The Ache I Feel Inside, Is Where The Life Has Left Your Eyes, I'm Alone For Our Last Goodbye, But You're Free

--"Yesterdays", Switchfoot

Sometimes it takes a small reminder of how precious the time we have with the people we love is. Sometimes we don't ever get the chance to say what we feel. Sometimes we can never say it for ourselves and it takes an outside perspective to get those feelings out of bed and into the world, so to speak.

This is for you, Epcot...


LINES WRITTEN FOR BRANDY
a poem by E. Patrick Taroc

I fear I may have loved you less
Than you deserved, worried you more
Than you wanted, and never knew
All that was decent about you.
Why I could never quite confess
All these hidden joys escapes me
And again, momentarily,
I wish us as we were before.

I acted too thoughtful, too kind,
Too much like I couldn’t care
To let you see all that I lacked,
All the sidewalks where I was cracked.
I never let you see the mind
That in your presence went reeling;
That would have been too much feeling
Than what I was prepared to share.

I loved you with a too shy soul
To ever say that I was shy
Till you went forever away,
Until it was too late to say
With you, Joshua, I was whole;
To say you were my everything.
I should have tried less pondering
And loved you more with every try.

(04/29/08) Copyright 2008 E. Patrick Taroc

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Educated In A Small Town, Taught The Fear Of Jesus In A Small Town, Used To Daydream In That Small Town, Another Boring Romantic, That's Me

"Small Town (cover)" - Leesha Harvey

Sierra Madre isn't exactly everyone's idea of California. It's a tiny, little villa on the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains. At most there's a little over twelve thousand people there. By most people's definition, that's not a small town. However, when you live right next to Pasadena, which has over 100,000 people and are about ten minutes out of Los Angeles proper, which has about 3.8 million people in it, you can consider Sierra Madre a small town. At least that's what it felt like to me growing up. I knew all the businesses in downtown Sierra Madre, which, by the way you could cross on foot in about five minutes one way and about five seconds the other way. I used to ride my bike with brothers and cousins up and down Sierra Madre Boulevard, which was the main thoroughfare through the city. I went to four different schools in the Sierra Madre area, including where I spent of my school days, St. Rita's, from second grade to eighth grade. It was my tiny hamlet away from the rest of the world.

I don't know--lately, it seems like all my familiar haunts are starting to be replaced one by one. It began when they tore down the local Fuddrucker's, which I must have spent three years of my life total in. Whether it was riding down on bikes with my cousins and brother during the summer months or just walking down after classes at La Salle High--Fudd's was one of the few places that could be counted on to provide a great atmosphere with great food during my formative years. The loss of that place kind of symbolized the loss of my childhood. But now they're starting to tear down everything else. They got rid of the Pacific Theater, where I probably watched most of my films from 1980 to 1995. They're thinking of letting the lease run out on the bowling alley right next to it so that they can put yet another shopping center in. Again, that bowling alley saw many birthday parties and late night bowlaramas.

But I think the last straw came when I heard about the recent fires this past weekend in Sierra Madre. Not only is it threatening one of my aunts' house, but it came dangerously close to St. Rita's. I don't know what I would've done had that place been damaged. I mean--it's not just a school to me. It's a place where everything about me was first formulated. I hold so many memories of classes and people and other anecdotes, that for all of it to be burned to a crisp might be too much for me.

Follow:

-It was in Fourth Grade there that my teacher told me I should go into writing because, as she put it, "I have an imagination that just won't quit."

-It was in Third Grade, during the middle of class, that Nicole taught the small group of us at the back of the class about the birds and the bees.

-It was in Seventh Grade where I joined up with the Boy Scouts and gained not only an appreciation of hiking and camping, but also a healthy appreciation of pushing myself to the limits.

-It was at St. Rita's Church that I met (and became enamored with) the lovely Sniffler.

I know all things come to an end. I know nothing endures but change, but there are some places that I can't imagine ever coming to a close. I picture them outliving me, outliving my children, outliving anyone who knows me. I couldn't save some the places of my youth, but there are same places that no one should ever lose. No one should be around to watch the home they grew up in be tore down. No one should be around to watch the first park you ever remember playing in be bulldozed over. And no one should ever see their first memorable school go up in flames.

St Rita's isn't just a place for me. It might as well be the stand-in for the years I was there. If I lose that place, it will be like the years I went to school and church there never happened.

It'll be like all of that was just a dream.

And I can't lose that dream, because that dream was one of the best dreams I ever had.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Now You Want To Be Free, So I'm Letting You Fly, Cause I Know In My Heart, Babe, Our Love Will Never Die, No

--"Always Be My Baby", Mariah Carey

In honor of Breanne's twenty-eighth (!) birthday AND the fact she's leaving us all, I thought I'd revisit the list I posted up celebrating her first birthday on the site...

Top 80 Reasons why Breanne and I are still friends

...and then add a few more.

For Breanne on her 28th Birthday:
Reasons 81-160 why we're still friends after almost fifteen years...

81. because she’s an experiment in what it’s like to appreciate and take someone for granted at the same time.

82. because she likes the color orange, which was originally my favorite color in elementary school I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but it’s no mere coincidence.

83. because she always says she’ll play one of my card games even when they never actually get finished.

84. because I knew right away.

85. because she’s a pair of scissors and the world is her ball of string.

86. because sometimes she tilts her head when she smiles just like Rachel.

87. because she doesn’t think; she just goes.

88. because she was writing poems before most people could write at all.

89. because when she yawns, she immediately tells everyone else, “no yawning!”

90. because she knows the meaning of good barbecue.

