You Do What Wanna Do, And Say What You Wanna Say, So, Come On And Be My Light, Come On And Lead The Way

--"Do What You Want To Do", Acid House Kings

Back when I was watching Veronica Mars regularly I was always amazed at the dynamic between Keith Mars and his daughter Veronica. There's wasn't the cantankerous and prickly relationships most shows would like us to believe occurs between fathers and daughters. For the bulk of the show the relationship was somewhat healthy, apparently stable, and, what was more, undeniably loving. They had no stoic reservations about showing their affection for one another as often as possible. Yes, theirs wasn't a perfect family. Veronica hid the truth and outright lied to her father on more than one occasion--even so far as costing him the sheriff position. Keith was often too trusting of his daughter at the expense of often being blind to what else might have been going on in the larger world. Yet at the end of the day, I would like to say that their relationship stands as a shining example of how parents ought to raise and treat their children.

I'm reminded of this relationship every time I see a new episode of Castle (again, one of my new favorite shows ever). Every time I see the interplay between the titular character and his daughter Alexis I immediately remark to myself (or anyone nearby) that it's this pair that is the most interesting relationship on the show. It's also the bulk of the reason I watch. So far the chemistry between Beckett and Castle hasn't developed to the point of being interesting. It's becoming more believable with every episode, but it still has quite a distance to go in terms of developing real legs. At best, it's cute and an intriguing sub-plot for later. And, yes, so far the mysteries have all been well-choreographed and thought out. However, the same twists have all been seen before on shows like CSI and Law & Order. What truly makes this show stand out is that it displays a father and daughter that rather enjoy each other's company. I daresay this is even more true than it was on Veronica Mars.

I find it refreshing to see how, despite his impish persona, deep down Richard Castle is a loving and protective father. He absolutely dotes on Alexis, while at the same time acknowledging that she is his superior in a lot of ways. Even at fifteen, he can see she's already more responsible, more intelligent, and more deeply rooted in doing the "mature" thing than he is currently. In a lot of ways, she takes care of him instead of the other way. Yet it's how often the writers have the two of them connect that makes their interplay almost magical. They don't just agree; they see eye-to-eye on a great many things, whether it be to drugs, the importance of family, loyalty, or even something as simple as bed times. Again, it's nice to see a show where the parents aren't pitted against the children to provide fodder for drama or conflict.

As I mentioned in an earlier review of Castle I see a lot of Penny from Inspector Gadget in Alexis as well. On almost every episode, it's an insight she's given her father that provides him the clue that's needed to solve the case. That isn't an oversight. It establishes a pattern of just how involved they are in each other's lives. Not only that, but I think it establishes how much respect he shows for her. Rather than treat her like a subordinate like most fathers would, in certain instances and in certain cases he almost treats her like an equal. At the very least it shows how much he values her opinion.

I've talked it over with Breanne on several occasions about why I'm so obsessed with this facet of the program. Aside from the fact, yes, Alexis is a redhead--which is always enough to raise my antenna just a bit--she says it's because I've been friends with enough people who have grown up in households where they felt like they weren't just that important. Whether it be Nancy Drew who was abused regularly by her brother, to Kerri Ray who was practically ignored by her parents, to Lucy herself, who felt like she was living a life for her mother and not for herself, to even myself, where I still don't feel like I've yet to make my own choices without some criticism; Breanne thinks that I've always been interested by the culture of functioning families. Providence knows there's enough dysfunction on television and movies these days. I just think it doesn't take much to make a family not work, to show how people can sour on one another. What I want to see, what I think a lot of people are clamoring for, is to see an example of how it's supposed to work. What people want to know is what the recipe for managing a healthy, independent child is. It's easy to fuck up a kid; it's hard to know how to raise him or her to be everything you hoped they would be.

Castle may be the only show currently on the air which shows this very thing, episode by episode.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

The Flag Was Flying At Half Mast, And I Was Thinking 'Bout How, Everyone Is Dying, And Maybe It's Time To Live

--"P.S. You Rock My World", The Eels

WHEN YOU SLEEP
by E. Patrick Taroc

When you sleep the winds fail to blow
Because your breath cannot be felt.
When you sleep, our eyes cannot cry--
Even the rivers begin to dry.
When you sleep the sun fails to glow,
Hid behind a small cloud of black
That nothing will ever push back
Or sun's many rays ever melt.
When you sleep no music does play,
No lips do speak, no bells do ring.
The world fades out without a trace
While all the light fades from your face.
When you sleep, there is no new day.
There are no colors and no sound--
Only mirrored silence is found.
When you sleep nothing will sing.

When you sleep, there is no smiling,
There's nothing bright and nothing new.
When you sleep, there is only grey
For us to welcome in each day.
When you sleep there's only whiling,
Waiting for our own time to sleep
Because this promise we must keep:

When you sleep, our hearts all sleep too.

Copyright 2009 E. Patrick Taroc (03/25/09)

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

She Lies And Says She's In Love With Him, Can't Find A Better Man, She Dreams In Color, She Dreams In Red, Can't Find A Better Man

--"Better Man", Pearl Jam

He looked around for her for ten minutes, but she was nowhere near the pool. She had told him to meet her promptly at eleven at the Sierra Madre community pool. He had showed up exactly nine minutes late. Could that have been it? Could that have been the reason? He didn't have his watch on any more, but he figured it must have been twenty minutes after eleven. She still hadn't shown up.

He looked at the pool again, teeming with all sorts of people. Kids mostly. But every now and then he caught a glimpse of one of their parents who had ventured into the sky blue depths. He estimated quickly in his head that there had to be fifty, maybe sixty bodies in the pool altogether. On their faces were drawn smiles of pleasure and enjoyment and from their lips escaped the joyful peals of contentment. There was not one unhappy soul in the bunch. He tried scanning through the splashing, but he couldn't find one child like himself who showed even the slightest hint of discontentment. He couldn't find one. Everyone everywhere around him was aglow.

It was the great numbers of floaties, he thought. Kids in floaties cannot be unhappy. It's impossible. It'd be like trying to be angry when you were a giant balloon crown on your head. Even the mental image of it suggested it's ludicrous nature. There the kids were swimming, giant inflatable arm bands keeping them afloat. They were merely happy to be at the pool. They were merely happy to be in the water on this early Summer day in the heart of the San Gabriel valley. It didn't matter to them that their families might be going through hard times or even that their parents took them down to the pool because they didn't know what else to do about their kids, or even that there were people troubled now wandering around the pool. They had their floaties. They shielded the kids from all that unpleasantness like Wonder Woman's arm bracelets.

He lamented the fact that he was perhaps too old for floaties at his age. He rather liked the notion of something to help keep him afloat.

He didn't know what he would think if he actually did find another miserable soul. Would he then smile at his patience? Would he pat himself on the back for his diligence? Whatever comfort he could draw from finding this as yet unrevealed figure would be small and not worth the effort. It would have been like being caught in a rainstorm and finding a single tree to hide beneath. It wouldn't stop the storm. He'd still get wet. He decided he wouldn't look any more. He would try to enjoy the crowd--maybe even blend a little.

She would show. He just knew it.

He turned his attention to the snack bar located at the far end of the pool. He remembered how much he had loved their cobbled together pizzas the year before when she had introduced them to him. All they were were Thomas' english muffins topped with Ragu spaghetti sauce and shredded parmesan cheese. To her, though, they were the best thing about coming to the pool during the summer. She had whipped back her dirty blonde her. She had flashed him those interminable blue-green eyes of hers. He couldn't have said no. So he told her she would try them. Wouldn't you know? They were actually pretty delicious and he told her he wouldn't mind having another one. My treat, he had told her.

The next time she had invited him to meet her at the pool, he had been working on how to best broach the subject of grabbing another pizza with her. He ran over all the lines in his head. Is it time for pizza yet? Who's hungry for pizza? Say, remember last time when we had those pizzas? They all sounded horrible to him. He thought she probably doesn't even remember showing them to me, he thought.

He considered it a colossal failure when they had failed to stop for snacks that time. It was his fault for not suggesting it.

When she came today he would suggest the pizzas right from the get-go. He thought that would put a smile on her face. He wouldn't even bring up the fact she was late again. He wouldn't even act like she had been late at all. He would tell her he just got to the pool himself--make up some story about his mother and brother Francis had been extra annoying by delaying him so. In fact, he would apologize to her for being so late. He thought that she would like that.

At St. Rita's he had been presumptuous. He had approached her out of turn. He thought their hanging out all Summer had entitled him to act more friendly with her at school. He had been wrong. She hadn't ignored him entirely. She just hadn't turned on that remarkable smile she had had for him during the Summer. When he heard her tell her friends, "oh, he and I went swimming a few times a month or two ago. It's no big deal," he took it in stride. It was no big deal. It wasn't as if they'd even ridden their bikes together down to the pool. Their parents had dropped both of them off. It wasn't a big deal at all.

The whole school year they sat a few rows from each other. They had remained quietly friendly. No big deal. But she hadn't asked him to do anything else with her after class. She had her friends. He had his friends. Never the twain did meet. He never gave up hope, though. He never once stopped imagining how casual he'd be when she finally did ask him to walk her home. No big deal, he would say, we both take Baldwin down and it'd be nice to have someone other than my brother to walk with. That's what he'd say. Then, while they were on their way down, right before they turned onto Sierra Madre Boulevard, he'd duck into the pharmacy to buy a New York Seltzer like he always did when he walked him. Vanilla flavor was his favorite. Hopefully, she would walk in after him. Then it'd be his turn to introduce her to something he was privy to and she wasn't. If he was lucky she would ask him to take a sip from his bottle and not just ask for her own. Either way he knew she would like it. That could be their new thing, like the pizzas were.

When she didn't ask him to walk her home he took it in stride. It just would have been nice is all.

He walked around to the front of the building, past the boys' and girls' locker rooms. He thought maybe she was getting changed still. He didn't see her standing around the entrance and he couldn't spy her at all from his oblique view into the girls' changing room. Something was definitely wrong.

He wanted to go swimming. He felt foolish standing around in his swim trunks for the last thirty minutes and not going into the pool. He wanted to wait for her, though. The worst thing he could imagine was already being in the pool when she finally arrived. He didn't want it to seem that it was at all possible to have a good time without her. He wanted her to know he was there for her and not just to swim.

He started thinking. He had had floaties once. Long ago his parents had bought him a pair when he started coming to the pool and when he started spending more time at his cousins' house. They had a pool and it was much easier to swim over at their house than it was to come to the Public Pool everyday. She wasn't at his cousins' house, of course. But the trade-off was that the pool was far more wide open. When he had been younger he had worn the floaties all the way to the house. It was a badge of honor signifying he was going swimming. He remembered showing off his arms to the people they would pass down the 605. They would see the arm bands and they would smile. Or they would laugh and give him the thumbs up sign. Yup, he was going swimming alright. Back then he didn't care who knew it.

Now, even though he was dressed to go swimming, he wondered if he still knew why he was there. If she wasn't go to show and he wasn't going to swim without her, what was his purpose for being there?

When she had finally asked him on the last day of class to meet her at the pool on the day it first opened for the Summer, he was elated. He didn't tell her that, naturally. But he was. No big deal, he said. No big deal at all. It was all of two weeks from that day. He spent all fourteen days planning out how it would go. What he would say. What he would wear. He even went through the trouble of begging his mom for new swim trunks. Everything would go perfectly.

He walked around the pool once more amidst the living trees of kids, parents, and assorted families either entering or exiting the waters. That's when it happened. He hadn't even been looking where he was stepping and stepped right down on a hapless bee on the concrete. They always had a few buzzing around the water and managed to step right down on one.

He felt the burning sting of the bee's toxins almost instantaneously. He felt the heat all along the bottom of his sole. He immediately kneeled down on the ground to grab his foot. Some of the parents, concerned for him, asked him what was wrong. He kept pointing to his feet with his head in between short yelps of pain, but none of the adults understood what he was trying to tell them.

It hurt. He felt like he was hurt all over.

Are you alright, they asked him repeatedly.

No, I'm not alright. I'm not alright at all, he told them.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

But You And I We've Been Through That, And This Is Not Our Fate, So Let Us Not Talk Falsely Now, The Hour's Getting Late

--"All Along the Watchtower", Jimi Hendrix

I was stuck for something to do yesterday evening. I had just gotten off an impromptu gaming session with my friend Linda, but it was still six and I didn't want to go home just yet. It would have been one matter if I had something concrete to come home for--a particular book I wanted to finish, a particular project to get started on, or even a particular show I wanted to watch. I had none of that, though. The ennui of just sitting at home trying to contemplate what I should have been filling my time with would have been too much for me.

Instead, I called up Casey and Laurel to inquire if they wanted to go see I Love You, Man with me. I was coming up from Aliso Viejo anyway and from there it's only a short drive to Trabuco Canyon where the pair of them live. Granted, it's a bit farther for them to get out, but Case did say the invitation was an open one. I thought we'd meet up in Tustin since that was somewhat in the middle for all concerned and I happened to like the Edwards Stadium. It was a simple matter to get them to agree, especially when I expressed the lack of options I had for the evening. At first, she suggested I just come over there, but I told her that I was in the mood to really go out "and not stay home, even if it was somebody else's." I don't know--there are nights where I don't mind a chance to catch up with projects at one's home and then there are days where the last thing one wants to do is sit on a couch. I suppose after getting a small taste of being out in the world after a week of trading off between home and work, I wasn't jazzed about forgoing my newfound freedom.

When Casey and Laurel showed up about twenty minutes after I got to Tustin, I did what I usually do. I greeted them at the door of their black Porsche Cayman S. Every time I see Casey drive up in that car I feel like asking her for the keys and parking it for her. It just doesn't seem right her parking it for herself anywhere. LOL It's also a sign of my impatience. Almost always when I get to a place first where they don't have a designated waiting area I wait out in the parking lot. Then, when the person or persons I'm waiting for show up, I walk to their car and say hello there. Rather than fiddle with me calling them or them calling me where to meet up, I take all the guessing out of it. I prefer getting the evening started without five minutes of "guess where I am."

We all bought tickets or, should I say, I treated the two of them to the movie since it was my invitation and all. That's when we found out that the movie didn't start for another ninety minutes. Given that I literally hadn't eaten all day, I suggested the two of them accompany me to the nearby Chick Fil-A to kill some time and kill part of my hunger.

After that we wandered around Barnes & Noble and the Corner Bakery Cafe for some of their mini bundt cakes and coffee. I didn't know about the movie just yet, but the process of waiting for the movie was already a wonderful experience.

I didn't know too many lesbian or bisexual couples before I met the two of them, but I always thought they'd act differently. I don't know how, but I always pictured it differently. More importantly, I thought I'd act differently around them. Perhaps it's from the fact I had some history with her before or perhaps that's a piece of her life that I only picked up on two hours after getting reacquainted with her, but the fact she sleeps with women never once has come up as this huge shocker to me. She's not a lesbian named Casey, she's Casey who, by the way, is a lesbian. Or simply Casey. I guess I had this picture in my head that that kind of news people lead off with. Like when I was being re-introduced to her at that National's a few months back she should have said, "Remember me? I'm Casey and I dig chicks," or something. Instead, because of my previous, albeit short, history I'll always think of the pretty young girl with red dress with the spaghetti straps at that graduation dance before I think of anything else. That's the connotation I have with her name now and no other news short of her being a secret werewolf will change that.

It's only in those rare moments where I see her and Laurel sneak a lingering kiss or share an intimate joke with one another that I remember I'm supposed to be weirded out by this. I'm just not. I'm just comfortable around them.

I was reminded of my situation when I walked into I Love You, Man because basically it's a film about a guy who's always been more comfortable around women than men. He's more at ease around them and he just seems to make more female friends than male friends. In the film he attempts to rectify the situation he's placed himself into by finding a guy best friend. The film would like one to believe that he does that in some effort to balance the influx of information he is receiving of the world, to even out his perspective. Th film would like one to believe that it is much better to have friends of both sexes in order to be a complete human being.

While I thought the film was funny and I definitely liked it, I don't agree with that message at all.


all along the watchtower
princes kept their view

Once I got past high school and maybe for some time before that, I've always felt more at ease talking to my friends who were girls than those that were guys. While it's true I probably hung out with Dan and Peter, my friends from high school, in that time period, I always saved the huge conversations about the weighty topics for people like Breanne and Jina, and even Heidi. I'm naturally confessional in tone when I get babbling, but I could never quite hurdle over certain boundaries when it came to certain topics with my male friends than I could with my female friends.

"You might just enjoy the attention," Laurel said to me after we had gone to Buca De Pepo's after the film for a late-night snack. "You might be one of those guys who pretends to be sensitive to get attention from girls."

I shook my head on the outside, but inside I thought she had a point.

"That's devious," Casey chimed in while she nursed her beer bottle.

"It's also wrong," I replied. "How would that explain how or why I blab more one I've gotten to know someone? If it was just about the attention you would think I would lead with my most misbegotten stories."

"Oh, that's easy," Casey said, smiling. "You have to top yourself. Once you've piqued an interest, you have to top yourself."

"Yeah, getting them on the hook is only the first step. Then you've got to reel them in," Laurel agreed.

I shook my head again. That didn't sound like me. That sounded more like somebody who went around hitting on various women with various stories of their sexual prowess. When people talk about wanting attention it's usually for qualities they are proud of and want to show of. People don't usually want attention for the qualities they should be obfuscating, for the facets about their personality they went to conceal. Their theory didn't make sense for me. It sounded more like they were talking about an individual who wanted a spotlight shone on them and that's never been me.

I closed my eyes for a bit due to weariness. I didn't like where the conversation was headed at all. When people usually try to dissect me, it's never because I've done something; it's usually because someone's found fault with me and because they want to correct this fault in a hurry.

"The only reason you talked to us that first time before I told you who I was and how I'd remembered you was because you thought you could impress us. Even if it was you grade-A top-choice stories, you still put a lot of you out there for somebody you were ostensibly meeting for the first time."

"Do you always do that?" Laurel asked.

"It depends."

"On if it's a guy or girl you're talking to, right?"

Casey was right.

The only reason I stay interested in a person long-term is if I want to hold their attention. That's the kind of goal that's usually relegated to members of the opposite sex. Maybe that's why I've never had a guy friendship that's panned out for sizable length. I just don't care enough to keep on pretending that I'm interested in what they think of me. It's the same reason why I've walked away from so many different friends in my lifetime. There always reached a point where what they had to say about me just didn't matter to me anymore. It didn't matter if it was a guy or girl. In every case something they said or did led me to the conclusion that what they thought of me was more annoying than useful to me. It didn't even matter if they were agreeing with me or contradicting me; I've ditched people for both reasons. In the case of people agreeing with me too vehemently, it was because they had nothing substantial to add to the dialogue. In this case of people contradicting me too often, all the competition got to be exhausting It's one thing for people to engage in a healthy exchange of ideas, but when one's opinion is opposed at every opportunity it becomes frustrating for me to hold any interest.

That's the way it was with Peter and Dan. There came a point where hearing them disagree with what I had to say or, more annoyingly, disregard it out of hand became too exasperating to put up with. It didn't matter if I said I don't like going to this place or that place, they'd end up shutting out my opinion. It didn't matter what I added to the conversation; it never felt like what I had to say was as interesting as what they were discussing. I became Mr. Irrelevant. And in that situation, when it felt like I had lost any attention I once had, I didn't see the point in bowing and scraping for it back. So when I was out and out accused of saying something erroneously and Dan couldn't just let the matter go, I made the choice to let Dan and Peter both go.

It was the same with Tommy, John, Paul, and Phillip from St. Rita's. The minute I stopped being a contributing factor to the discussion, I left the discussion.

Actually, it seems that's the way with most guy friends I've ever had. They're so wrapped up in getting their way or having their words heard, they make every moment with them into a competition for the spotlight. It's that petty one-upmanship that I've never possessed a fondness for.

I mean--things can get heated between me and Breanne too and Providence knows she can be far more stubborn than any man I've ever known. Yet at the end of the day, I still feel that quiver a connection there that leads me to believe I'm being heard. I don't get the sense she's dismissing me for being "out there," "a pussy," or "soft." I've never had to fight for control of every step of the way of my friendship with her. Yes, we compete, but everything's not a competition with her. She's as likely to tell me to do something my way or accept my version of what happened ("what had happened was..." LOL) then to tell me I'm wrong or "we're doing it my way." Everything doesn't always feel like a battle with her.

That's the way it is with most of my female friends. They're less cantankerous and rankled. Whereas Dan and Peter would decide on the evening beforehand and close the doors on any suggestions, people like Ilessa and/or Toby are more apt to roll with the punches. With them it was always a matter of majority ruling when it was obvious the more time wore on that those two would always be in agreement and that my choices were always going to get outvoted. In situations like those I thought it was important to put aside the will of the many and adhere to the principle of hearing everyone's voice as much as possible.

When I called Casey today to go see a movie the first question out of her mouth wasn't "which one?" The first few minutes weren't spent debating the merits of one film over another one. She knew I had a film in mind and she knew the important thing was the experience and not the particulars. She also knew that maybe next time she'd have a film in mind or a whole other evening in mind and I'd readily agree to that.

Contrast that with three different occasions where I had a suggestion for a movie with Dan and Peter, where they not only put up a fuss over seeing the movie, but refused to watch the movie altogether. On three separate occasions, I walked into the theater alone and the two of them just waited outside the theater for the two hours until I came out.

I think that's why I prefer female friends to male ones. Stuff like that doesn't happen with them. This isn't to say that I don't fight with girls over matters; but nobody's keeping score. Nobody's keeping score for dominance the way most matters are with guys. I can tell you that Miss Nancy Drew disagreed with me because she disagreed (and because she was bitchy just like that LOL) and not because she wanted to prove she was stronger-willed than I was. I can tell you that I never had to go anywhere against my will with one of my girlfriends the way I've had to go whenever Peter and Dan used to come into town.

So, yes, Casey, you're right. I do tend to go on and on with young women I meet moreso than with young men. And, yes, I do tend to put more emphasis on engaging female strangers at parties, gatherings, &c... than on engaging male participants. I am an attention whore when it comes to trying to keep a gal's attention rapt.

There's a reason why most of my closest friends are girls. There's a reason why so far I've managed to reconnect with three female friends I haven't spoken to in ten years while I've managed to reconnect with zero male friends in that time.

Female friends just make better companions.

Much like I used to think of the whole concept of friendships like I did in elementary school--guys were cool and girls drool--and much like I used to think about girl-girl relationships during that time (ewww!), I used to think there was natural order to the way my universe worked. I thought my best friend would always be another guy and I never thought I would be friends with a girl I wasn't interested romantically in. I never once thought it was possible to know I had no shot with a fetching lass and still want to spend time with her.

Now I know better.

Some of the best people in the world are those that you never gave a chance to in the first place. And some of the people you grew up with can turn out to be all wrong for the kinds of people you want to surround yourself with. Friendships like meals don't have to be balanced. I don't have to make a guy friend for every girl friend I make. I don't have to want to have sex with a woman to find her sexy and interesting.

