Watch My Back So I'll Make Sure, You're Right Behind Me As Before, Yesterday The Night Before Tomorrow

--"Tonight", Lykke Li

The problem with routinely waiting to do the bulk of one's writing late at night is that one runs the risk of being too tired to actually complete one's assignment. Most often I'm rather diligent in providing myself ample time to write just after dinner or just after primetime to get some piece of cobbled together before true weariness sets in. There have been a myriad of nights, however, where procrastination and a sense of ennui overwhelm any drive to compose anything of merit. Those are the nights like tonight where I seem to write with my eyelids half-closed and where the danger of putting something out in hurry and, therefore, shoddy becomes high.

I've always written most when the sun's down. There's some symbolism in writing when it's dark outside that's instinctual in me. At first, I thought it had something to do with the twilight hours being when the world slows down, when I'm not exposed to so many various external sources of noise pollution. I thought that it also had to do with something regarding my being less distracted by people knocking on my door or calling me on the phone, wanting a piece of my attention. I even thought it had something to do with the fact that I preferred writing when there's slim pickings on the television or when it's too late to do too much of anything else.

In actuality, the reason why I often can't sleep and why I always desire to fill my idle time after midnight with something productive is that I can't stand to sleep with a sense of unfulfillment. It doesn't matter how many works I put in at my job, it doesn't matter how many things I accomplished when I go out, and it doesn't matter how much I get done in the spirit of contributing to the world at large.

Writing is my "thing" and I don't feel like my day starts or that my day can end until I complete something I want to do. The evening is my time when I can play by my rules. It's the time when I can spend as little or as much time and energy doing something that ostensibly only benefits me. It's the time when I can choose to be as vague or as specific about the task at hand as I want.

I even believe that the weariness has something to do with making the conditions optimum for my creative process. When I'm tired I become more loosey-goosey as Breanne says, I stop attempting to justify myself with every step and I start trusting in my words more. When I'm more awake I tend to overanalyze each and every phrase I include, I start worrying how everything sounds rather than concentrating on how effectively I'm getting my point across. I never really dwelled on the matter before now, but I do believe that's why I tended to wait to the last minute before I wrote anything for school. I lock up when I can use all the parts of the brain; I do better when i can shut off or tune out all those parts which hold me back during the daylight. I do better when it's just me and my addled imagination conspiring together to produce something totally off-the-wall.

It's why I don't like sleeping until I'm absolutely exhausted, not before two or three in the morning most nights. Whenever I try to fall asleep any time before that state I become obsessed with examining the minutia of my day. I drive myself silly for hours on end because too much of my mind is actively trying to pursue every lead that presents itself. At least when I'm exhausted, I don't have the strength to contemplate anything seriously for any great length of time. All I have the strength to do is dream of something nice possibly and then pass out.

I truly feel that my writing is better served and I am better served by being more active precisely when I should be winding down for the night. I don't fight the inspiration so much and I don't fight whatever conclusions might arise from these little inspirational jaunts.

At night is when I thrive creatively because at night is when the whole slumbering world becomes my blank canvas, my blank black canvas.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

You're Mine, My Baby, And You'll Always Be, I Swear By Everything I Own, You'll Always, Always Be Mine

--"We Belong Together", Ritchie Valens

The main reason I've always liked Toby (aside from the fact she has some pretty hot sisters) is the fact she's always reminded me somewhat of myself. She doesn't remind myself necessarily about my obsessive habits, though I do have some of those, and she doesn't necessarily remind me of myself in her use of imagination. She's far too lyrical for my own tastes. The manner in which she reminds me about myself is her ubiquitous way she looks at the world. That aspect of her personality has always been dead-on how I approach life. She doesn't just consider how something is going to play out and then move on; when she takes in the ramifications of a problem, challenge, or concern, she truly takes it to heart.

I take everything to heart. I take everything hard, maybe not in the same way as my young friend, but I process everything far longer than necessary and far deeper than necessary. It's always been my way and I guess it's always been her way as well.

For instance, when I first heard Breanne was getting married, oh, about seven or eight years ago, my first words to her were congratulatory in nature, but my first thoughts were more jealous in origin. While I was speaking about how happy I was for her, I was contemplating the fact that there she was, five years younger than me, and already dedicating her life to someone. I wasn't picturing how fabulous her wedding was going to be, but how come that picture couldn't be mine or, at best, include me in it. That's what I do, I think about how something is going to affect me before it affects someone else.

I was reminded of that incident earlier today.

----

"Guess what."

"What?"

"Nora's getting married," she said with her usual verve. "Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, that's awesome. Tell her congratulations for me," I replied. "I bet your mom is excited."

"Oh, she is. We all are."

For as long as I've known Toby which, granted, has always been a year or so, she's always been updating me on her sisters. I've heard my fair share of stories about how Faye is thriving at Indiana and how much she enjoys what she's been learning. I would have to say, though, that I've heard even more stories about Marion's eldest sister, Nora and her fiance, "Just Plain" Harry. Whether they're told with pride or desolation, the youngest Frisson has never failed to keep me updated about the goings-on about her big sister. It's good for me because I've never had an older sister or older sibling, for that matter, so I'm always curious what it's like to look up to someone. The closest I've ever come to that feeling is my older cousin, but it doesn't really count since he's a mere ten months older than me. To hear Toby talk about "Choppers" you can tell there's a heightened sense of reverence there and more than a little desire to emulate her.

"So she didn't get the huge talk about how she's too young to get married?"

"Why? She's twenty-three."

"That's only barely a woman, Toby."

"Hmmm. Let me check. Gosh. Tastes like a woman to me."

"I"m just saying that she only finished a college a year ago. I always thought the idea was to do some living before you settle down."

"Nora's not like that. To her life begins anew at marriage. She's been wanting this for awhile now. We all have."

"All of you?"

"Harry's great. He's great with all of us. Frankly, I thought he would never ask her. Oh my God, the wait was..."

"Forever?"

"Interminable. Excruciating. Other big words. If he hadn't asked her soon, I would have, I can tell you that much."

"Wow. If you're half as excited as she is, she must be bursting through the roof right now."

I don't know what annoyed me more, the fact Toby was excited for her sister or the fact her sister was getting married. In the first instance, I was a little peeved due to the fact that, unlike me, Toby's always had a way of placing her concerns or pettiness aside when it comes to her family. She feels the same insecurities as I do, but much like Lucy, she's always had the knack of feigning or genuinely experiencing happiness at someone else's news. I can tell you the deeply concerned Toby you read here is a much different Toby once exposed to actual sunlight. I don't know--my cantankerous side has crept to the forefront a time or two in past conversations with her. She's gone through the same slights I have, but rather than let it change her dealings with other people, she's so far been able to set them aside for the sake of not making waves (LOL). Her thoughts on the matter stay hidden from most--namely, those who don't interact with her very often or those who don't regularly read this blog--while my thoughts pretty much never change from here to the outside world. When I grow angry everyone knows I'm angry. When Toby grows upset, it's fairly hardly to tell.

In the second instance, I was a little peeved at the idea that yet another individual ten years my junior has taken that huge step I can never seem to take. I'm not ashamed to admit that it bothers me every time I hear about someone I know who is the least bit younger than me getting married. It bothers me a lot. A small part of me is bothered by the idea that they could risk giving up so much of their lives to make somebody else happy. I know what sacrifices are involved when you make that kind of huge commitment. I've never been married myself, but I have lived with someone and been seriously involved with at least two other people. It's draining. It's exhausting. Also, more than likely, it entails giving up a huge chunk of your time and energy to an effort that may never pay off quite the dividends you hoped for. The larger part of me, the part of me that is that idiotic romantic idealist, knows I'm just annoyed because I never seem to be in that position to take that risk like Nora or like Breanne before her. That part of me knows I'm just annoyed because I still truly believe that, while it may not pay dividends most of the time, that kind of commitment is not entirely without its rewards, without its benefits.

The truth of the matter is, as much as it hurts like hell, I'd rather be in love than not be in it.

"Oh, she's going to be excited for awhile. Just think, she only told my folks at our house at a small gathering of my family. She's going to make the huge announcement this upcoming week at New Year's. When she tells everyone there she might just explode her head," she said matter-of-factly. "There'll probably be blood. I'll probably have to clean it up."

"What do they say again? Don't get any on you."

"Who says that? I don't say that. Who says that?"

"And what does Faye say?"

"Faye's in your camp."

"Figures."

"Yeah, she thinks Nora should live more before tying the knot. But Faye's always going to preach that till the day she dies. None of us is living to our full potential according to her, but especially Nora."

"I happen to agree."

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Hey, I'm all about the living life thing. I'm onboard the letting the chips fall where they may bus. Fuck it."

"Is that why you're home tonight instead of being out like most people on vacation."

"Hey, I went out. I even dropped off a package and ate at Pick-Up Stix today."

"And how long did that take, Patrick?"

"About ninety minutes."

"And the rest of the time?"

"Mostly spent watching House reruns... puttering around the house... doing laundry."

"Laundry, procrastinating, and t.v.? Mr. Excitement over here."

"Well, part of the reason I stayed home was to talk to you too."

"Don't let me keep you," she laughed. "No one's shackling you to the phone. I like talking and all, but it's somewhere in the night for me, something I can squeeze in before sleep. For you, you still have hours you can burn doing something better."

It could be that I talk a good game. I go on and on about how I don't let anyone tell me what to do or let anyone tell me what to think. Early on B. and I hit upon the motto of "nobody's the boss of me," but I never trusted in what I meant like she did. She's never let anyone dictate what or where she goes. I've lived a long time believing that I'm much the same way. However, it seems a lot of the choices I make in this regard involve doing nothing, keeping to myself, and cutting myself off from various experiences where she's always used the philosophy to do everything, get in the mix, and experience everything. When I say "nobody's the boss of me" it's always in reference to people trying to tell me to do something I'm not interested in or meeting someone I know nothing about. I never make the comment in relation to somebody trying to hold me back, only in relation to somebody pushing me out of my comfort zone.

That could be why I've always been better at telling somebody not to get married, not to get too involved with anyone beside me, not to risk too much of their hearts, because that's the advice I always give myself. For being a romantic idealist when speaking about myself, I'm one heck of a pessimist when it comes to talking about someone else.

That's what I don't get--how with one hand I can be jealous of somebody getting married and then having the nerve to think they're making a mistake at the same time. That makes no sense. It's either one thing or the other. I either envy them their bliss or I condemn them for their lapse of judgment.

"Tomorrow will be better for me. I've got my meeting tomorrow, possibly followed up by a night out. You can't party every night."

"Not at your age anyway."

I let the pause settle before asking the question I'd been trying to ask all night.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" I inquired simply.

"Go ahead."

"Do you ever get jealous of your sisters?"

"Gosh. All the time."

"No, I mean do you ever get really jealous of them?"

"Again, all the time."

"How do you stand it? How stand knowing that for a few personality quirks you could be more like them, have what they have, etcetera?"

She left the question hanging in the air for a long while before I heard her attempt to make her answer. When she finally did speak it told me more than I cared to know about the differences between me and her, and more than I cared to know about how juvenile my jealousy was.

"They're not me."

"Of course not."

"What I mean is that what happens to them has no bearing to what happens to me most of the time. Most of the time when something good happens to them it's not because they're taking that good thing from me. I can't feel too envious about losing something I never had in the first place.

"Besides, when you're plagued with happiness it spreads to everybody, but when you suffer jealousy you suffer alone, I can tell you that much. I don't like feeling bad. Any excuse not to postpone joy is a good excuse."

----

It's difficult for me to be genuinely happy for someone else. Like she said, I tend to equate somebody else's relative well-being as a knock on my own. Perhaps I do honestly feel like when somebody else is happy it means somebody is taking that happiness away from me. More than likely I just equate somebody else's happiness with the fact that I'm unhappy in comparison to them. It's like when you're relatively content with your toys until somebody shows up with bigger and brighter toys. Suddenly what you've always had all along isn't good enough, the joy you'd been experiencing is no longer as enjoyable as it once was. I don't know what it is about hearing about other's people's success that brings out this side in me when most of the time I'm not that competitive. All I know is that I haven't quite been been able to figure out this yearning for what others have when it comes to love and relationships.

I just want what people like Nora and Breanne have, some measure of insulation against those feelings of loneliness and isolation.

But that doesn't mean I should hold them responsible for my own inability to cope with the world at large. In fact, instead of driving myself crazy by denouncing their decision to tie themselves to somebody else, I should take a page out of delfty's playbook and share in their good fortune. For one, it's better to join in other people's revelry rather than bask in one's own misery. For another thing, I might just pick up the secret of their success by just associating with them and not shying away from the whole institution itself.

I want to be happy like they are.

That's not going to happen if I choose to be unhappy every time I hear about somebody else's happiness.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

How Does It Feel When The Girl Next To You, Says She Loves You, It Seems So Unfair When There's Love Everywhere, But There's None For Me

--"Some Guys Have All The Luck (cover)", Camera Obscura

I'm in an Eponine kind of moment in my life. It seems everyone around me is with someone, even little Marion. While I wouldn't begrudge anyone's happiness as long as it doesn't impinge on mine, I would rather like some of that wealth to be spread a little more my way.

