2017

Dearest Readers,

it will be a while till I post so have a great Holiday and here's to 2017!

Means To An End

Well the weekend was a blur but here is your update since you fret as if you can’t manage your day without news from me:

How can it take a woman a full four minutes to order from a Dunkin Donuts drive thru and why would pointing at the outside menu help her in anyway? “I want the munchkins, right there [points at drive-thru menu board as if DD employee inside donning an audio headset can see], right there!” She was in no way responsible for me being late to class. No way.

Made a full-fledged gumbo complete with an authentic roux. So many inauthentic rouxs [note to self – learn how to make roux plural – probably some inane French grammar rule] out there and you know me, the existentialist, authentic is important. Anywhoo, the gumbo was much earthier in taste than I thought it would be…much different from a jambalaya. I followed a Cook’s Illustrated recipe for the roux and riffed a bit. For me, the highlight was the andouille sausage. And per the usual it tasted better the next day after the flavors had a chance to meld. In the future I will substitute chicken thighs for shrimp and whowouldathunk that my two year old would gobble up andouille like it was his job. 

An important run for me on Sunday - I ran for an hour at an 8 minute pace.  I knew I didn’t have all day to run as I had my little guy in child care and other domestic responsibilities on tap so I got on the treadmill and dialed her up to 7.5. Right off the bat the lungs were working harder than usual though my heartrate was only near 200bpm so I knew I was teetering on capable. About 4 miles in I was starting to feel it in my legs, feet, back, and will to live. But I pressed on and realized that this mere hour of running was important because if I want to do a half in the spring I will need to be ready to run for two hours and some of that will have to be at a decent clip – like an 8 minute pace. Why? Because I know I can’t train like I am single as the little guys are swimming, running track, and busting chops all over so I have to run faster if I am going to even get close to the training miles necessary for a half.

I got through it (the run) but I have to say I was more than a little disappointed in myself when I didn’t jump with my toddler at the trampoline park later that day. First time I have ever said no to a physical activity with him and I hope it is the last. Sure I want to run a half but it is merely a means to an end that is overall fitness and health and my overall fitness and health is compatible with jumping on trampoline’s with my son.

Lesson learned.

Otherwise, There Is No Man

Seduction was a man’s game, he thought. Seduction is different from wooing. Any two bit freshman with descended testicles can woo a woman. No seduction is for grown men, men with something to lose and more to fear. Tonight, he would seduce.

He arrived at the hotel bar promptly at 9:50pm so as not to appear too anything. He wore a sleek suit that just intimated his earned physique and motioned for the almost-as-well-appointed bartender to come hither. “Dewars on the rocks.” A man’s drink, he thought, a goddamn proper drink for a man. The first sip took the edge off and as the bartender sauntered off he scanned the room but not too quickly as to appear lustful or vindictive. Some usual stiffs to be sure but there was beauty in the room as well. Seduction wasn’t just about beauty oh no far from it. Needs can be met without beauty and sometimes they have to be met without beauty. What mattered tonight was needs being met, period. A man’s needs must be met, otherwise, there is no man.

He knew he was angry but must not let it seep out, show, frame any of the seducing. That had been a grave mistake in the past. A grave mistake. What is it about a look from a woman that lets you know to approach? What is it that transpires in those mere seconds that communicates so very much and leads to the walk across the bar? His thesis on this would have to wait as he began the act.

It was funny how the act hadn’t really changed since college. It was the same principle with different details. He quickly, sagely, sized her up and provided the requisite details or just inquired about the details for future reference. She provided. Like a woman she provided and like a seducing man he accepted. “Hello I’m Martin” with an all-too-lucky smile and not-lucky-enough twinkle in his eye was more than enough. “I’m Jacqueline.” Between the architectural digest bar and the watery blue lights that shimmered as she blossomed like a fresh rose, he was as smooth as the silk caressing her skin. He knew his looks helped, he knew that but he also cared about the act. It didn’t have to be insincere or rushed – from the time he was a teenager he learned there are a million ways to tell the truth. “How did you end up here” meant more when it was earnest and not rushed. Of course she saw him notice the outline of her breasts and of course they both noticed her flip her hair away from her neck to expose it as she answered and he listened. Slow and mildly sadistic it was for both of them, the build-up. Of course…but necessary.

The outside world melted away and like an athlete or an inspired poet he found the quiet place with her among the din of immorality and sin and body and bodies and objectification and most importantly self-hatred. Alone in a crowded room they were. She with him and him with the act. Both content.

Priorities In Order

Funny, he thought, they talk about a silver bullet as a cure, when a bullet is pretty useless unless it is shot from a gun. Then he remembered the lines from .38 Special by none other than Lynard Skynard:

                Hand guns are made for killin’

                Ain’t no good for nothin’ else

                And if you like to drink your whiskey

                You might even-uh shoot yourself

                So why don’t we dump all em people

                To the bottom of the sea

                Fore some ole fool come around here

                Wanna shoot either you or me

Then he remembered the lines from Hilary Putnam, the philosopher:

Beware any philosophy that can be put in a nutshell; it probably belongs in one

Was he being un-critical? The worst of all sins. Was he being shallow and lacking perspective? He thought about it. For days. But then the refrigerator went on the fritz and he had to have it repaired. A leaking fridge will get your priorities in order. And the gun business went to the back.

He went about his days and weeks as he usually did: reading, writing, molding young minds when out of nowhere one night a student of his, dressed in a Lynard Skynard concert t shirt, shot him at point blank range with a .38 then dumped his body at the bottom of a sea.

He would never procrastinate again.

No Idea

You have no idea what happens to my heart

It sings!

You have no idea there are no boundaries

I love!

You have no idea the possibilities

I hope!

You have no idea the wonder

I do!

A Lot Like Earth

Had a dream last night that I was on Colbert’s show after he read this blog post of mine. He wanted to take issue with the importance of the something bigger than me idea. And we’re doing a little back and forth with requisite repartee and I must admit, in the dream, I was crushing it. And we end up talking about heaven and here was the exchange:

Me: What kind of crazy stuff are you going to wish for in heaven? A threesome perhaps? Relive some college days?

Colbert: Oh no no no no, my wife won’t stand for that even in heaven.

Me: Your wife can interrupt your wishes in heaven?

Colbert: Oh yes yes yes.

Me: Wow, heaven sounds a lot like earth. What is the point of heaven if it isn’t any different from earth?

Colbert: All the food is amazing.

Me: Mmmm, delicious. But you know what Leibnitz said about that?

Colbert: Fran Lebowitz…who did you say?

Me: Leibnitz, the philosopher and by the way, the co-inventor of calculus, if you must know. Leibnitz said that actually, this world, with all the suffering and horror and tragedy, and yes even non-delicious food, is actually the best of all possible worlds. Can’t get any better.

Colbert: Even with the existence of your 0-16 Cleveland Browns, this is the best of all possible worlds?

Me: Oh yeah. For Leibnitz, god was perfect and Leibnitz didn’t joke around with god’s perfection. And Leibnitz hung tough when he said only perfect creations can happen from a perfect being…so yeah, even with the Browns, this world is perfect. Heaven, you might say.

Colbert: I’m not getting a threesome am I?