So I got in touch with My Hero. What else do you do when you're Jimmy Olsen and you find yourself in danger?
The danger was, I felt as though I had been thrust into an alternate reality wherein the opportunity actually existed for happiness and I was extremely ill-prepared.
So my hero gave me heroic advice on the order of "Do something, and do it now. Don't wait until Valentine's Day is past." For you see, My Hero is a "right now" kind of guy. I tend to elevate this type of action-man. All my heroes are men who shape their own destinies. They take charge. They excel. And being that I want to be my own hero someday, I go to my heroes and get advice. And sometimes I follow it.
Like I did this weekend. My Hero said I should go back to The Past Girl's worksite and invite her for lunch. For full details as to the why, go here.) And since I had plans on Valentine's Day already (oh didn't I tell you? Yeah, Childhood Bud's wife & kids were going out of town and he wanted to see the same kind of play we saw in the summer what with the kicking and the martial arts and the geek genre small house indie vibe). And since it wasn';t exactly Valentine's Day faire, I thought it might be good for her to go through her Valentine's Day distracted -- with me.
We didn't have lunch on Friday, but we did talk for a good hour, and I showed her the play website and invited her to come with us. I gave her my number and left it up to her. She programmed it into her phone and after some last words, I left. Within those words, she seemed a little unsure about the geekery. She was revealing a bit of a virginity when it came to the vampire comboys. But she said she'd definitely let me know.
Saturday morning I awoke to a text she left. Someone in her family had come up from South to visit with her and her father. She was staying put but wants me to invite her out again the next time. And she's calling me "Friend."
So like that, life's changed. I have a new "friend." I mean, I don't know how "friendly" she means us to be. I don't know if I effectively chased her away with my geek display. She did say she loved "a Nerd" not "a geek." Maybe I overwhemled her. Maybe she was just being nice. Maybe she'll let me down gently for the next few times I ask her out.
Or maybe I'm just too soon in her grieving process.
But whatever is the maybe, I will be attempting to see where this can lead. If nothing else, maybe I'll have a fun, positive lady friend that I can go to movies with and have quick bites to eat with. Someone that I'm ready for.
We'll see, huh? Together?
Showing posts with label Childhood Bud. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Childhood Bud. Show all posts
Monday, February 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Crossroads
So the thing I've been dreading and not even blogging about has come upon me. In the most cinematic way. As in, "written by an author for maximum viewer impact."
Of course, I will explain. Grizzbabe will understand best, but you guys will be able to catch up quickly, I'm sure.
Back when I was 16, I joined a very, very, VERY strict church. And I was a total part of that church up until I was 27, when my mother died of cancer and I went off to a religious pilgrimage to join the ministry. Honest injun. At the time, I was convinced it was the Voice of God sending me. I'm still not convinced today that it wasn't. But Lord knows, literally, that I'm no longer following that inclination.
I've blogged a few times about my adventures in Missouri, but I've rarely detailed about my life from 16-27, while I was Holy Joe Christian. I have, however, mentioned that it was a total haven of sanctimonious living that helped me successfully avoid all attempts at sex, which was perfect for me since I was (unbeknownst to me) such a damaged set of goods.
Whelp, from 16-27, I had lots of good friends in church. I had crushes on girls and I had crushes on boys. Naturally, in church, you only act on the girl-crushes when you're a boy. So I did. I had gone as far as to get my heart crushed by the girl I feel that I was in love with as she told me "I need a man, not a boy" and proceeded to marry the organ player. No worries, she was bad news. She and he got along like a mountain lioness and a pit bull. They divorced some years later. It was a sad tale for them and a bullet that I totally dodged. Later on, I got engaged to another girl who was head over heels in love with me. The tender, dear heart. I still think of her with a sweet fondness. And she was fine, too. Once when driving her back from one of our first dates, she fell asleep while we drove on the Palisades Pkwy, and I gazed at her and felt like taking her right then and there on the side of the road. It was a triumphant day for my testosterone. I'm sure I sprouted my first few chest hairs then. Needless to say, we never got married. It was my decision and my fault.
One of the boy-crushes I had is more aptly called a "man-crush". I've already exploded my take on man-crushes ad nauseum, but here I call them "boy-crushes" because I was a boy then. But there was this big, brusque, panther of a friend I had who was showing me just what it meant to be a player. He was a smouldering operator that almost all of the ladies loved. And I navigated in his shadow. He too came to a sloppy end. See, in a church as strict as ours, his behavior was highly frowned upon. His personality won everyone's hearts but his actions were atrociously normal. So after a highly Scarlet Letter-like pregnancy scare from one of his groupies, he was ousted from the church.
His father, however, had been my friend and father figure from way before I had met The Player. His father lived in the same apartments that I did, and seemed to care for me before I even knew I needed caring for. Childhood Bud would know this man (since Childhood Bud lived on the same side of our apartments as he did). In my early days, I'd ride to church with this man, and wish dearly to be his son. Until his real son moved in (The Player). And his other son. And his other one.
I was soon squeezed out of the me-time I had with him and had to share him with his children (he had daughters too), not to mention all my other guy-peers who saw him similarly as a father figure. We were a lot of fatherless dudes in that church and this man was a rare commodity. But being who I am, I got tired of sharing and withdrew my affections to a tolerable level. I found others to fill the gap. And eventually I moved to Missouri.
Well, what I didn't realize was that this man always retained his affection for me. Through all his children and all the other fatherless boys vieing for his attention, he still cared for me. I was one of his "sons" and he knew how to love his children.
I discovered this yesterday, when after 14 years of distance and scattered occasional "hellos," we ran into each other a block from Central Park.
I was walking my usual route back from the center when he got my attention. He was sitting in his livery vehicle (quite an upscale affair) preparing to meet a fare in the neighborhood when he had looked up from a puzzle and saw me walking. Like the gasp from a blow to the solar plexus, he barked my name.
When I saw him, there was no holy light outlining the moment. At least not for me. But for him, in the half hour following, I learned that the appointment was no less than Divine. For the past 14 years, he'd been asking God how I was doing and when he would ever see me again. He would not -- had not accepted that I was gone. Church people can be like that, and this man even moreso. He had known and cared for me from before I had even started going to the church. In his heart, he had adopted me.
I realize I had done him a disservice by leaving without keeping contact.
Now.
I am very, very different than I was when he last knew me. And he is still very connected to the church I once went to. The very, very, VERY strict church. Through him I learned that the very, very, VERY strict pastor is still running the joint. The pastor that I have been staying away from.
So this man and I have exchanged numbers and he wants to get together to catch up on my life in a few Saturdays.
What do I tell this man? How much of my utter apostasy do I reveal?
I want to tell him everything. EVERYTHING.
What do you, dear readers, think I should do?
Of course, I will explain. Grizzbabe will understand best, but you guys will be able to catch up quickly, I'm sure.
Back when I was 16, I joined a very, very, VERY strict church. And I was a total part of that church up until I was 27, when my mother died of cancer and I went off to a religious pilgrimage to join the ministry. Honest injun. At the time, I was convinced it was the Voice of God sending me. I'm still not convinced today that it wasn't. But Lord knows, literally, that I'm no longer following that inclination.
I've blogged a few times about my adventures in Missouri, but I've rarely detailed about my life from 16-27, while I was Holy Joe Christian. I have, however, mentioned that it was a total haven of sanctimonious living that helped me successfully avoid all attempts at sex, which was perfect for me since I was (unbeknownst to me) such a damaged set of goods.
Whelp, from 16-27, I had lots of good friends in church. I had crushes on girls and I had crushes on boys. Naturally, in church, you only act on the girl-crushes when you're a boy. So I did. I had gone as far as to get my heart crushed by the girl I feel that I was in love with as she told me "I need a man, not a boy" and proceeded to marry the organ player. No worries, she was bad news. She and he got along like a mountain lioness and a pit bull. They divorced some years later. It was a sad tale for them and a bullet that I totally dodged. Later on, I got engaged to another girl who was head over heels in love with me. The tender, dear heart. I still think of her with a sweet fondness. And she was fine, too. Once when driving her back from one of our first dates, she fell asleep while we drove on the Palisades Pkwy, and I gazed at her and felt like taking her right then and there on the side of the road. It was a triumphant day for my testosterone. I'm sure I sprouted my first few chest hairs then. Needless to say, we never got married. It was my decision and my fault.
One of the boy-crushes I had is more aptly called a "man-crush". I've already exploded my take on man-crushes ad nauseum, but here I call them "boy-crushes" because I was a boy then. But there was this big, brusque, panther of a friend I had who was showing me just what it meant to be a player. He was a smouldering operator that almost all of the ladies loved. And I navigated in his shadow. He too came to a sloppy end. See, in a church as strict as ours, his behavior was highly frowned upon. His personality won everyone's hearts but his actions were atrociously normal. So after a highly Scarlet Letter-like pregnancy scare from one of his groupies, he was ousted from the church.
His father, however, had been my friend and father figure from way before I had met The Player. His father lived in the same apartments that I did, and seemed to care for me before I even knew I needed caring for. Childhood Bud would know this man (since Childhood Bud lived on the same side of our apartments as he did). In my early days, I'd ride to church with this man, and wish dearly to be his son. Until his real son moved in (The Player). And his other son. And his other one.
I was soon squeezed out of the me-time I had with him and had to share him with his children (he had daughters too), not to mention all my other guy-peers who saw him similarly as a father figure. We were a lot of fatherless dudes in that church and this man was a rare commodity. But being who I am, I got tired of sharing and withdrew my affections to a tolerable level. I found others to fill the gap. And eventually I moved to Missouri.
Well, what I didn't realize was that this man always retained his affection for me. Through all his children and all the other fatherless boys vieing for his attention, he still cared for me. I was one of his "sons" and he knew how to love his children.
I discovered this yesterday, when after 14 years of distance and scattered occasional "hellos," we ran into each other a block from Central Park.
I was walking my usual route back from the center when he got my attention. He was sitting in his livery vehicle (quite an upscale affair) preparing to meet a fare in the neighborhood when he had looked up from a puzzle and saw me walking. Like the gasp from a blow to the solar plexus, he barked my name.
When I saw him, there was no holy light outlining the moment. At least not for me. But for him, in the half hour following, I learned that the appointment was no less than Divine. For the past 14 years, he'd been asking God how I was doing and when he would ever see me again. He would not -- had not accepted that I was gone. Church people can be like that, and this man even moreso. He had known and cared for me from before I had even started going to the church. In his heart, he had adopted me.
I realize I had done him a disservice by leaving without keeping contact.
Now.
I am very, very different than I was when he last knew me. And he is still very connected to the church I once went to. The very, very, VERY strict church. Through him I learned that the very, very, VERY strict pastor is still running the joint. The pastor that I have been staying away from.
So this man and I have exchanged numbers and he wants to get together to catch up on my life in a few Saturdays.
What do I tell this man? How much of my utter apostasy do I reveal?
I want to tell him everything. EVERYTHING.
What do you, dear readers, think I should do?
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Back Into The Frying Pan
Last night I went to see a rockin' good play called "Fight Girl Battle World". It was a clever play in a small venue which made the most out of character, story, and the space they had to use. There was kickass choreography and more than a dozen instances of Laugh Out Loud moments that earns the gold star for good dialogue. (Why does my spell checkers tell me "dialogue" is improperly spelled? Can anyone suggest a better alternative?)
I went on recommendation of 1) Childhood Bud and 2) My geek friends with mad cred who run a comics podcast. It was to their studio that the geek party occurred last year.
I haven't been able to coordinate all but two more meetings with that group of folks (one, really--a dinner at Hill Country. The other is me going to the place of business of an individual, and that only because he got a job at the store where I buy my comics), and none at all with the podcasters themselves.
So last night, I went with Childhood Bud. We had an awesome time!! He detached from his wife and three children to make himself available to me, and we met in my fave naborhood, ate Indian food in a new spot I like on Amsterdam Ave, then walked 60 blocks south to the theatre! I was more than up for it when he suggested it, but round about 40 blocks into the journey, ol' Childhood Bud was making faces. I'll let him elaborate as to why, if he so chooses.
It was so awesomely great. It was nothing at all like being two men approaching our mid-forties, one of us a married father of three, the other a bachelor therapist in a midtown Manhattan office. Nothing like that. It was like being kids cut loose in NYC walking and talking and laughing and sightseeing.
I tried to throw in a little gravitas to the tone of the evening, but he would have none of it! The closest I got to my issues was to realize that Match.com is a viable alternative to my singleness. He has a co-worker who is engaged to a gal met on there. And I acknowledged Mike's engagement resulted from a Match Dot Comage.
So today, I upgraded my account, shot them some money, and e-mail three beautiful ladies, all of whom I would very much like to date.
And then what? At the moment, I have a profile that I think absolutely reeks of mental disorder. I wrote it back when I was a prisoner of misfortune in New Jersey and rediscovering heroes in the world. So mostly what I wrote sounds every bit like the crazy little man I was in someone's basement. When I applied my newfound life to the profile fields today, I thought the effects would take place immediately, like the new pics would.
Not so.
Pics are up now, but the profile word content takes up to 72 hours. That means if these three beautiful ladies read my message within the next three days, I'm toast. You'll hear their laughter from where you're sitting right now.
But at least now I realize why I didn't get any bites before.
Patience.
Patience.
When the frikkin' frackin' profile gets updated for realz, I'll give you a link to it.
Edit: YAY! It's updated! Okay, here I am. Match Ladies, come an' get me!
I went on recommendation of 1) Childhood Bud and 2) My geek friends with mad cred who run a comics podcast. It was to their studio that the geek party occurred last year.
I haven't been able to coordinate all but two more meetings with that group of folks (one, really--a dinner at Hill Country. The other is me going to the place of business of an individual, and that only because he got a job at the store where I buy my comics), and none at all with the podcasters themselves.So last night, I went with Childhood Bud. We had an awesome time!! He detached from his wife and three children to make himself available to me, and we met in my fave naborhood, ate Indian food in a new spot I like on Amsterdam Ave, then walked 60 blocks south to the theatre! I was more than up for it when he suggested it, but round about 40 blocks into the journey, ol' Childhood Bud was making faces. I'll let him elaborate as to why, if he so chooses.
It was so awesomely great. It was nothing at all like being two men approaching our mid-forties, one of us a married father of three, the other a bachelor therapist in a midtown Manhattan office. Nothing like that. It was like being kids cut loose in NYC walking and talking and laughing and sightseeing.
I tried to throw in a little gravitas to the tone of the evening, but he would have none of it! The closest I got to my issues was to realize that Match.com is a viable alternative to my singleness. He has a co-worker who is engaged to a gal met on there. And I acknowledged Mike's engagement resulted from a Match Dot Comage.
So today, I upgraded my account, shot them some money, and e-mail three beautiful ladies, all of whom I would very much like to date.
And then what? At the moment, I have a profile that I think absolutely reeks of mental disorder. I wrote it back when I was a prisoner of misfortune in New Jersey and rediscovering heroes in the world. So mostly what I wrote sounds every bit like the crazy little man I was in someone's basement. When I applied my newfound life to the profile fields today, I thought the effects would take place immediately, like the new pics would.
Not so.
Pics are up now, but the profile word content takes up to 72 hours. That means if these three beautiful ladies read my message within the next three days, I'm toast. You'll hear their laughter from where you're sitting right now.
But at least now I realize why I didn't get any bites before.
Patience.
Patience.
When the frikkin' frackin' profile gets updated for realz, I'll give you a link to it.
Edit: YAY! It's updated! Okay, here I am. Match Ladies, come an' get me!
Monday, May 21, 2007
Sometimes, I Swear ...
...that I am losing my mind.
It seems that Sundays are the worst days for me. Probably because I should be going to church. But instead I went back to Spring Valley yesterday and creeped myself the hell out.
I grew up in Spring Valley. I met Childhood Bud and his sister (Friday Night Date) in Spring Valley. We grew up together, if you will, in the same apartment 'complex'. So yesterday I went back to the 'complex' as well as drove through familiar streets and parked the car in some choice locations;
1) I went to my old elementary school. I walked around the building and looked into windows. I remembered teachers and events. Mr. Silverberg. Ms. Dubin, who later became Mrs. Factor. Mrs. Rucker. I wanted to go inside so badly. There's still an unuttered sob lodged inside my chest from walking on that ground.
2) I went to my old high school. I was shocked to realize that it is possibly a fifteen minute walk from my elementary school. Back when I lived in Spring Valley, everything seemed miles away from everything else. But I was reminded yesterday that Spring Valley is a small, unkempt little town. My high school is as big as I remember it, but forgotten was the fact that it had two baseball fields and a track behind it. I went up onto the bleachers and called Friday Night Date for remembrance sake. She texted me back that she was working. I don't know how to text in return, so we didn't connect. Good thing we didn't. I think if we did, I'd have bawled like a lunatic. I looked into the highschool windows too. I remembered a school play that Friday Night Date convinced me to join with her, to star opposite her, in the production of Neil Simon's "Plaza Suite". She was Muriel and I was Jesse Kiplinger. The part called for me to kiss her passionately. We were in high school. I wonder what the audience, and more notably, the parents, got out of it.
3) I went to Memorial Park across the brook from our apartments. Again, I actually parked the car and got out. There were HUNDREDS of people there! Apparently the Haitian population had a parade/festival yesterday, and still I left my car and walked in and among them. They all seemed born within only the last 25 years, so there was no danger running into anyone I knew, but I am suprised in hindsight that I had the courage to leave my car and plunge in. I overheard a ghetto-fabulous girl arguing with a playa the difference between "havin' A.D.D. and A.D.H.D." I swear to God. She told homeboy to get his facts straight. I could have fell OUT.
I had Tamia's new album "Between Friends" playing while I drove. She has one song called "Almost" which is a ballad about how crazy it is to miss the love you never had, and to reminisce about kisses you never gave. I played this on steady repeat.
There are so very many points of divergence that I recalled yesterday. What if I had done this, what if I had done that. I stood in spots that I had done 35 years ago. And from head to toe, I feel crammed with regrets and fear and hopelessness. It just seems hard to accept how much time and opportunities I've lost, never to recover.
But there still is the future. From where I am backwards, I am discouraged. But from where I am forward, there still is hope. I can't see it, but I just choose to believe it. I choose to believe it because without hope, I will well and truly lose my mind. Without hope, I might as well drive my car off the George Washington Bridge.
Almost
sung by Tamia
On the album "Between Friends"
(Someone's homemade video of past Tamia vids, put to the song "Almost")
[Verse 1]
Can you tell me
How can one miss what she's never had
How could I reminisce when there is no past
How could I have memories of being happy
with you boy
Could someone tell me how can this be
How could my mind pull up incidents
Recall dates and times that never happened
How could we celebrate a love that's too late
And
how could I really mean the words I'm 'bout to say
[Chorus]
I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we used to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take my time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said it's impossible to miss
What you never had
Never almost had you
I cannot believe I let you go
Or what I should say I should've grabbed you up and never let you go
I should've went out with you
I should've made you my boo boy
Yes that's one time I should've broke the rules
I should've went on a date
Should've found a way to escape
Should've turned a almost into
If it happened now its too late
How could I celebrate a love that wasn't real
And if it didn't happen
why does my heart feel
[Chorus]
You
And you seem to be the perfect one for me
You
You're all that I ever wanted
And you're my everything yes its true
Boy its hard to be close to you
My love
I know it may sound crazy
But I'm in love with you
[Chorus]
I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we use to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take my time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said it's impossible to miss
What you never had
Never almost had you
I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we use to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take the time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said its impossible to miss
What you never had
Never almost had you
It seems that Sundays are the worst days for me. Probably because I should be going to church. But instead I went back to Spring Valley yesterday and creeped myself the hell out.
I grew up in Spring Valley. I met Childhood Bud and his sister (Friday Night Date) in Spring Valley. We grew up together, if you will, in the same apartment 'complex'. So yesterday I went back to the 'complex' as well as drove through familiar streets and parked the car in some choice locations;
1) I went to my old elementary school. I walked around the building and looked into windows. I remembered teachers and events. Mr. Silverberg. Ms. Dubin, who later became Mrs. Factor. Mrs. Rucker. I wanted to go inside so badly. There's still an unuttered sob lodged inside my chest from walking on that ground.
2) I went to my old high school. I was shocked to realize that it is possibly a fifteen minute walk from my elementary school. Back when I lived in Spring Valley, everything seemed miles away from everything else. But I was reminded yesterday that Spring Valley is a small, unkempt little town. My high school is as big as I remember it, but forgotten was the fact that it had two baseball fields and a track behind it. I went up onto the bleachers and called Friday Night Date for remembrance sake. She texted me back that she was working. I don't know how to text in return, so we didn't connect. Good thing we didn't. I think if we did, I'd have bawled like a lunatic. I looked into the highschool windows too. I remembered a school play that Friday Night Date convinced me to join with her, to star opposite her, in the production of Neil Simon's "Plaza Suite". She was Muriel and I was Jesse Kiplinger. The part called for me to kiss her passionately. We were in high school. I wonder what the audience, and more notably, the parents, got out of it.
3) I went to Memorial Park across the brook from our apartments. Again, I actually parked the car and got out. There were HUNDREDS of people there! Apparently the Haitian population had a parade/festival yesterday, and still I left my car and walked in and among them. They all seemed born within only the last 25 years, so there was no danger running into anyone I knew, but I am suprised in hindsight that I had the courage to leave my car and plunge in. I overheard a ghetto-fabulous girl arguing with a playa the difference between "havin' A.D.D. and A.D.H.D." I swear to God. She told homeboy to get his facts straight. I could have fell OUT.
I had Tamia's new album "Between Friends" playing while I drove. She has one song called "Almost" which is a ballad about how crazy it is to miss the love you never had, and to reminisce about kisses you never gave. I played this on steady repeat.
There are so very many points of divergence that I recalled yesterday. What if I had done this, what if I had done that. I stood in spots that I had done 35 years ago. And from head to toe, I feel crammed with regrets and fear and hopelessness. It just seems hard to accept how much time and opportunities I've lost, never to recover.
But there still is the future. From where I am backwards, I am discouraged. But from where I am forward, there still is hope. I can't see it, but I just choose to believe it. I choose to believe it because without hope, I will well and truly lose my mind. Without hope, I might as well drive my car off the George Washington Bridge.
Almost
sung by Tamia
On the album "Between Friends"
(Someone's homemade video of past Tamia vids, put to the song "Almost")
[Verse 1]
Can you tell me
How can one miss what she's never had
How could I reminisce when there is no past
How could I have memories of being happy
with you boy
Could someone tell me how can this be
How could my mind pull up incidents
Recall dates and times that never happened
How could we celebrate a love that's too late
And
how could I really mean the words I'm 'bout to say
[Chorus]
I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we used to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take my time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said it's impossible to miss
What you never had
Never almost had you
I cannot believe I let you go
Or what I should say I should've grabbed you up and never let you go
I should've went out with you
I should've made you my boo boy
Yes that's one time I should've broke the rules
I should've went on a date
Should've found a way to escape
Should've turned a almost into
If it happened now its too late
How could I celebrate a love that wasn't real
And if it didn't happen
why does my heart feel
[Chorus]
You
And you seem to be the perfect one for me
You
You're all that I ever wanted
And you're my everything yes its true
Boy its hard to be close to you
My love
I know it may sound crazy
But I'm in love with you
[Chorus]
I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we use to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take my time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said it's impossible to miss
What you never had
Never almost had you
I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we use to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take the time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said its impossible to miss
What you never had
Never almost had you
Friday, May 18, 2007
Real Men
I'm just feeling really inspired by them at the moment. Scott's post has left me abuzz with male bonding, 35 years ago and two states away from the fact.
He tells of a childhood experience that I've imagined about, not overly so, but enough to know those opportunities are precious and the lessons learned are eternal.
The crux (worth reading for yourself, and remember, I knew him before he was published! Sort of!); a team of young boys are told by an adult male that he is proud of each and every one of them. In my mind and heart, I believe this male imprint on a boys' life is what makes a man.
My cynical eye seems to only notice the opposite. The blustering stud at the gym whose every other word starts with 'f' and rhymes with duckin'. The pencil-thin emo kid in the city wearing black eyeliner. The Jersey City gangbanger marking his territory with bullets and babies' mamas. And yes, we roleplaying savants, rolling our polyhedral dice and pretending for months' worth of hours that we are brave and strong and true. WHERE WERE THE MEN IN THESE BOYS' LIVES?
Scott is bringing me into a new world. His, and those who read him regularly. Fathers and husbands who are articulate and sensitive and attentive. I may never have seen the following, but it needs to be seen. What would a poker table filled with those kind of men be like? What kind of jokes would those kind of men tell? How much better would communities and nations be if those kind of men formed the power communities? Men not ashamed to say they cried. Men who like love songs. Men who love their children and are proud of them, and show affection to them. Men who value their wives. Men who pass on tales to empower, encourage, uplift, express.
Real men.
He tells of a childhood experience that I've imagined about, not overly so, but enough to know those opportunities are precious and the lessons learned are eternal.
The crux (worth reading for yourself, and remember, I knew him before he was published! Sort of!); a team of young boys are told by an adult male that he is proud of each and every one of them. In my mind and heart, I believe this male imprint on a boys' life is what makes a man.
My cynical eye seems to only notice the opposite. The blustering stud at the gym whose every other word starts with 'f' and rhymes with duckin'. The pencil-thin emo kid in the city wearing black eyeliner. The Jersey City gangbanger marking his territory with bullets and babies' mamas. And yes, we roleplaying savants, rolling our polyhedral dice and pretending for months' worth of hours that we are brave and strong and true. WHERE WERE THE MEN IN THESE BOYS' LIVES?
Scott is bringing me into a new world. His, and those who read him regularly. Fathers and husbands who are articulate and sensitive and attentive. I may never have seen the following, but it needs to be seen. What would a poker table filled with those kind of men be like? What kind of jokes would those kind of men tell? How much better would communities and nations be if those kind of men formed the power communities? Men not ashamed to say they cried. Men who like love songs. Men who love their children and are proud of them, and show affection to them. Men who value their wives. Men who pass on tales to empower, encourage, uplift, express.
Real men.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Someday We'll Sit Back And Have Such A LAUGH
(Originally 4/12/07)
Yes, I deleted my beautiful post, called The Moon And New York City. Because while speaking to the subject in question, she asked for the blog address and I scrambled to my blogger controls, stalling her, so I could erase it lest she read it.
It didn't work. The page stalled longer than I did, and I told her the address, fully believing that I'd have the chance to delete before I finished the syllables. I didn't. She read it. I only deleted the way a person would drop the last bottle of Pepsi onto the ground after the other 11 out the the dozen has already shattered. I could have kept it, but the crashing tragedy and loss of possession was already done.
I.
FREAKED.
So now that she knows what I was considering, how will it turn out for our hero?
Well, we spoke not too long ago and it's going to be okay. She just happens to be going through another, different phase than I am right now. We're not as in sync as I thought we might be.
But we're still going to have a good time tomorrow night. I marvel that people are so NOT me. My reactions, thankfully, are not the same as others' reactions. She even said it was a good post. And she was mad at me for deleting it!
So go figure.
So, Childhood Bud, you're off the hook. I narcced on my own self. No Harry. No Sally. No Worries.
Yes, I deleted my beautiful post, called The Moon And New York City. Because while speaking to the subject in question, she asked for the blog address and I scrambled to my blogger controls, stalling her, so I could erase it lest she read it.
It didn't work. The page stalled longer than I did, and I told her the address, fully believing that I'd have the chance to delete before I finished the syllables. I didn't. She read it. I only deleted the way a person would drop the last bottle of Pepsi onto the ground after the other 11 out the the dozen has already shattered. I could have kept it, but the crashing tragedy and loss of possession was already done.
I.
FREAKED.
So now that she knows what I was considering, how will it turn out for our hero?
Well, we spoke not too long ago and it's going to be okay. She just happens to be going through another, different phase than I am right now. We're not as in sync as I thought we might be.
But we're still going to have a good time tomorrow night. I marvel that people are so NOT me. My reactions, thankfully, are not the same as others' reactions. She even said it was a good post. And she was mad at me for deleting it!
So go figure.
So, Childhood Bud, you're off the hook. I narcced on my own self. No Harry. No Sally. No Worries.
Between The Moon And New York City
(Originally 4/11/07)
I have been invited by Childhood Bud's sister, who has also made guest appearances here as the other "Childhood Bud", to a black-tie affair this Friday in midtown Manhattan.
Woooo-HOOOO!
I believe that through my experiences with My Hero that I've become a lot more receptive to taking friends' invitations for social events. I've called my friends out of the blue, become more sociable when I get phone calls, and have bopped out of the house to go meet people just to say "Hi!". Big big plusses for me that make me very happy. Successes that I haven't enjoyed, or even saw the merit of enjoying, for years and years. Even when I lived in NYC, I would stroll up and down avenues by my lonesome and call that a social life.
So as soon as I got the invitation, I leapt at it.
Now, here's the rub. Childbud Bud, hold onto your seat. And do NOT tell your sister to come here and read this. She is infrequent here--needs reminds to come read this every 6 months or so. Which is FINE with me. Especially now.
You know those longterm sitcoms where a male and a female friend will say, "If when we're 40 yrs old we haven't found a husband or a wife, lets marry each other." (Smartass twenty-something TV writers think they'll have their crap together by 40, so they have their perky little twenty-something TV characters say some blase' crap like that as if it were no big thing)
Well, no, me and Childhood Bud II have not had this conversation, but somehow ... somehow it's in my mind. She's one of my heroes, for sure. I cited her as such in my Heroes post many months ago before I met the Superhero. Well, over the years I've been peripheral in her life. I've popped in and out during her life phases. I was there when she announced her pregnancy with her first child (now a twenty-something college graduate), and I was there at said daughter's graduation dinner celebration. Gave the evocation at the dinner, in fact. Surprised myself with my 1) willingness to be there, and 2) ability to pray and address all those fancy upperclass people with a degree of competency. She and I communicated when I had girlfriends and when she had boyfriends. She and I communicated when we were both out of relationships and like Lola and Shoeless Joe in Damn Yankees, commiserated together.
And now we're going to trip the light fantastic at a black tie affair, as we're in our forties, with no one especially available to us. And I've been very vulnerable to romance lately. And there will be dancing. And I think if "Kiss of Life" comes on or "After All", and we're on the dance floor, I might do something irresponsible and impulsive.
And I'm wondering if after all this time, if that's not just okay.
Childhood Bud, I will officially excommunicate you if you direct your sister to this blog. And you know I can do it--that antisocial little troll that I can be is always right under the surface, constantly craving to break the skin.
Because I'm just saying. After all the years and all the girls ... it might just be better for me to settle into what I already know. It just might be what real love actually is.
I. am. just. saying.
I have been invited by Childhood Bud's sister, who has also made guest appearances here as the other "Childhood Bud", to a black-tie affair this Friday in midtown Manhattan.
Woooo-HOOOO!
I believe that through my experiences with My Hero that I've become a lot more receptive to taking friends' invitations for social events. I've called my friends out of the blue, become more sociable when I get phone calls, and have bopped out of the house to go meet people just to say "Hi!". Big big plusses for me that make me very happy. Successes that I haven't enjoyed, or even saw the merit of enjoying, for years and years. Even when I lived in NYC, I would stroll up and down avenues by my lonesome and call that a social life.
So as soon as I got the invitation, I leapt at it.
Now, here's the rub. Childbud Bud, hold onto your seat. And do NOT tell your sister to come here and read this. She is infrequent here--needs reminds to come read this every 6 months or so. Which is FINE with me. Especially now.
You know those longterm sitcoms where a male and a female friend will say, "If when we're 40 yrs old we haven't found a husband or a wife, lets marry each other." (Smartass twenty-something TV writers think they'll have their crap together by 40, so they have their perky little twenty-something TV characters say some blase' crap like that as if it were no big thing)
Well, no, me and Childhood Bud II have not had this conversation, but somehow ... somehow it's in my mind. She's one of my heroes, for sure. I cited her as such in my Heroes post many months ago before I met the Superhero. Well, over the years I've been peripheral in her life. I've popped in and out during her life phases. I was there when she announced her pregnancy with her first child (now a twenty-something college graduate), and I was there at said daughter's graduation dinner celebration. Gave the evocation at the dinner, in fact. Surprised myself with my 1) willingness to be there, and 2) ability to pray and address all those fancy upperclass people with a degree of competency. She and I communicated when I had girlfriends and when she had boyfriends. She and I communicated when we were both out of relationships and like Lola and Shoeless Joe in Damn Yankees, commiserated together.
And now we're going to trip the light fantastic at a black tie affair, as we're in our forties, with no one especially available to us. And I've been very vulnerable to romance lately. And there will be dancing. And I think if "Kiss of Life" comes on or "After All", and we're on the dance floor, I might do something irresponsible and impulsive.
And I'm wondering if after all this time, if that's not just okay.
Childhood Bud, I will officially excommunicate you if you direct your sister to this blog. And you know I can do it--that antisocial little troll that I can be is always right under the surface, constantly craving to break the skin.
Because I'm just saying. After all the years and all the girls ... it might just be better for me to settle into what I already know. It just might be what real love actually is.
I. am. just. saying.
Naked Turtle, Pt. II
(Originally 2/26/07)
The other thing that happens to the person who comes out of his shell is that he becomes vulnerable. More easily hurt.
Defense mechanisms are created for a reason. At the moment, I'm experiencing the reason why mine were created. I'm lonely.
In my shell, I could write novels, play City of Heroes, read comicbooks, live other lives, pretend myself elsewhere. When my brain was engaged, I didn't care what was going on around me. Or what wasn't going on around me. Now I care. Now I miss the company of my friends. I miss not hearing their voices. It hurts to be away from them.
I'm supposed to have an Other. Matt has one. My Friend The Doctor has one. My Childhood Bud has one. They can intersect into my life and enjoy me, but then they turn back to their own lives and enjoy/fight with/get freaky on their Others. They fulfill their emotional imperatives. And I'm left with what? Regrets.
This might have been why I formed a shell and a nice wall of fears to protect myself. When you grow up the only child of a single working parent who didn't show you affection (unless you count anger and sarcasm as affection), you couldn't afford to get "lonely". Not if you were going to grow up with a shred of sanity.
Heh. Joke's on me, as it turned out.
I spoke to Childhood Bud for about an hour tonight. It felt nice. Now I've blogged. Now I'm going to go to sleep. But tomorrow I'll wake up again, and it'll start all over again.
I'd better upgrade my calling plan.
The other thing that happens to the person who comes out of his shell is that he becomes vulnerable. More easily hurt.
Defense mechanisms are created for a reason. At the moment, I'm experiencing the reason why mine were created. I'm lonely.
In my shell, I could write novels, play City of Heroes, read comicbooks, live other lives, pretend myself elsewhere. When my brain was engaged, I didn't care what was going on around me. Or what wasn't going on around me. Now I care. Now I miss the company of my friends. I miss not hearing their voices. It hurts to be away from them.
I'm supposed to have an Other. Matt has one. My Friend The Doctor has one. My Childhood Bud has one. They can intersect into my life and enjoy me, but then they turn back to their own lives and enjoy/fight with/get freaky on their Others. They fulfill their emotional imperatives. And I'm left with what? Regrets.
This might have been why I formed a shell and a nice wall of fears to protect myself. When you grow up the only child of a single working parent who didn't show you affection (unless you count anger and sarcasm as affection), you couldn't afford to get "lonely". Not if you were going to grow up with a shred of sanity.
Heh. Joke's on me, as it turned out.
I spoke to Childhood Bud for about an hour tonight. It felt nice. Now I've blogged. Now I'm going to go to sleep. But tomorrow I'll wake up again, and it'll start all over again.
I'd better upgrade my calling plan.
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