Just a little.

I'm trying really hard to live up to the philosophy that I don't need anyone else to make me happy. I know that part of the process is working on me and on making myself happy. But--I don't know--I've spent the last five years working on being okay with me. For the most part, I think it's worked. I think I'm at a place job-wise, money-wise, and health-wise that I'm very content in. It took forever, but I have very little to complain about except this. It's like on one hand I know there's very little I can do to improve myself in other aspects of my life, but in the department of caring about someone I haven't reached my summit yet. It's the one area of my life with plenty of room for growth. I see a group of my friends who really seem to have it all--doing what they want, being who they want to be, and still fortunate enough to be with people they so richly deserve--and all I can ponder is if I actually don't deserve that kind of bliss. I start to wonder if it's not in the cards for me.

Then I look to someone like Brandy, who already had the great love of her life, and I begin to reconcile my previous relationships against the notion that those were as good as it gets for me. That was my heyday and those were the best and truest romantic relationships I'll ever have in my life. And, as much as I wouldn't change how the majority of them turned out, I still possess a good deal of regret that I squandered those opportunities. It's the same old lament of the individual who frittered away the best years of his life; there was never enough time to make it good, to make it right. If, indeed, those were all I'm ever going to have... then I really didn't have all that much comparatively.

I had one great love of my life.

Is it too much to ask for at least one more?

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Wind Blows Through The Trees, But If I Look For It, It Won't Come, I Tense Up, My Mind Goes Numb, There's Nothing Harder Than Learning How To Receive

--"All I Need Is Everything", Over The Rhine

On The Big Bang Theory tonight I had the chance to witness firsthand when the social protocols of giving and receiving are not learned to a sufficient degree. Sheldon, upon receiving the news that his neighbor Penny has gotten him a Christmas gift, can only think of the pressure he is now under to reciprocate. Rather than thank her he immediately begins to complain about the burden she has placed him in. Of course, this is used for comedic effect on the show. In real life, however, I've seen firsthand how the understanding, or lack thereof, of giving and receiving can lead to some pretty harsh feelings.

----

My predilection for not sharing desserts not withstanding, I tend to think of myself as a generous person. Admittedly, I won't be the first person to come say hello to everyone at a party or even say good-bye to people I know, but I've always prided myself on not being overly greedy with my possessions. I won't offer you the world, but if you wanted a somewhat small piece of it and it was in my power to give it to you, chances are I would. Of anything an individual could offer another individual, possessions are by far the easiest to part with and probably the easiest to get back. That's always been my overriding theory.

Indeed, history is filled with examples where I was perhaps too generous with my belongings. From "lending" out my bass guitar to my old manager Dennis four months after I purchased and never receiving it back, even after a fifteen year interim, to giving away my class ring to DeAnn, to the latest escapade of giving my beloved copy of The Wizard to Carly, I haven't exactly been smart who and when I choose to bestow something to someone. This is not to say that these are overtly nefarious people, but going into the exchange I knew each and everyone of these people weren't the most likely to return what I gave them.

Despite all this, as Anne Frank once said, I still believe people are good at heart. I still believe that the world is filled with people who are prompt about returning everything they borrow. That's why I choose to still carry on my philosophy of lending whenever possible as long as I've at the very least shared a meal with a person.

Or so I thought.

Having just moved in this past weekend, I'm starting to think that believing one is generous and being generous are two different beasts altogether. Even though I've known my cousin all my life and even though I've probably shared more material objects with him than any other person except one (guess who), I'm still discovering the idea of sharing everything in the condo to be a little wonky. It's one thing for someone to take something of mine when they have my permission, but sharing a place often means that the concepts of possession and permission get lost in translation. It was different with Amber. With her, we had clearly delineated lines of ownership. I had my section of the kitchen for my utensils and cookware. I had my own place to put my food in the pantry and refrigerator. Everything else I kept in my room.

Even with DeAnn, though we shared a lot, there was never the idea of things belonging to us as a couple. That's why at the end of it all, we both knew who was getting back what. If anything, I lost out on the deal because she took my Anita Blake books as well as my favorite Monet print of the two we bought.

Here, though, I have a skulking suspicion that things are going to be different. If it were just the fact that I'm used to using his stuff, that would be one point in that favor. But it's also the fact that we're both fairly generous people. So it was that, while the stinking internet is down I'm compelled to use his computer to type this, which makes me feel a tad weird. I'm rather used to the feel and conditions with which I type or, hell, even use the "internets" and computers in general. Aside from the occasional peek at my e-mail, fantasy scores, or something else that takes less than ten minutes, I'm a strictly monogamous computer user. I love my little white Macbook and she loves me.

Yet without hesitation he basically says his computer is my computer.

Why is it all I can think about is what he'll expect of me when it's my turn to borrow something huge unexpectedly?

I may be a generous person when it's on my own terms, but this new living arrangement is going to be a litmus test on how well I do when it comes to being giving of myself on understated and assumed terms. More importantly, it's going to be a litmus test on how well I do when it comes to receiving something graciously without assuming there's a hidden agenda behind it.

I'm not going to turn into Sheldon.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Don't Care If Monday's Blue, Tuesday's Grey And Wednesday Too, Thursday I Don't Care About You, It's Friday, I'm In Love

--"Friday I'm In Love", The Cure

There are days when I don't feel like writing this blog. Hell, there are days when I don't feel like writing or doing much of anything at all. Unlike some people I don't have the benefit of taking an extended sabbatical from this, my "other" job. It wouldn't be much of a personal website if the main architect took a day off. Even though I've cut down my writing here to two or three days out of the week at the most, I still feel obligated to be present everyday to know at all times what is being presented in my good name, both in full or in part.

This way, Breanne is free to have her vacations and Toby's free to contribute as much or as little as she pleases.

The one constant of this site is me.

But, lately, what with the getting ready to move, Thanksgiving, and becoming more involved in my board gaming group, I'm finding my focus in writing consistently wavering. Even today, though I knew I was consigned to produce a post according to our schedule, I postponed and postponed from when I had time at seven and again at eleven till the point that I'm now writing this at close to two in the morning. Add to that the fact that I'm watching The Bourne Ultimatum and listening to Migration by Sambassadeur in the background and you'd get the impression that my heart's just not into writing as much as it used to be. You could be right. Long gone are the days when I used to obsess at work what I'd be writing that day. Long forgotten are the days when these posts and what I wrote here were the highlight of the days.

I've moved on. I've found other ways to occupy my time.

And yet.

I'm not hanging up the towel. I doubt if I ever will. Originally the two reasons for this site were to provide an outlet for my writing impulses and, a few months later, to serve as a conduit between me and Lucy. Lucy and I are on relatively good terms right now so I don't feel particularly pressured to use this as the only means of communication. As for the first reason, that will never go away. There are always going to be thoughts, anecdotes that simply do not fit in the confines of a novel or short story. I'm always going to possess a desire to transcribe my history in confessional form or to process my ramblings in a few short paragraphs. Part of the reason I write so often is the fact that it seems I understand more when I place it down on paper. Something about the structuring, the layering, of a blog post allows me to see the answers to questions I didn't even know I was asking. This site serves far too many purposes for me to abandon it.

This sense of ennui in regards to my continuation of contributing to california is a recipe for a black hole will pass. Very soon I expect I'll hit upon the next great idea and be dying to offer it to all of you. Very soon the sun shall peek its head from among the storm clouds now circling about me. Very soon I'll start writing here like I used to, full of energy and full of ideas. This listlessness can't last forever.

Four years is a long time to do something you don't enjoy. That leads me to conclude that despite everything there is something special at work here. Aside from the opportunity to work alongside my friends (who happen to be very decent writers themselves), it also gives me the opportunity to say a lot of things I wouldn't have the decency to say in real life. Also, I love the fact that other people from time to time find some measure of entertainment or solace here. That's an added bonus I cannot deny provides some sense of acceptance.

Right now I don't feel much like writing much, but like Breanne once said to me when I went through a similar writing block, "When you fall, you get back up, sugar. You don't stop believing in gravity."

When I don't feel I have any words left, like now, I put down the pen for awhile.

I don't break it, never to be used again.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Extreme Ways That Help Me, That Help Me Out Late At Night, Extreme Places I Had Gone, But Never Seen Any Light

--"Extreme Ways", Moby

"The first time I saw Goonies I was actually in Boy Scouts, around '87," I told her.

"For a cinema merit badge? Is there even such a thing?" she replied.

"Nah. Even if there was, I highly doubt that The Goonies would qualify as fine cinema. Mostly it's just escapist fare. No, every year our church held its fair during March or April--I forget. Every year they would pitch up all the tents, construct all the booths, and lay out whatever machinery was needed for them. 1987 was the first year our troop was put together so, more as a favor to us than anything else, they asked us to camp out overnight to 'guard' the tents."

I heard her laugh on the other end of the line. I didn't hear for myself anything worth laughing about, but apparently she had mined a bit of humor from that particular set-up to the story.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I have this mental image of y'all standing guard in pairs by your tents with those cavalry sabers, darling. Never mind my shenanigans. Continue."

"It wasn't like we were actually guarding anything. I think we were more of a deterrent than truly security. I don't know if they had a problem with hooligans the year before. All I know is we didn't have any trouble that first year we were there. Especially with a fully operating beer garden down there, it could have been calamity."

It'd been ten years since that day and I was explaining to Little Miss Chipper about the circumstances that led up to my first viewing of one of my most cherished movies. Normally, I would have lied and said I had seen it in the theaters, that I had been part of The Goonies cult right from the beginning. However, the real story had a charm all its own. I don't know why it's so important to me to be on the ground floor of projects or activities that I later get involved in, but it's been a bias of mine to backdate when and where I started appreciating all my favorite things. Yet, even though this particular film came out in 1985, I was content to fully admit that I hadn't seen it till 1987.

Besides, in 1985 I would have been ten, almost a full five years before I would take the initiative to see movies of my choosing on my own.

"You didn't have the local Girl Scout Troop staying overnight with you guys?"

"No."

"Because that could've been calamity as well..."

"No, it was an all-boy party that evening, B."

"...what with all the fornication and general sex-making that could've been had, Eeyore."

I heard her giggling at her own mental image. I waited for her to quiet down before continuing.

"Are you quite finished?"

"Yes," she answered sheepishly.

"Do you want me to finish my story now?"

"Please, thank you."

"At any rate, it's rather boring camping out in the field next to a myriad of wooden booths and cloth tents. A man can only take so many games of Ninja Hide-and-Go-Seek and Smear the Queer. A few hours after we had made and ate dinner, and after we had been busy running around like wanton fools, we were bored. Someone suggested that we whip out a deck of cards, one person even suggested I bring out the wrestling game I had designed and had often brought to our meetings, but I thought that was a typical late-night option. I didn't see the sense in blowing our load so early when we had all night to exhaust other avenues.

"That's when John's dad and a few of the other fathers told us about the surprise. It seems they had rented a few movies as well as requisitioned the church VCR that was already in the meeting hall."

"Beer gardens and films? Hell's bells, that doesn't sound much like roughing it."

"Oh, it was hard. It was so hard."

"Get a bunch of pre-adolescent boys together, you know?"

"Whatever, woman."

More laughter.

"Luckily for me the two movies they had chosen were two I hadn't seen before, The Last Starfighter and The Goonies. The Last Starfighter was okay, but it wasn't anything that I was particularly interested in. I paid attention through the whole thing, though.

"Goonies, on the other hand, is a movie I still hold in high regard to this day. I'll never forget the first time I watched that with my troop."

"Why's that?"


I would stand in line for this
it's always good in life for this

"I don't know--it was the first movie where the adventure was being had by people my age. Sure, there were other films that had kids as their main stars, but nothing in the vein of the escapades that these kids had to endure. The whole spelunking, being chased by career criminals, finding pirate treasure, and making friends with the nice mutant--all of that was great. It was like watching Temple of Doom if Short Round invited six of his friends to come along."

"Is that all, sugar? Is that the whole reason I should watch it?"

"No, it's more than that. I don't know if I can describe it to you."

"You can try."

What I was trying to explain to her is that the sense of camaraderie that The Goonies shared was sort of the same sense of belonging that I had with the Scouts. That belonging was very eerily echoed in the movie.

"Have you ever just wanted to be a part of something bigger than yourself? Not because you particularly cared for the thing itself, but because you'd just been on your own for so long?"

I could hear the acknowledgment in her silence before she even had to answer.

"It's like when they go down the cave at the start of the movie, they aren't just fighting to save their own skins. They're fighting to save each other's. When--and I mean when--you see it, you'll see that it's one of the only movies where the adventuring and the hijinx serve the purpose of keeping them together. True, they're fighting to stay alive despite the obstacle thrown at them, but they're also fighting for their friendship which, aside from love, is one of the best reasons to fight for anything. It's like if someone gave me the choice to fight for riches or for someone I believe in, I'm much more likely to risk my neck for someone rather than something I love. It just so happens in this movie that the two goals coincide."

"I always thought it was one of them 'boys'' films and that I wouldn't like it."

"Because it's a bunch of boys running around?"

"Exactly."

"Well, it is that too. It isn't like the movie's preaching to you in scenes of hugs and kisses; it isn't a chick flick," I laughed over the phone. "It's a high-spirited romp through the mountain with a lot of twists and surprises thrown in for good measure. But beneath it is a message that really like and I think you would too."

"Oh, would I?"

"Yeah. Before you, Goonies was the ideal of going out of one's way to help somebody else out. You know me, Breanne. I'm not usually altruistic for altruism sake. Well, before I watched this I didn't even know that there was such a thing as having friends that you could see yourself dying for. It's what kind of made me look for you in a way."

"If you put it that way. Hell's bells, I'll pop it in right now."

Going into the conversation I hadn't really planned it end up on the point where it had. I was more concerned with rectifying the situation where she had never seen the film (despite having received it as a present on her tenth birthday). Where it turned up was a discovery that I made when connected the dots between the Boy Scouts and her. I had never really liked what the Boy Scouts did; I really more enjoyed that sense of being a part of the group. It's the same way with my Breannie; I don't enjoy everything she believes in or stands for. But I believe in the fact that she would stand by me when I need her most. That alone makes me want to reciprocate the desire. Not only that, but she's willing to indulge my horrible need for people to watch, listen, or read my favorite pieces of entertainment. She was willing to do this even though before I had talked to her she would have rather died than watch it.

You know what, though? She and I belong to our own little Goonie pack.

And Goonies never say die.

"Hold on, I'm going to get my copy. I have an idea. We should start them together. It'll be like watching it next to you..."

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

The Storm Is Breaking, Or So It Seem, We're Too Young To Reason, Too Grown Up To Dream, Now Spring Is Turning, Your Face To Mine

--"Slave to Love", Bryan Ferry

I didn't wake up till four yesterday. The day before I had spent in the service of my gaming obsession so I hadn't been able to get home till two in the morning Sunday and I wasn't able to sleep till five or so. Understandably, going out to spend another day amidst the world outside wasn't big on my plans for the afternoon or evening. Even at four, when I did wake, I wasn't in too much of a hurry to get anything productive done. My plans basically consisted of watching the evening football game, checking on a my fantasy teams, maybe get a little reading done, and then work on this very post. The scope of my imagination for what was going to get done yesterday was very limited, indeed.

When Illessa called, saying that it was her last day in town visiting her father and brother, I almost didn't pick up on general principle. There are still a lot of sore spots between me and her. Also, I've never been one to relish coming back to a friendship after an awkward period of silence has intervened. It just isn't kosher to go back to the notion that everything is honky-dory between me and the other party when both of us know it, in fact, isn't. I'm much more inclined to get everything settled at the point of division than months after the fact. That's how Little Miss Chipper and I have managed to stay intact for so long; tending to our weeds as they grow. Ilessa and I, on the other hand, have always had a more contentious relationship with one another. There are days and weeks (and I suppose months now) where I can't stand to think of her. That was my frame of reference when I saw it was she who was calling me at a quarter past four yesterday. My thoughts turned to words like, "what the fuck does she want?" or "I'm not even going to bother to answer." I was tired. I wanted my day off. I thought I really wanted things to be over between me and her.

And yet.

I answered the phone more out of curiosity than anything else. Part of me was inquisitive as to whether she would apologize or follow my example and launch into what she had to say without so much as a by-your-leave. Her opening tended more to the latter model rather than the former. It was the same routine set-up. She was bored. She didn't like being around her family. Could I come get her and maybe do something? Well, the first thing I told her was that she had access to a car; she could drive her ass down to see me if she was so adamant about catching up. True, I might have announced that with more venom than was necessary, but as far as I was concerned at the time, the more reasons I had to dissuade her from seeing me, the better. I wanted it to be plain as day that I still had my reservations about her; I wanted her to be the one to say that it wasn't a good idea for us to meet up. That way I couldn't be blamed for not giving any effort to repair the damage that had been done. Somewhat to my surprise, she agreed that it made more sense for her to drive out her. I cycled through my mind to find another reason why I couldn't see her, but found nothing.

I was stuck. Well, I wasn't really stuck, but I hadn't been as vehemently opposed to the idea as I thought I was. More exactly, the weariness of the situation and the lack of fuel to continue the rancor towards combined to leave me ill-prepared to rebuke her with any vigor. I simply had reached the point where it was exhausting to go on being angry with her, especially when the last time I had let her know how much I disapproved of what she had done had been two or three months ago.

She arrived at my place at close to half past five. Again, part of me wanted to not pick up the phone when she called to announce she was waiting patiently outside. Part of me wanted to leave her high and dry, and be pretty much a dick to her like she's been to me for all this time. Yet when she did make that call I picked it up without hesitation. In my head I had already agreed to give this reconciliation a fair shot. A bigger part of me wanted to have that part of my life back that went away when she did. I got into her car with a genuine smile on my face, albeit a small one. As soon as I saw her small, but lovely, face I knew I had missed her more than I had let myself admit. It's one thing to hate a person when you don't have to see them for a good, long spell, but when you're with them up close and personal, it's almost entirely impossible to hold a grudge that, for the most part, is unwarranted. I'm much better at being priggish when I can keep the offending parties at an arm's length from me. When I see them in person I tend to bury the hatchets as well as any other sharp implements.

We saw Four Christmases, which was rather disappointing.

Then we headed out to The Kettle just like old times, which wasn't disappointing in comparison.

Then we parked up at Chavez Ravine, at Dodger Stadium, like we had done dozens in times in the last three years. With certain people I have a place where I can be more open with them. I used to have the greatest talks with Jennifer at Huntington Beach. In fact, I can't pass by there without remembering most, if not all, of our discussions we had while the sand was creeping up my butt or the wind pushing me in the face. With Miss Nancy Drew we've always saved our dearest chats for the home of the worst team in baseball (LOL). I don't know--perhaps it's the emptiness of the place after eleven at night. Or perhaps it's the idea that we're in a place that gets so full in the daytime. Personally, I think we've always gravitated to that particular spot because it's the place she took me when we went out on our first "outing". Old habits die hard and for some reason or another that's the place we both think of as being "our" place whenever we see each other. Whatever the reason, that's where we ended up.

As conversations go, it wasn't our best. There still was a lingering air of animosity that pervaded the inside of her car. My words didn't come as fast or as freely as they once did with her. We didn't discuss in any great detail the facts of the wall that existed; we merely pretended that the wall wasn't there. We mostly talked about the genial small talk stuff that I normally hate. Yet it wasn't entirely unpleasant or awkward. Frankly, I was amazed that there were words at all. I'm always surprised when I tell myself that I'm going to be a certain way or act a certain way, and it ends up being the polar opposite of what I actually end up doing or saying. A wise man once said, "maturity is having the experience to decide what you want to do and the foolishness to do the opposite when you actually have to make a choice." It's a poor life that's spent doing exactly as you planned beforehand.

What's more it's a poor life when you can snap to a decision about a person. People, if they're worth anything, are not light switches; they don't come either up or down. They can be flipped from one extreme to the other. Illessa is the most polarizing person I know. She has driven me and drives me to hate her all the time, but for some reason I still haven't given up on her. I easily could. I thought I was this last time. Yet every time I deign to see her she puts out something that makes me believe there's something worth redeeming in her. Every time I talk to her I hear something that makes me think she adds something valuable to my life that nobody else can give me in quite the same way. Every time I look at her I see something worth admiring. It may be hidden for awhile amidst the small annoyances that comprise her demeanor, her personality, but the nuances are there.

We ended up talking less than forty minutes before she told me she had to get going. Her flight was Monday morning and she wanted to make sure she didn't stay out all night with me and miss it. I told her that it was a shame she had to go so soon. She shrugged her head, told me shit happens, and then started the car. I don't know if I could have talked to her all night like we used to; her time in Philly has served to make her less robust regarding the world at large. Truth be told, I think it's suffocating the fire she once had about kicking life in the rear. She's still the same girl I met a few years back. Only this time she's been in the so-called "real" world for half of a year now--living on her own and, as she said before, slowly dying on her own. I almost want to tell her that it was a mistake to leave. I didn't tell her that, of course. I don't want to be the one who makes her into a quitter.

I know what it's like to quit on something that has chance to be good.

Illessa and I are never going to have the relationship that Breanne and I share. It's never going to be like that. For sure she's going to piss me off, irk me, or otherwise annoy the hell out of me. But it doesn't have to all be roses and light with every friend I have. I'm old enough to know that the dream of finding the perfect friend is an all but impossible one. I know what I'm looking for in the people I surround myself with now. It's not based on anything unreachable or quixotic; I want what everyone wants. Basically, I want somebody who I'm happy to see or hear from most of the time and someone who is happy see or her from me most of the time.

Like it or not, ready or not, for now Miss Nancy Drew fits the bill.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers