I Heard That His Face Was Blue

“I heard that his face was blue.”

“I heard that he still had a faint pulse, so they tried CPR on him for a long time.  It’s all about oxygen in the brain.  Doesn’t matter if there’s a pulse if the brain’s been deprived of it for that long.”

Any teacher looking toward the boys during the passing period could tell by their enhanced self-awareness that none of them possessed tools capable of handling the news.  As if bound by tacit consent, each of them did their part to keep the silence–the sadness–at bay.

“His parents were the first to see him in the tree early this morning.  Can you imagine it?” the boy asked, almost forgetting to avoid silence.  “Knowing that,” the boy stumbled to resume, “knowing that while you were sleeping in your bed, right outside your window your child was…” the boy couldn’t say it.

“I’ll tell you something.  His brother, Josh, is probably the reason I began lifting weights,” another interrupted in an attempt to lighten the mood.  Attentive and curious eyes rewarded his move.  “Seriously.  I remember in gym, in 7th or 8th grade, that a girl was in awe upon, at her request, seeing his flexed bicep.  She had such a big smile.”

Their acceptance of a prolonged silence told him they were happy to hear more of this odd revelation.

“Yep.  I remember going home and flexing.  I was so ashamed.  He wasn’t much stronger than me, but compared to the sphere sitting between his elbow and shoulder, mine was like a straw.  In that moment, I knew what I had to do if I wanted a girl’s attention.”

They shook their heads in disbelief at his confession, so he continued.

“Of course, if we were to replay the situation today, he’d look puny.  On that day the big difference between he and I was that he was flexing incorrectly, his arm bent all the way, while I was already using a more proper pose, arm bent at ninety degrees,” he modeled to an approving audience.  Dropping his arm, he concluded, “But she didn’t know any of that.  And without her, without that smile, I can’t say for sure that I would’ve ever picked up a weight.”

“Great story man,” one of them voiced, lighting laughter’s fuse.

“Give me a break!  It’s just a memory I had,” he answered, smiling as they shuffled off to their classes.

To Humanity or Not To Humanity

Those of you who left the world of academia long ago might be unaware that there is a debate raging about the humanities.  Are college students interested in majoring in the humanities?  Are they not?  Would they like to, but their practical mind says, “Don’t be a fool.  There are no jobs for humanities majors.”

My question is why is this debate even happening?  I suspect that students who major in vocational type degrees get their long-sought-after jobs and live happily ever after.  Just like students who major in the humanities or liberal arts degrees don’t get jobs related to their degree and live happily ever after.

There is some notion that accompanies attending college which goes something like, “If only we all do this right, we can achieve heaven on earth.”  Is that what we (humans) really think?

I say do what you want.  I wanted to get good grades and learn about why people behave they way they do.  So I majored in sociology.  Some people want to become very rich, so they major in fields that lend themselves to making money.  Other people want to paint, so they major in art.  I don’t see why this is a discussion.  Am I missing something?

I want to be the best that I can be.  Isn’t that enough?  Why do I have to conform to your utopia?  How about this:  You just do your best rather than worry about forecasting what will happen if nobody studies English or History anymore.  And I’ll do the same.  And then we’ll see what happens.

My Living Room Came To Life

“I don’t think you understand.  My living room came to life.  I can only interpret this to mean that my will, my hopes, my desires–that I–manifest the future,” Pete told his friend.

Given that Pete, like any man, has an impressive streak of riding high on life at times, we should note that his claim isn’t quite unfounded.  Before explaining his claim’s seeming impossibility, we must first denote 2012’s sublime specimen of synchronicity.  Back in 1989, as a mere child of eight our hero saw the film Top Gun.  You know, the movie starring Tom Cruise that pretty much did recruiter’s jobs for them ever since?  Yeah, that Top Gun.  He then went on to become a military pilot.  While serving as a pilot, he was a member of a squadron which had an unofficial theme song.  The theme song was Bon Jovi’s Wanted Dead or Alive.  Here’s the kicker.  In 2012, Tom Cruise starred in a film called Rock of Ages (which unlike Top Gun did not inspire anyone) in which he (TC) sings Wanted Dead or Alive.  Think about that for a second.  Coincidence or not, that’s some seriously Mufasa C-O-L shit.

Back to our story…

“No Pete, I do understand.  I just don’t think it’s more than a coincidence.  I don’t think there is any hidden meaning.  I can’t believe I’m even acknowledging the idea that you control the future, but I am, and you don’t,” the Debbie-downer replied.

“You can’t tell me it’s just coincidence.  When people walk into this place what do they see first?  Metallica hanging on the wall.  Then they notice the beautifully 670lb Steinway and Sons grand piano,” Pete said, taking a breath that signaled that he was not going down without a fight.  “And last night, for all the world to see, Metallica and a Steinway and Sons piano performed together on the same stage!  How many people have Steinway and Metallica in the same room?” he asked, using hand motions to bolster his claim.  “How many?  Maybe 3.  Maybe 20.  But I’m one of them,” he said, his crescendo one self-assessment away from its peak.  “Man, I feel good right now!”

“Yes Pete.  And did you notice that you have a globe of Earth in the room too?  And the performance happened on Earth!” his friend mocked.  Continuing, he said, “And there are lights in this room!  And the concert had lights!”  Pete was no longer smiling.  “And we’re in a room.  And they performed in a room!”

“Go to hell.”

“And there are people in this room…”

Bright

He always chuckled to himself on the mornings that he forgot to turn on the lights.  Freshly shaved, he’d come out of the bathroom and see her eating in the dark.

She always answered “good” when asked her state of being, no matter the level of light, and this morning was no different.  After breakfast she began playing with her dolls in her normal talkative way.

“Okay.  I’m just going to brush my teeth and we’ll be ready to go,” he explained.

“Okay,” she responded.

As he turned the water off and reached for the towel he noticed she wasn’t talking anymore.

“Hey.  You okay?  How come you’re not talking anymore?” he asked, walking by her, still gathering everything together.

“I don’t want to brush my teeth daddy,” she confessed.

“Well, well, well,” he laughed.  “And you might have gotten out of it if you didn’t say anything.  Think about that for next time.  For now, let’s go brush your teeth.”

Amazing Girl-Child Lives Outside of Space and Time!

Her small size leads you to believe that you know all there is to know about her.

You are correct to discern that she cries a lot, talks a lot, can’t do math, can’t read, eats an incredible amount of food considering her weight, plays with toys, likes to be tucked in at night, asks to have her hand held if she’s not being carried, places a frightening level of trust in adults, and sometimes has accidents.

You’re also correct if you guess that she can’t carry on a conversation which furthers any agenda, she has a surprising stubbornness, her fantasy world is repetitious, and very few of her actions are original.  It is easy to see why people like her have lost their appeal.  They require attention.  They need help.  They listen; they believe; they mimic; they obey; they break; they depend on others; they spill their milk regularly.

What you might not notice is that she can’t tell time.  That’s right.  She doesn’t know what time is.  Not just what time of day it is, but she doesn’t have an awareness of time.  Can you remember what life was like before you knew what time was?  Probably not.  But maybe you can remember something about life before you used an alarm clock to remind you that your life was so important that you must stop resting.  Being around her–being around them–is the closest thing any of us will get to living without time again.

Without time 40 lbs never felt so light; repetitious stories never sounded so good; cleaning up spills never required less energy; soothing cries never seemed so desirable.  Without time raising a child never seemed so natural.

First Day Back

“The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and there is work to be done.  Man!  It’s good to be back,” our protagonist thought to himself as he walked towards his work buddies.  For them the day wasn’t much different than any other, but when they saw him walking up, smiles became the expression of the day.

“Hey buddy!  There you are.  This place hasn’t been the same without you.  Where ‘ve you been?” they all clamored.

“Oh, you know,” he laughed as a sheepish grin and a lack of eye contact proved that it really was him.

In no time the guys had broken off into two-man teams and began tackling their work.  His first three customers tipped.  As much as he wished to conceal his joy, his eyes betrayed him.  We all could tell the joy he felt came from deep within.  It wasn’t until we subdued him with a prolonged peppering of questions that we learned that the light that we saw was his body’s way of saying, “Wow.  This is so much better than jail.  I’m never going back.”

The trouble was after work his mind wandered.

Review of The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman

Timeless and universal.

I have a rule.  Well, Ecclesiastes has a rule that I believe is true.  It goes like this:  “There is nothing new under the sun.”  When it comes to “get rich quick” or “relationship” books, it is impossible for me to not use this standard.  If a book claims that it has come up with a new way to make money or keep a relationship strong, then, generally, I discard it promptly.  I just simply refuse to believe that mankind’s soul has changed in any appreciable way in our existence.  That being said, Chapman’s The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate is nothing new.  And that is good.

The book’s largest flaw is that it is a book.  It really could have been a flyer; I’m picturing a large picture representing perfect bliss overlayed by a few sentences at the bottom.  The sentences being something like this:

People express and feel love in different ways.  It seems that there are five ways.  They include physical touch, quality time, acts of service, gifts, and words of affirmation.  Try to speak your partner’s language(s).

Really, though, I’m proud to say that there is an even more fun way to help you figure out your love language(s).  How I like to think about these five languages is via one language:  song.  Want to know which language is yours using songs?  Then continue reading.

To start, if you think Kevin Costner defeats Errol Flynn in the battle of Robin Hood’s, we all know the only reason this happened is because Errol didn’t have Bryan Adams’ classic ballad “Everything I Do (I do it for you)” to accompany his swashbuckling sword fights.  And your choosing Kevin means that your language is likely “Acts of Service.”

On the other hand, if everyone in the room but you noticed that you sat up during Moulin Rouge as Ewan McGregor belted out “My gift is my saw-ong…” in tribute to Elton John’s unforgettable “Your Song“, your language might just be “Words of Affirmation”.

If it is impossible not to feel warm all over when somebody tells a story about the summer of 1991, the summer during which you recall hearing Extreme’s “More Than Words” on every radio station across the nation as you drove to the west coast to greet Gulf War One’s returning victors, then you’re only hurting yourself if you don’t own up to “Physical Touch” being your love language.

Next, and admittedly a bit of a stretch (but then again, it isn’t my language, so I wouldn’t identify with it.  Am I right Gary?), but if the only time you feel like someone really gets you is each year at Christmastime, specifically each time Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby” is played, then your love language is “Gifts”.

Lastly, if you  can finish, “Eeeiiff eye-ee-eye-ee-eye (breath) shu-uld stay…” without hesitation, there can only be one conclusion.  Your love language is “Quality Time”.   (That Costner is receiving two shout-outs is beyond me.  By the way Ma, he’s looking great once again in an upcoming action flick “3 Days to Kill”.  Check out the trailer by clicking here.)

In the end, the book only takes a night to read.  Not that you need to anymore.  You’re welcome.

****

*Chapman, Gary D. The Five Love Languages. Chicago: Northfield Pub., 1992. Print.

The Plea Answered

Dear Legs,

First, please forgive me for not responding sooner.  I was very moved by your letter, and fully intended to write you back that day.  But, as you know, life got in the way.  I’m sorry for that.

Skipping the weather chit-chat (face already reminds me daily that it has been sunny), I will get right to it.  Regarding why I am making you work so hard these days, I think I know.  You asked about the reason that I made you work so hard of late.  You asked if I was running from “responsibility” or “failure”.  With certainty I can tell you “No”.

I do think that I have discovered the reason that I am putting you through this situation, however.  Do you remember doing the mediation before the divorce?  There was a lot of talk about money and how much I had to pay her.  Do you remember the part about how each tax season we’d review our incomes to see if the “Memorandum of Understanding” needed to be adjusted based on how much money she and I were making?  I actually feel a bit silly admitting this, silly because I’m sure I can just ask a friend what the real answer is, but if I remember right, the rules to the divorce included that if I became a millionaire, I would have to pay her more than I already do.  Well, here’s the thing.  I don’t want to pay her more.  So it’s shit jobs with shittier salaries for now.

It probably doesn’t make sense to you two, my friends, but I think for these next couple of years I’d rather risk ruining our relationship–yours and mine–than hear another man order me to pay her more money.

I know you’re tired.  Believe me when I say I am more than aware that I am the reason you both feel and are tired.  I am sorry about that.  On the bright side, we’ve made it through one year, and that means only a few more years until this burden is lifted.  And you know how time flies.  Maybe I’ll even call up my lawyer friend and find out that I’m wrong about the situation.

In any case, thank you for not giving up on me.  I will owe you both a lot when all this has passed.

Thoughtfully Yours,

Brain

So I’m Not Allowed To Text Her Back?

“So I’m not allowed to text her back?”

“No!” they said in unison.

“Look.  It sucks, okay?  I know it does.  But you screwed up.  You sent her seven–that’s SEVEN–texts without her responding.  You freaked her out.  Then she stood you up–twice.  The only way you’ll know she’s not just stringing you along is if you wait for her to really try to set up a date.  If you answer her text now, you’re just playing into her crazy hands,” his friend explained.

“I just don’t get it.  You don’t know how she talked, what she said.  How does this make any sense?  I only texted her that night because we had scheduled a phone call and she didn’t call and it was late.  Explain to me how I am in the wrong for letting her know I was worried?” he said, still hurting.

“Listen.  You’ve only talked to this girl for a few days.  Days!  It sounds like the situation looked promising, but the girl also sounds crazy.  No one in their right mind talks to people how you tell me she talked to you.  That she has stopped talking to you, taken together with the fact that her last text to you demonstrates she can’t tell what day she received a text on illustrates that something fishy is going on.  You have to see that, don’t you?” his brother said, chiming in.

“I guess.  It’s just that I’ve never really felt this way before.  And her voice.  If you could just hear her accent…  I’m telling you, these things can’t be faked.  I need to talk to her again.  But you’re telling me I can’t.  She texted me just now.  Out of the blue.  Doesn’t that mean something?  I just don’t understand why I can’t text her back,” he cried out.

“You’re right.  I don’t understand either.  I don’t.  I don’t understand the whole situation.  I don’t understand women.  What is the deal?  I mean, we’re smart enough.  We should be able to figure them out.”

The three single men were enveloped by a profound silence–a necessary silence if they were to hear the cracking of that sentiment’s foundation.  Their smiles and laughter confirmed that they heard it indeed.

Week Off

Just a heads up, I’m taking the week off this week.  The brother is coming to town, and we’re getting high together for a couple days…  Oh, and because you’re dying to know, I did get my 200th follower.  It’s just that it wasn’t a blogger, so I don’t have anything to review.  Maybe I’ll review what I think that follower’s blog would be like if he/she had one.  Exciting.  Until next Monday, then, good day.