It's been a while since I've had the desire to write. I think things just needed to come to a head with my medication and depression. Happy to say I'm off my meds altogether and feel much happier, and sadder, all at the same time. I've tossed away feeling numb and being unable to think and I suddenly feel sharper again.
So the subject today is doubt. All it takes is a little niggle, a second guess, and a couple of things that just don't make a heck of a lot of sense for a kernel of doubt to sprout. Given enough time, that kernel develops roots and surfaces the darkness into the light of day. But because it's concealed in darkness, the truth is warped and until the light is turned back on, everything is guessed at and judged. Wandering in the half darkness, groping for the walls, stumbling over obstacles unseen, reaching out for something, anything, that's solid and true.
Eventually the light will come on and all will come clear. Either that, or I'll cross the room, even if I trip a couple of times and stub my toe along the way, and I'll find the door and walk out. But I'd appreciate if you'd reach over and flip on the light for me, just so I can see where I'm going. I don't really care if you left your dirty panties on the floor. Just turn on the light. Game's over.
26 June 2009
15 April 2009
13 April 2009
Lord Byron
And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair
- Lord Byron
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I lov'd, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well.
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away,
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.
- Lord Byron
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I lov'd, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well.
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away,
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.
06 April 2009
Maryland Basketball
Just as a commentary - Maryland basketball beat both Michigan State and UNC in the regular season.
Mommy Mommy Mommy
I'd like to start out by saying that in no way do I discount the role of mother, mommy, mom, mum, mater... But when will society stop focusing on parenting by sex and start focusing on parenting by parents, regardless of sex? If you tell someone they're not good enough long enough, they'll come to believe it.
This is what has happened.
Men have been told they're not needed as parents. Women can do it all. Be super woman. Bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan. Work a career, come home, be a mom, add in a vibrator and a baster full of donated sperm? And what are men needed for? "Men are useless" - as it was declared on WebMD today.
So useless. I want to discuss that. Are women useless? Do you feel useless? Even if your husband and children are angry with you - are you really without use?
When are people without merit? Without use? Without need?
We have a generation of men being brought up by single parents, who don't understand what it means to be a man, since they have never had a father. Why does this matter? Should men be more feminine in order to be accepted by society, or should the masculine be better understood?
What is being a man? It's not drinking a beer, watching football, being clueless about our children, only interested in sex, and being a slob. Though it is becoming the generic stereotype. Yes, dear, whatever you say dear...
I suppose the flip side is that women were oppressed all those years. But only in limited history. In many societies in the world, women were equally as important, or more important as men. Yet, just like people forget that Asia was equally as involved in the slave trade as Europe (they would castrate their slaves so they couldn't breed with the general population, in case you weren't aware - sold into slavery by the Arabic traders to Japan, China, etc.), people forget that the recent history of the world is not the only history which existed. Whole societies and religions were based upon the worship of the female, the yoni, the mother, the womb, while the man was lesser.
Did that make him useless? No, of course not. It made the male... brace yourself... different.
That's all it is.
Men and women are different.
One is not better or worse, more or less, subservient or dominant. They're just different. They think differently, speak differently, act differently.
So what is it that makes Mommy all important and Daddy relegated to the stupid and useless? Revenge? Insecurity? Anger?
Guess what. You picked him. If he's stupid and insensitive and doesn't friggin help around the house, fools around... You had the choice to pick differently.
And you know? Why bother to do more when it's acceptable to sit around and watch Mommy do it the "right" way. I hope all of you with sons remember that one day their wives will call them useless too.
----
On a side note, it's been 2 years since Constance died. Life is hell.
This is what has happened.
Men have been told they're not needed as parents. Women can do it all. Be super woman. Bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan. Work a career, come home, be a mom, add in a vibrator and a baster full of donated sperm? And what are men needed for? "Men are useless" - as it was declared on WebMD today.
So useless. I want to discuss that. Are women useless? Do you feel useless? Even if your husband and children are angry with you - are you really without use?
When are people without merit? Without use? Without need?
We have a generation of men being brought up by single parents, who don't understand what it means to be a man, since they have never had a father. Why does this matter? Should men be more feminine in order to be accepted by society, or should the masculine be better understood?
What is being a man? It's not drinking a beer, watching football, being clueless about our children, only interested in sex, and being a slob. Though it is becoming the generic stereotype. Yes, dear, whatever you say dear...
I suppose the flip side is that women were oppressed all those years. But only in limited history. In many societies in the world, women were equally as important, or more important as men. Yet, just like people forget that Asia was equally as involved in the slave trade as Europe (they would castrate their slaves so they couldn't breed with the general population, in case you weren't aware - sold into slavery by the Arabic traders to Japan, China, etc.), people forget that the recent history of the world is not the only history which existed. Whole societies and religions were based upon the worship of the female, the yoni, the mother, the womb, while the man was lesser.
Did that make him useless? No, of course not. It made the male... brace yourself... different.
That's all it is.
Men and women are different.
One is not better or worse, more or less, subservient or dominant. They're just different. They think differently, speak differently, act differently.
So what is it that makes Mommy all important and Daddy relegated to the stupid and useless? Revenge? Insecurity? Anger?
Guess what. You picked him. If he's stupid and insensitive and doesn't friggin help around the house, fools around... You had the choice to pick differently.
And you know? Why bother to do more when it's acceptable to sit around and watch Mommy do it the "right" way. I hope all of you with sons remember that one day their wives will call them useless too.
----
On a side note, it's been 2 years since Constance died. Life is hell.
30 March 2009
Simple Pleasures
Through my son I've been rediscovering some simple pleasures:
Watching ants scurry around an anthill.
Licking the bowl and beaters.
Planting flowers and daily checking on their progress.
Digging in the dirt.
Building tracks for matchbox cars.
Making sock puppets and spending the day using them to talk for us.
Rolling marbles down the stairs.
Baking cookies.
Running, skipping, hopping, jumping...everywhere.
Riding on the back of the grocery cart.
Ringing all the doorbells in the hardware store.
Climbing inside the bathtubs at Home Depot and pretending they're bobsleds.
I can't tell you how many more of these simple pleasures I'm looking forward to experiencing as my son ages, his imagination develops, and we go out into the wide world.
Watching ants scurry around an anthill.
Licking the bowl and beaters.
Planting flowers and daily checking on their progress.
Digging in the dirt.
Building tracks for matchbox cars.
Making sock puppets and spending the day using them to talk for us.
Rolling marbles down the stairs.
Baking cookies.
Running, skipping, hopping, jumping...everywhere.
Riding on the back of the grocery cart.
Ringing all the doorbells in the hardware store.
Climbing inside the bathtubs at Home Depot and pretending they're bobsleds.
I can't tell you how many more of these simple pleasures I'm looking forward to experiencing as my son ages, his imagination develops, and we go out into the wide world.
20 March 2009
Most Interestng Man in the World
I suppose, as a recovering alcoholic, I shouldn't be enjoying a good beer commercial, but I can't help but love the Dos Equis "Most Interesting Man in the World" campaign. They're witty, have a quirky sense of humor, and I love their retro feel. Who wouldn't want to be, or be with, the most interesting man in the world? If nothing else, it's given me a bunch of things to add to my list of things to do before I die.
Hope you all enjoyed the chuckle with me!
Hope you all enjoyed the chuckle with me!
18 March 2009
Maureen O'Hara
I need a woman like Maureen O'Hara.
Except Scottish, not Irish, or my grandmother would throw a fit.
Fiery, opinionated, strong, and a redhead. HAHA. But someone with a little sass. Someone who will tell me when I'm wrong and not back down when I roar back in protest. A classy woman, but someone who will do what needs doing, even if it means getting her hands dirty. Someone who knows what she wants. Someone to laugh with, cry with, and have really hot sex with. And most of all, someone who understands me, who I can talk, really talk, with.
I think the world today has gotten too crass for the likes of the Maureen O'Haras of the world. Women who are tough are often rough around the edges, or hardened. But where are the women who are tough but who are still women after all?
There is something about a woman. The way she smells. Tastes. The way her backside moves, "like jello on springs" as they say in Some Like It Hot. The way women are so friggin infuriating. The way she blushes.
So if you know any Maureen O'Hara's out there, let me know. Just so long as they're not married or think they're vampires. Or have a record. Or have our wedding planned out before the first date....
Except Scottish, not Irish, or my grandmother would throw a fit.
Fiery, opinionated, strong, and a redhead. HAHA. But someone with a little sass. Someone who will tell me when I'm wrong and not back down when I roar back in protest. A classy woman, but someone who will do what needs doing, even if it means getting her hands dirty. Someone who knows what she wants. Someone to laugh with, cry with, and have really hot sex with. And most of all, someone who understands me, who I can talk, really talk, with.
I think the world today has gotten too crass for the likes of the Maureen O'Haras of the world. Women who are tough are often rough around the edges, or hardened. But where are the women who are tough but who are still women after all?
There is something about a woman. The way she smells. Tastes. The way her backside moves, "like jello on springs" as they say in Some Like It Hot. The way women are so friggin infuriating. The way she blushes.
So if you know any Maureen O'Hara's out there, let me know. Just so long as they're not married or think they're vampires. Or have a record. Or have our wedding planned out before the first date....
10 March 2009
Rejection
We all are rejected at one time or another. We've all been dumped by a boyfriend or girlfriend. We've all been turned down when we ask for a date. Had a friend turn around and say you're not their friend any more.
Why do we reject others in society? Is it because they're not good enough? Not attractive enough? Not rich enough? Not Our Kind, Dear?
Who are worthy of being accepted and who are inferior and are rejected?
I've rejected a lot of people. Some intentionally, some not intentionally. Every day we make choices. We pick over fruit, vegetables, clothes... But most often we make choices about people in a split second. We choose to flash a smile to some stranger, and warm them. We choose to turn away from someone else and leave them cold. How much of it is random? How much of it is subconscious bias?
How diverse is the population you're exposed to on a daily basis? Not just racially or religiously. What about people who are wealthier or poorer? What about people who are thinner or fatter? Men, women... Gays, Lesbians, Bisexuals, Transvestites... People with disabilities, diseases, afflictions. Different cultures, different values, different ways of life. Most of us don't go out of our way to expose ourselves to where we're not in our comfort zone and we shortchange ourselves.
We're a cruel and indiscriminate bunch, us people of the world. We create false subsets of people in order to categorize them to make it easier to judge one's worthiness. Yet each of us is an individual, with individual experiences, individual views, individual needs. How can we treat someone as anything else other than someone unique? Yet they're categorized and judged, accepted or rejected, based upon whatever external worth we might place upon them.
Who is more worthy and who is less?
I'm certainly as guilty as anyone else. Sad, but something I hope to change. And something I hope to change in my son.
Why do we reject others in society? Is it because they're not good enough? Not attractive enough? Not rich enough? Not Our Kind, Dear?
Who are worthy of being accepted and who are inferior and are rejected?
I've rejected a lot of people. Some intentionally, some not intentionally. Every day we make choices. We pick over fruit, vegetables, clothes... But most often we make choices about people in a split second. We choose to flash a smile to some stranger, and warm them. We choose to turn away from someone else and leave them cold. How much of it is random? How much of it is subconscious bias?
How diverse is the population you're exposed to on a daily basis? Not just racially or religiously. What about people who are wealthier or poorer? What about people who are thinner or fatter? Men, women... Gays, Lesbians, Bisexuals, Transvestites... People with disabilities, diseases, afflictions. Different cultures, different values, different ways of life. Most of us don't go out of our way to expose ourselves to where we're not in our comfort zone and we shortchange ourselves.
We're a cruel and indiscriminate bunch, us people of the world. We create false subsets of people in order to categorize them to make it easier to judge one's worthiness. Yet each of us is an individual, with individual experiences, individual views, individual needs. How can we treat someone as anything else other than someone unique? Yet they're categorized and judged, accepted or rejected, based upon whatever external worth we might place upon them.
Who is more worthy and who is less?
I'm certainly as guilty as anyone else. Sad, but something I hope to change. And something I hope to change in my son.
08 March 2009
Thought of the Day
"...When you are Real, shabbiness doesn't matter."
-The Velveteen Rabbit
I think about elderly couples who still look at one another with love. Gray hair, saggy boobs, hairy ears and noses, flat butt, wrinkled faces, faded eyes... They are Real to one another. And those issues of time and tragedy make no difference in the love they have for one another.
I forget. It doesn't matter if I've been scarred emotionally and physically. It doesn't matter if I've lost my hearing. It doesn't matter if almost every bone in my body has been broken at some point and never quite healed correctly. It doesn't matter if I walk with an bit of a limp which I attempt to hide with a lope.
And one day, I too will be Real.
-The Velveteen Rabbit
I think about elderly couples who still look at one another with love. Gray hair, saggy boobs, hairy ears and noses, flat butt, wrinkled faces, faded eyes... They are Real to one another. And those issues of time and tragedy make no difference in the love they have for one another.
I forget. It doesn't matter if I've been scarred emotionally and physically. It doesn't matter if I've lost my hearing. It doesn't matter if almost every bone in my body has been broken at some point and never quite healed correctly. It doesn't matter if I walk with an bit of a limp which I attempt to hide with a lope.
And one day, I too will be Real.
06 March 2009
Cookies
So I love cookies. Not store bought, processed, crumbly pieces of cardboard that some call cookies. No, homemade, from scratch, warm from the oven cookies! Oatmeal (no raisins, which are grapes soaked in evil), chocolate chip, peanut butter, macaroons, black and whites, sugar, chocolate crinkles, snickerdoodles... I can go on and on and on about cookies. I do have some favorites, though if anyone is interested in sending me cookie recipes, I'd love to get them so I can try something new. Bring em on.
My mother makes me cookies. I'm a grown man, 34 years of age, yet my mother knows of my weakness. When she comes to visit, she makes as many cookies as I can stuff down my throat. Dough is rolled and frozen and tucked in the freezer for after she's gone, even though I'm perfectly capable of mixing my own cookies. Every so often a mystery package arrives in the mail for me, and it's Pringles cans full of cookies!
I am lucky. I'm tall and skinny and run. So my cookie consumption is burned off every day, but I'd have to say I eat at least a dozen a day. Yes, some people say they're junk food...but to me, they're little bits of heaven. And it's these heavenly bits, which I'm slowly teaching my son to make (it's manly to make cookies), is what my new blog is titled after. Just thought you'd all like to know.
My mother makes me cookies. I'm a grown man, 34 years of age, yet my mother knows of my weakness. When she comes to visit, she makes as many cookies as I can stuff down my throat. Dough is rolled and frozen and tucked in the freezer for after she's gone, even though I'm perfectly capable of mixing my own cookies. Every so often a mystery package arrives in the mail for me, and it's Pringles cans full of cookies!
I am lucky. I'm tall and skinny and run. So my cookie consumption is burned off every day, but I'd have to say I eat at least a dozen a day. Yes, some people say they're junk food...but to me, they're little bits of heaven. And it's these heavenly bits, which I'm slowly teaching my son to make (it's manly to make cookies), is what my new blog is titled after. Just thought you'd all like to know.
Moving to a New Venue
Well, kids, it's time to start over. I'm moving to somewhere where I have complete freedom of expression without being deleted because I am lacking in tact.
On with the blogging!
On with the blogging!
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