Most of all, I don't have to give up what I want all the time to be friends with someone. I can just give up on the friends that don't believe in that philosophy and start to believe in the new friends I make who do believe in that brand of philosophy.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Broken Ice Still Melts In The Sun, And Times That Are Broken Can Often Be One Again, We're Soul Alone, And Soul Really Matters To Me

--'Out of Touch", Hall and Oates

My grandmother died on Tuesday.

And where was I? I was off at a St. Patrick's Day board game meeting. It's true that I had my phone off and that's mostly the reason I didn't rush right over to the hospital to see her as she lay sick and dying. And it's true that I felt awful after I heard when I got home. But, contemplating it now, I don't know if receiving a call of that nature would have been enough to pry me away from the good time I was having with my friends. I would have been just one more body waiting outside the hospital room. I would have been just another numb face, too dumbstruck to add anything constructive to the conversation. And I would have been thinking the entire time what I had given up to be absolutely bored out of my skull. Truth be told, I probably would have stayed put no matter how many messages I received from concerned family members. I would have stayed and regretted it probably, but I still would have made out better than if I had gone.

It's not that I didn't love my grandmother. I did. I just didn't know her. I loved her in the sense that you're supposed to love your family, but not in any tangible way. I couldn't speak to her because she spoke a completely different language than I spoke. I never visited her unless I was forced to be my parents when I was younger. I never even got to know her or anything about her. In almost every sense of the word she was a complete stranger to me because, even now, I don't feel anything but the most tenuous of attachments to her. I think I will miss her about as I missed my old classmates from St. Rita's that I never got to know because we had basically the same type of relationship; she was someone I would say hello to if I saw them but had no interest in anything more prolonged than that.

It just goes to reaffirm my theory when it comes to friends and family. The simple fact you get to choose your friends will always trump being lumped in with the collection of acquaintances that comprises your family. I feel no mystical bond with my extended family just because we share the same DNA nor do I feel like I owe any of them, outside of the cousins I'm close to and my immediate family, any sort of allegiance or sympathy. I don't think they've earned any special treatment, not like the friends I'm close to, who, through the years, have done more to earn my trust and loyalty. I can't tell you how many times I was made to feel guilty that I chose friendship over family, and how often I've seen for myself that I possess friends more willing to actually build a bond than members of my family who continue to assume the bond is there. I don't know--I guess I'm not the family type. I've never felt all warm and fuzzy when I think of how close-knit or not my family is. Sometimes, honestly, family is a dirty word.

To put it into perspective, when my friend Jennifer died, you couldn't pry me away from visiting her in the hospital in those last few months. You couldn't stop me writing a six page eulogy about her either. That's how important I felt she was to me.

My grandmother's funeral is next Saturday and I'm about 50/50 about attending because, yet again, there is another board game meeting scheduled for that day. I just don't know if I want to forego something that makes me happy and being surrounded by people I actually appreciate for being surrounded by the doom and gloom with others who've never taken the time to get to know me.

My grandmother will be missed, but not as much as they all hope I will.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

All This Time, On And On I've No Regrets, The Sun Still Shines, The Sun Still Sets, The Heart Forgives, The Heart Forgets

--"All This Time", Tiffany

When I first started writing letters I imagined that they were going to be breezy pieces of fluff. I always thought of letter writing as something casual, something done when you wanted to jot down the lighter aspects of one's day. Indeed, my first letters to people were never more than one or two pages long. They seldom delved into anything personal and, more often than not, were truncated as to never reveal anything too personal about myself. The last thing I wanted was to bore somebody to death with the inner workings of a part-time friend or even an acquaintance. I thought those kind of revelations were best left to face-to-face conversations or, at the very least, telephone calls.

It took writing to people like Jina and Margaret--two of my very first pen pals, you might say--to really get in the spirit of letter writing. Jina especially brought out the worst aspects of my letter writing prowess. My letters to her started innocuously enough. I believe my first letter to her was at most five pages in length. In it you won't find anything scandalous. Most impressively, you won't even find anything you couldn't find at a basic read-through of my resume or biography. Everything was factual in those first letters--likes and dislikes, what I was doing that day, what I did the day before. It was a far cry from the hundred page monstrosities I would come to write her and others. I don't know that was my basic m.o. for writing letters in those days. I didn't know why I was so afraid of opening up on paper with what I've pretty much never had a hard time opening up in person about. I suppose it had something to do with the permanence of a letter--something to do with the fact that once you set pen to paper all the world potentially gets to read it. I was afraid of my words being used against me someday, I guess.

Somewhere along the way, though, I lost that inhibition. Around the time I met Breanne a year after I met Jina my letters to people started becoming more revelatory. I started opening up more. It wasn't a conscious decisions. The transition was seamless. I would run out of things to describe in my day so my thoughts would turn inward at some small sticking point that couldn't be explained in physical terms. I started jotting down more questions that didn't have answers. Conversely, I started jotting down answers to me that nobody had even asked before. It was the beginning of a different kind of me, someone more comfortable placing my whole self before scrutiny. I wouldn't even sugarcoat it that much; I became someone who enjoyed sharing myself through my words at every opportunity.

In that impetus was born my desire to start this blog, which is a strange thing to say, because, if anything, I think I'm still quite guarded when it comes to what and what I don't share here. I mean--I divulge a lot of information through my posts here. Some would say more than a hundred people share in a lifetime. Yet for me letters have always been where I've laid my soul bare the most. I haven't had a lot of practice in recent years since the number of individuals still writing old-fashioned letters to one another has decreased dramatically, but; remembering back on some of the letters I've written to Jina, to Breanne, even to Margaret or Heidi; I shared far more in the guise of a missive than that of a blog post. For although a letter is supposed to be more casual, I think it's this familiarity that allows me to share more. Obviously, a blog post is catered to sharing with everyone and their neighbor. That trains your mind to write a certain way--even when you share, you share with the knowledge that everyone will have an equal chance to read it someday. A letter's different. A letter is directed towards one specific person with a specific set of knowledge of you. You use more of your information about your audience than you would in the writing of a blog; you care more because you know the set of eyes reading it. As much as I'd like to think I know my audience here, I don't know enough to imbue my writings here with specificity. As personal as I become here, these writings will always be unfocused ramblings in context.