91. because I still like the way she looks in white.

92. because I always think she’s wearing flowers in her hair.

93. because she’s sexy everyday.

94. because she isn’t the guest at a party; she’s the de facto co-host.

95. because we’ll always have Chicago.

96. because she can relate.

97. because she’s one stuffed koala away from owning them all.

98. because she can never quite fully explain the meaning behind “hell’s bells.”

99. because she read somewhere that she could and that give her the idea that she can.

100. because she is Lucy Van Pelt and I’m Linus.

101. because there’s something about an abandoned church that always makes me think of her.

102. because she took me down to the water’s edge and never left.

103. because I know all of hidden agendas and even suggested a few to her.

104. because she’s an older, more refined version of Miss Toby.

105. because there are nights (and some days) where I just long for her.

106. because she’s always been apart from the system, above the law, and in the mix.

107. because she doesn’t glisten when she goes jogging; she sweats.

108. because even when she doesn’t have any idea, she’ll always convince you she can still explain it better than you.

109. because she played the “what’s grosser than gross” game in school.

110. because she normally doesn’t that sort of thing, but in my case she made an exception.

111. because she has a pretty understanding parents who always made me feel a part of her family.

112. because she insisted that I not compose another list for her.

113. because from her perspective it all makes sense.

114. because where most people get upset, she gets positively unruly.

115. because where most people wouldn’t bother, she cares too much.

116. because, according to her, she has never once farted in her life.

117. because, before her, I didn’t know what inner beauty was.

118. because when I extended an invitation to come out West for a visit she immediately asked, “In a covered wagon across the prairie, sugar?”

119. because she said she wouldn’t have minded getting lost with me for six hours at Epcot.

120. because I wouldn’t have minded running away with her when she was a little kid.

121. because with her, we both win all the time.

122. because the wrong word from her can still tie my stomach in knots.

123. because she’s the type of person to the answer the door, “come in” rather than “who’s there?”

124. because she never has to be asked twice to do a favor for you.

125. because I still remember that swimming hole.

126. because she's one of the few people who have heard me snore.

127. because that girl can dance.

128. because she's never given up trying to get me to go jogging everyday.

129. because she still likes The Bee Gees.

130. because we fight and make up, rather than fight and break up like most people do.

131. because she's kicking my ass in Fantasy Baseball.

132. because she's the only girl I've had a heart-to-heart talk in the middle of a bowling alley with.

133. because she's the first girl I ever slept with.

134. because she's so into John Cusack and doesn't care who knows it.

135. because she reads the paper and my stupid posts everyday.

136. because she still treats me like her older brother even though she passed me up in maturity level ages ago. There's still that deference and respect there, which I kind of like.

137. because she still can't sing worth a lick, but still tries.

138. because I've both heard and seen firsthand what not having a child to call her own has put her through.

139. because I was there when she was still a child and have seen her grow into an amazingly capable adult.

140. because I've seen her moon a priest and have the pictures to prove it.

141. because she forgave me when I didn't show up her wedding, pushed her down on concrete, and almost got her pregnant.

142. because I only know one Breanne and hope to never meet another one. One's bad enough. It's gotten to the point where I'd actually shoo one away if I were to cross paths with another one.

143. because the fact her hair isn't red is the worst fault her body has.

144. because I can still her hear hurricane laughter right now.

145. because she'll text me good night when I'm in a bad mood... when I haven't heard from her in a few days. She can sense that sort of thing.

146. because she'll always be my baby.

147. because "wonderfully orange olive purple horses" do exist! They do!

148. because she listens to country music and got me to love it too.

149. because she always looks elegant and refined.

150. because she asked me first and I never really had to chase her all that much. Chasing is too tiring. It's much better when you both know and can just agree.

151. because of them damn dimples.

152. because she knows all my intimate details.

153. because if I were trapped down a well and she couldn't find Lassie, she'd probably jump in there with me.

154. because she knows where I'm ticklish.

155. because she's met the little Spanish guy.

156. because she wakes up earlier than God and never complains about it, whereas I'm sullen until at least nine-thirty.

157. because she never stops fighting, believing, or trying.

158. because she gets scared about the people close to her abandoning her... just like I do.

159. because she keeps on breaking my heart over and over again.

and the 160th reason why Breanne and I are still friends:

160. because I could probably think of another hundred and sixty reasons why I still love my Breannie.

HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY, LUCY!

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Don't Wave Me On, I Feel Almost Everything, I Am Here, Where I'm In Love, I Am Here, In Spite Of You

--"L.A. Is Mars", Biirdie

Last night I was finally able to watch with Ilessa the talented Hilary Hahn perform live at the Orange County Performing Arts Center With the Pacific Symphony. I'd have to say that Miss Hilary was even more impressive in person than I thought she would be. Her technical skill was impeccable--not that I know much about violin playing--but she certainly held that entire crowd spellbound. As I sat there, I couldn't believe how amazing everything sounded. I haven't been to too many classical performances, but hands-down this was the most memorable one of the bunch. As I said in the Rk.net forum, when I go see Rilo Kiley later on this week, they're going to have their work cut out for them as the best concert I've seen in the last few days. I couldn't have imagined a better way to spend two hours of my life.

Later on, I was able to get her autograph on a CD and even exchange a few pleasantries with her at the table. As far as celebrity autographs go, it wasn't my biggest score. However, her reputation as one of the most personable world-class violinists definitely holds up. From the little I saw of her chatting with the people and signing their programs and CDs, she didn't strike me as having any airs of being better than anyone else or not having the time for her fans. I mean--the concert was only two hours. The fact she stayed ninety minutes after just playing for her fans, who lined up in the hundreds to get her signature, impressed me very much.


there is something in way
of the world

----

However, all was not right in the land of mojo last night. My friend Miss Nancy Drew didn't want to wait around with me in line for the autograph so she went off sulking to wait for me in the car. I don't think classical music is her first choice of activities on a Saturday night. Personally, I thought it was something different than the usual dinner followed by a night of hanging out. Sometimes I believe you need to strike out for something different once in a while. I don't know--maybe she's right about trying to improve people and trying to instill culture into my friends. I don't believe I'm any sort of cultural guru, though. I like what I like. Ever since Breanne introduced me to Hilary I've been wanting to see her in concert. I was entirely prepared to go by myself, but it sounded like a fun thing to bring Ilessa to. And when I asked her, she didn't sound at all hesitant. It's possible she had a different idea about what the experience would be like. Or possibly, she changed her mind at the last second, but she definitely didn't enjoy the night as much as I did.

I think there's an ulterior motive for her subtle display of dissatisfaction. I wouldn't daresay this to her, but I think she's beginning to feel the weight of moving away next month after she graduates from USC. I've been telling her for months how bold of a move it is to pack up and go clear across the country for a new job in the new city. I've been telling her how it would be hard for me to try to make new friends and basically a new life for herself over there. But she just waved all such doubts away. Now that the semester's winding down and with graduation looming next month, it's beginning to hit her that she won't see me, her other friends, or her family for quite some time.

Sometimes it's inexplicable why and when people begin to feel the changes pressing in on their lives. Some people experience it in the opening stages of their decision to change. Me? I always feel right after the change happens. It doesn't matter how long I've weighed the decision, whether I've been mulling it for months or made an impulsive snap judgment--it never really hits me until I'm actually see the changes. For her I think she's been sublimating that her life was going to change all this time and, even though she hasn't seen the change yet, she's beginning to feel the tide of progress approaching.

I can't read her mind.

I can't tell you what she was thinking.

But aside from Boston and one or two more times during graduation season, it's the last time she'll be seeing me. That's a big deal to me. And maybe it's starting to become a big deal to her. Of course, it could be she was just tired from the evening. She could have been thinking about something else entirely. She could have had a headache or maybe she was simply irritable from being tired. Again, I don't know.

I just know she has a tendency to dismiss people when she doesn't know how to deal with any large emotions. We all do to a certain extent. Rather than go into any great detail about how she feels about a person--no momentous good-byes or displays of heartfelt emotion--she tries to make people irritated with her. It makes it easier for her to leave, I guess.

My only hope is that she doesn't end up in a situation I've run into my years, where she wishes she'd taken the time to tell people how much she was going to miss them or tell how much she appreciated them while she had the chance.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

But My Will Gets Weak, And My Thoughts Seem To Scatter, But I Think It's About Forgiveness, Forgiveness, Even If, Even If You Don't Love Me Anymore

--"Heart of the Matter (cover)", India Arie

Back in 2000, I co-signed a car loan for my girlfriend at the time, DeAnn. I didn't mine doing it. It was a situation where I loved her and the thought of helping her out wasn't even a question. She needed a new car. My credit was supposedly better than hers. When the salesman wanted to know if I would co-sign so she could get the car, it didn't take much convincing for me to say yes. On further review, my fervor might have been in part due to the fact that I had gotten earlier in the week and I felt somehow that it was her "turn." That sounds very simplistic, but I felt rather guilty that I was going to have a new car and she wasn't. At any rate, the new car was leased (since she still didn't qualify to purchase the car outright) and I thought that was the end of that.

For four years she made her payments on-time. She was, indeed, diligent in insuring that I never had a problem with my credit due to missed or late payments. Even after we broke up in 2001, less than a year after leasing the car from her, she didn't let me down. It had gotten to the point that by the time 2004 had rolled around I had even forgotten my signature was still on her lease. We had stopped talking in 2003. She had moved on with her life and I had moved on with mine. She'd even found someone new, I had heard, and that may have been where things had started to unravel.

My first clue something was wrong was when I got a notice on my high credit card that my minimum payments were going to increase by $200. Granted, I had wracked up a pretty sizable debt at the time--nearly $26,000. But at $200 minimum payments, I guess I figured I could continue to pay my credit card debt until I died. The next sign I received was that two of my other credit cards (yes, I had three open cards at the time) had canceled me out and were demanding that I pay out the rest of the balance in the next six months. That's when I started to get a little freaked out. I called my high credit card to ask what in fuck was going on. That's when I found out that Miss DeAnn had not only screwed me, she had screwed me right good. Not only had she stopped paying on the lease--with only a year to go--for the last four or five months, they had repossessed the car. And, if that wasn't enough, she had filed bankruptcy so there was nothing I could do to have the debt rest solely in her name.

I was basically up a creek to the tune of the $7000 remaining on her car, which they wanted in payments of at least $500 a month for the next year. Add to that the $400 a month for my one credit card, $200 for another, and $150 for the last one. I was on the hook for about $1250 a month... when at the time that worked out to be about eighty-five percent of my paycheck. There was no way I was going to be able that for one month, let alone for the next year. Like I said, she had screwed and she had screwed me right good.

Anger doesn't even begin to describe the animosity I felt for her. She and I had fought for the bulk of our relationship, but she had never left me hung out to dry like she had by doing what she did. The worst part is she hadn't even given me any forewarning. There was no "hey, I've stopped paying on the car." There was no asking me what I think she should do to solve her financial problems. There was no communication at all. I had to call her, after not speaking to her for almost a year, and she didn't even bother to apologize or anything. She told me to do what she did, and file for bankruptcy. I think I hung up even more upset with her.

For a month or two I did what I could. I paid as much as I could and borrowed the rest. Breanne, bless her heart, let me borrow $1000 just so I could cover the second month's worth of bills. But, in the end, I saw that it wasn't going to be enough. I filed bankruptcy three months after I got the bad news.

To say I was despondent would be sorely underestimating the depth of depression the day after my signing. I thought I was financially ruined forever. I had heard so much bad press about how awful it is to file bankruptcy, especially when you're young. What's worse, no matter how I sliced it, it all fell back on me for trusting her to keep her word. I'm sure on the day we went looking for her car she had no intention of leaving me in the lurch someday, but the crux of the matter was that leave me she had. On one side I had my parents telling me what an idiot I was for ever believing her lying tongue and on the other side I had my friends trying their best to cheer me up, but still lacing their words with the tinge of pity that I had been that naive. Then, there was me, the fool at the center of it all. I hated everyone and everything. Especially her.

----

It's taken me a long time to see that maybe the whole bankruptcy fiasco might have been for the best. I cleared my bad debt off. I gained a better understanding of how easy it is to fall into bad spending habits (i.e. charging anything and everything under the sun). I also learned better to separate how I feel about a person from what I'm obligated to do for them. Now when I give a gift or do something nice for a person, I don't expect it to ever be repaid. That's the way I should have looked at the whole co-signing her car. I never should have co-signed at all. I should have helped her out with the down payment and that's all. That way I could have fulfilled my friendly, even boyfriendly duty, without tying myself to her for five fucking years. I mean--we weren't married. There was no guarantee that we would be as close as we were on that day even a year from now... as the situation turned out to be.

But most of all, it's taken me this long to realize that it isn't healthy to hold one person responsible for everything that is going bad in your life. Yes, it was her fault she stuck me with $7000 in debt on a car I hadn't driven in two years. But was it her fault I had charged up over $25,000 on my card on stupid crap like dinners, trips, and expensive gifts? Was it her fault I had skated for the previous ten years on paying the minimum payments? Or was it her fault that I hadn't gotten off of my ass to find a higher-paying job so I could afford the lifestyle I was trying to perpetrate? None of those things were her fault. All of those were pinned solely on me.

If anything, the only thing I could blame her for was attempting to better herself. She did the same thing I ended up doing. She cut all ties to the old "bad with money" DeAnn and transformed herself into a person with a blank slate when it came to her finances. I certainly can't fault her for trying to make something of her life.

Right now that's the way I feel. If I hadn't filed bankruptcy when I had, who knows how much more I might have paid out to balances that were never going to be paid in full? She and I may have parted ways long before this whole issue crept up. The fire might have faded completely at the time. But, I have to admit, right now there's a small part of me that has not only forgiven her for forcing me into such a bad situation, but is kind of grateful that she did what she did.

It's the one time I can honestly say that a seeming catastrophe perpetrated by another person turned out to be the impetus for real growth. I know that wasn't her intention, but I still hold her responsible for the end result.

So, thank you, DeAnn wherever you are.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I'm Gonna Tell You Something Good About Yourself, I'll Say It Now And I'll Never Say It About No One Else

--"Eighties Fan", Camera Obscura

I was posed the question the other day if I thought there was one place where it was impossible to stay mad at a person. I gave it about half a day's thought and came back with the only possible answer that made sense to me. It wasn't the bedroom because lord knows I've had my share of fights there. The old chestnut about never going to bed angry has never really held genuine for me. It wasn't anywhere public because I've been the cause of many embarrassing fights amongst the people. And it wasn't at anywhere that's supposedly neutral ground like hospitals or churches. In fact, I think if one's made enough, it's possible to stay mad at almost any location.

Except when you're sharing a bath or shower with someone.

In fact, that's my theory for the week. I think it's impossible to maintain any sort of ire towards a person if you're in that particular set of circumstances. You may get someone mad enough where they refuse to do that. Indeed, I've been in long-standing relationships where that would be the last thing this other person would even conceive of sharing. But I've also been in a lot of disagreements, arguments, what have you, where it was only ended because we both agreed to cool off at the same time. It's a tough sell. It is worth it, though.

The reasons why you can't stay mad at a person there and nowhere else are twofold.

One, I don't care how mad you are at your boyfriend or girlfriend, wife or husband. There's something about seeing them nude that lessens any fire you may be feeling. Sure, it's sexual in origin, but it's also the idea that there's still enough of a connection there that you're still the person allowed to see them in that state. More than that, you're still (supposedly) the only one allowed entrance to their cleansing routine. Even more than having sex with a person, even more than being allowed to sleep in their bed, there's a huge level of trust involved in being able to bathe next to someone. Unlike sex and unlike sleeping next to someone, there's nothing to distract you from seeing all of a person. You may be preoccupied with thinking about having sex with them, but (most of the time) it isn't originally what you go into the bathtub for. That's my feeling that, even in the midst of turmoil and supposed hatred for an individual, as long as you're able to consent to going to the shower together there's still enough trust there to make it through any fight.

Two, I believe it's physically impossible to argue or shout in the shower at one another. It can't be done--not for any considerable length of time at least. I've never been so pissed at a person I was seeing that I though it appropriate to carry the argument into the shower. I've been angry enough at a person where I had to go take one to cool off. I've been sad enough after a fight to console myself there whilst my tears intermingled with the spray of the shower head. I've even been scared enough that a relationship was going to end to hide out in the shower to avoid having that dreaded conversation. But I've never been quite so mad to fuss and fight behind the shower curtain with a person. Quite the opposite happens to me, actually. I'm normally an honest person. I don't believe in small talk and I don't believe in sugar coating my disappointment with flattery. Most of the time with me you know exactly how I feel when I'm feeling it. However, while I'm in a shower with a person, I get even more effusive and ebullient. I don't just state my feelings there. I don't just go into my reasonings for feeling as I do. I start to babble about anything and everything having to do why I was upset. Unlike normal circumstances, there's something about the shower that makes my explanations less heated and more genteel. I'm totally convinced it has everything to do with the idea that running water over unencumbered skin can put out any fire. I'm also convinced that when one is showering or bathing someone, the time element gets tossed out the window. You're there to share a moment and that moment can last as long as you need it to be.

It's no short coincidence that some of the nicest things I've ever uttered have been in the shower. The juxtaposition of viewing someone at their most clean and unencumbered by clothes or false posturing or even the bias of the argument itself, leaves me a window where I can tell a person to their face, into their eyes, what I really think of them. No shame. No shyness. No bullshit. There's no hiding behind the bubbles, there's no pretending they aren't who they are. If beneath all the pent-up frustration and seething malice there still lies a heart full of love for a person, that's what I say. All that other stuff gets washed away with the other dirt and grime.

Some of my worst fights with the most argumentative of people have been ended with a well-timed shower.

Some of my most memorable compliments about various people have arisen from a confluence of circumstances surrounding a lazy bath with someone.

It makes me wonder how many of the world's worst differences of opinion could be solved with a shower held under the banner of good will or how many great speeches, the kind of speeches that change history, could be conceived from the inspiration of a nice bubble bath with one's soul mate.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Don't Know There's Something Else, I Wanna Drum It All Away, Oh, I Said I Don't, I Don't Know Whether I'm A Boxer Or The Bag

--"Yellow Ledbetter", Pearl Jam

I'm losing my fantasy baseball league.

It's bad enough that I'm the commissioner of the Game of Thrones Fantasy League who's floundering horribly, but to compound that is the fact that this is the first year Breanne and I have been able to start in a league together. I don't know--when I was winning last year it was a lot easier for me. I'd drafted well, made some good trades, and had done a lot of research to scout out some of the better waiver wire pick-ups. Back then, when she had taken over for a no-show owner, Breanne was the one who had been complaining about how her team stank and how she wasn't enjoying herself. Now I'm finding our roles reversed and that, basically, I make for a very discontent sore loser.

I mean--I'm not scraping down the walls or threatening suicide or anything, but when I was the one being reassuring to her last year that things would turn around, she took the encouragement a lot better than I am. Me? Everything out of her mouth or in her texts just comes off as pity and as her feeling sorry for me. And I can't have that. I'm the one who is supposed to know how to play these things. I'm the one who has two or three years more experience on her in playing fantasy baseball. I'm not supposed to stink.

More importantly, she's not supposed to be doing better than me.

----

I've written before how with Jina it became apparent that she was more intelligent than I was (still is). She was also telling me about all these great accomplishments and great opportunities she was being presented. At first, it was easy to be awed and amazed. She was a lot younger than me and having a friend that was advanced for her age was kind of interesting. My feeling was that we always met intellectually or interest-wise somewhere in the middle. It was nice hearing about how a normal childhood actually plays out from her and I believe she was seeking individuals who could discourse on meatier topics than her immediate circle was capable of. The problem came when I started to realize she was destined to become more distinguished than I would ever be. I wasn't sure at first, but with every passing year it became clearer that, not only was she going to pass me, she was probably going to lap me. I wrote about how she was the first person to make me realize that I have this insane jealousy for people I know who turn out to be better at displays of intelligence or creativity. She had me beat on both.

I consider myself smart.

Jina's a genius.

And that would normally be okay, but it's the one area I get protective of. I can't hang out with people who I perceive to be smarter than me. I feel displaced. If I'm not the smart one of the group, then what's my role? People can be more attractive than me (people usually are). People can be more charming than I am (it happens all the time). And I don't care if someone's funnier than myself (I have a very peculiar corny sense of humor). But when I'm engaged in a conversation with a group who outclass me in terms of what they bring to the table academically, I get intimidated. Brandy tells me that that's probably the reason why my circle of friends tends to be younger than myself; it gives me the edge of superiority that I need in my relationships. It doesn't even have to be true that I have a higher aptitude for a particular skill having to do with intelligence or creativity or that I have a higher I.Q. than someone, as long as I think I'm smarter than someone.

It can be anything that gives me that sense of validation. It can be something as simple as asking me how to spell a particular word. It can be asking me a question of what date such-and-such happened. It can be something as stupid as knowing which actor played Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation. I don't really care. As long as there is that need to come to me for some type of answers, I feel I have value in a relationship or friendship. I'm the person you come to when you need to know something, for advice or for information. That's my job. That's what I do.

I'm not the person you go to when you need to impress someone. I'm not the person you go to when you need someone to be the center of attention. I'm not the person who facilitates things or leads groups. I'm a much better advisor than person in charge.

And when I lose that capacity, I lose a bit of a sense of self. I become dejected and irritable. In short, I kind of sulk.

That's what I'm doing with this fantasy baseball thing. All I'm thinking about is how I have to look forward to another six months of losing. Contrary to popular belief, that's not fun for me. Yet, as someone quite important to me reminded me today, the whole purpose I started this league this year was so she and I could have something to do together. I had told her that, win or lose, it was going to be a good season because she would be someone I know in that league. Not only that, it'd be nice to test my baseball mettle against hers again. We've been doing that for over a decade now. It's high time we put in the public forum of a league where everyone can see who's better at cobbling together a team.

Well, it turns out, for this year at least, she is.

I'm doing my best not to feel like shit over that fact. I'm also doing my best not to blame her for that, but it's difficult. What I'm also finding difficult is not to break down and lean on the old best friends angle. I so want to just prey upon her willingness to bail me out, even though that would mean ruining her team. It's so hard to not want to say to her that she should trade me some of her more decent players so we could be more evenly matched.

But that's not the spirit of the game. She drafted a better team than I did. She knows the players better than I do. She's probably going to finish in a much better position than I am.

I have to live with that idea. I have to do my best to be proud of that fact as well. I mean--if I can't win, shouldn't I be glad that she might? Isn't that the notion behind being there for a person? I've just never been good at losing gracefully at a competition I thought I stood a decent chance of winning. Especially to close friends. Especially to her.

That either makes me another hyper-competitive male or the worst friend on Earth. Or maybe a bit of both.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

When You Said To Me, You Are Not So Old, Did I Know It Then? 'Cause I Had Just Been Told, I Didn't Think I'd Find You, Perfect In So Many Ways

--"I've Been Waiting", Matthew Sweet

"So you're telling me that all sweat doesn't smell the same?" I asked Breanne one evening a few weeks after we were introduced to one another.

For all my life I've found questions regarding the sense of smell fascinating. What smells and what doesn't, when something smells particularly strong and when things don't smell at all, &c...--all these questions seem to creep in my daily conversations with people. Breanne, bless her little heart, has always been one of the most patient people when it comes to my asking some of the most inane questions concerning this one sense I've never possessed.

"No, silly. It's all a matter of odor., you know? If I go jogging right after I take a shower, it's not going to smell rank right away. But woe betide anyone if I've just been lazier than a cat on cold Sunday. If I haven't bathed after a day or two and I go running... hell's bells, let's just say you could smell all the way where you are."

"Oh, really? I didn't know that. I always assumed people stank when they exercised no matter what."

The way she laughed at me, you would have never known that I was any bit older than her. Indeed, the way I was peppering with questions about smelling and such, I sounded like a little tyke asking her older sister why the sky is blue. When you've lived all your life not knowing square one about a particular subject and you find somebody willing to humor your inquiries about that subject, you tend to start to take advantage of the situation. I don't know if I merely felt awkward about asking anyone else. I remember asking a few friends and family members a few questions about what it's like to sniff something. Their answers, unlike Little Miss Chipper's, always reflected their incredulity that I could be so ignorant. I mean--I know they didn't mean it. I could also understand how idiotic my questions must have sounded to them, especially since they've had those kinds of answers from when they were little kids. But for me it was like a blind man asking a man with sight to describe it for him. I didn't know how to else the questions I wanted answered without coming across as lacking in common sense. Remarkably, some of my questions in this area have been so simple that my disability has been called into question.

Assuredly, as I live and breathe, I possess no sense of smell. Breanne's one of the few that never questioned that statement. She took it on faith that I was telling her the truth from day one.

"Anything else you'd like to know, sugar? Anything at all?"

"So if something isn't producing any kind of residue or steam, does it smell?"

"Yeah, of course it does. You don't see any cloud of gas coming off flowers, you know?"

"Yeah."

"And you accept the fact those smell, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Something doesn't have to show a physical sign it's giving off an odor. Not at all."

She never made me feel stupid. She never made me feel like she was pitying me or that I was missing out on anything. She took the knowledge I provided her and she worked with it. Other people always called attention to the fact. They always brought it up in conversation as some oddity to be gawked at and gossiped about. She made me feel comfortable with it because with her it was never a huge deal. She took the information as if I told her my eyes were brown or that I was six feet tall. It was a characteristic of me, but nothing to be especially singled out or keyed on. There we were, in that usually hesitant stage of getting to know each other, where people try to put their best face forward. If I had any misgivings that she would look at me different or treat me different, conversations like that allayed those fears.

Anything I thought might be an obstacle to the beginnings of our friends--whether it was our age difference, the distance between us, some key philosophical and religious conflicts, or even the fact that she's a godforsaken Braves fan (a National League for chrissakes!)--they all seemed to fall away when met with the quality of her spirit. If in those first few weeks I thought she was a nice person to get to know, she was determined we'd be lifelong friends. It's no secret that she's always been more gung-ho when it came to maintaining our ties. When I've treated her badly, when I've thought there was no way she would ever take me back after the latest stunt I pulled or words I said, even when I unintentionally tried to pull away; she's always been right there to stand up for me and for us. There were a lot of times when I thought her stubbornness was a vice of hers. In the respect of hanging onto me, though, I've always thought it was one of her best features. One can never say that Miss Breanne Haley Holins ever gives up.

"See? I always thought you could see the smell. Like food, you can see the smoke coming off of it. Or coffee, for that matter. I always thought there was something there that would give you a visual sign it's giving off a smell."

"Not at all true. When you see me, you won't see me shooting off smoke like some firecracker, would you?"

"Probably not."

"Not, please, thank you. Yet I've been told I smell like heaven in a gift box, if you must know," she laughed.

"I don't doubt that at all, Miss Breanne."

See, I never thought she was perfect because she was cute. I never thought she was perfect because she was intelligent for her age or because she was graceful or opinionated. All of that factored in to compiling my picture of who she was as a person. Yes, the fact she had all these qualities was kind of nice. But the quality that put her over the edge in the "like you like crazy" department was the fact she's insatiably understanding. She can cut me off, she can yell her lungs out, she can disappear at times when things get overwhelming for her, but she'll bend over backwards to make feel appreciated and, I suppose, normal.

That's always been one of my biggest qualms. I always thought I was too out of the ordinary to ever have that one close friend who knows me all too well. Just think about it. I can't smell. I have issues with saying good-bye and hello to most people. I have all these idiosyncrasies with doing things in a certain way. I'm an insomniac. I lack for a lot of common sense. I have a temper, I've been violent before, and I tend to discard people like so much garbage. I never thought somebody could look past all that and still like what was underneath.

She's one of the few who has that rare ability.

She knows I have certain qualities that she understands and can work with, even if she can't always see them or physically touch them.

"Don't you know, Eeyore? Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it hasn't always been there. If you were me, you'd be able to tell something is there even though you don't know where it's coming from. That's what smelling's like, darling. You can't really say what the experience is in words... but you know what something or somebody smells good or bad before you can see them."

"Sounds like a good ability to have."

"Oh, it's nifty."

That's what makes her perfect in my eyes (if not to my nose). She sniffed out what she liked in me from three thousand miles away.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

That's What You Get When You Let Your Heart Win, Whoa, I Drown Out All My Sense With The Sound Of Its Beating

--"That's What You Get", Paramore

After a pretty peaceful afternoon of attending the North Orange County Boardgamers meeting, I met up with Ilessa for dinner and to take in a movie. I want to mention this because my state of mind going into the movie theater was relatively calm and relaxed. If there are three things that I thoroughly enjoy at this moment in my life, they would have to be getting a couple of hours of good gaming, grubbing down on something that's totally awful for me but tastes fucking diving, and hanging out with somebody who gives as good as she gets it. Going into the film I was ready to chalk this up to a fairly relaxing day. However, by the time we left the theater I was off-kilter and more than a little agitated thanks to a little film called The Ruins.

Usually, I try to stay away from horror films. Most of the time I find them rather gory, usually inane, and seemingly all revolving around some type of monster who stalks and eventually kills off most of the heroes. After watching Buffy and seeing how much they tweak the general plot line of horror and monster films, I've found that most horror films are uninspired and insipid in their execution. Usually, I'm bored out of my mind at even the best of horror films.

The Ruins is different, though. It's less about something trying to get the main characters as the main characters fighting against the fate they've chosen. Sure, there's a "monster," but it's a monster in the same sense that Nature is a monster in Jack London's "To Build A Fire." It's not something the chases the heroes done or stalks them into submission. It's more akin to a blizzard or a forest fire; it doesn't care who it's killing. It doesn't have emotions such as violence or vengeance or even anger. It kills because that's the natural order of things. You can no more blame the monster in this film as you can blame a shark for eating fresh meat in the water. That's its sole purpose. I found that fact way more frightening than the actual death scenes because it's so elementary that it makes me think there are places in the world where this might actually happen. It's scary because, unlike most horror films, any one of us could accidentally or purposefully walk into a scenario similar to the one which happens in the film.

I liked the movie. I liked not because it's one of a few modern-day horror films to scare me, but also because it's one of the few horror films where I just didn't want any part of what was going on. Sure, there's almost always a disbelief that anyone could be so stupid to end up in the sights of killer when it's obvious almost from the get-go of any scary film's premise that something is amiss. Most of the time, the film asks us as the audience to suspend our disbelief that individuals are actually this naive or lacking for common sense. Yet this film doesn't really do that. It posits a plausible scenario, kids going down to Mexico and wandering off the beaten path. Not only that, but it doesn't plunk them down in a remote location due to a series of missteps. It places them in a location where, once there is trouble, they try everything to escape. This is what I like about the movie. Their fate isn't due so much because they were ignorant and ignored the warning signs. Their fate is similar to a hiker who falls down the side of a trail and who's unable to climb back up rather than somebody who foolishly decides to jump off the cliff wily-nilly.


oh why do we like to hurt so much?

However, with that being said, I also found myself reaffirming a few beliefs I've held for a long time. I've had a distrust of visiting foreign countries for a long time now. There are a few countries I want to visit, but most of the world I've just never wanted to go to. That's due to consequences like what happens to the main characters in this film. I'm not talking about being slowly killed off one-by-one by some freak of nature "thing." I'm talking about not being aware of the dangers that all the locals know about. I'm talking about being unable to comprehend that getting into a shitload of trouble outside of one's country is a thousand times worse than getting into a shitload of trouble inside one's country. I'm talking about the general sense that when you walk into a foreign land, it's like starting a game where you're not clear about all the rules yet and haven't been given the time to understand exactly what the stakes are.

I guess I side with Miss Toblerone in this instance. Visiting a foreign country just has too many variables and places you too much at risk to make it worth it for me. I'm all for seeing sights and experiencing adventures one cannot gather at home, but that's a bit too far down on the risk/reward scale for me to make it worthwhile. I like knowing what I can and can't do in a given place. I like knowing what the limits are and what the penalties for failing to abide by these limits are. What I don't like is finding out I wasn't supposed to cross this bridge when I've already crossed it. What I don't like is stepping outside of the safe zone when I'm just not sure how unsafe it is beyond its borders.

I have a healthy sense of recklessnesses. I'm also quite impulsive given certain circumstances. But I don't play around when too much is unknown. I'd rather stay in the country and know where I stand than go somewhere afar and not know if and when I'm doing something wrong or, worse than that, doing something that could get me killed.

I don't see the point in putting yourself in a position where you can get hurt without knowing why. If I'm going to get hurt, I'd at least like to there's a possibility of it coming and a sense of where it will be coming from.

In this instance, I say resist the urge to go see what's over on the other side.

I'm not going to be sucked down into some ruined temple because it just happened to be the "temple that sucks people down" that all the locals avoid.

I'm not going down like that. Not me.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Cause I Just Can't Stay Away, There's Nothing That I Can Do, And Baby You Can Have Your Way, Just As Long As I Can Have You

--"Anything", Jojo

It was the week after I had first run into that certain redheaded girl. Rather than protest vehemently my going to church, I was actually looking forward to it. I never had any real compulsion to attend church, even while I went to parochial elementary schools and a catholic high schools. I just never any had any reason to want it go. I never had any real strong connection to God and the theories they spouted in class and at mass never held any logic for me. But Sniffler? Sniffler was a reason to go. In fact, she was the main reason I was looking forward to Sunday.

I even wanted to get dressed, which is something I hardly ever do. The week prior she had seen me in rather shoddy attire as before I met her, I was more inclined to dress comfortably rather than stylishly. Who was I trying to impress? God? Certainly not. It's been said that love or whatever you want to call makes you do strange things. I was the test case for that theory. Not only did spend about two hours getting ready that Sunday, but I was nervous in a way that I hadn't been since junior high. There was this girl, apparently waiting for me (or at least that's what I told myself) who had looked absolutely amazing the week before--even while she was suffering from a bad cold and even while she couldn't have been enjoying herself at all for that hour we were in neighboring pews. I don't know if it was the getting dressed up for mass or the glow from the small beads of sweat of her temperature was inducing, but she had made impression enough on me to want to look nice for her.

My whole routine had changed. Whereas in prior weeks I had tried to sleep in as late as I could on the weekends, that weekend it was all I could do to go to sleep the night before. Plus, in the morning, I sprung out of bed, intent on getting a fresh start to my day so as to look my best.

As Breanne can attest to, it doesn't happen to me often where I give such a damn about how I look or how I act. However, even I can succumb to the impulse to try and make an impression on a pretty girl. It's the romantic in me, I think. Chalk it up to chivalry or good manners, but I think if you're interested in someone, you owe it to them to make yourself appealing themselves. That's what I wanted to do. I wanted to be just as appealing to her as she was to me. She deserved that much. I mean--someone that breathtaking shouldn't settle for the schlub I must have appeared the week before, someone who would have looked out of place at even the beach. My hair was all a mess. My demeanor before talking to her was vehemently bitter. If it weren't for the fact all that red hair simply clouded my determination to remain discontent, I probably would have left church feeling like yet another hour of my life had been wasted.

When it came to leave, I even offered to my brother Francis that he could stay home. The less people around me while I talked to her, the better. It was bad enough that my mom had to drive me there, but the idea of Francis standing next to me was incorrigible. Couple to this, the fact he was under no hurry to get to church, I thought it better if we just left him behind. Again, that was a break from tradition because, if anything, Francis was my only distraction when we had usually gone to church. The fact that I was so keen to leave him behind only meant that I had found another more compelling distraction.

Unfortunately, he tagged along anyway.

When we got to church, I immediately scanned the entire area for the sight of her. I looked at where the family had sat last week. No dice. I continued to look for another few minutes before we all had to sit down. Disheartened, I took my seat near the middle of the row. I was sure she wouldn't show up. I felt my whole day was ruined. Not only did I have the misfortune of being in church, I also had to contend with the fact that perhaps she'd be like my Holy Grail of Milkshakes, something to be enjoyed but the one time. I actually started thinking that, if I did come back to church and continued the facade of being a nice, religious son, I would always be reminded of the one time this beautiful girl had sat next to me and deemed me interesting enough to say a few pitiful words to.

Either way, my routine was ruined. I couldn't go back to not wanting to go to church. I'd always be thinking what if that was the one week she had decided to come back. I'd always worry that I'd miss her and, if by some miracle she was looking forward to seeing me as I was looking forward to seeing her, I would disappoint her irrevocably. That wasn't a chance I was willing to take. But I also couldn't go back to being numb and apathetic through the service either. What if she did show up and the first thing she saw was my dumb ass looking once again pissed off or worse? What then? Whenever I did go back to church I would have to look interested and interesting the whole time for fear I dissuade her from approaching me. So it was that weekend that I put the smile of God onto my mom's face because I gave the impression I was ga-ga gung-ho for God that day. I was smiling, talkative, and generally the opposite portrait to my usual downtrodden visage. I looked like a person who was happy to be there when, in actuality, I was counting the minutes till I could leave.

Then she, lovely as ever, showed up with her older sister and I really was happy to be there.

And when she said hello to me, after sitting two rows away from my family (two rows might as well have been another state), it was all the validation I needed that change was good, change was warranted, and that my routine before had been entirely without merit. From that day on till eighteen months later I was at church bright and early.

Every so often I had chance enough to hold a few conversations with her--never getting her name, of course, because that was kind of her appeal. Other than that, the new routine never changed. I'd show up to church. She and her sister would come ten or fifteen minutes later. She'd come sit closeby, but never quite the next row. Sometimes we'd sneak a small talk out by the front doors as we were leaving. Sometimes we'd sneak a small talk after we'd both pretend we needed to go the rest room. In either case, the bulk of our friendship was built on the idea that for an hour we saw each other and only knew the best of one another.

She thought I was this dutiful and pious son.

I thought she was the perfect young woman without questionable character flaws or any nonesuch.

That was the routine. That was the order of the universe for the next eighteen months. That's the last time my world was in perfect harmony.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers