caveat emptor

The Difference Between Tireless and Tiresome

She was trying to read a book, but he was asking silly questions. He never stopped talking.

"What was the name of the tribe that could run for days without getting tired?" he asked.

She looked up from her book, "Well, I'm sure they got tired. They just kept going even though they were tired," she replied.

"You know what I meant. What was the name of the tribe?"

"Was it the Karankawa?" she asked.

"Is that an actual tribe name? I've never even heard of that. I think it was something else."

"Yes, that's a real tribe name, and I'm pretty sure it was them, the Karankawa," she replied.

"It would be awesome to be able to run like that," he observed.

"Yeah," she said, and returned to her book.

"It would suck to have a reason to run like that, though," he continued.

She pretended she didn't hear him and kept reading.

"I wonder what's the longest a Kronkie ever ran without stopping."

She wrinkled her forehead. "A what?" she asked.

"Well, whatever you called them. I wonder if they compete in marathons nowadays."

"Im not sure. I'm going to read my book," she turned back away.

"Oh go ahead," he said. "Did they live in the north or the south?" He didn't even pause for a breath.

She sighed. He could go on and on and on like this for days without stopping. It must be in his blood.

It's All Geek to Me

I am not a geek. I have some geek-like qualities, but I am not a geek. I've only recently realized this fully.

I like geeks. I have many geek friends to whom I relate well. Nevertheless, I am not a geek. There is no activity in which I engage with the fervor of a geek. I program computers for a living, but I never touch them for anything other than writing otherwise. I love music, and I know a lot about it, but I do not actively seek out music or musical knowledge. I watch very few movies, and even fewer television shows. I hate almost all television shows (except Saturday Night Live). Whatever your favorite show is, I hate it. Please don't take this personally.

I will never show you any of the following things, because these things will never exist:

1. My collection of swords
2. My collection of shot glasses from all the US state capitols
3. My complete DVD set of every episode of some TV show
4. My collection of mechanical hamsters that wear various costumes and dance to various songs when you press a button
5. My high score or stat sheet on some video game on which I spend several hours each day or week
6. My large screen home theatre with 18 speaker surround sound and integrated internet stereo system with a 60 disc changer

So, what am I into? I enjoy people. People are my real hobby and interest, I think. Whenever I try to muster enthusiasm for anything else, it's always fleeting.

And how about you?

Later. Love.

Déjà Vu III

elsewhere

my eyes and back are sore and my throat is dry
my mind was racing for hours hours ago
but now i cannot think
i only toss and turn
and i hate this place
where everything is too hard or too cold
where the water doesn't taste right
where the sounds in the night are unfamiliar and unexplained
and i want so much to be elsewhere
i want to be much closer
to that place where i belong
that soft, cool place, just below your breasts
at the end of that subtle line that curves down from your ribs
across the pale, smooth skin of your stomach
and beyond
to lay my cheek in that place
to fall and rise with each breath
and be where i belong
and sleep

P.S. - Sorry for the repeat. I've been busy. I've also thought a lot about this poem over the past week, and relived the feeling I had when I first wrote it. I hope you enjoy it.

P.P.S. - Caitlin, I'm jealous.

Dream Boat and a Fisher

Dreams crept up on me in the dark last night, sounding like the soft lapping of a wake against a small, rocking rowboat. There were two of us in the boat, an older man and me. We were fishing on a foggy evening, and there was barely enough light to make out his form sitting across from me.

"The important thing," he said, "is to be still. And also, to move like a fish."

This struck me as contradictory, but I knew what he meant. "I was hoping to ask you about your writing, Vernon," I said, trying to make out his face.

"What writing?" he sounded a little annoyed.

"The writing on your paintings."

"Hmph," he said, turning his head away. "That's not writing."

I wanted to disagree with him, but a banshee began to scream into my ear and I sat up with a start. Vernon was gone. I punched the banshee in the head and tried to find the boat again, but it had floated away.

P.S. - I'm driving from Fort Worth, Texas to Lafayette, Louisiana at 4:00 in the morning. I'll try to post something more Tuesday evening. Thanks for stopping by. Later. Love.

Love Hurts

Sometimes the things we want make no sense. My daughter bought a new hamster this weekend, despite my discouragement. She also bought, for this hamster, a new hamster house. This house included a wheel on top that orbits around a central tube on a little track. As soon as the hamster discovered this wheel, it immediately fell in love with it. It ran in the wheel for more than an hour.

Being in love with the wheel, however, it decided to make it more homey. So, it gathered fluff and food and filled the wheel with them. It created a cozy little nest in there, which is great, until it wants to run in the wheel. Now the wheel is a noisy maelstrom of fluff and food and bewildered hamster. When it runs, bits of fluff and food spray out from the airholes in the wheel and cover the table where the hamster house sits. It's a mess, and the hamster doesn't seem to be able to put two and two together to figure out why the wheel is not fun any more.

The Uncertainty Principle talks about our inability to observe certain objects without altering them. When I was a preacher, I remember people saying, "You'll never find a perfect church, and, if you do, don't go there. You'll screw it up." In the movie The Mystery Men, there was a super hero who could be invisible, but only if no one was looking at him.

How often do we destroy something we enjoy by enjoying it? It's irony and tragedy, a cosmic joke. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. How sad.

Good morning, everyone. How are you?

Later. Love.

I Never Dreamed It Could Be Like This

Well, I've been thirty-five for a day now, and I can hardly believe how different the world is. People look at me with awe and respect mixed with fear and admiration. Fathers of young boys point to me and say to their sons, "There, son. That's the kind of man I want you to be." Women blush at my smile and turn shyly away. If I'd only known it would be like this, I'd have turned thirty-five at a much younger age.

I'm back in the office in Dallas, Texas today, after almost a week in San Diego. It's cold here, like February should be. It's good to be home.

Thanks for all your kind wishes yesterday. They brought me back from the brink of destruction and lifted me to the glorious heights from which I survey the grandeur of the world around. Someday I'll return the favor.

Hello, friends. Tell me how you're doing.

Later. Love.

Our Time

Gods once walked these halls of stone, long ago, and men and women of great renown shed blood to water the fledgling seeds of their legacy. And here am I, coming such a long time after, following the whims of small concerns. The echo of those old footsteps still drowns my patter, and the vaulted stone around me shouts my insignificance at me like an accusation, as though my presence offends. If I could, I'd rise up like a titan and rend these old bones, casting their dismay into the dark, boiling sea. I am here and I am now. Whatever boasts these ghosts have etched into these walls, they cannot claim this feat of mine. I am here and I am now. No one has written my story. I am free.

If you're hiding in the shadows, come out and walk with me. We'll cast off these old bones and burn down this old world. We'll let the flames light these low places, chasing all shadows far away. We'll tell our own tales to the world, rooting them in truth but embellishing them with lies. We'll clothe ourselves in greatness and cast our echoes out into the ages ahead, for others to tear down.

P.S. - Happy birthday to me. 35 today.

This Week's Forecast: Mild

Being at this giant trade show reminds me of how glad I am that my job does not include selling things to people.

I'm at HIMSS, a giant healthcare trade show. It's being held in San Diego this year, the mildest and most pleasant city in the country. The weather is beautiful. The ocean is beautiful. Give me some good old fashioned grey Seattle angst any day.

So, anyway, if I sound different this week, it's because I'm much farther west than I usually am. One good thing about not being in Texas this week: I didn't get shot by Dick Cheney. So, there's always that.

Hello, everyone. How are you?

Later. Love.

tyfnor

The ancients had a word, tyfnor. Tyfnor was a word that described the gratitude that a person feels for a rewarding relationship. A couple of friends, Brandon and Jill, recently said tyfnor to me. As is the ancient custom, I am now to say tyfnor to others. So, that's what I'm doing.

You all bring me joy, but I'm tasked to select only ten. To the following ten people, therefore, I say, "Thank you, for no ostensible reason."

1. karindira
2. toadman
3. brandon
4. jill
5. kehlers
6. heather anne
7. caitlin
8. kat
9. peefer
10. bob

Later. Love.

Out of Water

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you found yourself really, really misplaced? I wonder, for example, what I would do if I found myself employed for a year as an intern at a high-speed, high-stress, high-fashion modeling agency in New York. "Who's the fat guy in the Levi jeans and the white sneakers?" "I think he's the new intern." Would I be able to make any friends? Would I be able to find anything interesting to do, or would I be relegated to moving boxes around and rinsing out the bulemia buckets? I get the feeling they would want really attractive, stylish people even for those jobs. Maybe I could find a niche and fit in. Maybe I could become a valued member of the team. Maybe someone would grow fond of me, like a pet mutt, and tell me I have a good bone structure. Maybe I could be the big, funny guy in the back of the group photos that everyone remembers warmly after the internship is over and he returns to Texas. I wonder if I would change at all. Would I come back with my hair bleached wearing ill-advised hip-huggers? Would I walk into my closet and JUST DIE! Who knows. Probably I would be largely the same, but I wonder.

And how about you? Tell me a place in which you just could never picture yourself. Can you imagine it working out? How would it change you?

Later. Love.

P.S. - I posted a very short piece on my cogito writing site. It's called For What It's Worth. Check it out, if you'd like. Thanks for stopping by.

Back

I don't go out in the yard much this time of year. I've been too busy, so it's been a while. The spring is coming, though, so it's time to think about getting things in order out there. I went out last weekend, just to check things out.

Some sort of insidious winter-grass weed had taken over the shady area between the shed and the compost heap. The ground was dry, so I sat down to work on it a little. It grew in little bunches and, in the dry bermuda, they were easy to pull out, roots and all. I was tossing them onto the compost heap.

"I like those. They're the only green out here this time of year." The voice was like a sweet memory, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Hello, Chuck," I said, turning to see him leaning on the shed, looking so perfectly like himself that I wanted to cry.

He smiled slightly and nodded his head toward me, once, an enthusiastic greeting for him. "They always die out by the spring. Just leave them."

"For you, my friend, I will deny my own obsession and leave them here." I was so glad to see him. "How have you been?"

He stared down at the green winter grass. "Have you seen Puck?" he asked me.

I felt a twinge of dread at the mention of that name. "Well," I said, "I wrote a whole series of stories about you and Puck, and about the trial in the underworld, and about you defending yourself for befriending a human. But, in the end, everything got too complicated and dark, so I've decided to put those stories away and just let the details remain a mystery."

He thought about this for a long moment. "So, have you seen Puck?" he asked me.

"He was a real ass during the trial. I don't think we'll be seeing him any more, at least not for a while." I replied, smiling.

Suddenly a pipe appeared in his hand. He reached down and tapped it on the shed to clean it out. "Good," he mumbled.

I leaned against the shed beside him. He worked filling and lighting the pipe. We sat and talked for a good, long while, like old friends.

P.S. - I posted a a short piece on my cogito writing site. It's called Spirited Debate. I like it. Check it out, if you'd like. Thanks for stopping by.

Hair and Tree

My son got his hair cut. It was long and awesome. Now it's not long, but it still looks pretty cool. I don't understand why a person with long hair would cut it off. I love long hair.

In Lafayette, Louisiana, at the St. John Cathedral, there is a live oak tree that is almost 500 years old. It's enormous. It's an impressive sight. I had never seen it before, but Susan, who always checks out the brochures and websites for any city she's visiting, took me to see it when she and the kids traveled down with me last year. Now I go and look at it every time I'm there, which is fairly often these days. I always tell myself to take my camera so I can share it with you guys. I always forget. These are a couple of pictures I found on the web. I've heard that the tree is the third largest oak in the country. It's nine feet in diameter, thirty feet in circumference. I love to stand beneath it. It's inspiring and humbling.

I've been busy and out of town. I've missed talking with you guys. So, what interesting things are happening in your life? Talk to me.

Later. Love.

Déjà Vu II

Making good on my threat to post old posts while I'm too busy to craft new masterworks, here's a blast from the past. I hope you enjoy it, but mostly I hope someone out there loves me.

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The Pointlessness of Cyclical Revenge (originally posted here on April 16, 2005)

This is a poem. I'm not sure what it's about. It was going to be about love, or maybe sorrow, but my muse punched me in the face when I suggested those topics. God, I hate my muse. He/she is really difficult to deal with, extremely moody. And you cannot argue with him/her. Last time I tried that I was inspired to write a poem about Sanford and Son. It might be the greatest Sanford and Son poem ever written, but who cares? I think this poem will be about justice, or maybe about the pointlessness of cyclical revenge. Yes, that's what this poem is about. It's about the pointlessness of cyclical revenge. And it rhymes.

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Do you remember where you were when you first read that one? I know I don't. I think we all remember the impact it had on society. All I can think to say is, "Wow."

Hello, friends. How are you?

Later. Love.

No Winner This Year

So, Tuesday night I was all excited about the State of the Union show. I really thought Texas might have a chance to win this year, since we helped out Louisiana with all that weather stuff and won the Rose Bowl. California won State of the Union last year, if I remember correctly, for turning their governor's mansion into a home for out of work actors. Anyway, I had my big, foam "Texas #1" finger and my "I (HEART SHAPE) Texas" T-shirt and my popcorn and I was set for a great show.

Well, let me tell you, was I ever disappointed. I've heard that those award shows have gotten political, but this one was ridiculous. Remember George Bush? He was Vice President of the United States of America under Ronald Reagan and then I think he was President himself for a few years. Well his son, who's also named George apparently, was the emcee. The dude just went on and on and on and on. He never shut up. I kept expecting the orchestra to start and someone to escort him away, but they never did. It was awful. When he finally quit talking, I kid you not, THE SHOW WAS OVER! They didn't even announce who won the State of the Union!

I swear, this guy must be thinking about running for office or something. That's crazy, I know, since he can't even pronounce the word "nuclear" (he said "nucular" all night), but stranger things have happened. What a freak.

One thing he said, though, was about animal and human hybrids or something. Is someone trying to do that? Why? What's the purpose? I Googled it and got this quote:

---

Tonight I ask you to pass legislation to prohibit the most egregious abuses of medical research -- human cloning in all its forms -- creating or implanting embryos for experiments, creating human-animal hybrids and buying, selling, or patenting human embryos.

George W. Bush
State of the Union Awards
January 31, 2006

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Freaky. So, anyway, I guess California keeps the title for another year or something. Oh well.

So, how are all of you? Talk to me.

Later. Love.

Déjà Vu I

I'm traveling for the rest of the week, so I'll only have a modicum of time for the crafting of posts and the molding of your tender souls into the people I intend for you to be. Rather than leave this blog postless, and leave you all dis-content-ed, I plan to post some older things from here and there. In that spirit, here's an old post for you to enjoy. Please do so.

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A Modest Request (originally posted here on March 29, 2005)

Okay, I've been thinking about bringing this up for some time. I don't ask a lot from you people. I let you read the things I write, and I even take the time to read the comments you post. Often I will respond to these comments. Add to this the fact that I even read the things that you people write. Sure, I often enjoy what you've written, but not always. When I enjoy what you've written, I will post a comment and tell you so. I do all of this without complaint.

I do not think it's unreasonable, therefore, to expect certain behaviors in return. These behaviors include:

1. When I have time to get on-line and comment on your posts, I expect quick responses to my comments. These responses should be appropriately funny or supportive as applicable.
2. When I have more free time and visit your blog multiple times in the course of a few minutes, I expect new material to read with each visit.
3. I expect appropriately appreciative and adoring comments to my posts, especially the good ones.

These are reasonable requests. I expect your full cooperation in these matters.

Thanks. Love.

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Well, there's a blast from the past for you. I think it really captures the spirit of its age. Don't you?

Later. Love.