how have you been?

i've been asked that question quite a lot these days, and i think, "how have i been?" and i honestly say, "busy." but i'm really thinking, "well, i feel sad."

i miss being able to work on homework an hour before it's due and still get a good grade. these days--work done a week in advance still gets failing marks. X__X what can i say about that? dunno.

but anyway! as much as i look forward to working after i graduate, it'll be a pain--waking up early, not being able to take breaks when i want to, having to please 100 people on a daily basis, going home late. it's quite noticeable to see the stress building up. haha, some people have commented that a few friends have gained weight. they say nothing about me, but i think, "yes, i'm getting fat."

my days feel like 8-to-5 days. not that great. by the time i get home, i don't even want to look at my books. i'm not disciplined when it comes to studying, but i should be. XD

i don't feel so bad that things didn't turn out the way i wanted. but having friends who'll be there--to laugh and cry and argue with XD--is enough to make me happy.

Hey, I Didn't Mean, To Cause A Big Scene, Just Give Me An Hour And Then, Well, I'll Be As High, As That Ivory Tower, That You're Livin' In

--"Friends In Low Places", Garth Brooks

It's no big secret that I'm a big fan of Maggie Gyllenhaal. Aside from Sarah Polley, she has to be my favorite actress who is still making the kind of movies enjoy from credits to credits. Ever since Secretary, where she absolutely blew me away with her believable transformation from docile wallflower to stubborn sexpot, I always anticipate her new movies with baited breath. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to see her latest starring role in Sherrybaby in the theaters like I wanted to (the prices we pay for being intrigued by small, indie films). But as soon as I saw the film up for sale on Ebay, I jumped on it. There's few performers I will shill out the money to purchase their body of work sight unseen, but I have yet to be disappointed with Mrs. Gyllenhaal's resume.

Upon seeing it for the first time this past weekend, I must honestly say that it's her best performance to date, including Secretary. There is so much to like about the film I don't even know where to begin. Granted, it's not everyone's cup of tea, but it has this quiet, understated grace to it that very few films these days do and I absolutely adore when a film can maintain believably. You won't find any car chases, any huge action scenes, or sequences of absolute horror or violence. The manner in which the film hooks the audience is by laying all its cards on the table. At its heart it's the story of a woman on the verge of falling back into the life that has already ruined much of her spirit and strength and claiming the life she knows she's capable of achieving. It's not much to build a plot around, but it gives oodles of depth to the main character and is a winning vehicle for somebody of Maggie's talents. Scene to scene, line to line, I was amazed at all the nuances and subtleties that the movie provided. It wasn't so much that the story itself was that interesting as much as how much I believed everything about the story. Time after time, I kept saying if I were in her shoes I would have probably made the same choices and felt the same frustrations. Repeatedly, I kept saying this is a movie I can identify with and that is rare gift to find in a piece of art.

It's the reason I think this will definitely be a recommendation for any and all who are in search of a good movie from 2006.


well, I guess I was wrong
I just don't belong

Ostensibly, the movie is the story about a woman who has just been paroled from prison for stealing in order to fuel her heroin habit. It then it delves into her struggles to build something resembling a normal life so that she can provide a good home and future for her daughter, who was being taken care of by the woman's brother and sister-in-law while the woman was locked up. We see how the world still views her as a fuck-up, from the manner in which she has to degrade herself to get a job she actually wants to the way she is treated by almost everyone she comes into contact with, including and especially her sister-in-law. We see how Sherry becomes disillusioned with the process of trying to reform herself, as if thinking to herself, "if the world expects I'll amount to nothing, then why am I trying this hard?" And then, finally, we see her come to a decision which she wants more, her daughter or her self-respect.

For me, however, what struck a chord was how hard she seemed to be railing against what she used to be and fought for what she wanted to be. People are always expecting a person to change for the better, but even when that person does, nobody believes it'll stick, which somehow is a saddening thought. It's not enough to make that kind of life-altering change in yourself. It's not enough that you have scratch and bite your way to redeeming yourself. You then also have to change people's minds about you too.

Everyone screws up from time to time and everyone has their faults. Yet it seems that, even while we're giving our friends or acquaintances encouragement to forego these trouble areas, we're patting ourselves on the back for not screwing up like them and not having their faults. We put ourselves in the position of feeling superior to them because we're able to say to them, "hey, I never made your mistakes and look how good I turned out. Maybe if you stop fucking up, you can be as great as me."

Inevitably, they take our advice, thus negating our feelings of moral superiority, and suddenly we're on equal footing with them again. So what do we do? We maintain an air of credulity at their metamorphosis, we scoff at their transformation. We don't want to lose that edge and we don't want to lose our opportunity to feel benevolent. After all, if they can cure what ails them, then pretty soon it'll go back to focusing on what's wrong with ourselves and they'll be the ones giving us advice on how to alleviate our stress and strife.

That's what I like about Sherrybaby. It places up a mirror to this aspect of dealing with loved ones and pokes holes in the theory that any one person is above reproach. Yeah, sure, Sherry does shoulder a lot of the blame in ruining her life by delving into drugs, abandoning her daughter, and not getting serious about her life until she goes to jail. However, once she's out, it seems everyone's determined to not give her a leg up and give her the benefit of the doubt that she is a better person already. They all want to tell her that she's still bad, she's still immature, effectively telling her that she'll never be as good as the rest of us.

I don't know what my point is. I think it's just that with all the hubbub I've been dealing with over this vacation debacle, I've been feeling like people want to come down on me and her for placing ourselves in a position to make a mistake. And I guess the point that I've been considering is that, like Breanne says, sometimes you have to give people the benefit of the doubt... even if it's only us giving ourselves permission to show that we're a different breed now.

I want to think that just because I've screwed up in the past with how I think and act when it comes to Breanne, that I'm different and I deserve some leeway when it comes to naysayers. It's been a long time since I muffed up life completely and I don't intend to start now and I don't intend to start with her. It's my opportunity to prove I can do the decent thing when given the chance.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Now I'm Almost Over You, I've Almost Shook These Blues, So When You Come Back Around, After Painting The Town You'll See, That I'm Almost Over You

--"I'm Almost Over You" (cover), Lila McCann

Intentions are dangerous things. One can believe one's intentions are honorable and relatively harmless, but actually harbor fairly illicit intentions beneath. Whether this truth is due to deluding oneself or the inability to distinguish right from wrong, it is a problem that plagues almost all of us on one occasion or another. It certainly plagues a lot. More than not, I act out of an interest to better my situation, but this can come in many forms. Sometimes I act out of an interest in making a new acquaintance, in which case I will go out of my way to act according to the Rachel ideals that I seem to preach a lot. Sometimes I act out of an interest in relieving the stress I see around me, in which case I will try to be the bigger man and apologize for wrongs that might not seem that wrong to me. Sometimes I act out of a purely selfish interest, in which case all the rules of civility and well manners get tossed out the proverbial window. However, it's the times when I think I'm doing something noble, but am actually doing some by all right reprehensible that eats at me to the core.

A situation has arisen which serves as a perfect template for this. I've recently undertaken the task of planning my next vacation in May. I've narrowed it down to three possible destinations--St. Louis, Boston, or Chicago. While most years the biggest concern I have is what to pack, what to sightsee, and what restaurants I simply must sample, this year a confluence of forces has materialized to burden me with a more momentous dilemma. It quite possibly may be the biggest dilemma I've ever had to face.

I had mentioned to Breanne that it's been almost ten years since we last did anything together--since we've traveled together, since we've talked in person together, since I've even seen her in person. Because of that I tossed out the ridiculous notion that she should come out on vacation with me. You have to understand I practically ask everyone I know who I think is fun to come out on vacation with me. No one ever accepts. This year alone I've asked my friends, Elio, Meg, and Carly to join me on my excursion with the full foreknowledge that such a plan is wishful thinking at best and foolhardy at worst. When I ask the question of their willingness to accompany me, it is much in the same vein of when I ask my co-workers of going to Peru for our one-hour lunch or ordering a deep dish pizza from Chicago delivered to work; it is a request to be taken with a grain of salt. You can imagine my surprise and consternation when my friend, my good friend Breanne, actually told me she would take it under consideration. I attempted to laugh it off, but the very notion of bringing back the P & B dynamic duo was too mind-boggling to process carefully at the time. I deluded myself into thinking it would be a good thing and that was that. I left off the conversation expressing my full support for the idea.

The deal with Breanne, as some of you may know, is that I love her dearly. She's like the little sister I never had, the confidante I always wanted, and the intellectual peer I've always tried to surround myself with, all wrapped into one appropriately attractive package. I haven't given my heart to very many people, let alone to many who actually deserved it. I don't usually heap praise upon individuals strictly in order to be on their good side; I like to tell a person my honest estimate of them without embellishment or colorful language. I hate when others choose to indulge their personal feelings for a subject and allow themselves to be compromised objectively. With all that understood, I still believe that Breanne is one of the finest examples of a human being I've ever encountered. There is no single other person I would place in highger regard than her. Because of that the thought of being able to spend a week with her, just the two of us, should do nothing if not bring an everlasting grin to my face.

For the first few days, as I mulled the idea over, I saw nothing but positives. Two friends as close as we are should get together every couple of years. It's a natural desire to keep in touch with someone you feel close too. I already know I can have fun with her and she would probably turn an okay trip into a vacation that I'll cherish forever. For the first few days it occurred to me the whole plan would be win-win.

Then, after a few more days, the troubling mire of where my intentions lay came into the picture. I started to ask myself if the real reason I wanted her to come was because she was my friend and that I wanted to see her again or if the real reason I wanted her to come lay elsewhere. It's no secret that more often than not I've come to regret not seizing my opportunity to spend the rest of my life with her when it came along. I didn't see it for what it was, life opening the door and inviting me into the party. I let it slip by and it never came around again. Not only was the sticky question of whether I could rekindle her passion for me entering back into my thoughts, but another more sinister motive started to rear its ugly head.

Possibly or probably, I've always known that she and I will never get back together. When she met Greg that pretty much was game over for me. But like the stupid ass I can be, I always left the door just open a crack for the possibility that it was fate for us to be together again someday. I was (or am) like one of those people who get scammed out of their money by a loved one who keep expecting that all will be made right in the end, even when circumstances dictate that they should probably cut bait and run. They keep hoping to the bitter end that their predicament will change for the better. I guess I always believed in the chestnut that love, if true, will find a way to reunite separated souls. However, pragmatically, I steeled myself for the inevitability it wouldn't happen. One thing I didn't give up, shamefully, is the idea that there might be a chance, however remote, that I could spend one last night with her.

I think that's where I sincerely believe the plan for her to come with me to Chicago or Boston or St. Louis might be a bad idea. I've never met Greg. I don't even really know him. From what Breanne's described of him, I think he's a decent fellow. And, even though I have my personal (and probably childish) reasons for disliking the guy, I though had enough maturity to not wish ill on him because of something he really can't be faulted for, which is marrying my girl. The more I ponder it more and more, the more I come to the conclusion that, given the history, given the connection shared, given the fact she has never ceased to be anything but beautiful to me, I would, in fact, have sex with her one more time. Even if it meant ruining her marriage or causing her to hate herself, my honest assessment of myself would be that those consequences would matter less to me than fulfilling that particular fondest desire I've held in for so many years. That's why I think the idea of us ever going anywhere alone together is a recipe for disaster. I mean--the whole informal treaty of her and Greg never again venturing into California, and I never gracing the ground of Georgia again, was struck mostly to keep peace between Greg and I. But I think there was also the idea that it also partly for mine and Breanne's benefit too.

Then again, I can't speak for her. I believe I know her and I think she could be mulling over the same fantastical ideas. Yet, for all I know, she has more common sense and self-control than I possess. She probably does. The only evidence I can go on is what you read here. I don't think it's just my imagination playing tricks on me when I imagine that there is something of a spark, albeit small, between us. I don't know of any set of exes, aside from those relationships that ended violently or tragically, that does not harbor residual feeling for one another. There are parts of me that miss, I mean really miss, DeAnn. There are days when I truly hate the fact I can't remember much of Tara. The fact that Breanne and I stay in constant contact doesn't help the matter any. The mere routine of reading her thoughts on a regular basis only stokes the flame of how much I care for her. When you add the posts she writes about what it was like in the beginning and those wonderful days visiting her or her visiting me, then you can't fault for me for wanting to recapture that. Truth be told, I still want her a lot and damn whatever consequences may result from it. I feel what I feel. Or, as she likes to say, I can only be mojo--no more, no less. I'd sooner abandon my kidneys or my liver than my enamoration of her.

That, in a fairly big nutshell, is the situation I'm in. I could go ahead with the plans to invite her and pretend to her that I'm fully over her, when we both know the truth. That would probably lead me to not enjoying the trip as much as I could and probably coming back regretting I didn't take advantage of a situation that will never come again. The alternative would be doing something that I honestly want to do but would probably ruin at least three lives, two relationships, and one blog site in the process. I wish my intentions were pure. It would solve so many headaches. I wish I could enjoy my time with my friend and want for nothing more, but I have a skulking suspicion that my lack of self-control coupled with my somewhat tenuous grip on ethics or morality shall lead me down a path of wickedness that I've probably never strayed too far from.

I want to be able to express to her that, should she come along, nothing would happen and I want that expression to be the truth when I say it. I want to put on display just how much I've put my old feelings for her behind me. I want to be cocky and brazen in just how much I don't still think of us as a couple. I want to flirt with fucking redheaded hostesses originally from Canada right in front of her. I want to be able to say good-night to her after a day of non-sexual or non-romantic adventures and have it really be all I need for a good night. I want to look her in the eye and tell her that where we are is a place I'm 100% completely comfortable in being.

But all of that would not be the truth.

As aforementioned, the public cover story I'm giving to anybody who asks is that it's just two friends getting together after not seeing each other for almost a decade. Nothing scandalous going on here, folks. But beneath all the spin and attempting to appear to be virtuous is the simple truth I still think she belongs with me, which will come spilling out one day or another into the trip if we do go on it.

The truth is I would never sleep with a married woman. I would hate myself for even considering it.

Yet I would sleep with Breanne one more time, no doubt.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

You're Such A Pretty One, You Had A Kid, Did You Have Any Idea Of The Damage You Did?

--"Alaska", Camera Obscura

and now for something a little different...

A few years before we met I fell in love with a woman named Anne. Over the course of the time I was with her she broke me apart. It wasn’t her fault. I probably was broken to begin with. I think she saw from day one that I wouldn’t be one to take charge of our relationship. Somebody had to do it so it fell to her to be the strong one, to be the one who decided how we were going to be happy. I couldn’t do that much for her because a part of me always knew that I wasn’t going to make her happy. I knew I couldn’t do that because there are just some people who would never be happy and there are just some people who can never make another person happy.

I’m the placeholder. I’m the one who saves the seat but never actually has a seat waiting for him. That’s my life. I’ve gone out with the last couple of women knowing that I might be the person they go out before they meet their husbands or current boyfriends. In one case I’ve actually been the person who introduced the woman to her husband. I’m the person who gets them to realize what kind of man they really want and really need. I’m basically the guy they point to in the line-up and say, “see that guy there? I want everything he’s not.”

Maybe that’s what Anne saw in me, that she wouldn’t have to care for me very much. But I’d prefer to think that it was a natural process. The strong always assume control over the weak. It’s not their fault. It’s what comes natural to them. You don’t blame the hero for having to calm down the other passengers on the sinking ship. You don’t blame him for telling the hysterical woman to snap out of it when she’s confused. I can’t fault her for realizing I was weak and I would never be able to take care of her. Like I said, somebody had to be in charge.

It’s when the lies started that I began to notice that something was terribly wrong between us. She didn’t start doing it till the end. That’s how I knew she’d lost whatever respect she may have once had for me. You can’t lie to somebody you respect-not consistently, at least. And, by the end, it’s pretty much all she did. I don’t even think she realized she was doing it by the end. I think it became easier and easier the more she did it, the more she knew she could fool me, the more I was willing to believe her.

I wanted her to stay.

But she left anyway.



After that I swore I would never be lied to again. I’d had enough of it. I was done with it. I was going to remove myself from anyone who had the potential to hurt me like that again. I was going to make myself immune from it. If I couldn’t find someone who wasn’t go to be as honest with me as I was with them then I’d become a monk. I would live out my days in solitude, content to know that the loneliness was worth it if it saved me from getting hurt like that again.

Then we found each other or, maybe, you found me. However it happened, I thought I’d finally waited enough, been patient enough. I thought I’d found someone who believed in the policy of “what you see is what you get”. For the first few months I believed you, I believed in everything you said. I believed in us.

I believed in you.



Then I found out how you’d been lying to me all along…

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Sometimes I'm Clueless And I'm Clumsy, But I've Got Friends That Love Me, And They Know Just Where I Stand, It's All A Part Of Me, And That's Who I A

--"Who I Am", Jessica Andrews

I was defeated. All I wanted to do was sit right where I was and give up. Granted, I probably wasn't thinking rationally; the misery and the torture had all but replaced every other thought in my brain. I knew it wasn't practical to stop now, given the fact that we were halfway from anywhere and the place I had chosen to rest was exposed to the sun, but I just didn't care. I knew I wasn't comfortable in my own skin and I wanted it to end.

Before I took up hiking as a hobby, I used to have to go on hikes with my Boy Scout troop. It was the one activity I dreaded. Everything about scouting was easy in the beginning. I would get to hang out with my friends after school, going to meetings where we'd goof around and then be provided with tasty baked goods and punch afterwards. Even after we started organizing camping trips, it was still a piece of cake. All camping meant was we'd load up several cars and vans, drive up to where we needed to go, and then proceed to set up tents. After that, it was just basically party the whole weekend which included canoeing; roughshod games of baseball, football, or soccer; and staying up to all hours by drinking six-packs of Jolt and Mountain Dew. I'd been used to that by having gone camping with my extended family every year. To me that's when being in Boy Scouts was fun.

Eventually, though, it stopped being so fun. Soon we started having to hike to our camp spots. At first, it was short jaunts--three miles here, five miles there. Later, it became longer and longer. Not only that, but it stopped being about getting to hang out with my friends but about competing with them. Everybody stopped talking about silly stuff and started getting serious about advancing up the Scouting ladder. Conversations about how close this person was to getting this badge or that achievement began to dominate the meetings and camping trips. It all become old really fast.

Back then, I was never a good hiker to begin with. I hated having to lug around a thirty to forty pound backpack through heat and humidity. I hated having to pretend that this was something I thoroughly enjoyed. I hated the fact that I had volunteered for this torture.

That's how I found myself halfway up to Mt. Whitney, with three or four more hours of arduous trekking to go, quitting on myself and my scout troop. I had had enough. Everything was sore. Everything was dirty. And I literally wanted to go home. When I stopped yet again on our ascent up the trail I was sure I heard groans from more than a few of my fellow scouts. It wasn't the first time I had halted our progress and they probably knew it wouldn't be the last. I was being such a baby, but I didn't know how else to be. As aforementioned in this blog, I am a huge advocate for being in control of one's destiny, one's actions. At the point in time all I wanted to do was stop and rest. It didn't occur to me that I had entered into a social contract with my peers, whereby I had agreed to maintain pace with them in exchange for being accepted as one of the group. I wanted to do what I wanted to do and damn the rest of the group.

I didn't mind the scoffing from the younger members. Their teasing always fell on deaf ears because I always thought of myself as naturally more mature than they were. What bothered me the most was that I was derided by my friends who were in my class. We had all entered scouting together and the idea that I was lagging behind them, that I wasn't as mentally or physically tough as they were came as quite a blow to me. What were they doing right that I just couldn't?

It was then that one of them came over to me and tried some words of encouragement. He told me that everyone was hurting and everyone was tired, that it wasn't just me. I explained to him my excuse that I didn't think I was cut out to do this, that maybe this whole trip was an endeavor that was far outside of my capabilities. I hadn't read the book at the time, but my thoughts on the matter pretty much echoed the sentiments in The Tao of Pooh. Self-improvement isn't supposed to be made in great leaps and bounds, pushing yourself harder than you've ever pushed yourself before. Change is supposed to be made by building on your natural ability and slowly developing the skills necessary to accomplish whatever task you wanted to accomplish. At that point in time I thought it was a futile exercise for me to complete that hike because I knew my limits and I'd passed them quite awhile back on that trail.

It was probably only a minute or two that we talked, but they saw that I wasn't going to budge. I knew what was going to happen next if progress wasn't made. They would send one of the adult chaperones to have a little chat with me and I'd basically be forced to continue. It wasn't a fate I was looking forward to.

But then something unexpected happened. Another one of my friends came over and told me he had come up with a solution to my dilemma. Part of the reason I was feeling tired was because I thought the pace was too fast, that I was being pushed too far too quickly. The solution? He told me we should put me at the front of the pack so I could set the pace. Sure, I'd be compelled to move faster than I'd like because I didn't want to look like an ass in front of everybody again. But that way, also, I could go a little bit slower at a pace I was more comfortable with.

What got to me was that none of them had to do that for me. I mean--I have particular ideas about the way I wanted to do things and I know I tend to voice or show my displeasure if my ways are not accomadated. However, I usually meet resistance until either people get sick of me or I get sick of being in the situation time and time again. To understand that, even though I had pretty much giving up trying to be part of the group, they still wanted me to be there when we all reached camp was kind of refreshing. Yes, it's true that they weren't about to leave me behind. But they very well could have been less tactless in their approach. They could have marched on without me until I was forced to catch up with them, which would have been the usual manner in which one handles babies who were acting spoiled like I was. They could have heckled me into submission. They could have done a thousand things to get what they wanted out of me. Instead, after their initial disbelief and annoyance, they chose to welcome me back into the fold.

Even after we got to camp safely, albeit forty-five minutes later than it should have taken us, I made sure to thank those two friends who hadn't given up on me. I don't know why I am like that. I always seem to chose the more selfish path and then, days, weeks, months, or years later, I always end up regretting my actions. Even more than how glad I was to finally make it to a point where I could rest and relax for the next couple of days before having to hike down the mountain again, I was glad that I had friends who understood I was a prissy, self-absorbed whiner and still accepted me anyway. I had my strengths back then, but fortitude and perseverance took me a couple of years to develop.

I was and who I was, and even though I've gotten a bit better in trying to be more accomadating to people and trying hard to do something that would make someone else happy rather than only me, I'm still very set in my ways. It's a true sign of my friends' abilities to see the diamond in the rough that they can put up with my way and still believe in me like those two friends did. I guess that's how anyone knows who their true friends are, if they've seen you at your worst and still are able to find the best in you.

And the hike down? They sent me ahead in a group with some of the faster hikers and I was so determined to show everyone I wasn't a crybaby all the time, I sped up the pace to the point where we actually outpaced the other group by almost an hour. They left a half hour after my group and arrived almost an hour and a half after us.

See? I wasn't always a bad person.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

So Never Mind The Darkness, We Still Can Find A Way, 'Cause Nothin' Lasts Forever, Even Cold November Rain

--"November Rain", Guns N' Roses

I've always tried to set myself apart from the rest of the crowd. Fitting in was never a high priority for me growing up. I can remember thousands of times where I could have done the "normal" thing or what was expected of me, but instead I chose to do something slightly off-kilter or weird because the idea of conforming just never appealed to me. I don't know if it really stems from being anti-social or just trying to be noticed. I mean--I never had the whole being devestatingly handsome or excruciatingly athletic thing going for me. The only really natural talent I have is for thinking on my feet and being creative, both of which come in handy when you're trying to be funny by doing something off-the-wall or trying to be witty by coming up with a clever non-sequitir or pun. Sometimes I don't even really believe the things I tell people I believe in or I don't really want to engage in some of the illicit activities I have engaged in, but because, ironically, it's expected of me to do the unexpected, I feel forced to always be striving for the next crazy thing. I have that mentality that I've already travelled this far on the reputation of bucking convention at every opportunity, I can't stop now.

It's been fun at times up until now. I tend to crack myself up a lot and, upon occasion, I even manage to coax a smile out of friends, family, co-workers, and random strangers. It's a refreshing feeling not to be tied to having to appear civil or restrained. Pretty much any time I think of something, I express it somehow.

However, in recent years, I've noticed a nasty corrolary to this personality trait. I simply have no patience for people who choose more often than not to walk the straight and narrow. I get annoyed with people who lack the carefree spirit to do and say as they please. I see it in many areas. Just last Friday I got upset with my friend for wanting to spend time with family rather than go on a last-minute trip. To be obligated to one's family before what one really wants to do is so far out of my understanding that I was really ticked off. It was enough to ruin dinner for both of us. I see it with people I spend time with who can't spend more time with me because they feel the tiniest bit of awkwardness or embarrassment in having to explain themselves to other people they know. For me, it's always been in my best interest to be friendly with people I think are cool regardless of their particular background, upbringing, circumstances, or living arrangements. For me, when you have to decide whether or not you can be friends with somebody on something other than the content of their character, then you're not being true to yourself. I also notice it when I want to go out to do something and I have no one to turn to do it with.

It's kind of a loneliness, I suppose, but it's more self-imposed. I push people away left and right when they fail to live up to my high standards of being independent. Annoying me is a one-way ticket to not wanting to be around you and I get annoyed rather easily. What that leaves me is a situation where I know a lot of people, but only slightly and nowhere near well enough to have them in my life as everyday people. It's also lead me to the belief that close friends are a precious commodity to me because I don't have many. I can maybe count on one hand the people who I feel comfortable calling everyday if I had to. More importantly, I have even fewer people I think are comfortable talking to me everyday. I am, admittedly, as my cousin likes to say, a very hard guy to please. I demand my day to be annoyance-free and if you can't live up to that then I have no use for you.

Sometimes on nights like this where I feel like I've estranged everybody I've ever known, I think maybe I've placed myself in an untenable situation. I gave off the impression that people aren't good enough for me when the truth was that I have far too short of a temper. Also, this willingness to do whatever came to mind has led me to make mistakes, to make snap judgments about individuals and to walk out on pretty good friendships because rather than talk it out or discuss my concerns, which would be the rational course of action, leaving the situation became more my style because it was what people would least expect. Heidi was the worst example of this. I stopped being friends with her because she didn't talk enough about my girlfriend at the time. It wasn't because she said something mean about her or disparaged her any way, but because I thought she wasn't interested as much as I'd liked her to be in my relationship. If that is not the stupidest reason to abandon somebody you are close to, then I don't know what it is. But that's what I was like and maybe still am. I let small things bother me enough to take drastic measures.

It might seem like a complaint but I think I'm just taking an honest assessment of my life as it stands now. Instead of screaming at the wind, asking why I no longer go out with friends as much as I used to, trying to blame others for not getting me or understanding me, I know where the blame lays. It's all on me. While I'm an easy person to hang out with once-in-a-while, I'm a hard person to be around all the time.

I'm trying to be more like Rachel and show more patience for others, but I find it rather difficult at times. It's hard for me to say something to patch things up when so much of me wants to say what I'm really thinking, which is that it's the other guy's fault.

I know nights like this aren't what my life consists of day-to-day. There are some weeks where I'm so busy that all I want is a quiet night at home alone, but lately it seems the quiet nights are starting to outnumber the nights with friends. I guess that's starting to scare me that all I have to look forward to is the rest of my life lived out alone, an individual with many acquaintances, but no real friends.

Who knows? Maybe tomorrow somebody will call me up last minute to have dinner at Bubba Gump's or Carly and I will finally settle on a date to shoot that short I've been working on. Maybe tomorrow I'll be inspired to wrap up the last fifteen pages to my screenplay or I'll discover some new diversion. Hell, tomorrow I might even find somebody else that is cool that I can walk away from five months from now. I know this period of introspection can't last forever and that I'm in much better shape now than I was a year ago.


don't ya think that you need somebody
don't ya think that you need someone
everybody needs somebody
you're not the only one
you're not the only one

However, just because you know it can't rain all the time doesn't stop you from wishing it weren't raining now.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Vitality, Khoomei, Smoking, AntiVirus, Evolution.

copied from my blogger.

I think the exact point in time the youthful vigour disappeared from my eyes was when my 3rd year started. I saw it in everyone else in my class too. All the freshman and sophomores here at UCR are full of vitality and drive. The juniors and seniors all look drained and exhausted, all the time.

Well, I've been spending more and more time practicing Khoomei, or Tuvan/Mongolian Throat singing. Basically it's singing one note in a constricted, striated voice, and modulating the false vocals chords, your tongue, and inside walls of your mouth, to resonate and create a harmonic, perhaps more than one. There's three basic styles, Khoomei(also the name of the throat singing in general), Kargyrra, and Sygyt, each differing by how you create the harmonics. I think overtone singing in general is amazing, but I felt like Khoomei was the place to start.

I broke my promise to myself that I would stop smoking. I had successfully stopped cigarettes since October 10th, 2005. But I bought a pack day before yesterday, three months to the day, oddly enough. I don't know what I was thinking, but fuck... Well, I'll give it another go, after this pack. I'll try wetting the filter, this time.

At the beginning of this school year I installed McAfee security on my laptop. Big mistake. It sucked up so much memory with it's ridiculous number of programs, that there wasn't enough to even operate windows explorer. Closing the programs using task manager would be useless because they would just start up again. Anytime I had to delete a file that was larger than 100 or 200 mb, it would fuck up and freak out. I fucking uninstalled that shit after putting up with it for a whole quarter. Now I use Avira Anti-Vir and everything's peachy. I should be in control of my computer, not the other way around. Take that, you bucket of bolts.

On this other forum I'm a part of, J-Music Ignited, which I joined to keep this wannabe know-it-all in line, people mentioned evolution. "The theory of Evolution." ........ It's not a fucking theory. It is FACT. What's now disputed about it is our own evolution, which is only partially figured out. But that it occurs in nature is undisputable. We witness it on a microscale and macroscale all the fucking time. Humans have slowed the evolutionary process down a bit, with medicine and all, keeping "unfit" individuals alive, but population dynamics should kick in pretty soon, and I think it's going catch up with us, the next big predator being some sort of virus that kills off everything except the individuals who are "fit" in evolutionary terms. Well, it already seems like it's here. Now we just have to wait another few hundred thousand to million years, and see. If we live to write about it.

And that's all folks.

No Passion, No Warmth In These Words, I'm Trying, But Have Nothing To Offer, I'm Waiting With Nothing To Do, I'm Waiting, Just Waiting On You

--"Waiting", The Rentals

THE CARD HOUSE
a poem by E. Patrick Taroc

The pilot-light blue of my fist
As it, fallen in faceless depths
Of the breach, burns and burns again.

Winters when the world was complete--
Structured and proud like card houses,
Vermilion bikes on their back,
Layered, level upon level,
Till immortality remained--
You were taken to such moments
Mankind can only dream of dreaming.
Unshackled of your home and hearth,
Where mother mentioned your name often
In hopes you'd hold it forever
In those pinkened and pudgy hands,
You would award it back to her
After more names were mentioned
Ten and twentyfold with a smile.
London-fogged dawns imparted
Their riches and were replaced
By New England nighttimes,
As you were insisted, as I,
To the palette of smearing blues
By the seasons in endless round,
The spinning jenny of your life,
Each new season a spindle
Where with each methodical motion
What was to be fated from birth
Was fashioned, not from special straw
That gave way to gold, but plain thread.
Days whittled the weeks away
Until only months remained
Of our daydreams together.
I was as never as young as you;
You, never as mature as me,
But the difference was divided,
Bisected by the bronzed compass
Of a common name, not yet known
To you.
              Perchance it was nothing,
Nothing much more than a few letters,
A sound lisped by even native lips,
That attached myself to you
Like the old box-kite kept reined
By our alternating hand.
Perchance it was a knot tightened
By society's customs and manners,
But one that had been there always,
Like the pull of seasons upon us
Or your friendly hand outstretched
To catch beauty itself in your palms,
Never to be disappointed
When it spilled out and beyond,
Dabbing your youthful features
In its ebbing intangibility.
And when you giggled and fell
Into the waiting lap of the land,
I thought you thought the same as me
And I fell in support.
                                        But now,
With the earth embracing you in,
As if your escape was never meant,
And mother invisible,
I deduce nothing came of thoughts,
For a thought can never replace--
The candle's light never quite nears
The import of its facile flame.

Your fingers melding with mine
Beneath the glossy tabletop
Of the once-pond, I tug-of-war
With the thousand thousands of hands
Reaching, grabbing, grappling, groping--
Below, all knowing you are too much
For mankind and me, for life itself.

(05/04/95) Copyright 1995, 2007 E. Patrick Taroc

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Just Let Me Hold You While You're Falling Apart, Just Let Me Hold You So We Both Fall Down, Fall On Me, Tell Me Everything You Want Me To Be

--"Ever The Same", Rob Thomas

P- Think of how I feel, Breanne. All this time I could have been having sex with you without repercussions. Such a waste!

B- Because, you know, I'm just that easy, sugar.

P- Well, it's like they say, one woman's loss is another man's gain.

B- I'm glad you can see the positive spin on my tragic news. I was fearing that I wouldn't find anybody who could make me smile again.

P- That's about all I'm good for, poking fun at your misfortune.

B- I can think of a couple of other things.

P- I just figured that you've probably had enough of people telling you it's going be alright and it's going to be okay.

B- Basically everybody.

P- I mean--you know my shoulder's totally here for you, Breannie, but it sounded like you've had enough of people coddling you.

B- Basically everybody.

P- Exactly. I say baby-shmaby. A baby would have just slowed you down anyway. That's what I always say, babies are nothing but deadweight.

B- That's kind of a perverted worldview, darling.

P- Well, that's just the perverted type of guy I am.

B- You know, when I called you up, I was expecting more of the sympathetic Patrick and not the sarcastic one. I'm not quite sure if I'm ready for this version yet.

P- The way I see it, Greg's probably taking care of all the heavy lifting and probably taken the brunt of all the anger, right?

B- Yes.

P- And I figure your mother's taking care of all the uplifting stories about how they said the same thing about her, that she'd never have a kid. Then she probably told you something like if she could do it then you could still do it too.

B- Yeah. She also closed by reminding me I was her "little miracle" and that I was due a miracle too.

P- Exactly. So, by my calculations, all that's left for me is the actual cheering you up, which is totally the easy part.

B- And why's that?

P- You're a total pushover when it comes to getting you to smile, Breanne. It's like your natural state. You're just built that way.

B- I suppose I could try to smile... for you.

P- Do you want me to bust out the Yoda?

B- No, that's quite alright, Eeyore. I will smile for you.

P- God knows how much I love your smile.

B- Really? How does it look to you now over the phone, darling?

P- Like diamonds.

B- Hell's bells, that's exactly the look I was going for.

P- It's funny. I can always tell when you're smiling, B.

B- And how's that?

P- Because you always sound like you've just walked into the toy store when you're smiling.

B- Do I? Do I really?

P- Yes.

B- Well, a woman's got to have her toys, Patrick.

P- Just what kind of toys are we talking about here?

B- Never you mind.

P- Oh, come on, you can't play the married card all the time. That's no fun.

B- It's fun for me. It's fun for me to watch you squirm.

P- You're just cruel.

B- And you love every minute of it.

P- Well, yeah, but that's beside the point.

B- Admit it. You'd be lost without me.

P- And you wouldn't be just as lost without me?

B- Uh, hello? Can't have baby, remember? Now's not the time to be focusing on you, Mr. Selfish. Cheer me up, damn it all.

P- I wished you'd told me sooner. I hate not knowing something's wrong until the last minute.

B- I know. It was just hard.

P- Isn't that what I'm here for too? To get you through the hard stuff?

B- Actually, last time I saw you, it was you who was packing the hard stuff with him, if I remember correctly, sugar.

P- Oh oh, there she is. She's back. Breanne's back.

B- Yes, it is good to be back and talking with the living again.

P- Does that mean the let's-have-sex-alot-since-you-can't-get-pregnant topic is open for discussion again?

B- Ah... no.

P- Thought so.

B- I know what you mean, though. I wanted to call, but my first response is to come to Greg. You know that.

P- Sure, sure, pick the husband first. I see how it works.

B- But you also have to know there's always a small part of me that instinctively thinks to call you right away.

P- I'm just glad you called at all.

B- It was time. Like you said, my husband and my parents did most of the work. All that's left for you is clean-up. So entertain me, clown.

P- As her majesty wishes. Shall I perform feats of magic to mystify and befuddle the mind or would the lady prefer me to fall on my ass a couple of times?

B- Falling sounds fun.

P- Falling it is then.

B- And Eeyore?

P- Yes, my Breannie.

B- Thanks for being my friend... It's been a rough couple of weeks. I didn't think I was going to make it through.

P- Just doing my job, ma'am. Just doing my job. No one quits on my watch. I won't allow it.

B- Wo ai ni, Patrick.

P- Wo ai ni, silly Breannie.

B- Now fall!

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

The Moon, Is Shining In The Sky, Reminding Me, Of So Many Other Nights, But They're Not Like Tonight

--"But Not Tonight", Depeche Mode

With the advent of 2007 it has been almost a decade since Tara and I broke up. The strangest thing about that fact is how little I think about it. In fact, I almost forgot it's been ten years. If it wasn't for trying to remember dates involving other people in my life, I think there's a good chance that I could have forgotten the two of us went out at all. It's not that she didn't matter to me--because she did. Some of the most memorable coversations I've had were with her. She always had a gift for clever imagery and impromptu sayings--the whole "life is a jigsaw puzzle and I'm still working on the edges" saying is all her. I think it has more to do with the fact that she came in between two people who just happened to matter more to me, Breanne and DeAnn.

At the time, while I was spending the weekend out there in 1997, getting fitted for her prom, meeting her friends, and ultimately breaking up, I thought it would be impossible to forget about her. That was probably one of the worst weekends I have ever experienced. It started off bad and just kept getting progressively worse. The first night I was there we began discussing what it'd be like once she got to college. It was then that we collectively decided that it'd probably be a good idea to see other people. The second night I was there the glaring differences between our ages became all the more apparent as I failed to get along in any way, shape, or degree with her friends. It was clear that, aside from being into each other, we didn't have much in common. That night we decided that we would finish out the school year and break up once her prom was over. The third night I was there, everything came to hell and we broke up right then and there. By the fourth day, we knew it probably was going to be the last time we saw each other.

I've never had a plane trip where the entire time was spent on the verge of tears.

I thought for sure that pain, that misery, that heartache would last forever. If I was like Rob Gordon in High Fidelity and I were making a list of Top 5 all-time break-ups, she would have been on it. She would have been on it, for sure, because nobody had the audacity to break my heart while I was supposed to be visiting them on my own dime.

Yet, as I sit here writing about her, it dawns on me that, in the scope of things, there really wasn't much there. We'd barely been seeing each other for eight months. It had more to do with how quickly and completely I tend to fall for someone than actual sense of loss. In the scope of things, it took me a lot longer to get over the likes of Breanne and DeAnn, than it did her. Hers just felt more personal because it was a relationship I fully supported and didn't see coming. The others I kind of saw coming and so maybe I understood those partings more. Hers felt out of left field.

It just amazes me how many nights I spent thinking that that was it, that was my one chance at happiness and I would never find it again. I spent so much of the rest of that year and part of the next year trying to figure out how to move on that I didn't think I would ever see a night where I could be content with myself. And it wasn't like there is one night I could point to where I completely forgot about her. I mean--yeah, meeting DeAnn helped, but that didn't happen till July of 1998. Small pieces of Tara just kept disappearing, but it wasn't like it hurt less. It honestly felt like I was simply forgetting how much it hurt. It was as if my brain was refusing to tell my body how much pain I was actually going through and everyday I lost a small portion of specific words and specific feelings concerning those four days. Finally, I lost most of my memory about what exactly happened and why it happened. In a sense, she became wiped clean from the forefront of my brain. If I can concentrate, I can still remember everything, but those memories now reside in a part of my brain that I hardly ever visit. Those memories are hard to access, whereas the memories about other people I can recall at the drop of a hat.

So I find myself tonight thinking if I ever really was that distraught or ever that worried about never finding love again. Back then, you would have been hard-pressed convincing me that there would come a time where she simply didn't factor into my everyday thoughts. Back then, you would have only had to mention her name and I would have immediately grown despondent or sullen. Back then, she really was everything to me. Tonight, however, even though some of those memories have come flooding back to me, I don't think I'll ever go back to a stage where I ever hurt that badly over her again.

Ten years is a long time between something happening and your memory of it. It just doesn't feel as real. Sometimes it doesn't feel like it happened at all.

I don't know whether to be happy that I can't remember or sad that I can forget so easily. Perhaps I'm just feeling a little bit of both tonight.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

E Hine E, Hoki Maira, Kamate Au--I Te Aroha E, Kamate Au--I Te Aroha E

"Pokarekare Ana" (Traditional, New Zealand), Hayley Westenra

Somebody I know has this theory that there are people who listen to music because they like the lyrics; words set to music brings on depths of emotions that the words by themselves could not coax out. Then there are others who listen to music because certain melodies intrinsically possess a beauty all their own. To them music is like painting seen by the heart and not the eyes. For the most part, I tend to decipher a work's lyrics to determine its worth. Sure, voice quality and memorable accompaniment enhance a piece of music, but for me it's almost always the words that stirs my soul first. It's probably why so much of my time writing these posts is spent seeking the perfect set of lyrics to capture the theme or the tone I'm going for. I like words, and words set to music is just an extra treat for me.

However, there are some works that by their very nature whose spirit cannot be captured in words. Some of the songs by Do As Infinity take me to places that other songs whose lyrics are foreign to me just can't. Buried within the music is the soul of something beautiful. These are the kinds of works that I don't seek out, but somehow they always manage to find me.

"Pokarekare Ana" is one of those songs. The story of how I chanced upon this song is so convoluted that I was hesitant to even bring it up, but in keeping with the theme of how certain songs surprise you, I shall try to sum up the sordid tale for you. Basically, I was sitting in work recently and one of my co-workers asked me if I've ever seen the commercial for Celtic Woman, that four (now five) woman singing group who specialize in old Irish standards and traditional Celtic fare. I replied to her that, of course, I had because a) secretly, I think I'm Irish, b ) if I'm not mistaken, there's a redhead among the group, and c) they're female singers who aren't half-bad. I told her that the only reason I hadn't already picked up their CD was because I'm the type to buy everything that catches my interest and the only manner in which I prevent myself going into debt is to put off purchasing certain items until I get another paycheck. By that time, I count on the fact I'll have forgotten what I wanted to buy in the first place and, thusly, save me on spending more than I could afford. After chastising her for re-awakening my interest in owning said CD, I began looking up songs on Youtube so that I could be sure that my investment would be worth it.

It was in the course of testing out songs that I discovered that Celtic Woman had recently added a new member to their fold, one Hayley Westenra, an apparent singing prodigy who already had numerous CDs to her name. I listened to her cover of "Scarborough Fair" for the group, liked it, and began searching for both her and Celtic Woman. Still, I didn't stumble upon the song until a little later.

It was a couple of days after that, when the Celtic Woman CD was already mine to be had, that I begin to wade my way through Miss Westenra's catalogue in earnest. I discovered other songs I liked by her, including a splendid version of "Both Sides Now", the song my esteemed colleague utilized below.

Yet it wasn't until I chanced upon her version of "Pokarekare Ana" that I really began to truly enjoy her music. As some of you know, my pet motif when I write is to write about people who are "forlorn and wistful". The theme takes on many shapes, but it's always been a pet phrase of mine to be tossed whenever somebody asks the dreaded question of what kind of story I'm writing. "Oh it's a forlorn and wistful tale," I tell them. Something about writing about people in this middle ground really intrigues me.

That's "Pokarekare Ana" for me. Even before I knew what the song was about, Miss Hayley's voice and the tone of the music clued me in that this was a song that spoke to how I feel most of the time. It captures that sense of sadness, loneliness, and isolation I think all of us experience from time to time (some more than others) but it also captures this unyielding sense of hope for the future. It is pretty much guaranteed any time I see or hear something of this nature I instantly fall in love with it. "Pictures of Success", my favorite song is a perfect example of this quality as is Avonlea, my all-time favorite television show. I can't decide which gets to me more, the haunting quality of Miss Westenra's voice or the fact that the song is from the first moments to the very last exhibits this theme so exquisitely. I don't know if I could separate the two. I think this song was tailor-mailed for someone of her vocal abilities, just like I believe that only someone of her vocal abilities could ever do this song justice. One does not live without the other.

I think that's why this song gets to me. If it was in English, I may have become distracted by the words and decided that it's too short and simple for my tastes. However, because all I have to judge it on are the pure emotions it stirs in me as well as the memories it evokes, it endears itself to me on pure strength of spirit alone. I don't know if it's a perfect song, but it does capture something that a lot of other songs don't for me. It places what I feel into a capsule that I can break open any time and taste any time. It makes it tangible, touchable, in a fashion that most pieces of art do not.

It also remains one of those rare songs that I think is better for not having known what it's about. I don't care what it means or what it signifies. All I care about is what it means to me... and that's a lot.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers


"Pokarekare Ana"

Pokarekare ana
Nga wai o waiapu
Whiti atu koe hine
Marino ana e

E hine e
Hoki maira
Kamate au
-i te aroha e

Tuhituhi taku rita
Tuku atu taku ringi
Kia kiti to iwi
Raru raru ana e

E hine e
Hoki maira
Kamate au
-i te aroha e

E hine e
Hoki maira
Kamate au
-i te aroha e

Kamate au
-i te aroha e

[English translation:]

Stormy are the waters
Of restless Waiapu
If you cross them, girl
They will be calmed

Oh girl
Come back to me
I could die
Of love for you

I write you my letter
I send you my ring
So your people can see
How troubled I am

Oh girl
Come back to me
I could die
Of love for you

Oh girl
Come back to me
I could die
Of love for you

I could die
Of love (for you).

And You're Not Happy, But You're Funny, And I'm Tripping Over My Joy, But I Just Keep On Getting Up Again

--"The Absence of God", Rilo Kiley

This writing business. Pencils and what-not. Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it.
--Eeyore

Knowing my penchant for self-help books that don't take themselves too seriously--namely, Fuck Yes: A Guide to the Happy Acceptance of Everything--and my healthy love for a certain mule who thinks he's a donkey, my friend Brandy sent me an interesting offering for my Christmas gift. In all my years of working at Crown Books I had always run across Benjamin Hoffman's books, The Tao of Pooh and The Te of Piglet and I'd always reminded myself that one of these days I would have to pick them up. Yet "one of these days" never came and eventually I lost all memory that I wanted to read these books. It wasn't that I got disinterested in them. On the contrary, I have the type of personality, if I don't purchase an item when it piques my interest, another item will subsequently replace it in my "to buy" list. Those two books simply fell through the cracks.

Thanks to Brandy, however, I finally got the opportunity to read the first book in the tandem. It was well worth the wait because now I have a deeper understanding of some the character archetypes contained in the stories as well as a fuller perception of how my affinity for the stories speaks volumes about me. Instead of taking them as amusing anecdotes and superbly quotable observations of life, I've begun to see Pooh, Tigger, and the rest as metaphors for every person I've ever run across or come into contact with.

I can't explain to you why the tales of Pooh and the gang continue to be a revered set of stories for me. Along with Calvin and Hobbes and The Story Girl stories, Pooh remains a constant soure of inspiration and a wellspring of original thought. Even to this day, one of my more favored questions to ask a new acquaintance is who their favorite Pooh character is. Very often I find their answer surprisingly suggestive of what their personality is and very indicative of how well I may or may not get along with them.

Which brings me around to my favorite character, Eeyore. What does he exactly mean to me? And when exactly did I begun to associate myself with him?

Both good questions. Let me see if I can answer them.

----

It had been another time in Mina's treehouse. I wouldn't say I talked all the time to her. Most of the time I walked the block or so to visit my friend Tommy. If Mina happened to be there, all the better. Yet there was something to be said about the privacy a treehouse affords one when one is as contemplative and prone to bouts of self-realization as I am. Possibly, some of the conversations I had with her wouldn't have happened had we been sitting on the curb or laying on the grass. I definitely think we wouldn't have the conversations had they been in the presence of anyone else. For some inexplicable reason, I grow more intelligent, more thoughtful, or perhaps grow more conducive to evolved notions of life, the universe, and everything, the less people are around. I'm like one of those talking frogs who can't shut up when there's only one person there, but, as soon as someone else shows up, I clam up.

There we were, waiting for her brother, Tommy, or anybody else to show up so we could get to the business of playing something when I asked her an innocuous question.

"Half full or half empty?" I asked. It was a strange question to ask since there was neither a glass present nor had we been discussing anything bordering on philosophy earlier in the day. It was one of those quiet moments where we had nothing better to talk about and I could kind of tell what we were contemplating was somehow connected.

"I always thought of myself as a positive person," she answered.

"Yeah, I could see that."

Honestly, I couldn't. What I knew of Mina she fell somewhere in the middle of the curve in terms of her proclivity for being either pessimistic or optimistic. Sure, she was upbeat, but she got down on herself as much as anyone I knew then. I think it's a great misnomer to label oneself as a positive person. I've met positive people and most people who think they are positive people, aren't. Breanne is a positive person, but she's the only one I know.

However, I didn't want to tell Mina that. Who was I to rain down on her parade of considering herself upbeat?

"People are always telling me I have a great smile and I like to smile, so yeah."

I don't know why the comment sparked a reaction in me. Maybe it was the tedium of waiting or maybe I had ideas that had been swimming around in my head. Whatever the reason, I decided to give her a full account of where I stood on the whole positive/negative Mason-Dixon line.

"Well, people are always telling me that I'm very moody and I kind of agree with them."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know--sometimes my mom wants me to pretend to be happy when I'm not and I just don't want to do it. It's the same when she tells me what to wear. I have a very big problem being told how I should do anything, actually."

Mina laughed.

"So you're just a gloomy gus?"

"That's not it either. I just think people should smile when they're happy, frown when they're sad, &c... I prefer being real, I guess."

I think that's a misconception about Eeyore. People always think of Eeyore as being this gloomy and depressed beast. The original Eeyore is very British, I think. He's a hodge-podge of pessimism, stoicism, sarcasm and cynicism--all of which are traits I think are very highly colorful in a person, especially the last two. He just sees the world with clear glasses on--neither positive or negative. Sure, most of his quotes come off as fatalistic and as complaints, but if one looks closely at the books, you'll find some gems of finding that even keel that eludes most people.

"It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily.
"So it is."
"And freezing."
"Is it?"
"Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately."

Even while I was talking to Mina, all those years before I could effectively put it into words, I had this perspective of the world as being a very realistic place. I think that's why I don't believe in formalized religions or holidays--they put this rosy-colored slant on the world that just isn't there. Don't mistake me, I'm not much in favor of the naysayers on the news who report on all the evil that men do to one another. Like I said, life inevitably falls somewhere in the middle and people should act accordingly.

"But didn't your mom tell you to smile?" Mina asked me.

"Well, yeah. But just because someone tells you to do something doesn't mean you should do it."

"Even your parents."

"Especially your parents."

I suppose that sounds rather harsh, especially considering that when I was having that conversation I had yet to leave Junior High, but I was the kind of individual who knew where my beliefs lay. My beliefs lay in the fact that the best judge of right and wrong in oneself and not anyone else. No matter how old you are, what some dusty book might tell you, or if other people have more experience than you or even if someone has been appointed by the city, state, or country to tell you right from wrong, you, as a person, are the only law you should follow.

Looking back on that day, I think I was having an epiphany that Mina couldn't quite grasp because from her reactions she still thought we were making small talk. However, I rather dislike small talk. The talk I was having with her was assisting me in formulating some of the basic precepts I would come to stake my whole personality on later on in life. Very often I find that nothing quite clears up philosophical stances and ethical guidelines than hashing them out with someone who might not agree with. Mina didn't exactly disagree with me, but her lighthearted approach to the subject matter only prompted me to grow more resolved and steadfast in my opinions.

"Everyone should smile more, I think," she said.

"Even if they don't have any reason to?"

"You can always think of something to smile about."

"Well, I do like it when you smile, Mina. You are right about that."

"See, even you can smile about me smiling. Problem solved."

This time it was my turn to laugh.

As aformentioned in my previous post, I didn't really have a crush on Mina. She was nice and pleasant to look out, but the real neighborhood crush I had was for the girl six doors down named Shannon. Yet Mina and I did get along and it wasn't inconceivable for me that someday I might come to harbor a real fondness for her.

"I admit it. I like to smile too. I just think you should have a reason to and, frankly, most days I have more reasons to be upset or sad about stuff than happy."

"Why's that?"

"I think it's the nature of things. For some reason I hold onto bad memories more than happy ones. Those are the ones that stick around the longest for me."

"Then I guess you're just not making the right kind of happy memories, Patrick."

"I guess not."

Even to this day, one of my maxims remains that only sad people write. Happy people are too busy being happy to ponder anything. Meanwhile, the sad people, because they are almost always alone in their sadness, have oodles of time to ponder the myriad of reasons they are sad. Because of this, they tend to write down their depressing feelings, their feelings of angst, and their feelings of desolation where it only serves to insure they remain trapped with the same negative feelings.

That's what I think Eeyore's case is. It isn't the fact that Eeyore is more negative than positive; it's the fact that negative people are more contemplative. And when one is more contemplative, one thinks of pithier and more quotable sayings. Therefore, those thoughts and those expressions are the ones that get memorialized in print. For all I know, Eeyore was a silent bundle of joy in private, but a verbose. morose donkey in public.

"You're just a little Eeyore, aren't you?" she asked, thus labeling me with a nickname that has lasted me my entire life up to this point.

"Exactly. You can just call me your little Eeyore, Mina."

We both laughed because, even though I was being serious about the whole world needing to take itself more seriously, the prospect of being compared to the model for pin the tail on the donkey tickled me.

It still does.


and I say there's trouble
when everything is fine

Pessimistic. Stoic. Sarcastic. Cynical.

That's me. So yeah, I'm not happy all the time, but I try to be funny about it.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers