Day 209: The Olympics

It's funny. At no other time would I watch a swimming event than the Olympics. At no other time would I watch diving or gymnastics or any number of other of sports than the Olympics. But not only that. At no other time would I watch any other sport with as much intensity and joy. There's something about watching a legitimate race with everything hanging in the balance that's beyond intriguing and fascinating. There's something about watching an event where there's so much pomp and circumstance that's captivating.

There's also an aspect about the Olympics that takes me back to my childhood and sitting in front of that tv in the living room and seeing what the world and athletes looked like on a huge scale made me feel large and small at the same time. The world was so much smaller then. So much more mysterious and full of promise. Perhaps more than anything the Olympics makes me feel a part of something bigger, knowing do many the world over are watching what I am.

Day 208: Lucinda Williams, You Complete Me

I don't want you anymore

cause you took my joy

i don't want you anymore

you took my joy

you took my joy

i want it back

you took my joy

i want it back 

- Lucinda Williams 

When I need a bit of a pick me up or kick in the ass, I listen to this song. Besides being impossibly funky (a nearly remarkable accomplishment considering it's only one chord), this song in an in-your-face declaration that I'm going to get what's mine, and if you don't like it, kiss my arse kindly, sir. Everyone should have such an anthem. Everyone should be able to decree such intent and purpose.

Me and Lucinda go way back. Longer than she knows. I meet Lucinda through Roseanne (Cash) and Shawn (Colvin). She also used to hang around Mary (Chapin Carpenter). I feel hard for Lucinda the first time I heard her belt out her songs. She wasn't famous yet. She was just starting out. Her voice wasn't even the best my ears had fell prey to, but god, she had a way with words, and if I'm a sucker for anything, it's a woman who knows her way around words. Lucinda had me wrapped around her finger from our first encounter.

I introduced Lucinda to everyone I knew, including my family. My kids fell for her about as hard as I did. Today, there's not a soul in my brood that hasn't been affected by Lucinda. Three of my kids have her music in their digital libraries, and the fourth would if she was old enough to know what a digital library is. I've danced with my wife while Lucinda played just a few feet away on one stage or another picking and singing. I've listened to Lucinda when I was happy and sad, angry and elated, dejected and rejected, grounded and high. But it's when I feel like I'm losing ground or losing my grip or slipping away that I find Lucinda most endearing. Those are the times when she speaks to me with the most feeling. Those are the times when Lucinda is able to ground me. Smell the dirt. See the sky. Feel the breeze. Sense my surroundings. Put my feet on the ground.

I have had love affairs with a lot of women--singers, that is. Rickie Lee (Jones), Ella (Fitzgerald), Nina (Simone), Bjork, Lena (Horne). None, though, make me swoon like Lucinda. Maybe it's because I can see Lucinda and I having a drink, having a conversation, taking a walk, drawing comparisons. Maybe it's because Lucinda is beyond vulnerable, and I dig people who are vulnerable. Maybe it's because she's honest and true. Maybe it's because she has been around the block, and I dig experience. Whatever it is, I'm in deep for Lucinda. I also owe her mightily. She's kept me company on many a night when I needed it..

Day 207: Beers & Cigarettes

A few weeks ago I traveled back to the town where I attended college. My daughter had a basketball tournament there, and I was excited to see the old sights again. It had been a long time. A long time. So much so that the entire experience seemed like an extended dream as I was living it. At every turn, I could vaguely remember the streets and houses and bars and buildings and sidewalks and more that I was traversing down and that had been part of my life for four and a half years, but still, everything was completely hazy and unfamiliar at the same time. 

Sure, driving past the Amigos that was still in the same spot as 20 or plus years ago conjured up the memory of Danny being banned from that fine establishment because of some drunken escapades, but I couldn't really remember any other events of that night. It seemed as if I couldn't remember many events from any other nights either. I couldn't remember the names of the bars I had spent so many hours in. I couldn't remember the names of the streets I had walked down. I couldn't remember the names of but more than a few professors that I had spent hour after hour learning from. I couldn't recall many of the names of the kids who lived in the same dorm as I did. The experience was a disconcerting one to say the least, and I felt badly because of it. 

But later on, as things soaked in and I was walking along some campus walkways, some things started to come back. I started to be able to picture myself all those years ago in some of the buildings. I could remember every so faintly how they looked and felt. I started to recognize some of the sights off campus, as well. Even the ones that weren't present any longer seemed to come back. The more I walked, the more I remembered. 

Like the night my roommate Doug said he was going to 7-11, said he would be right back, but didn't return until the next day for reasons he was eager to discuss or clear up. Or the mud volleyballs games we played in that pit west of campus. Or those long, long walks I made in the winter to west campus to that dreaded economics class I struggled so mightily in. I started to remember all the bad food I ate and stole from the PFM and all the Frisbee golf we played and all the meeting and sporting events I sat through so I could write about them in the student newspaper. 

More than anything, though, I started to remember the conversations I had deep into the night with friends, who like me, were just starting to find their way through life on their own. I started to remember those nights Connie, Doug, Steph, and I sat around that kitchen table smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking Buds. I started remembering those late nights my roommate Ray and I talked about any and everything after the parties we had and everyone else had left. Talking about anything was a talent that Ray was a master of and of which I miss greatly. I started t remember those many nights sitting alone in the library trying to study and the night Doug somehow got himself locked in and decided to use the time exploring. I started to remember the many mornings when I was walking out the door to head to class as Daryl was walking in the door after spending all night out. I started to remember the countless poker games. The countless drinking games. The countless pool and ping pong games. I started to remember the long, long walks we made to parties at some house located miles away in the dead of winter and never seemingly feeling cold. I remembered all those parties Ray, Carter, Jeff, and I had while living in that farmhouse and how much fun that year was. I remembered the semester I hosted a talk show for the campus TV station, the horrible sweaters I chose to wear, and how horrible I was in front of a camera. I started to remember how Suzanne could make me laugh until my sides hurt and how much I appreciated that. 

I used to really believe for years that I didn't enjoy my college years all that much. I guess it just took putting some distance between then and now to realize I was wrong. I grew up a lot during those years. I opened a lot of doors and got to know a lot of people. Some of those people still influence me in one way or another today. Some of those times still resonate within me. In many ways college seemed like a constant struggle that was made up of work, work, work, and more work. I realize now that wasn't really the case. I so fondly appreciate those many night sitting and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I miss those nights sitting across from a good friend in a bar booth, sharing a pack and scraping together enough change for another round. I miss those hours built on beer, cigs, and no discernible responsibilities. Beer and cigarettes will never appeal to me again the way they did then. 

Day 206: Bubble Gum, Bubble Gum, In A Dish

The other day, my older daughter was teaching my younger daughter this gem. Man, it was amazing how quickly those few words, "Bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish," could conjure up such strong memories. Almost magically, I was transported back to my grade school playground choosing kick soccer teams. I was transported to the front yard of my neighbor's house picking up sides to play "war." I was right back to being eight or nine years old and sitting in a circle with my friends, all with our right foot in the middle, waiting to see who got the last piece of candy. 

Man, if only it were so easy to select this or that today using the same means. Hell, some days I'd even settle for grabbing a baseball bat and choosing an outcome by stacking one hand on top of another. There's no broad announcement that comes when the days of "Eenie, meenie, minnie, moe" are winding down to an end, but one day that's what happens. Poof! They're seemingly gone. But they're not really. They live in, in our kids, in our hearts, in our memories. Watching my little kid bumble her way through attempt after attempt of "bubble gum, bubble gum" gave me about as warm feeling as about as much hope and encouragement for her future as anything in recent memories. Watching my older daughter pass that down to her, as inconsequential as it might seem to some, was tremendous. 

Day 205: Too Many Fences

I mean that literally. There are too many fences in the world today, including my own. Despite keeping my dogs safely tucked away in my backyard, I've grown to very much dislike the concept of the fence. A fence separates. It blocks views. It divides and conquers. I look out the back windows and deck door of my house and all I see are fences. Brown ones. White ones. Chain-link ones. All there to keep something in and keep something out. 

Years ago, it wasn't that way. I could look out from my elevated deck and see across the neighborhood without a maze laying out before me created from intertwining and connected panels of wood and plastic. I could see the neighborhood boys playing baseball in the yards flowing one into the other, without any barriers separating them. I could see all the way down the block with no obstructions. But no more. There is no straight view. There is no vision that's unobstructed. 

When did we become a nation so concerned with secluding ourselves from each other? I don't know, but it definitely clears up a lot of the questions floating about concerning trust and privacy and so on. I'm all for privacy. I'm all for the protection a fence provides. But damn if all these fences don't create what has essentially amounted to a bunch of islands onto ourselves. Are our backyards really so valuable and prestine  that we need to keep everyone else out. What are we all doing behind these wooden walls that we can't let our neighbors peak in? It makes me wonder if we just assume the worst about those living among us and make them prove their worth over time. It makes me wonder if society has disintegrated to such an extent, we'll ever trust one another implicitly again. 

I guess America has always somewhat been about creating borders and barriers. We carved the land into territories and later states. We keep cattle in vs. roaming freely. We devised reservations for those we didn't want to look at any longer to reside on. We've sprung up gated communities and private properties and secluded edifices at about every turn. I suppose the proliferation of fences was only natural. Over years and years, we created the mindset that "what's mine is mine." We separate the rich from the poor. The have from the have-nots. We built fences out of stone, steel, concrete, and brick. We supplied them with electricity. We put guards at their entrances. 

Some days, I wish I had never put a fence up. It's ugly, and it's limiting. It's confining. I find it funny that we've gone to great lengths to build house after house in such close proximity, only to stick fences up in between them. Welcome to the neighborhood. 

Day 204: Why, Coward, Why?

Why does it seem when one group of people has a problem with another group, the first group never addresses their problem in a man-to-man, woman-to-woman, or face-to-face fashion? There always seems some kind of four-on-one beatdown involved. It always seems so-and-so was jumped from behind. It always seems innocent bystander never saw it coming. There always seems like some kind of weapon involved. There always seems some kind of cowardly instance of violence taking place by some kind of coward who hides his face, waits until night to carry out the deed, or just doesn’t take a step without the odds being heavily in his favor.

If you need an example of the kind of chickensh*t courage I’m talking about, just read this touching account from the Lincoln Journal-Star of a situation that happened a few days ago in my city. It’s a heartwarming telling a heartwarming hate crime in which three upstanding males bumrushed a woman’s home and proceeded to do all kinds of neighborly things to her, including carve “homophobic slurs into her skin” and attempting to “light her house on fire.” Beautiful. Outstanding. Yet another example of the human race fulfilling its massive potential and demonstrating its prowess at being the most intelligent creature on earth.

Seriously, sometimes I’m embarrassed to be human. Sometimes, I’m embarrassed to be a man. Sometimes, I’d embarrassed that these kind of stories don’t surprise me, even when they occur right in my backyard. Nothing really surprises me anymore. Nothing. And that’s not a fact I like to readily admit. It’s not a reality I really want to embrace but have been forced to. I’m embarrassed to have to prepare my children to fend for themselves one day in such a world.

I have no idea what motivates a man to even think thoughts such as the ones involved in this case, let alone actually carry them out. I have no idea how it is that more than one man can gather around in a room and actually have a conversation with another man about doing such things to someone else. When did it ever become acceptable to utter, “Hey Larry, you know what would be riot to do tonight?” “No, Ted, what?” “Whatcha say you and me get us a can of gasoline, sharpen up our pocket knives, and scare the sh*t out of that lezbo across the street?” “Hee, hee. I’m with you, Ted. You know what would be even better. We should wear masks so no one will know who we are. We can’t have people actually holding us responsible for our actions, can we?” “Oh, hell no, Larry. Can’t have people look us in the eye and see the piece of sh*t they’re dealing with directly.”

OK, so there are at least three dimwits running freely around in my city. Know what’s even scarier? They aren’t alone. There more than likely is a good chunk of people who deep down are congratulating them, others who aren’t bothered in the least by what they did, and others still who might be repulsed but would never publicly say as much. Kudos to those who don’t belong to any of these groups.

I’d like to believe and trust that there’s a hell waiting for such people who run in packs because they lack the honor and integrity to face their miserable existences alone. I’m not convinced, though. What I am sure of is that these vacant souls have never tasted anything in the way of true self-respect, self-pride, self-accomplishment. Small consolation, but sadly, it’s about all I can come up today. For me, I’ll continue to teach my children the exact opposite. I’ll teach them to act alone and come to the aid of others, to not attack, and certainly not to stand tall only when you’re in the company of likeminded others, especially when the others of fricking idiots.

Day 203: Being Sick

The past week, both of my daughter's were sick. So guess who is feeling the oncoming of being sick now? That's right, your's truly. So, what are you going to do. Fight it off the best I can, suck it up, and hope it goes by quickly. What sucks is being sick when you know there's a whole truckload of work ahead. That makes the outlook a little less bright, but again, what are you going to do? So, with that, I'll retire for the day and get myself primed for Monday.