WARNING: There's probably some NSFW language mixed mixed about this incomprehensible raving
Saturday, October 22, 2011
The G.O.A.T. Barb
just texted me that she's in her "garage gym" hula hooping.
This is why I love my Barbar,
and further entrenching her as the G.O.A.T.barb .
This is why I love my Barbar,
and further entrenching her as the G.O.A.T.barb .
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
There was a period in my life
when I used to savor things. This seems to me to have been right after I got out of college. It may have been happening before, but I mark it then because I was taken out to eat by a friend who remarked that she loved how I savor things. At the time I would do it consciously for performance sake, but I think that instance caused me to invest in it more.
Thinking about it now, I believe it probably started while in school at least. I think I took flavor for granted growing up in The Boot State. I never even liked Tabasco until I had to deal with the comparatively bland campus food.
I bring this up...because I think I've lost that ability to savor...or am in a period of protracted separation from it.
And it feel like it's been since coming here to a place (geographically, metaphysically) that seems primarily to be about subsistence, survival. I eat the food I can get to. Even when I go to taste something, I feel like I'm wolfing it down, having to hurry up and finish it so it's consummation poses the least burden on my travel.
And things are hurried here.
At home/before here I had time to taste.
To savor.
Perhaps I should make a purposed effort to be somewhere* where that time exists again.
Or maybe there must be balance to stimulate action?
Hm.
(*Geo, though I can hear you already saying meta. You nerds)
Thinking about it now, I believe it probably started while in school at least. I think I took flavor for granted growing up in The Boot State. I never even liked Tabasco until I had to deal with the comparatively bland campus food.
I bring this up...because I think I've lost that ability to savor...or am in a period of protracted separation from it.
And it feel like it's been since coming here to a place (geographically, metaphysically) that seems primarily to be about subsistence, survival. I eat the food I can get to. Even when I go to taste something, I feel like I'm wolfing it down, having to hurry up and finish it so it's consummation poses the least burden on my travel.
And things are hurried here.
At home/before here I had time to taste.
To savor.
Perhaps I should make a purposed effort to be somewhere* where that time exists again.
Or maybe there must be balance to stimulate action?
Hm.
(*Geo, though I can hear you already saying meta. You nerds)
Friday, October 14, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Peanut
On September 10th, while on an assignment, I found out my cousin Brian Lundy, Jr. had been killed on Marjah, Afghanistan.
He is not the first of my famliy to die.
He is not the first of my family to die young.
He is not the first of my family to die in violence.
But this struck me....and it took, I think, a day for me to start to figure out why: he was the first family member that I've personally known from a succeeding generation to die.
You see, Brian is my second cousin - as much younger than me than I am my older brother. His mother (my first cousin), was born roughly the same time as my Aunt Gwen. The last time I saw him he at roughly the same point in his life that my first nephew is now. I remember them discussing Pokemon or some such 10 years ago when they were both at my apartment after my knee surgery.
They reminded me of each other in ways...both given to shyness....but perhaps not really much more than the way I see my nephew in just about anybody I look at and think of as young.
It took days, weeks even maybe, to discern the emotion I was having. I knew him and we spent some time together, but I was closer to his older sister. More then despair there was this anger rooted in the idea that he was young. Perhaps I should say that he's young to me - despite the fact that he was 25. Because the last time I saw him, he was 18. So I think that's how I'll always think of him...
And rooted in that anger - or what the anger was rooted in - was that I would never get to see the man he'd become/was becoming.
And in the more universal sense, it made me face in the way that none of us are comfortable with the prospect of our children dying and specifically for me my nephew. I'd known that it's hard to watch someone younger than you die; now I knew...KNOW what it feels like.
synpathy->empathy
I suppose I should have put this up sooner than a month later, but it really did take me a while to be able to put into words how I felt about. Being lazy...I guess I was waiting for necessity to be the inventor.
(but was prolly just being my usual lazy self)
The inventor showed up when dealing with a bit of family discord. I'd been feeling a bit useless during the day before and of the funeral, not having/knowing anything to say to make it better, awkward in attempts at humor... Then some of that inevitable family discord showed up. And I just had to project my probiscus into it... the following was part of an attempt to quell it and in it I think I was finally able to express where I was or had been at for that past week:
I am Brian K. Lundy Jr.'s second cousin. I used to lived in Austin for four years, during which B and his family were my only family there - and for the first year the only people I knew there at all. I spent one summer with them. I helped teach Jos how to drive and helped B fix his bike. The three of us drove 500 miles to a family reunion where they met much of their extended family for the first time. He and I played ball (and won) against (people) hours before we had no idea we were related to. He helped me pull the interior of my car out. I helped him install a cd player in his first car.
I am one of the people who goes back and forth between anger and sadness that he's gone...
So. I don't know. Maybe that says something. Maybe it only made sense to say in that moment. Maybe the strangeness I feel now putting it here doesn't compare to the first time I sent it.
Maybe this is all really just me yacking about me...looking for the internet to pat me on the back for so deep and personal.
(shrug)
Or maybe it just a long-@ss way of saying death has a funny way of letting you know who you love.
:-#
He is not the first of my family to die young.
He is not the first of my family to die in violence.
But this struck me....and it took, I think, a day for me to start to figure out why: he was the first family member that I've personally known from a succeeding generation to die.
You see, Brian is my second cousin - as much younger than me than I am my older brother. His mother (my first cousin), was born roughly the same time as my Aunt Gwen. The last time I saw him he at roughly the same point in his life that my first nephew is now. I remember them discussing Pokemon or some such 10 years ago when they were both at my apartment after my knee surgery.
They reminded me of each other in ways...both given to shyness....but perhaps not really much more than the way I see my nephew in just about anybody I look at and think of as young.
It took days, weeks even maybe, to discern the emotion I was having. I knew him and we spent some time together, but I was closer to his older sister. More then despair there was this anger rooted in the idea that he was young. Perhaps I should say that he's young to me - despite the fact that he was 25. Because the last time I saw him, he was 18. So I think that's how I'll always think of him...
And rooted in that anger - or what the anger was rooted in - was that I would never get to see the man he'd become/was becoming.
And in the more universal sense, it made me face in the way that none of us are comfortable with the prospect of our children dying and specifically for me my nephew. I'd known that it's hard to watch someone younger than you die; now I knew...KNOW what it feels like.
synpathy->empathy
I suppose I should have put this up sooner than a month later, but it really did take me a while to be able to put into words how I felt about. Being lazy...I guess I was waiting for necessity to be the inventor.
(but was prolly just being my usual lazy self)
The inventor showed up when dealing with a bit of family discord. I'd been feeling a bit useless during the day before and of the funeral, not having/knowing anything to say to make it better, awkward in attempts at humor... Then some of that inevitable family discord showed up. And I just had to project my probiscus into it... the following was part of an attempt to quell it and in it I think I was finally able to express where I was or had been at for that past week:
I am Brian K. Lundy Jr.'s second cousin. I used to lived in Austin for four years, during which B and his family were my only family there - and for the first year the only people I knew there at all. I spent one summer with them. I helped teach Jos how to drive and helped B fix his bike. The three of us drove 500 miles to a family reunion where they met much of their extended family for the first time. He and I played ball (and won) against (people) hours before we had no idea we were related to. He helped me pull the interior of my car out. I helped him install a cd player in his first car.
I am one of the people who goes back and forth between anger and sadness that he's gone...
So. I don't know. Maybe that says something. Maybe it only made sense to say in that moment. Maybe the strangeness I feel now putting it here doesn't compare to the first time I sent it.
Maybe this is all really just me yacking about me...looking for the internet to pat me on the back for so deep and personal.
(shrug)
Or maybe it just a long-@ss way of saying death has a funny way of letting you know who you love.
:-#
Despite having been illuminated thusly several moments hence & more than once,,
it still strikes me to realize that the way I feel about TheNerdBoy (Nerdy Walker (the Thurd??) may have/must have been/was* the way My Gwen felt* about me/us...the neeces...the nephs.
Sometimes I miss My Gwen, but she never stops making me smile. That's why I still love her.
*is?
*feels?
Sometimes I miss My Gwen, but she never stops making me smile. That's why I still love her.
*is?
*feels?
Saturday, October 08, 2011
today
Shipping company left crap that I had to move in truck.
Tweaked back while lifting large mass of vinyl.
(see what bad posture on off days gets you)
Made fateful decision to take cab from Jerz back home thinking it's not far and got hit for $57 ride because driver didn't have ezpass.
Got home and remembered I had job to do city which is why I was supposed to go back to PATH instead of take cab.
Headed back toward city to do said job and realized phone was left on bed.
Saw NYPD, for first time in personal history, busting fake bag sellers near Broadway and cdn't document due to forgotten phone.
Chose to miss chance at 10:00 boat to take care of personal errand, 10:30 turned into 10:45, lost transfer.
>:{#
Thursday, October 06, 2011
I want to throw a brick
every time I bother trying to listen to "Sky Full of Lighters".
I'm sure there's some idea there I'm supposed to like, but I am adamantly against such unwarranted warbling or music that's so obviously an attempt to be "moving" and emotional.
Fake strings make me (blech!).
I'm sure there's some idea there I'm supposed to like, but I am adamantly against such unwarranted warbling or music that's so obviously an attempt to be "moving" and emotional.
Fake strings make me (blech!).
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