened before. Ask the one with a couple of chapters of Memoria in it that looks like a blue and white Rorschach test from having a Jameson bottle spilled on it.
Every once in a while, I do actually walk around and think that I could use a computer at the moment to quell some boredom. To my pleasant surprise, these are the moments of spare time in which I decide to do something much more productive than surf the internet. I wasn't even spending an inordinate amount of time on my computer when it worked, but now that it's gone, I'm spending even less and I don't miss it. Instead, I'll pick up a book and read even more often than I did before. I'll solve some puzzles, be they crossword or logic. I'll work on an actual puzzle. I'll go sit at the pool and swim laps in the sun. My current favorite though is punishing my body at the gym with my workout buddies/roommate Joe and surrogate personal trainer Joey. (In answer to your question: yes, the names get confusing.) The latter promises to find some way of motivating me through pissing me off with his trash talk, but he has yet to do it without me laughing instead. What can I say? I can't take anything a Ginger says seriously.
I've come to the conclusion that computers sap the life out of life. That being said though, I think I'm going to make a concerted effort to transfer the writings that make it into my numerous composition notebooks floating around my apartment into Joe's computer and subsequently onto this blog more often. If not for any of you reading this, then for myself when my notebooks die as unexpectedly as my hard drive. Don't laugh, it's happened before. Ask the one with a couple of chapters of Memoria in it that looks like a blue and white Rorschach test from having a Jameson bottle spilled on it.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
TJ's Baseball Skills turned into Literary Heresy
I was talking to my friend T.J. today and he told me to check out the video of his baseball highlights that was posted to his facebook wall. As I laughed hysterically at the background music of Wind Beneath My Wings by Bette Midler, I noticed that he had taken a book challenge quiz called "BBC Book list challenge" and decided to take it. After I saw 2 JRR Tolkien titles, Life of Pi, and The Da Vinci Code on the list, I decided to boycott it.
I'm not saying that they aren't good books, but in a list of 100 books in the same vein as Ulysses and 100 Years of Solitude?! Please. Especially because there are much better books that may not be as popular but are much more deserving, such as anything by Tom Robbins, Cormac McCarthy, Virginia Woolfe, or Marcel Proust, to name a few. I would have said Mario Puzo except for the revelation forthcoming in the next paragraph.
So I looked into this list and found it has nothing to do with the BBC at all. In fact, the BBC took a poll based on nominations and came up with a list of 100 books based on the criteria of "Nation's best-loved novel" It is personally sad to me that Tolkien actually turned up to be number 1 on this list, but I understand most people don't generally like substance, just a good story. I can accept that. It was refreshing to know that the BBC never intended this list (it's not even the same list by the way, just 2/3 of the same books) to be the top 100 classic books of all time. (Mario Puzo's The Godfather is on the BBC list even though it is not on the Facebook version, hence why I did not include him in the aforementioned list)
I'd be irked at this facebook meme, but they did have one redeeming quality...they had the wherewithal to remove JK Rowling and all the Harry Potter books from the list before they posted it. I guess that's good enough for forgiveness in my book.
I'm not saying that they aren't good books, but in a list of 100 books in the same vein as Ulysses and 100 Years of Solitude?! Please. Especially because there are much better books that may not be as popular but are much more deserving, such as anything by Tom Robbins, Cormac McCarthy, Virginia Woolfe, or Marcel Proust, to name a few. I would have said Mario Puzo except for the revelation forthcoming in the next paragraph.
So I looked into this list and found it has nothing to do with the BBC at all. In fact, the BBC took a poll based on nominations and came up with a list of 100 books based on the criteria of "Nation's best-loved novel" It is personally sad to me that Tolkien actually turned up to be number 1 on this list, but I understand most people don't generally like substance, just a good story. I can accept that. It was refreshing to know that the BBC never intended this list (it's not even the same list by the way, just 2/3 of the same books) to be the top 100 classic books of all time. (Mario Puzo's The Godfather is on the BBC list even though it is not on the Facebook version, hence why I did not include him in the aforementioned list)
I'd be irked at this facebook meme, but they did have one redeeming quality...they had the wherewithal to remove JK Rowling and all the Harry Potter books from the list before they posted it. I guess that's good enough for forgiveness in my book.
Monday, April 11, 2011
It's a Kind of Magic
There isn't enough magic left in this world. I think there is just too much understanding and not enough wonderment. There is just too much explanation and rationalizing for my taste.
Yes, this is clearly a response to my own propensity to try and explain and understand everything on this earth logically, even things that inherently cannot be. When I think about it, understanding can be rewarding and useful. I think it should be something to strive for. But there are just some things about which I wish I could simply turn my brain off and enjoy or accept without relentless analysis or blind faith in some tautology.
I think the human race could do with just accepting some things as they are without needing some reason for it. You might see this as an attack on science or an attack on religion or a defense of religion or an attack on philosophy. It is, in reality, none of those things. It is merely an attack on myself. It is simply a wish that sometimes I could sit back and accept things as they happen and act upon things in that way. I wish I could live by one of my all-time favorite song lyrics by the Doobie Brothers:
And I ain't got no worries, 'cause I ain't in no hurry at all.
I actually keep a mug that was made for me with this lyric inscribed on it next to my bathroom sink specifically to remind myself of it every morning as I brush my teeth. Unfortunately some days it just doesn't sink in. I think if I weren't in such a damn hurry to live, I'd be able to relax sometimes and stop analyzing everything to death. Maybe then I could smell the roses outside.
Yes, this is clearly a response to my own propensity to try and explain and understand everything on this earth logically, even things that inherently cannot be. When I think about it, understanding can be rewarding and useful. I think it should be something to strive for. But there are just some things about which I wish I could simply turn my brain off and enjoy or accept without relentless analysis or blind faith in some tautology.
I think the human race could do with just accepting some things as they are without needing some reason for it. You might see this as an attack on science or an attack on religion or a defense of religion or an attack on philosophy. It is, in reality, none of those things. It is merely an attack on myself. It is simply a wish that sometimes I could sit back and accept things as they happen and act upon things in that way. I wish I could live by one of my all-time favorite song lyrics by the Doobie Brothers:
And I ain't got no worries, 'cause I ain't in no hurry at all.
I actually keep a mug that was made for me with this lyric inscribed on it next to my bathroom sink specifically to remind myself of it every morning as I brush my teeth. Unfortunately some days it just doesn't sink in. I think if I weren't in such a damn hurry to live, I'd be able to relax sometimes and stop analyzing everything to death. Maybe then I could smell the roses outside.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
A Question Without an Answer
In Silence of the Lambs, (Incidentally one of my favorite movies of all time) Hannibal Lecter admonishes Clarice Starling to read Marcus Aurelius quoting "Of each particular thing ask; what is it in itself?" I think this is somewhat incomplete. Everything has two sides: what it is in and of itself and also what it is seen as.
Some time ago, in the middle of a long-term relationship with a girl, I was wrestling with breaking it off. I couldn't quite nail down my feelings about her one way or the other. A wise friend asked me a simple question after confiding in him about it: "Do you actually love her or do you just love the fact that she loves you?"
It is an important question. Though it is implying that it shouldn't matter as much how someone feels about you. It took me a while to realize, but I think that the question is actually of the utmost importance. Its weakness though lies in its unspoken emphasis. It implies that it is more important how you feel about someone than how they feel about you and your perception of that. I don't think either is more important. Both are equally necessary. Too often we are absorbed into how much we like or don't like someone without giving equal weight to how we feel about the way in which they like us.
Its a two-way street. Sometimes its tough to see. Sometimes its tough to judge. Sometimes its so much easier to look at the trees and forget the forest. But it all comes back to how people make us feel and how we feel about them. Two sides of the same coin.
I haven't thought of a way to ask the question without that unspoken emphasis. But I do find myself coming back to the question over and over again, mostly in matters of love, but not always. It is probably one of the wisest and most useful things anyone has ever said to me.
Some time ago, in the middle of a long-term relationship with a girl, I was wrestling with breaking it off. I couldn't quite nail down my feelings about her one way or the other. A wise friend asked me a simple question after confiding in him about it: "Do you actually love her or do you just love the fact that she loves you?"
It is an important question. Though it is implying that it shouldn't matter as much how someone feels about you. It took me a while to realize, but I think that the question is actually of the utmost importance. Its weakness though lies in its unspoken emphasis. It implies that it is more important how you feel about someone than how they feel about you and your perception of that. I don't think either is more important. Both are equally necessary. Too often we are absorbed into how much we like or don't like someone without giving equal weight to how we feel about the way in which they like us.
Its a two-way street. Sometimes its tough to see. Sometimes its tough to judge. Sometimes its so much easier to look at the trees and forget the forest. But it all comes back to how people make us feel and how we feel about them. Two sides of the same coin.
I haven't thought of a way to ask the question without that unspoken emphasis. But I do find myself coming back to the question over and over again, mostly in matters of love, but not always. It is probably one of the wisest and most useful things anyone has ever said to me.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Bringing Beards Back
I've been clean shaven for the past month. I think it is the longest time that I have kept that going since I was 18 and still in a military high school that forced me to do so. I've had enough though. My beard is coming back. Why? I always told myself it was because I was lazy and couldn't hold to shaving on a regular basis. It turns out that long-held belief is untrue. It's actually just a self-image thing. I have visual and tactile blocks against allowing myself to be clean shaven.
First off, I hate how it feels when I'm clean shaven. I hate rubbing my hands over my chin and feeling nothing but skin; even stubble is better than just plain old smoothness. Nothing is better than rubbing my fingers through my beard when it is grown out enough to do so.
The other reason that I hate being clean shaven is one I didn't expect. It throws my identity off. I never thought about it, but I identify myself as having a beard. I mean, you would probably expect that after having one for the vast majority of a decade. I just didn't expect it to be as different as it was. Looking in the mirror everyday was always a shock. I didn't feel quite right the entire time that I didn't have my beard.
So, My beard is coming back. It won't take that long either. A couple days and I'll be past the stubble phase. By next week, I'll have a full blown beard again. One thing I definitively can do is grow a beard in the way all men should be able to; Fast and Full. Give a month and I could probably pass as a closer for the San Francisco Giants.
In any case, the beard is back in style!
First off, I hate how it feels when I'm clean shaven. I hate rubbing my hands over my chin and feeling nothing but skin; even stubble is better than just plain old smoothness. Nothing is better than rubbing my fingers through my beard when it is grown out enough to do so.
The other reason that I hate being clean shaven is one I didn't expect. It throws my identity off. I never thought about it, but I identify myself as having a beard. I mean, you would probably expect that after having one for the vast majority of a decade. I just didn't expect it to be as different as it was. Looking in the mirror everyday was always a shock. I didn't feel quite right the entire time that I didn't have my beard.
So, My beard is coming back. It won't take that long either. A couple days and I'll be past the stubble phase. By next week, I'll have a full blown beard again. One thing I definitively can do is grow a beard in the way all men should be able to; Fast and Full. Give a month and I could probably pass as a closer for the San Francisco Giants.
In any case, the beard is back in style!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Y cannot. persons' Use [good english,] more oftener?
People simply don't have enough respect for language. I'm not talking about its manipulation or the morphing of language. Language is alive and it should be malleable. I'm talking about the startling lack of knowledge regarding the simple rules that make language what it is: Vocabulary and Grammar. You could make an argument for adding syntax in that list as well, but I think those are the big two. Language is the foundation of society in many ways and it seems like many people don't care about language at all.
In talking to a friend today, I heard about a teacher who stated publicly that he used semi-colons to hunt out plagiarism. His first red flag for the fact that someone may have plagiarized their paper was the CORRECT usage of a semi-colon. The worst part about this is that I actually believe it. Not to mention, that I don't even blame the teacher. It seems like this is more of a reactionary measure than an expectation on his part. He's probably seen such horrendous grammatical blunders that it is actually hard to read papers. It is not even hard to believe that he might be shocked when a paper comes across his desk that is written well.
I don't even care if you know what a gerund is or if you don't have an opinion on the Harvard comma. Those kinds of concerns are better reserved for people who actually have a vested interest in the written language. I do care that people know the differences between "there" "their" and "they're", the usage of a semi-colon, a basic comprehension of the purpose of the interplay between connotation and vocabulary, and a basic understanding of the subject-predicate composition of a simple sentence. It just seems to me that communication between human beings relies on these kinds of principles too heavily to not care about them at all.
I find it sad that so many people have such a vapid comprehension of simple language concepts that it results in a teacher being forced into suspicion of cheating as a result of someone using a simple grammatical device correctly.
In talking to a friend today, I heard about a teacher who stated publicly that he used semi-colons to hunt out plagiarism. His first red flag for the fact that someone may have plagiarized their paper was the CORRECT usage of a semi-colon. The worst part about this is that I actually believe it. Not to mention, that I don't even blame the teacher. It seems like this is more of a reactionary measure than an expectation on his part. He's probably seen such horrendous grammatical blunders that it is actually hard to read papers. It is not even hard to believe that he might be shocked when a paper comes across his desk that is written well.
I don't even care if you know what a gerund is or if you don't have an opinion on the Harvard comma. Those kinds of concerns are better reserved for people who actually have a vested interest in the written language. I do care that people know the differences between "there" "their" and "they're", the usage of a semi-colon, a basic comprehension of the purpose of the interplay between connotation and vocabulary, and a basic understanding of the subject-predicate composition of a simple sentence. It just seems to me that communication between human beings relies on these kinds of principles too heavily to not care about them at all.
I find it sad that so many people have such a vapid comprehension of simple language concepts that it results in a teacher being forced into suspicion of cheating as a result of someone using a simple grammatical device correctly.
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