Well, as usual, I've fallen back into sloppy behavior and have been remiss in keeping up with my journal. I'll try and do better but it soon becomes a case of is what I'm going to write interesting and/or cathartic enough for me to make the effort and for people to want to read? I guess I'll focus on cathartic for the time being and let "interesting" take care of itself. A fair amount has happened since I last put metaphorical pen to paper:
My friends, Carolyn and Steve, got married this past weekend. October 24th to be precise. They were kind enough to invite me to a very intimate reception with some of their closest friends. I was a bit shy at first since I only knew Allison, but once we got on the topic of books I relaxed and opened up. To tell the truth I wish now that I hadn't been quite as chatty as I was; I feel like I drew attention away from the newlyweds. Carolyn was gracious enough to say that it was just fine with her, and Steve is the very definition of quiet anyway.
Carolyn was, I think, still reeling from all that happened to her within the last two weeks: she lost her father and had to finalize her wedding plans all the same. I can only imagine how traumatic it must have been for her. She's amazingly resilient though and will be fine in time, I know. I say all that not to idly toss around Carolyn's personal business but to try and explain why I think she was glad to let me be the center of attention for awhile. It was good to see Alison again and meet the hosts of the reception too. Delightful time all the way around.
Fall is definitely here. It's cold and the leaves have gone from crackling as they shift and die in windblown Brownian motions to being sodden multi-hued masses on the curbs and driveways. It does make the fireplace that Julie and Scott had installed last year that much nicer though. Its lovely to come in from taking Titan outside to, as my sister puts it, "check his peemail," and have the fire to warm both of us up. Titan is getting a lot of mileage out his "bed" in front of the fireplace as well.
Halloween is fast upon us and Thanksgiving Day will be here before you know it. The end of the year seems to happen sooner and sooner as I grow older. Of course, the department stores are no help. They have their Holiday items out earlier and earlier every year. This year, our local Fred Meyer had theirs out in late September. Good Lord! What does that say to consumers? School's back in session ... for God's sake, do your Christmas shopping NOW before EVERY THING'S gone?!!
Last Sunday, we were invited to a celebration to honor Yussef, the newborn son of our friends Mo and Mariam. It was lovely to be invited, see all our friends, and take part in the feast and fun but I saw the pictures from that Sunday yesterday and I cannot BELIEVE how amazingly FAT I've become since the operation!! I had lost 25 pounds!!! Now I'm terrified to weigh myself for fear of what it'll do to my blood pressure. And the scales.
I had great plans to go to the gym today and start the long, hard, crawl back to some loose form of fitness, but I felt under the weather today. Maybe tomorrow. I have simply GOT to get back to the discipline. Even starting out at 10-15 minutes on the stationary bike will be a nice start. I don't want to over do it and spend MORE down time letting this mystery pain in my abdomen keep me from exercising.
Julie and Scott's trip to India draws ever nearer and I'll be alone on Thanksgiving again. I have mixed feelings about that: It'd be nice to have them there with me, but having been alone for two Christmases before this pales by comparison to no big deal. Maybe I'll buy a small turkey breast and make myself a nice lunch and not worry about the weight for one day. I'll see how it goes.
Finally have an idea for my pulp story. I'm going to try and write it as a serial. Who knows, there might be a magazine interested in it. One step at a time though; have to actually get a coherent picture from all my years of notes and create a story from the endlessly retooled opening that I have. I'm going to follow ("Doc Savage" creator) Lester Dent's formula for writing a pulp story and see if those are the parameters that will give me the guidance to see this through.
Okay, that's enough for tonight. If I'm not careful I'll get maudlin about my love life. Time to finish the latest Spenser novel and fall asleep...
Monday, October 26, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Faith or Dodging Responsibility?
As I've gotten older I've come to realize that I'm taking more and more comfort from either "Faith" or "Fate." I'm not sure how to classify it.
Take relationships. It's so easy now to say, "If it's meant to be it'll happen." To stop stressing and leave it to chance, fate, or God. To say, if the woman doesn't turn out to be all I thought she was that it's in my favor and "wasn't meant to be." That I dodged a bullet. And I've dodged a lot of "bullets" in my time.
But is this relying on faith or simply avoiding facing an ugly truth that the common denominator is me? I mean, at what point does one draw the line between letting nature take it's course and using that as an excuse to avoid putting all their emotional eggs into one precarious basket?
I realize that "hindsight is always 20/20," and that's certainly true. I believe that, just because we don't see an explanation for why something went pear-shaped on us right away or soon after it doesn't mean that there's not one. It may be much later that we can look back and say, "ah, I see now. That had to happen so that this could happen." (Admittedly, it may never take the sting out of an unhappy memory. I've had several broken bones and cuts in my life and nothing has ever hurt me like watching your fiance pull off her engagement ring, handing it to you, and saying "I don't want to marry you.")
Fifteen years ago, my friend, Bill Barnett, once said a very insightful thing to me when we were at work (WBHL) discussing relationships: "I'll be alone before I marry stupid." To me that was brilliant and I've tried to remember that as I get older. Not to settle out of fear of growing old and, ultimately, dying alone. I've got a few friends whom I'm convinced have done this and as they get older I see the telltale cracks in the facade. Is it worth it? To have someone to come home to and give/receive affection even if you're not "happy" in the truest sense of the word? Is it worth it? I have to believe that it's not; that its lying to someone just for the sake of not being alone.
Of course, on the other hand, does this mean that I've set my sights impossibly high simply to avoid being hurt again? To convince myself that just because a relationship doesn't work out that I'm better off? Is that fair? I've been told countless times that its better to risk being hurt for the possibility of a great and consuming love. I don't mean to whine, but I'm having a tough time accepting this at 43 years of age. Does emotional safety justify being alone? It reminds me of a line from RUSH'S "Limelight" (Moving Pictures) "One must put up barriers to keep oneself intact."
But is that being "fair" and open? Or is it little more than daring someone to have feelings for you? To have them jump through hoops before you decide to trust them? At my age, I have to honestly wonder if, due to being hurt so many times before, I'd ever trust a woman again. THAT'S not the healthiest way to enter into a relationship, is it?
Okay, I can see I'm belaboring the point: is it leaving relationships to faith or avoiding the work needed to make one succeed?
When someone figures it out, please let me know, huh?
Take relationships. It's so easy now to say, "If it's meant to be it'll happen." To stop stressing and leave it to chance, fate, or God. To say, if the woman doesn't turn out to be all I thought she was that it's in my favor and "wasn't meant to be." That I dodged a bullet. And I've dodged a lot of "bullets" in my time.
But is this relying on faith or simply avoiding facing an ugly truth that the common denominator is me? I mean, at what point does one draw the line between letting nature take it's course and using that as an excuse to avoid putting all their emotional eggs into one precarious basket?
I realize that "hindsight is always 20/20," and that's certainly true. I believe that, just because we don't see an explanation for why something went pear-shaped on us right away or soon after it doesn't mean that there's not one. It may be much later that we can look back and say, "ah, I see now. That had to happen so that this could happen." (Admittedly, it may never take the sting out of an unhappy memory. I've had several broken bones and cuts in my life and nothing has ever hurt me like watching your fiance pull off her engagement ring, handing it to you, and saying "I don't want to marry you.")
Fifteen years ago, my friend, Bill Barnett, once said a very insightful thing to me when we were at work (WBHL) discussing relationships: "I'll be alone before I marry stupid." To me that was brilliant and I've tried to remember that as I get older. Not to settle out of fear of growing old and, ultimately, dying alone. I've got a few friends whom I'm convinced have done this and as they get older I see the telltale cracks in the facade. Is it worth it? To have someone to come home to and give/receive affection even if you're not "happy" in the truest sense of the word? Is it worth it? I have to believe that it's not; that its lying to someone just for the sake of not being alone.
Of course, on the other hand, does this mean that I've set my sights impossibly high simply to avoid being hurt again? To convince myself that just because a relationship doesn't work out that I'm better off? Is that fair? I've been told countless times that its better to risk being hurt for the possibility of a great and consuming love. I don't mean to whine, but I'm having a tough time accepting this at 43 years of age. Does emotional safety justify being alone? It reminds me of a line from RUSH'S "Limelight" (Moving Pictures) "One must put up barriers to keep oneself intact."
But is that being "fair" and open? Or is it little more than daring someone to have feelings for you? To have them jump through hoops before you decide to trust them? At my age, I have to honestly wonder if, due to being hurt so many times before, I'd ever trust a woman again. THAT'S not the healthiest way to enter into a relationship, is it?
Okay, I can see I'm belaboring the point: is it leaving relationships to faith or avoiding the work needed to make one succeed?
When someone figures it out, please let me know, huh?
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Another From the Vaults... (04/16/99)
(The following takes places when I was living with my old friend, Bill Barnett, who was kind enough to not only let me move into his one-bedroom apartment with him when I had no where else to go, but also taught me to be a copywriter and got me a job at WOWL/WHDF-TV. This particular anecdote is about going to a strip club with "the guys" and what an eye-opener it turned out to be for me.)
April 16th
Slept late. Odd dreams again. Got the called from [WOWL-TV Production Manager] David Yancey at noon today. I'm FINALLY HIRED!! That's right, after two weeks of frustration, I start this coming Monday. Admittedly, it's only part time to start, and It'll be minimum wage ... but it's a place to start. My foot will be in the proverbial door at last.
As I'm so fond of saying: one step at a time.
(5:00 that afternoon)
Bill called to ask if I wanted to have dinner with him and Keith Davis [a salesman at the station.] As I understand it, the plan is to have steak and then go to a strip club in Huntsville. (Maybe 'Visions'?) I'll hold off closing today's entry until I get back from this little outing...
(11:00 that night)
Well, all-in-all, I had a very nice evening. Bill, Keith Davis, Luther [station cameraman], and I wound up going to 'Visions' in Huntsville, where I blew about 9 of the $15 I walked in with. I'm very proud to say that *I* spent NO money on women, only on the cover charge and a drink. Bill and Keith played Daddy Warbucks with the 'dancers' while Luther and I (much amused) looked on, greatly amused.
Sad to say, but I liken the whole event to getting drunk: do it once to see what it's like, then do it again later to make sure you didn't miss anything. Then you make a decision as to whether you'll ever do it again. I have. I won't be going back to any more strip clubs.
Simply put: to me, it was vulgar. I mean, I understood what the place was going in and I enjoy the naked female form as much or more than most guys. But there was no love nor warmth in that place. Only ... greed. And smoke. (Did I mention the smoke? LOTS of smoke!) Call me naive if you must, but why would a sensible man go to a place where he was neither welcome nor appreciated for his company? Oh sure, they were glad to see you, as long as you had money to burn. What kind of environment is that? Why throw your hard-earned money at something you can't have? What do you gain?
These women were, for the most part, attractive and sexy but their eyes haunt me. I know a great many women love to be 'exotic dancers' and not only find it empowering and heady, but make quite a nice living off it. (I know for a fact that some of the dancers at Atlanta's 'Cheetah 3' drive Porsche's and other high-end cars.) But the eyes of these women were dead. No mirth, no enjoyment, no ... LIFE was echoed in their eyes. When they were on stage their little eyes shone like cocaine on an ebony table and that's how they make their money. But, once they come offstage their eyes were flat and listless again. It was almost like a self-preservation technique. And, I guess for a lot of them it is. I would suppose that way they don't have to open up to what they don't want to see.
I don't mean to sound all melodramatic, but I felt ... dirty when I left that place, and it wasn't just from the smoke. I wanted to get home and take a bath, to somehow make amends for being a witness to all that debauchery. Strangest of all, I felt an overwhelming desire to apologize to someone. (NO, not my Mom and Dad.) But to women in general. Bizarre, I know, but the desire for atonement was amazingly strong.
I did enjoy the company of Bill and my co-workers, let me hasten to add THAT. They were a lot of fun and made my night enjoyable: Bill, sitting ringside and all but folding dollar bills into origami shapes for the dancers, Luther, sitting at our table with his arms folded as if daring the place to impress him, scowling and occasionally muttering his catchphrase, 'Shit. Sucks.' (He did smile one time after I bought him a beer.) Then there was Keith. Sweaty Keith, with his comb-over and his clip on tie draped sadly partway across his bulging stomach. Keith seemed to know most of the women (servers too!) by name. Sad really how much Keith enjoyed himself.
Okay, lest I pontificate overly much, I'll close here for tonight.
April 16th
Slept late. Odd dreams again. Got the called from [WOWL-TV Production Manager] David Yancey at noon today. I'm FINALLY HIRED!! That's right, after two weeks of frustration, I start this coming Monday. Admittedly, it's only part time to start, and It'll be minimum wage ... but it's a place to start. My foot will be in the proverbial door at last.
As I'm so fond of saying: one step at a time.
(5:00 that afternoon)
Bill called to ask if I wanted to have dinner with him and Keith Davis [a salesman at the station.] As I understand it, the plan is to have steak and then go to a strip club in Huntsville. (Maybe 'Visions'?) I'll hold off closing today's entry until I get back from this little outing...
(11:00 that night)
Well, all-in-all, I had a very nice evening. Bill, Keith Davis, Luther [station cameraman], and I wound up going to 'Visions' in Huntsville, where I blew about 9 of the $15 I walked in with. I'm very proud to say that *I* spent NO money on women, only on the cover charge and a drink. Bill and Keith played Daddy Warbucks with the 'dancers' while Luther and I (much amused) looked on, greatly amused.
Sad to say, but I liken the whole event to getting drunk: do it once to see what it's like, then do it again later to make sure you didn't miss anything. Then you make a decision as to whether you'll ever do it again. I have. I won't be going back to any more strip clubs.
Simply put: to me, it was vulgar. I mean, I understood what the place was going in and I enjoy the naked female form as much or more than most guys. But there was no love nor warmth in that place. Only ... greed. And smoke. (Did I mention the smoke? LOTS of smoke!) Call me naive if you must, but why would a sensible man go to a place where he was neither welcome nor appreciated for his company? Oh sure, they were glad to see you, as long as you had money to burn. What kind of environment is that? Why throw your hard-earned money at something you can't have? What do you gain?
These women were, for the most part, attractive and sexy but their eyes haunt me. I know a great many women love to be 'exotic dancers' and not only find it empowering and heady, but make quite a nice living off it. (I know for a fact that some of the dancers at Atlanta's 'Cheetah 3' drive Porsche's and other high-end cars.) But the eyes of these women were dead. No mirth, no enjoyment, no ... LIFE was echoed in their eyes. When they were on stage their little eyes shone like cocaine on an ebony table and that's how they make their money. But, once they come offstage their eyes were flat and listless again. It was almost like a self-preservation technique. And, I guess for a lot of them it is. I would suppose that way they don't have to open up to what they don't want to see.
I don't mean to sound all melodramatic, but I felt ... dirty when I left that place, and it wasn't just from the smoke. I wanted to get home and take a bath, to somehow make amends for being a witness to all that debauchery. Strangest of all, I felt an overwhelming desire to apologize to someone. (NO, not my Mom and Dad.) But to women in general. Bizarre, I know, but the desire for atonement was amazingly strong.
I did enjoy the company of Bill and my co-workers, let me hasten to add THAT. They were a lot of fun and made my night enjoyable: Bill, sitting ringside and all but folding dollar bills into origami shapes for the dancers, Luther, sitting at our table with his arms folded as if daring the place to impress him, scowling and occasionally muttering his catchphrase, 'Shit. Sucks.' (He did smile one time after I bought him a beer.) Then there was Keith. Sweaty Keith, with his comb-over and his clip on tie draped sadly partway across his bulging stomach. Keith seemed to know most of the women (servers too!) by name. Sad really how much Keith enjoyed himself.
Okay, lest I pontificate overly much, I'll close here for tonight.
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