I'll Be Missing You, After September, I'll Be Wanting You, So Always Remember, How I Loved You Girl, After The Summer's Gone

--"After the Summer's Gone", PC Quest

Last week Brandy sent me a gift I didn't know I had coming. I received a copy of PC Quest's self-titled album which was originally produced in 1991. It didn't cost her a lot--I think she bought off Ebay for less than five dollars--and I doubt to anyone else it would hold as much meaning does for me. The songs are all outdated, way too poppy, and probably are as saccharine sweet as any songs that have ever been played anywhere. I'm fairly sure almost anyone else would have filed the cassette away somewhere and never thought twice about it.

However, I'm not exaggerating when I say it's probably the most thoughtful gift I've received all year.


I can tell you that life isn't fair
But I still can't tell you why

Yes, there's a certain nostalgia associated the album. I still remember listening to almost all these songs on a certain trip up to visit my aunt in Bakersfield. I remember making a fool of myself in front of my family by listening to this innocuous little cassette through my headphones and belting each song loudly. It didn't matter to me that nobody cared for my singing and it mattered even less that the lyrics were far from being socially relevant. I liked the music. I liked how simple and infectious they all seemed to be. It was a perfect album in the sense there was not one song I wanted to skip over. I don't know--it could have been any album, but for some reason I found something universal within the ten songs contained on the album. On that certain trip on that certain day I just didn't care that I was the butt of my family's jokes. It's not often you find your bliss in something small and I sure wasn't about to let the moment pass me by.

Then, later on, I remember Raoul Bustamante asking me in high school where I'd heard of PC Quest. Apparently, that album had brought him a moment's joy a few years back too. It was the first time I thought an album I considered a guilty pleasure was somebody else's too.

So, yeah, the gift's merits does involve the actual quality of the material. PC Quest was a highly underrated band and I consider that first album one of the things proudest to have ever owned (twice now, I guess).

But for me the real value of the product and what makes it the most thoughtful of presents is the fact you can't even get the album on CD. It was never translated over. Their second album was, but never this one. That's where this album becomes special. Because--I don't know if anyone else has experienced this, but I'm sure someone has--I not only remember the music. I also remember having to play cassettes. I remember having to flip over this particular tape to listen to the B-side when there were actually B-sides to albums or tapes. I remember how fun it used to be to try and guess where a particular song was just about to begin simply by estimating how long I had fast forwarded or rewound. There's a whole set of circumstances, associations, memories, and feelings that are attached to this one cassette. It really was the jewel of a vast collection of cassettes I had before the advent of CDs and it makes me long for that time when people didn't have such easy access to all the music they wanted with a few simple keystrokes.

Back when I started listening to music, I used to have to wait however long it took me to get down to the local Wherehouse to buy an album. Plus, I never really got to sample an album before I bought it. If I was lucky, I heard one song on the radio before I took a chance on the new album. It was more of a hit-or-miss proposition. Sometimes you got lucky and the whole album was as good as that first hit single, but most of the time it wasn't. That's what finding albums like PC Quest's such a gold mine. It really was rare to find an album that rocked from stem to stern. Sure, you could buy singles if you really wanted, but it didn't match the access to buying songs individually from Itunes like we have now. You really had to commit to a band almost like a blind date when you bought their album. That's a faith that I'm afraid people never get experience these days, when an album leaks three or four weeks before its official release.

I know cassettes are obsolete now. They don't even hold the collector's value that vinyl has. They've been relegated to the back bin of a couple of vintage music shops and marked down to ridiculously low prices.

But I still recall when cassettes were the bulk of my music collection and I recall what owning a collection of cassettes meant. It meant that I had assembled through trial and error a sampling of music I was proud to own. Rather than search for music I already knew I liked, I was compelled by the circumstances to venture out from my safety zone and listen to artists I had no idea if I was going to like. I don't know if it's a good or bad thing that we can make playlists and burn compilations of groups we know backwards and forwards. I don't know if it's a good or bad thing that we can separate the wheat from the chaff and only listen to those particular songs we like, that we don't have to listen to the whole album like I used to enjoy. Yes, I know you could still fast forward or rewind through songs back then too. I just know I seem to catch myself skipping to the next track more now, when it doesn't involve having to wait the twenty or thirty seconds it took to search out that next song.

That's what makes me sad. That with all this convenience I think we've done away with the ability to taking pleasure in something different than what we're used to. I think we've done away with some of our patience, our tolerance, our endurance for that which we're not comfortable. I'm not saying it's all CDs, Ipods, and Mp3's fault--but it is a sign of the times that we really can surround ourselves in a bubble of songs, movies, even people we know we already like. If we wanted to, we could go our whole lives never having to find new music, new movies, or new people. When you can call up at a moment's notice everything you already like, what need is there for taking the time to find out that next thing you might like.

That's what this cassette represents, my desire to revel in the obsolete. If I can still smile at a tape that I probably haven't owned in over eleven years, that can never be downloaded to my Itunes library, that would take some doing to burn to a CD, then I can still smile at the fact I have still have some use for that which I'm not familiar with.

I guess I feel that I'm already becoming obsolete and it gives me some kind of comfort that after my summer's gone there's hope that somebody still want me around, you know?

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Found You Sleeping Next To Me, I Thought I Was Alone, You're Driving Me Crazy, When Are You Coming Home

--"Laid", James

to: breasier@yahoo.com
from: mojo.shivers@gmail.com

Dear Breanne,

It's all your damn fault. You know what I just got finished doing? I walked around my bedroom with a bunch of burnt sage in my hand trying my hardest to ward myself from any evil spirits that might wish to do me harm. Then, after that, I placed a small dish of sea salt by the window, again, in the vain attempt to protect myself. This is the advice that Amber gave me because I came home today and told her about the wonderful night I had courtesy of you. My only hope is that it works half as well as she said it would because I don't want any repeats of what happened last night.

I'm not sure if it's all the ghost stories we traded back and forth or if it is actually because this place is haunted like I've always suspected. I'm telling you that something just ain't right with the place. I've always had my suspicions that living next to a hospital is akin to living next to a cemetery--some wayward souls are always going to wander through looking for the way out. And I'm telling you that one of them may have just found his way to my room last night. It makes me ill to even think about it. I'm trying to remember the last time you spun a tale for me and to think if it matches up any with what happened to me last night, but nothing comes to mind. I so want to blame this on you and your unnatural love for ghost stories, but I don't know if I can.

Oh 'twell! See if this jogs any memories.

I had gone to bed about 1 a.m. I left the computer running, but had the television off. Because of this I knew it wasn't any loud noise from the set or the computer that awoke me. Also, because of this, I knew it wasn't due to watching anything right before I went to bed that might have given me nightmares. I went to sleep in a darkened room with the computer having already switched to standby mode and the computer screen pitch black.

At approximately 4 a.m. I was awakened from dreaming with the nagging sense someone or something was watching me. I shot up out of bed and opened my eyes to an incomprehensible sight in front of me. There, floating two or three feet diagonally above my bed in the direction of the far corner of my room was the shape of a hazy human, definitely male but enlarged to the size of a trash can lid size. Because it was hazy and because it seemed to be emitting its own light, I first attributed to some weird light coming from outside the window. However, within the first few moments, I saw it for what it was--some type of ghostly head way too close to me.

At first, I did what most people would do if they were in a similar situation. I panicked and felt my heart almost leap out of my chest. You know me, I fucking hate ghosts. I don't ever really want to one (I guess, again now) and I don't ever want to talk to one. I'm all for reading about them or listening to someone talk about them, but there's a huge difference between reading about falling out of a building and actually falling out of a building. That's what it felt like to me at the time, an irrational fear swelling inside of me that I was powerless to control. I wanted to bolt. I wanted to make a dash for the door, but I remained still watching this eerie head shape just looking down at me.

Then I got pissed.

I don't know what took over me, but I started growling at it like you've heard me do before. It was kind of instinctual, the way dogs growl at something before they start chasing after it. I growled at it as a sign to leave me alone and to let it know that I didn't appreciate being woken out of sleep by it. It was kind of a bold move, but I think something clicked inside of me to let me know, if I didn't let it know I was in control of myself, it would have just stuck around. It suddenly became very important for me to get rid of it. I sat upright and growled again until it dissipated.

I guess I chased it away.

The whole affair probably took twenty seconds from when I woke up till when it disappeared. But after that I couldn't sleep. I think I was more afraid of just laying there, wondering if it was going to come back, than of it actually confronting it again. I made sure to turn on all the lights, the television, and log back into the computer to make as much noise and illumination as possible. I wanted to create a hostile environment for it to come back to.


I locked you out

The next hour was spent trying to get tired enough to sleep straight away. It was also spent kind of blaming you because you have my filled with all these ghost stories that creep up at the weirdest times. There I was, trying to get some rest, but feeling very alone and a little scared. I was so annoyed with you the whole time because there was nothing to reassure me that whatever or whoever was haunting me wouldn't come back as soon as I went back to bed. Thoughts of staying up all night or waking up Amber to tell her what happened floated through my head. I kept debating what the best course of action would be. All I knew was that it was your fault because stuff like this never happened to me before I met you. You're too intent on trying to scare the bejeezus out of me and I think this time it finally worked. You worked my brain up so much it has finally accepted that ghosts are real. And now all manner of ghosts can invade my privacy.

I hate you.

I don't look forward to going to sleep tonight.

I wish you were here.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Is It Getting Better? Or Do You Feel The Same? Will It Make It Easier On You Now, You Got Someone To Blame?

--"One", U2

We were at The Cheesecake Factory over in Santa Monica sometime in 1999. It was supposed to be a quaint, little lunch at one of my favorite restaurants at the time. That particular Cheesecake Factory had been the first one I had gone to when I had first started driving myself around and it had also been one of the first few places I had gone on for first dates. Granted, this particular time wasn't the first time DeAnn and I had gone out. We'd actually been dating for a year by then, but it was the first time I had ever taken her to that restaurant. I still considered it a place filled with good memories and I had been hoping to add onto that catalog.

I think the trouble began as soon as we had been handed our menus. I saw her eyes move to the pages with the sandwiches listed on them. Great, I thought, she was going to order the club sandwich like she did in every restaurant. To think of it now, it seems like such a small thing, but back then it was a big deal. I've never been one to tolerate small annoyances graciously. I've always let the small things bother more than they should. Her audacity to order a club sandwich at every single place we went to was starting to border on feeling as an intentional slight against me. I know I had mentioned it to her before as a "friendly suggestion" that she might think of branching out when it came to ordering. I told her that broadening her tastes was, indeed, a good endeavor and would lead to us being able to go to a wider range of places to eat. I thought my pep talks had gotten through to her, but, time and time again, when the waitress would come to ask us what we wanted she would always answer with the same exact words.

Club sandwich.

It annoyed the fuck out of me.

It annoyed me so much that by that day in Santa Monica when I seemingly innocently asked her what she was thinking about ordering, I was almost daring her to say a club sandwich just so I could unleash holy hell on her. You could say that I was tired of her limited scope and felt almost embarrassed that this was the person I was choosing to spend the bulk of my time with. It was a total elitist attitude, but I think my motivations ran deeper than that.

When I told her there was no way I was going to let her order what seemed like the hundredth turkey club for the month, I honestly don't know why she didn't laugh it off. Or maybe she did and I was just so pissed that I took that as a sign of her mocking me. Like you can already guess, I wasn't exactly the most rational person in those days. However the sequence played out and whatever was said when, the end result was that I made it abundantly clear to her that under no circumstances whatsoever was she to get the club sandwich on that day. I gave her explicit orders to try something new for a change.

I think on the surface my motivation was to assist her, to make her into some ideal of a better person, a more well-rounded person. Yet below the surface, it really boiled down to a power struggle. As DeAnn pointed out to me many months and years later, she really was my first experience with a day-to-day relationship. Everyone else I was with we had hung out two or three times a week, but DeAnn and I would go weeks at a time where I was either over at her place or she was over at mine. She was my first taste of what it was like to be in some sort of committed relationship. On one hand, it was kind of nice to have so much access to another person's life and to not have to worry so much about scheduling and priorities. On the other hand, it led to a sense of entitlement that to someone like me was inherently dangerous.

Never before had I had a girlfriend where so much of my opinion she took to heart. Never before had I felt so influential in making someone else's decisions. It was both of our faults really. She wanted someone to look up to in terms of being firm-handed and intractable and I willingly made myself into some sort of all-knowing guide for her. Eventually, many months after we had broken up, we saw our relationship for what it was, borderline emotional abuse.

It's not a pretty description, but its a very apt one.

Never moreso than at that Santa Monica Cheesecake Factory.

We argued over her right to choose her own meal, which sounds ridiculous, but we went into the debate like it was regarding the fate of the entire world. Back and forth we lobbied over the merits of individual choice, which she was in favor of, and the merits of expanding one's horizons. I explained to her that somebody had to bring her out of her comfort zone, otherwise, she was just going to remain the uncultured and unrefined person I had first met. I don't know why it was so important for me to always want to improve her, but that was one of the many disguises I hid my stubbornness and desire to inflict my will and my standards upon her. It's always easier to tell someone you're doing something horrible to them for their own good; it allows your mind to remain guilt-free even while you consequently put someone else through hell. It's always easier to tell someone you're the only one who knows right from wrong, and that the way they've been doing things is completely ineffective. Once you have that moral or authoritative high ground it's very hard to give up again. That's the situation we found ourselves in that day.

Somewhere deep down I knew I shouldn't have been making such a big deal over her ordering the same meal again and again. I think what bothered me more was the fact she was daring to argue with me. It's like if she had just seen my point, I might have been okay with her having her way. It's the idea she wanted to contradict that made me fight so hard.

Or maybe I was just an asshole.

There we were arguing fairly loudly. I wasn't willing to budge an inch, but over time I started to wear her down. I could see it in her face, those big blue eyes of hers, that she couldn't comprehend why this was so important to me at that particular moment. She couldn't comprehend why I had decided to make it into a big enough scene that the people at the tables and booths beside us were all looking at us. She couldn't comprehend that the ordering of the club sandwich was periphery. What was really at stake was the idea that she knew better than me. What I was really fighting her for was control, control over her choices, control over who got to tell whom what to do in the relationship.

In the end, it didn't take much longer after those first ten minutes of arguing. The waiter came back for what had to be the fifth or sixth time to ask us what we wanted to eat and that's when she finally relented. She very meekly ordered the four cheese pasta and I felt a small twinge of vindication.

I had won.

I see it now. Somewhere along the way I had started thinking of her as less and less of a person. I saw her as partly someone who was an obstacle to our happiness as a couple and I saw her as partly someone who could be blamed for everything that was wrong with the two of us being together. It's like I had this perfect picture of how we could be like as a couple if only she accepted my word as law and my opinions as facts, which she never was going to do. And when we had our fights and our disagreements I always came into the scuffles with a chip on my shoulder. To me our fights weren't about ascertaining who was right and who was wrong; they were always about my trying to convince her of just how right I was.

I thought it would be easier to live day-to-day with someone I supposedly loved, but in reality it was probably a task I wasn't ready for. I just wasn't ready to put up the effort to see what it was like to actually compromise and see someone else's opinion as being equal to my own. That's what annoyed me the most, I think, the idea that I had to cede any control over what I wanted to do.

When she started crying after the waiter went away, I was used to it. Our fights often ended with her crying because she had come to the conclusion that it was easier to let me win than try and fight me all night. That's what our fights come down to, my being more stubborn than she could be.

My first indication that this wasn't just an ordinary squabble was when she didn't stop crying when our food arrived.

Another indication was when she was literally crying when she was eating her pasta.

The final indication was when I was asked by the table next to me to take her outside and calm her down.

I had fucked up again and the worst part was I was content to let her cry through the whole meal as long as it seemed like it was only affecting me. But the instant it drew the raised eyebrows of someone else, suddenly I was embarrassed enough to remedy the problem.

I took her outside and we talked. I did what I always did, what every asshole control freak boyfriend always does. I apologized and I swore that I would never put her through such emotional torture again. I told her that she didn't have to finish the pasta. I told her I would go inside and pay the bill, then take her to wherever she wanted to eat. I tried to make up for a mistake in judgment that should have never come up in the first place.

That seemed to placate her and for the time being we were back to being okay again. I had fixed the problem for now.

But it was like trying to put a shawl on the shark at the end of the swimming hole, as Breanne says. It may cover it up for awhile, but in the end it'll still come to bite you in the britches. I didn't start becoming a better person until I realized I had a control problem.

But by then it was too late. We were already broken up and we would never be put back together again.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Nothing Could Change What You Mean To Me, Oh, There's Lots That I Could Say, But Just Hold Me Now, Cause Our Love Will Light The Way

--"Heaven (Bryan Adams cover)", Do (Dominique van Hulst)

Patrick (6:53:28 PM): Olive Oyl.

Toby (9:53:36 PM): The cartoon character

Toby (9:53:37 PM): ?

Toby (9:53:38 PM): I don’t see it.

Toby (9:53:46 PM): She’s a beanpole and not pretty at all.

Toby (9:54:01 PM): Popeye must’ve had other chances. Other girls he could’ve chased after.

Patrick (6:54:15 PM): Sometimes It really isn’t a choice. Sometimes it’s just fate.

Toby (9:54:25 PM): yeah seriously!

Toby (9:54:38 PM): yeah, when I met Jack I had no idea we’d hit it off.

Toby (9:54:46 PM): We had a lot of critics.

Toby (9:54:51 PM): Not that anyone has the right to judge.

Patrick (6:59:12 PM): And that’s fate right there.

Patrick (6:59:33 PM): It really isn’t something you understand, it’s something you feel deep down inside of you.

Toby (9:59:31 PM): RIGHT!

Toby (9:59:34 PM): I knew it was right.

Toby (9:59:35 PM): I just knew it.

Toby (9:59:37 PM): hahaha

Patrick (6:56:06 PM): That’s like Popeye, to him Olive Oyl just looks right for whatever reason she works for him.

Toby (9:56:15 PM): I get what you’re saying now.

Patrick (6:56:40 PM): Olive Oyl, right?

Toby (9:56:37 PM): haha i feel ignorant. I never understood why they had him paired with such an unattractive creature as her. Now I see it was some sort of life lesson.

Patrick (6:56:59 PM): Don’t feel too bad. Most people don’t.

Toby (9:57:52 PM): You are a wise man.

Toby (9:57:56 PM): I know what you’re saying though.

Toby (9:58:05 PM): People just click.

Patrick (6:58:29 PM): Or they don’t and think that they do. That’s even worse.

Toby (9:58:39 PM): I try to give people that benefit.

Toby (9:58:40 PM): Of the doubt.

Patrick (6:59:08 PM): You should.

Patrick (7:00:50 PM): My theory is that everybody has a type that they get along with. And it doesn’t matter how hard you try. You can’t escape it.

Toby (10:01:11 PM): Like a preference

Toby (10:01:28 PM): Or compatibility

Toby (10:01:41 PM): when you have a list of qualities you look for in somebody

Patrick (7:02:12 PM): Not exactly.

Toby (10:02:31 PM): off the mark again.

Patrick (7:03:04 PM): I think it isn’t like take-out—pick from column A, then from columb B.

Toby (10:04:01 PM): I like take-out. I wish it were like that.

Toby (10:04:17 PM): I wish I could order up somebody with all those perfect qualities. In one person that might be overwhelming.

Patrick (7:09:09 PM): To me, it’s more like a craving. You don’t know what you want when you want it, but you know what you want when you see it.

Toby (10:09:58 PM): Totally!

Toby (10:09:58 PM): haha

Patrick (7:07:24 PM): You have this general concept of what you like.

But in actuality it all rests on gut instinct. Something inside of you knows if you’re going to get a long with a person. A soulmate is recognized by sight instantly.

It’s just like you said. From the outside your boyfriend wasn’t who you wanted, but when you started talking to him more, it clicked.

Patrick (7:07:37 PM): You made the natural choice rather than the intellectual.

Toby (10:07:34 PM): yeah you could say that

Patrick (7:08:47 PM): Actually, what you mentioned before kind of fits us. When I first came across you I thought we were going to get along famously and that was only based on the type of people I already knew I liked toalking to.

Toby (10:09:10 PM): woah

Toby (10:09:15 PM): that’s weird.

Toby (10:09:27 PM): its true though. Something gets easier to talk to certain people.

Patrick (7:10:11 PM): What can I say? We were just meant to get along.

I always seem to go for that certain intelligent down-to-earth type, which you strike me as.

Toby (10:10:24 PM): too true.

Toby (1:10:31 PM): I don’t like to be too flashy and I’m too smart for my own good.

Toby (10:10:41 PM): But don’t go thinking you have me figured out all that easily.

Toby (10:10:53 PM): I’ll surpirse you when you least expect. That’s what I think anyway.

Patrick (7:11:43 PM): I’m not saying I have this psychic ability about you. But something in me recognizes something in you that’s familiar and comforting.

I don’t mean that in a weird way, but I always chat up the same type of people. People who care about things.

Toby (10:12:15 PM): I’d like to think I don’t live frivously. I like to contemplate rather than just go.

Toby (10:12:17 PM): yah

Toby (10:12:19 PM): yeah

Patrick (7:13:30 PM): That's what I thought too. You didn’t strike me as somebody who just flits by nonchalantly. You move and speak with purpose.

If you were to ever do something just for fun, at the very least, you’d reflect on it later. That’s exactly what I do. I can’t help it.

It’s people like that that I have a healthy respect and think highly of.

Toby (10:13:57 PM): that makes me feel really good

Toby (10:19:23 PM): I’m always worried that people think I’m stuck-up or trying to act superior. I don’t. I guess I take things seriously that most people wouldn’t.

Patrick (7:17:23 PM): You should. People let things pass by too easily. If more people took the time to really study things they’d get more enjoyment out of them.

It's like I said in a message I sent to my friend. I think there’s only a few people I would go to their funerals if they died. You could be one of those few.

I don’t know—contemplative people are just the best type of people I’ve found. They get things more and they put more stock into the world around them. They don’t let things pass them by. They scoop everything up.

Toby (10:18:48 PM): aww well i hope you dont have to attend my funeral any time soon and I don’t have to go to yours. That would be sad.

Toby (10:18:57 PM): haha i dont know im still young... Too young to live too seriously.

Toby (10:19:06 PM): i just kind of have always been this way

Toby (10:19:17 PM): I like knowing, feeling, and being sure of everything before I do anything.

Patrick (7:20:35 PM): I appreciate that in you.

That’s my whole point with Popeye. People see something of themselves in those they associate with. Something about Olive reminds him of himself. You remind me of what I like about myself.

Toby (10:21:22 PM): aww That’s making me blush.

Patrick (7:22:12 PM): I know it’s kind of dumb, but in a way we were guaranteed to be friends.

Toby (10:22:50 PM): i don’t think it’s dumb. I don’t start out not wanting to be friends with someone. I don’t put anyone on some sort of blacklist. You have to earn that distinction.

Patrick (7:23:26 PM): May I never get onto that blacklist.

Toby (10:24:04 PM): hahaha yeah well people have been known to be reinstated.

Toby (10:24:16 PM): i wouldn’t worry.

Patrick (7:24:33 PM): Crisis averted.

Patrick (7:24:40 PM): I'm glad you could clear that up.

Toby (10:24:32 PM): Watch. In a few months you’ll be begging me to leave you alone.

Patrick (7:24:53 PM): Never.

Toby (10:25:03 PM): I must warn you about something before going any further.

Patrick (7:25:17 PM): What?

Toby (10:25:24 PM): I don’t look like Olive Oyl.

Patrick (7:25:38 PM): LOL


Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And I Was Making Bad Bets, For When The Odds Look Good, You Gotta Play The Hand You See

--"Would You Come With Me", The Elected

Here's the reason I hate Meerkat Manor, it fools you into thinking it's some nice show about adorable creatures of the desert. They give them all these fluffy names, show you all these playful scenes of them taking care of one another, and even allow you to really connect with them. Yet, once you've made this bond with them, they set about the business of showcasing how difficult choices must be made and, in the end, sacrifices must be made.

In short, way too many meerkats die on this show.

Now, normally, this wouldn't be a big deal. It's a nature show. I understand that. And, as most nature shows do, it has the task of allowing the audience to see both the joyous and not so joyous sides of life. For every birth, they have a responsibility to show you another one dying. I understand that. What I don't understand is why it shies away from this responsibility at the most crucial moments. It doesn't permit the viewers to witness the actual dying, but merely the prelude. I know this is to preserve the family appeal of the show. However, I think somewhere down the line someone is going to have to explain to little Timmy why Squiggy won't be seen again on the show. I mean--they have the cameras filming every new litter being born and that's a part of life. I can't see what the difficulty would be in displaying the end of that same life.

I think it sets a bad example.

For instance, the episode I watched tonight had two of the newest cubs, Len and Squiggy, making their debut with the tribe. Len was a normal pup, but his twin brother, Squiggy, was born with a deformed foot, which is never a good sign. Let's just say Squiggy's fate was sealed the day he was born. I knew it. I don't think there's anyone who watches the show who didn't knew what his ultimate outcome would be. Yet they spent enormous amounts of time showing Mitch taking care of him, showing Mitch helping to feed him, showing Squiggy barely squeak by with the rest of the group.

Then, just as quickly, he's left behind after holding the group one too many times and that's that. You never see what happens to him. You never see how long it actually takes for the desert to swallow him up. You never see any of it. That sends the wrong message to people. Yes, it's unpleasant to watch a lovely creature die. Yes, it's sad to think that they can abandon a pup not more than five weeks old. But, for chrissakes, all Squiggy to have some dignity. It's when people gloss over the unpleasantness of life that people start to lose appreciation for the fragility of life. It's when people start ignoring the awful and scary aspects of the world around them that they're allowed to continue and prosper. It's when people start taking a blind eye to the cruelty of life that cruelty begins to grow.

I know that's the way it is with me. There are many facets of existence that I would rather not experience. I don't want to know about all the stuff out there that can make me sad, or hurt me, or upset me. I'm rather fond of keeping an even keel. Sometimes, though, I think it's good to go through a little adversity to let you know that you're alive. It's good for me to stay and watch something that bothers me like Meerkat Manor because it really does hit home with the point that everyone faces challenges and not everyone succeeds. That's a lesson I believe I need ingrained in my psyche. A big part of my personality knows I haven't been challenged enough which means I haven't failed enough to make me truly want to succeed. I've been content to coast through at an even pace. I haven't really fallen all too often or all too far, but I think I also haven't made it to any sort of summit or pinnacle.

I think that's because the majority of my life has been lived according to philosophies of the editors of the show. I've been to the brink of really seeing the horribleness of life, but I've never really been exposed to it. Like those selfsame editors who cut away Squiggy getting killed or another Meerkat being separated from the group, I've been unlucky to have people who've tried to keep those adverse consequences from ever getting to me. I've never really felt as bad as I really could have.

I'm not saying that I enjoy the pain because I don't. But I know deep down that I haven't really felt the loss and the sadness and the tears that other people have. I need to get rid of those filters that never allow me to really feel something truly devastating.

Otherwise, I'm just going to go right on through life believing that the hand I was given can always be redealt, instead of acknowledging the fact there are some choices I make that are binding for life and that not all mistakes can be corrected.

I need to develop that healthy respect for the life I was fortunate enough to have been given as well as a healthy fear of that life being taken away too soon from me.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Don't Want To Make You Grow Numb, If It's Not What You Thought It Was, Legs Are For Discovering, This Is What It's Like

--"For The Actor", Mates of State

I was at Camp Cherry Valley located miles away from the mainland on the small island of Catalina contemplating my future. I was probably eleven or twelve at the time, the summer before Eighth Grade, and I was away on a week-long camping trip with my Boy Scout troop. That right there was the problem that had me troubled. At that point in time, laying on that wooden floor, above a dirty and sweat-filled sleeping bag, I was contemplating whether all of this "fun" was really worth the effort. I was contemplating whether or not I had the correct intentions for persisting in this very foolish endeavor known as scouting.

The trouble started a few years earlier when a former alumni of my elementary school/junior high, St. Rita's, came by to recruit for a new scout troop he was putting together. He had, apparently, risen high in the ranks and thought his talents could be best served by reviving the old troop number of St. Rita's. Admittedly, I was excited. I had been in a Cub Scout troop that had been fun for awhile but had splintered apart under bad leadership. I was looking forward to experiencing what a troop done right would be like. However, I think the real reason I wanted in was because all my friends were truly gung-ho about it. Some kids experience peer pressure to trying out drugs, alcohol, and smoking. My first and most memorable exposure to it was the Boy Scouts. After all, if the only group of people I spent time with outside of my family had up and decided to join a cult, I would have probably joined a cult too. Nobody wants to be the odd man out and I certainly didn't want that distinction either.

However, that's exactly what ended up happening.

For the first years, it was actually fun. We did all the things I had imagined went along with the camping, hiking, and crafting mythology that went along with Boy Scouts. For the first few years I actually couldn't wait to show up to the troop meetings. For the first few years I couldn't spend enough time hiking and camping. That's actually where my love of the outdoors came to fruition.

I think the trouble began when my friends tasted the few sweet sips of success in scouting. Suddenly, it became less about having fun and become more of advancing in rank. I didn't have this huge push to become an Eagle Scout. To me this was just a fun way to spend time with my friends and have permission to be big, huge goofballs miles away from my parents. To me it was just an extension of the hijinx we usually engaged in and away from school. I couldn't make the distinction when and where scouting suddenly became this serious pursuit full of serious plans and serious commitment.

Cut to Camp Cherry Valley. I had spent the first few days hanging out with my friends, but on that day I found myself alone in my tent because my tentmate and my other three friends had signed up for yet another merit badge class. Sure, I could have signed up for the same class, but it involved copious amounts of sleeping directly on the ground and foraging for your own food. Neither of which interested me at all. The only depressing part was they had all signed up for the class and they all had departed for the overnight part of the class, leaving mojo alone and without a person in the world to talk to. I suppose I could have hung out with the younger members of the troop, by my four friends were the only people the same age as me and I was still at that age where soon-to-be Eighth graders did not hang out with soon-to-be Seventh graders. It just wasn't done.

So there I laid, after dinner but before bedtime, trying to come up with reasons why I should continue doing something I didn't really enjoy. I mean--it was one thing to be involved when my friends were all involved at the same level as me. But somewhere along the way they had taken this secret vote to change gears and shoot for the big prize at the end of the rainbow. Somewhere along the way it started becoming a life plan to them instead of the postponement of real life that it still was to me. That night I realized things would never be the same. I had seen the writing on the wall and it said that night would only be the first night of many where I could only be seen as lagging behind all of them. I was never going to be as dedicated to their goals. I was going to be the dumbass who couldn't get serious enough to start earning his badges left and right. I was going to be the one left behind.

I don't know if you've ever been in that situation, but it isn't pleasant. I don't much care for being thought as being lazy or for being thought of as a malcontent. I wanted to keep pace with them. Honestly, I did. But as I trolled through my thoughts, I came to the conclusion that my sin did not lay in being unmotivated. My sin originated from my ever joining in the first place. It's one thing to commit yourself to something and then abandon it for the next pretty pursuit that tickles your loins. But it's another thing to know something holds no interest for you and still doing it because somebody else you like is doing it. Yes, you never know what you'll like until you give it a try, but sometimes the best thing you can do when it comes to something that gives you a bad first impression is to just say no. What you should never do under any circumstances is continue to pretend to like something for the sake of others. It does you no favors and only makes the feeling of being let down all the more acute for them. I say once you dislike something, once it fails to make you happy, then you should stop.

I was too young at that point to put it into so many words. But even then I had a gut feeling that there are just some activities, hobbies, or callings that are not suited to a person, just as there are some people not suited for one another.

Yet with a few years time, I came to realize that that too may have been part of the problem. My friends were okay for that period in my life, but even they were not suited to me. They possessed a drive and thirst for betterment that I simply did not share. I was perfectly content to assist and co-operatively better a group, but I don't have that competitive edge so many others were born with. I have never relished matching up with my peers. I'd much rather be part of a collective that are opposing another collective. That's the extent of my competitive drive.

Before I went to bed that night, I came to the decision that after that summer Boy Scouting and I would part ways. I had no thought of continuing my scouting well into eighth grade or beyond.

Yes, my friends saw me as a coward and a quitter, but I always thought what I did was more courageous than they ever saw. I think it takes real focus and a real understanding to know what you want and you don't want. It takes real courage to walk away from people you have grown close to because staying would mean being someone you just aren't.

I was never a real Boy Scout.

I was just a guy who tagged along when his best friends had all decided to become scouts and who ended up staying three years.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And When I See You, Take The Same Sweet Steps, You Used To Take, I Know I'll Keep On Holding You, In Arms So Tight, They'll Never, Never Let You Go

--"High", The Cure

I've been wrestling with the idea of putting an escalator into my house whenever I get around to buying it for the sole reason I've never seen an escalator in a person's home before. Frankly, I think it's way more practical than my former idea of a spinning house, which gives me all the more impetus to attempt it. It would be kind of fun and funny to walk through the front door and step onto my escalator to head up the bedrooms and upstairs bathroom, or what have you. Plus, think of the conversation piece it could be. "Mojo, I've never seen an escalator inside of a home before. What made you decide to install one of those?" "Oh, that old thing. It came with the house. To tell you the truth, it's terribly inconvenient. But what can you do? It's part of the gal's charm, wouldn't you know."

I know what you're saying. How does a person get down if the only means to the second floor is a upward escalator? Short of reversing the direction every time I mean to use it, I could literally be stuck without a way down. I mean--I suppose I could try to run down the stairs every time I need to go into the kitchen, but that would be rather tiresome and time-consuming as well.

Well, that's where the second part of my plan comes in.

Fireman poles.

That's exactly what the house would need should the escalators become a reality. A swift slide down and I could be transported straight into the kitchen. I think that's the only solution that makes sense. Plus, again, it would be a conversation piece when my guests are mulling about the kitchen area. "Why is there a pole running perpendicular to the ground here, Mojo?" "Oh, that old thing? It came with the house. Apparently, the previous owners liked to think of themselves as amateur superheroes. You can imagine the rest."


as high as i might
i can't get that high

I have no clue why I keep on imagining these eccentric additions to my dream house. The only explanation I can give is that I abhor conventionality and praise originality. I don't want my house to be the same cookie-cutter floor plan that everybody else. I don't ever want someone to think of me as someone who does things normally. I always have to put my little spin onto things. If I can't do that literally with a spinning house, than I shall have to devise another way to show everybody that my house is unique, that my house is special. Brandy says that's why I do a lot of things to call attention to myself, because I equate weird and unconventional with being unique. And I equate being unique with being regarded as special. I don't like the feeling of being overlooked or forgotten. I like the feeling of being remembered and being distinguished from everyone else.

It's just like my escalator.

Why take the time to climb stairs with everyone else, when you can rise to the top right away?

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers