Really

I just saw a commercial for the Westminster Dog Show featuring Lady GaGa's "Paparazzi." I mean, really? I know when I think of old, rich people with dogs, I immediately think of Lady Gaga. I mean, what are you doing Westminster? Trying to enplore the 14-22, female demographic to watch the dog show? Let me know how that works out.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Introduction

In prior attempts at making this blog come to fruition, I had been limited by factors – most, if not all, self-imposed - that led to dead ends. In earlier failed attempts, I’ve limited my posts to musings. When that proved unsuccessful, I limited my postings to more “worthy” attempts at writing. Often, I was plagued by the belief that “lesser” musings and writings should not be posted or, at least, be subjected to numerous scrubbings before posting.

As such, I have the two preceding posts to show for it. While enjoyable and, dare I say, borderline well-written, it is obvious that the experiences of the last four years have certainly yielded more to be written about than those below. And, in almost brutal honesty, my failure is most appropriately attributed to my inability to write on a more consistent basis.

Therefore, as I welcome you to this blog (perhaps for a second or third time), I would like to take the following opportunity to layout some ground rules (self-imposed) that you may expect.

1. I will post about everything – politics, sports, technology, physics, being a fiancé, general observations, etc. While at first glance you may mistake this for a blog without purpose, I prefer to think of it as a response to one of my earlier failures. I choose not to limit my writing. I’ll fling some mud around and see what sticks.

2. I will rewrite as I go, but will limit myself to one minor proof before posting. As such, there will be mistakes, awkward sentence structures, etc. I implore you to deal with it. If you want to read something more polished, see www.nytimes.com, or write your own blog. I’m not perfect. I’m guessing you aren’t as well. Therefore, read what you find interesting and deal with the occasional shit.

3. I will post often. However, being a busy individual, on occasion posts, I suspect, will appear unfinished. If this is bothersome to you, feel free to finish them using the "comments" button below the post.

If you find this tolerable, welcome! And, hopefully, enjoy!

The sun will rise tomorrow...

I’ve been thinking a lot about life lately – particularly my life. Pretty selfish, huh? Though, I would imagine most think about their life more than the lives of others, so my fault is shared. It’s interesting how we find comfort in the reminding of the humanity of others.

Back to life. Lately, I’ve been pondering such. Perhaps because its been some time since I’ve been home. Maybe because I’m unsure where is home. More probable, I miss my family, my parents and sister, in particular. But, as I continue to grow older – as if there's another way to grow – I have been reminded lately that death is a part of life. Fortunately, my sister, mother, father, and loved ones are well. For Missy, life is a little less fortunate.

About three weeks ago, Missy discovered that her father had cancer. The news was less surprising than it should have been. One of my closer friends lost his mother this summer, and another struggles with her mother’s terminal cancer. So, when Missy told me that her father had no more than a few months to live, my feeling of pity for her was outweighed by my fear that one day I would be Missy.

But, when Missy came to my apartment today and explained that it was expected that her father would not make it to the end of the week, I wished one day, I could be her.

I once used Missy as an example in a presentation. I talked about her infectious personality and how attitudes impacted those around us. If you acted bored, cynical, or disengaged, those around you would mirror your attitude and behaviors. Whereas, if you act with kindness, compassion, and energy, those around would mirror the portrayed qualities. It was a perfect example if you’ve ever met Missy Miller.

Missy never stops smiling. She embracers her Luna Lovegood quarks and nerdy qualities so fully that you can’t help but awe. Whether she’s talking about Transformers, her latest indy pop song of the week, or how she used to play tennis in Chucks, you soon find yourself smiling away whatever world-hating mood into that you had fallen.

When Missy stood at my door tonight, you could see behind her eyes that a part of her wanted to ball. A part of her was furious, and that a small part of her probably felt like dying. But as she told me her father was dying, she smiled that infectious smile and fuck me if I didn’t start smiling too. Can you believe that? I had to catch myself – who smiles at such a thing.

And, I realized, Missy does.

I don’t know what courage drives her, what allows her to say such a thing akin to the way one comments about the weather. Not only that, but to smile. Smile, with the understanding that things will be okay, that the sun will rise tomorrow.

And, in that moment I admired her. It sounds almost blasphemous – to admire someone who’s about to experience the most painful feeling she’s ever felt. But, heaven forbid should I one day understand, I want to be like Missy.

My First Day

In preparation for a move to Muncie, and after quite a few weeks of procrastination, I did some spring cleaning through a few old, dust-ridden boxes hidden deep away in the basement of my old house. While most were filled with toys, baseball cards, and other typical childhood keepsakes - which had now accumulated that all too familiar cardboard box smell - I found a bit of myself again.

Sure, the grade reports, action figures, and video games evoked a sense of nostalgia, but it was the bottom box among the mountain, with frayed ends, torn flaps, and a rip so prevalent at the bottom that I had to lift it from underneath to keep its contents from giving way, that caught my attention.

For the first five minutes I was taken back. I began to separate the photographs. Old, black and white photos in this pile, family from Pittsburgh in that pile, childhood school pictures in a third. Then I found a picture of my mother. I knew it had to be mother based on the condition of the photo (washed, old paper, and a fashion long lost to the 70s), however the face was my sister's. Most times, one can look back through old family photos and discern which relative they receive their eyes or hair. I looked and saw just my sister. While the resemblance between my mother and sister wasn't so profound, from that point, I looked at the photographs with a different perspective.

Most prominent physicists date the age of the universe at 12 billion years - give or take two or three. And, whatever theory you subscribe to nowadays, one thing is fairly agreed upon - it’s expanding (in fact, at a steady, accelerated rate). Needless to say, the 30 or so year-old photos put a dent in the universe roughly equal to what an electron puts in a building. But goodness, to me those photos seemed ancient. It was like looking at a family that wasn't mine. A history that had little to do with me, and a part of my mother that realized of that I knew little. Through the course of the hour, I realized that, with all the excitement in my life lately, I had forgotten to slow down and reflect.

Life has a funny way of slowing you down. I subscribe to the following theory - each day should feel like your first day of school, even if some days you're tardy.