Life Serial

100 Things Worth Doing, III

More reasons why life is so good, numbers 51-75:

51. Watching movies with Ryan from the old projector room at Harbor Theater
52. The smell of my mom's lotion that stays after she hugs me
53. Scrabble with Grandma
54. Sticky long walks and dusk on the lake in Chicago
55. Field Day in elementary school
56. Dan and Lane
57. Beers on the cobblestone street in Athens, the dark that carried the music from the band
58. Airplane window seats
59. Smiling at strangers and seeing them smile back
60. My brother and I racing our bikes home after seeing Jurassic Park
61. Sitting in the balcony with Cameron while Sia sings "Distractions" at the Troubadour
62. Bar noise wafting into my tiny studio apartment late at night
63. Dinner at Vivoli—Cameron, Mom, Dad
64. My first (legal) beer on my 21st birthday
65. Realizing that I was supporting myself with my writing
66. Weekend coffee
67. Dumping out stockings on Christmas morning
68. When the el leaves the tunnel and flies above ground
69. Japanese enyzme bath in a scorching tub of fermenting mulch and plants in a small town near Napa Valley
70. Afternoon cocktails
71. Copying my dad at the dinner table: he drinks, I drink; he eats; I eat
72. Low socks and pants that rise above my ankle when I sit
73. Foot rubs that last an hour
74. Surprising my mom on the 6th hole at the golf course on Mother's Day weekend
75. Ordering pizza and watching the rain

Moose

Sometimes I feel like I can feel myself a long time from now, nostalgic about these current moments and happy about how life has turned out to be even better.

Slow Runner

It's the name of a band I've fallen for recently.  I think it can also describe people: Slow runners.  We don't change in an instant.  Sure, there are events that serve as the final straw, the brightest crack of lightning, but I think those are preceded by what leisurely unravels.  Real life happens at a crawl.  The runners, even in slow motion, they become increasingly difficult to track.  Which way are their shapes going?  They blur, like streetlights resemble pineapples when I squint my eyes and look afar at night.  We're all running.

I was a runaway.  A blind thrasher.  Out of college, was like falling out of an egg, like being shot out of a cannon and landing upside down.  Shock.  I never imagined it would be like that.  I think because I never imagined it could be like this.  We are not prepared.  We are not told the temperature will drop, that we should bring sweaters on a hike in the mountains—even in the summer.  You learn by doing; for all the telling, doing makes it real.  Otherwise, it's just cartoons, thick cardboard baby books, pages.  And I don't know, but I think the beginning of that is about fear; it's where we run away.  At least at first.  If you grow, you only run a little bit, enough so that you can turn around slowly, at some distance and say, "Oh.  This is what this is actually all about."  Then you deal.  Or.  You just keep on running.  Away.  For months and years, miles.

I am present.  Clear.  Available, now, to what comes.  I am a slow runner, but I run forward, toward something.

Getting Late Early

The clock is staring at me.  Lately it's always bedtime way before bedtime should be.  It creeps up in stealth mode.  Suddenly I wonder where the day went, what activities I could have replaced with other activities so that right now, instead of a slight panic that feels like hunger, I would feel accomplished, full.  The clock sucks.  Time sucks.  I want to manipulate it, bend it like a wire coat hanger, find it's weaknesses and exploit them on television.  The days are taking off their shoes and walking on sock-clad tippy toes down the hall, sneaking away.  May 5.  It feels like just a few weeks ago that I was on my floor cleaning up broken glass and cooling wax as Ryan Seacrest, waxy himself, intoned on my TV that it was midnight and we should all shit our pants and be super happy.  To help he probably introduced someone like Fall Out Boy.  Happy 2008.  Now we're in the thick of it.  Super thick, malted milkshake thickness.  That kind.  That's where May is in the year.  I'm excited for summer.  He just showed up all of a sudden though.  He just started knocking on the door while I was only wearing my towel from the shower.  Wait.  I have to get ready.  Alas, Lass.  Time waits for no man.

In the game of Life, pink and blue cars with peg babies in the backseat, [I just deleted a whole section that I wrote.  This is the placeholder for what that was.  Mine.  And now it will help me remember.  Other than than, it's not worth sharing.  Wow.  That's power that I wield.  Like He-Man].

Speaking of He-Man.  We had a game night last night at our place.  We played Celebrity and I made "He-Man" for Andrew and made him hold it to his forehead and try to guess what it was.  It was a comic book, cartoon themed round.  I was Casper.  And I did not guess until the game was over and I got some hint about Christina Ricci.  I'm slipping. 

I like Sade and Seabear a heck of a lot right now, if you want to know what's in the headphones.  Seabear's "Hands Remember" is one that I have wanted to listen to over and over so that I could write down the lyrics by heart.  I have listened to it over and over, but I haven't done the second part.  Oops.  My favorite line in that song though is

  I think I must have known you in another life/I think our rocking chairs used to rock together all night ...

Yup.  I can die now.  They're Icelandic; they mention owls in about every song; and their CD is called The Ghost That Carried Us Away.  I fell asleep in the shade at the beach two weekends ago.  I was listening to this CD.  I went to heaven for a second maybe.  The water was quiet; the wind was right; it was a Sunday; and I'd had a little vodka from a Gatorade container.  "Arms" is another goodie and a lil more upbeat, if folksy stuff makes you depressed, as opposed to swirly and happy (as it does meeee). 

Lastly, my skateboard came in the mail today (I linked to a new favorite, Josh Spear.  Check it, perchance? It's a good "stuff" blog).  I have no business buying a skateboard, but good grief it's rad.  It's a limited edition deck designed by Cole Gerst, of Option-G fame.  Right now, it's propped in the corner of my room.  When I was little I had a tiny yellow skateboard; it said Peanut on it, and on the underbelly there was a giant peanut.  I was not worthy.  This new one is not something I thought I'd be spending money on but, like mentioned at Josh Spear, it's a bit of mobile art.  It's a longboard.  You won't find me turning tricks down on the steps at the church.  That came out bad, but I grew up across the street from a church and sometimes kids would skateboard on the steps and rails there.  They were not prostitutes.

Oh gosh, I just can't stop talking.  This is the last thing: the new design and that banner.  1) I'm implementing a new design.  2) That new banner is probably not going to be a part of it for much longer.  Soon as I get my wits about me ... It's hotel flowers.  Lovely.  But I don't know what it means to me.  I just really liked the colors.  We'll see.  I'm liking the white though; it's a good canvas for the now.  I feel like I could roll away into it.  I'm just going to be tweaking little things here and there for the next good while.  Anything could happen!

Por example

This is me writing something, folding the flap, licking the stamp, putting it into the mailbox.