A letter, though, a letter is a mighty thing of precision and directness. It's a thing of beauty because it is a gift given from one soul to another. Sure, you might do a lot more good in the world by contributing to charity, but that will never beat the feeling of giving one person directly something dear to your own heart.

That's why I've petitioned my good friend Miss Slicks in Canada to take up the mantle of letter writing again, to become penpals, because, as much as I love writing my blog, I love the tactile feeling of holding a letter in my hands more. I love being able to rip open a letter or package more than I love pressing a button to open up an e-mail. I love reading letters upon actual paper than a 13" monitor. I love seeing the weathered lines of a piece of paper that has crossed hundreds if not thousands of miles to get to me rather than the same boring and old white space here. Goddamn, I love the impatience of not getting a reply right away if only because it builds anticipation.

And, above all else, I love being able to share things with another person I know because they want to know me... and not because they might have stumbled onto this web page through a random search on Google. I love extending that piece of me fully intentionally and without remorse or regret. I love sharing my life or as much I know of it up until now without reservations.

I love seeing my life translated into words and only meant for one other person... and then maybe opening up the floor for discussion after it's already began it's journey across two countries. LOL

----

3707 xxxxxxx xxxx xxxxx, #x
long beach, ca xxxxx
united states

slicks xxxxxxx
post office box xx-xx
skead, ontario xxx xxx
canada


Dear Slicks,

March 5th, 2009

I have just gotten home after a lively night spent with my cousin and his co-workers drinking at this local place called Mai Tai's. I like going there because they have this awesome Happy Hour that lasts from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. where a pint of beer ends up being 3 bucks a pop. And I'm a person who can drink tons of beer.

Actually, though, as you may or may not know, my favorite poison of choice is bourbon. I don't know when it is exactly I first tried it but I do know that it is the drink that most makes me feel like I'm a sophisticated drinker--as if that means anything (lol). I don't know--drinking beer is all well and good for dinner. I even like if it's going to be a relaxed night of talking and chilling. Yet when the mood calls for me to get good and fucked up, bourbon is the number I call for a good time.

That's why I'm looking forward to this trip to Kentucky this summer. That's where the bourbon is born and lives. It's almost always a good thing to be in a place where you can get free tours and samples of the liquor you enjoy the most. As some might say, that's a no-brainer.

The other reason why I'm looking forward to it is because I get to visit one of my favorite people in the world (after you, of course, Miss Slicks), Miss Toby. She's kind of like my niece and my apprentice rolled into one. She's a tad younger than you. At last reckoning she'll be seventeen come this October. However, she's a lot more intelligent than I was at that age. She sure as hell is a lot more into worldly concerns than I've ever been. To tell the truth, even though she professes to have an admiration for me, I've been a big fan of her since I met her. I sometimes like to hitch my wagon to people I think will become famous, powerful, or influential someday and I have a definite feeling she's going to make a name for herself someday--as if Toby isn't already a name that sticks out in one's mind.

It also doesn't hurt that she's fairly cute with two sisters that would fit into that description as well. I always liken them to their own version of Charlie's Angels, except they're all brunettes. LOL Three cute sisters in a row; it's like a weird version of a slot machine hitting the jackpot. LOL

The only problem I forsee going over to Louisville is that I might be too attracted to Toby. And that's not something I can act on until a few years from now when she goes away to college perhaps. I don't know what it is about me, but I've always been attracted to younger girls who are refreshingly smart, intelligently funny, and overall a pleasure to be around. That's the pattern I developed with my best friend Breanne--who is by far the smartest, funniest, and the most pleasant person I've ever met. I met her when she was thirteen. I liked her even then. And that was a horrible wait till she got a little older for me to be able to actually feel comfortable enough to do something about it. Ever since then it's like, since B. and I turned out so well, I've been trying to replicate the pattern. Get to people I like when they're young, hopefully make a good impression on them, and then use that connection forged while they were impressionable to instill a new deeper, more romantically inclined connection.

It's not like I'm in any position to do anything about it now. But I can't help feeling that I'm setting myself up for something in the future that won't be the same as Breanne and I. Toby isn't Breanne and the difference in our ages is a lot more dramatic. I don't know how I feel about it all yet. I know she likes me, but I think it’s more of a professional relationship. I don’t know if that can be turned into something less professional in the future. I’m kind of hoping and not hoping something materializes at the same time. Last year when I visited for a few days, nothing of much consequence happened. I'm curious to see what develops while I'm staying the week as I will be come this June.

Not to mention I'm also interested in her older sister--the one not getting married (get your mind out of the gutter, Slicks). She's much wilder than her younger sister. And the fact she's a lot closer to me in age makes seeing both of them a double opportunity. I hate to think in those terms but I almost feel like if I strike out with one there's always a back-up there. Granted, I don't know Faye as well as I know Toby. But I know her enough to make me believe it wouldn't be that difficult to get to know her better.

But it is getting late so I shall retire this letter for another time.

March 7th, 2009

I watched The Watchmen today. After all the hype and after all the attention the adaptation has drawn, I still think the story holds up. Not only is it as every bit exciting and mature of a plot as it was in the graphic novel, but I think seeing it up on the big screen only adds to the action sequences. I don't know about most people, but when I read the graphic novel I always pictured the fights and the stunt sequences shorter than they were in the film. Maybe they just expanded upon them to flesh out the movie, but they really enhance the violent nature of the main characters and the people they come across. In that regard I think the film comes out ahead of the print medium.

What also struck me was how the story's message of it taking violence to end violence still seems prevalent in culture today. 1985 isn't that long ago, I know, but I'm amazed at how little the world has change in those almost fifteen years. Here we are, almost two decades later, and the world is still seemingly on the brink of collapsing under the weight of its differences. There still isn't a lasting measure of peace in the majority of the world and we're still seemingly distrustful of what the other side of the globe is up to. There's still this mentality that we have to prepare ourselves for the worst because that's exactly what is looming on the horizon.

Granted, both the graphic novel and movie go to the extreme to exploit this idea. However, the thought that it's going to take something cataclysmic to unite us still resonates with a lot of people. A lot of people believe things have to get much worse in a hurry, something has to go horribly wrong all at once, before everyone will see what a dark path we're headed down. It doesn't take men in tights fighting in Antarctica, nuclear missiles destroying the Eastern Seaboard, or, yes, giant squids, to know that. And maybe the movie has it right. Maybe it's going to take an engineered catastrophe to provide the solution. At the very least the film seems to say that it's going to take people of conviction to accomplish this task, people willing to sacrifice their ideals, their philosophies, and even their own lives to get the job done.


Conflict is in our nature and it takes a lot to fight against our nature.

March 13th, 2009

Sorry it has taken so long to actually finish up this letter. I had originally intended to send it off on the 9th, but I feel it needed some additional zest. I don't know where this mystical zest was supposed to originate from, but I felt that what was required.

I went out drinking again last night. This time it was with my cousin's old college buddies. It's sad to think the bulk of my social engagements these days, outside of my gaming commitments and the rare times I can Rilo Kiley, is limited to those times I go out with my cousin. All my friends have moved away from me or were already away from me to start out with. I think the last friend I had who lived close and was all mine to call my own was Ilessa. Since she moved to Philadelphia almost a year ago, there's nobody I really can count on to go out to eat, to the movies, &c... like I used to.

Maybe that's for the best.

I'm kind of a picky person to begin with. I possess a skulking suspicion that if I were to ever connect with someone enough to go out with them all the time it would involve them having to look past a lot of my issues. It would either involve that or maybe my actually having to bend on a few of these issues. That's something I might not be ready for at this time, if ever. I've gotten curmudgeonly in my old age and changing myself is a far more difficult task than asking someone to change for me. It would have to be the right person who provokes me into changing and quite possibly it might have to be someone I already have some sort of relationship with already.

In fact, I think I might be cutting the line off pretty soon. No new people. The only people I want to get to know are the people I know already. LOL I'm putting up the closed lane sign like they do at the check stand at the supermarket.

Oh, I really do think you should be professional assassin. With your insane knowledge of chemistry, you’d make a wonderfully adept hitwoman. Or, at the very least, you could assist me in my pursuit of one of the finer shadow arts should I ever decide to take up that particular mantle someday. I could be able to call you up and ask you what the best mixture to dispose of a dead body would be and then you could tell me. Or perhaps I might need to know what the best poison would be to take care of average-sized, average-height Hawaiian, you could tell me that too.

Something to keep in mind.

Oh ‘twell! I think that is all. I’m trying to get the page count as not to overwhelm you. I thank you for your time and look forward to your next correspondence.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Celebrate We Will, Because Life Is Short But Sweet For Certain, Hey, We Climb On Two By Two, To Be Sure These Days Continue, Things We Cannot Change

--"Two Step (live at Folsom)", Dave Matthews Band

In response to Epcot's question from the other day...

I want to first preface this by saying that the following wasn't my plan for everyone I've ever been with. This isn't my go-to plan in every situation nor a plan I've ever held as being the only plan I've ever contemplated. This idea was just the last one I ever formulated when I was still in the business of formulating ideas. It most definitely will be subject to change and will probably all be but abandoned should the situation where it was apropos ever arise again.

That being said, it would have started with me renting both a limousine and limousine driver's uniform. I don't know how much that would have cost, but one of the first criterion I had in devising these was that it shouldn't cost a pretty penny, but it should definitely be all sorts romantic and most definitely original. Limos and uniforms--I know--how romantic can that be? But I'm hoping the rest of the idea has until now has never been attempted before. I would have driven out to the airport to pick her up, probably showing up an hour or two before her plane arrived. This would have been back before 9/11 so it would have still been okay to wait at the gate for her.

At the gate I would have pulled out the second part of my plan, a flimsy cardboard sign like you've seen a million other limo drivers hold up for their prospective clients. However, instead of a name spelled out in block letters like "Richardson" or "Quinn," I would have spelled out very carefully "Will You Marry Me?" in the selfsame block letters. Arriving the hour before would have been very important for another reason. Holding up the sign that long before the actual proposal, I was hoping that it would have drawn a huge crowd to witness me popping the question. I know--doing something that intimate in front of dozens of strangers doesn't sound like me. Hell, even thinking about it now, I have my doubts I would have ever gone through with it. But my rationale would have been it's much harder to receive a negative response when you have a throng of people waiting with bated breath for a positive result. I'm not above emotional blackmail if it helps my cause.

There I would have been, waiting for her, decked out in my uniform. With any luck she would have been one of the last to debark from the plane, causing a riff of anticipation from the passengers in front of her. A buzz of excitement might have fallen over the line and she just might have been curious to find out what all the hubbub was about. Again, I was counting on that additional curiosity factoring into her overall surprise when she reached where I was waiting for her. She would have sauntered up to me and my sign, so that all this attention was focused on her, and I imagine she would have been overwhelmed. That's a good word for it. I was hoping for an overwhelmed response.

And, yes, I was hoping for a "yes" answer--as if you had to ask, Brandy.

It's kind of corny, but I thought it would have been romantic as all hell. I also thought it was important to make it at least a little bit memorable, something that could be shared with anybody who might ask. I really didn't think over dinner would cut it nor would trying to be super extravagant and intimate. I knew it had to be some kind of funny, some kind of public (because she wouldn't have expected that, and it had to be some kind of out-of-the-way from where it's usually done. She would have been on the lookout and, once that happened, she would have been very disappointed if she knew what to expect right away. Nope, she couldn't see it coming. Otherwise it wouldn't have worked.

And I think this would have worked.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

So Why Do I Still Long For You? Why Is My Love So Strong For You? Why Did I Write This Song For You? Well, I Guess It's Just A Mystery

--"Mystery", Hugh Laurie

I watched the premiere of Castle yesterday. While I don't count it a completely successful first episode I do have high hopes that it catches on with the general public. Nathan Filion does play a complete man-child as the critics have pointed out and, so far, the chemistry between the two leads seems to still be getting its legs underneath them. And, yes, the initial mystery did seem to be a softball tossed their way in comparison to the tangled knots the big boys at CSI and Law and Order process week after week.

But I'm just going to say it. From this first episode I can already tell this show channels the spirit of two of my all-time favorite mystery/thriller shows on television, Moonlighting and Remington Steele. The Moonlighting pedigree is easily discernible. A mismatched couple who solve mysteries while ratcheting up the sexual tension by continually playing a verbal tennis match loaded with double entendre and disdain? Nope, I've never seen that before. The Remington Steele comparison is a little bit harder to spot. However, when you think that in this case the cop/detective is the female lead and the pretender to the title of gumshoe is the male lead than the analogy becomes clear. It helps that Nathan Filion makes for a likable scoundrel, but kudos also have to be paid to Stana Katic for making strait-laced seem like a naughty thing and not an exhausting character description. It is a classic oddball pairing--free spirit with a by-the-book authoritarian--but in this case it manages to work. I can't wait to see if they can distinguish themselves from the two shows they so clearly channel.

I'd also be remiss if I didn't point out the relationship that was believable and intriguing right from the start. The fact that the self-confessed "bad boy" author Richard Castle still lives and takes care of his fifteen-year-old daughter Alexis (played by the lovely newcomer Molly Quinn)is one mystery. When you couple that with the fact that her mom (his ex-wife)seems more responsible and is just as successful, being Richard's publicist and all, it makes for an intriguing bit of suspense how and why the living arrangements were arranged as they were. Did the rapscallion Richard actually have to lay his cards on the table and fight for his daughter? Or was it Alexis who made the decision that she wanted to be with her father more than her mom? At any rate, the three or four scenes between father and daughter where you're not sure who's exactly watching after whom were possibly the best scenes in the entire premiere. They were light, funny, and, most of all, completely believable. The two actors possessed a breeziness that the rest of the premiere seemed to lack. Every other scene you could see the determination, the grit, the will to make this the best show they could possibly make it. You could see how strenuous everyone was working to make the episode good. Yet the scenes between Richard and Alexis weren't attempting to be good; they were just good.

Also, the pilot seems to have set up a situation where Alexis might be assisting in a few of her father's cases. I'm just waiting for the moment where she actually solves a case for him and makes him think he did it all on his own. It would be so Inspector Gadget and Penny.

I'd love to see that.


I'd be foolish to ignore the possibility
that if we'd ever actually met, you might have hated me

----

I don't know--I guess I want this show to excel because I've always been a huge fan of mysteries in general. More specifically, I'm a big fan of mysteries whose central characters are couples set apart from the start. Perhaps it's the twist on the romantic comedy convention, but I'm a sucker for stories which involve two silly kids who are destined for one another who manage to fight through their differences and not only solve the puzzle at hand, but also the mystery of the human heart.

The first mystery series I remember reading and absolutely falling in love with was the Thomas Pitt series by Anne Perry. At the time I picked up Cater Street Hangman, the first book in the series, I was unaware that Anne Perry was born Juliet Marion Hulme and was one of the two girls whose story about killing one of their mothers was featured in the movie Heavenly Creatures. I don't know if the knowledge she was an actual murderer from a movie I respected a lot, but it certainly figured into why I kept reading the series. Think about it--what other mystery series can claim the distinction of actually being written by someone who has killed someone in cold blood before? At any rate what drew me to the series wasn't the backstory. What drew me to the series was the fact it was set in Victorian England and the fact it had two such distinct protagonists/investigators, Thomas and Charlotte Pitt (neé Ellison). At the time Victorian anything was enough to interest me in a project, that being the time of Avonlea and all.

Yet it was the two characters that interested me the most. Thomas Pitt was a lowborn police inspector at the beginning of the first novel and Charlotte Ellision was part of the upper crust of English society. The fact that they were of two different classes should have been enough to keep them apart, but Anne Perry also had to throw in the additional twist of making them completely oblivious to how best approach each other made me, as the reader, think that their coupling wouldn't happen till much later in the series. Honestly, it was like watching a Merchant Ivory film--their courtship was all subtext and subtle clues that made me doubt they even knew each other's existence as a viable single, let alone liked each other. Thomas especially seemed all police work and procedure. If it weren't for the author's descriptions of his lingering whenever Charlotte entered or was in the same room as him, I would have thought he entirely mistrusted Charlotte. As for her, since she was the narrator for the first book, it was easier to decipher what she was actually feeling, but not by much.

It was that dichotomy; the fact that these two people of any two people should hate each other. He was disrupting her perfectly constructed world of parties and gossiping. She was disdainful over his job and how he seemed to like the seedy underbelly of polite society. Yet, like you knew it would, it would take both of them to charge through the solving the mystery. As would become par for the course, Thomas would use his Columbo-like gift for asking the right questions and connecting the dots precisely and Charlotte would use her connections with people of influences to get Thomas answers he wasn't able to get on his own. You knew that between the both of them they had all the angles to finger the right person.

Yet the genius of Anne Perry was the scene where the two of them make the connections between what they knew separately is also the scene where the two of them make the connection with one another. It was inevitable that they would solve the murder; that's the nature of the Mystery genre beast. What wasn't inevitable was the fact that Thomas and Charlotte would fall that completely for one another in the span of one book. This would lead to them getting married, having two kids, and about four or five different homes together--not to mention twenty-five books.

And all of them with the same set-up and delivery. Thomas investigates the crime, gets stonewalled, and it would be up to Charlotte to worm her way into the big houses to get that crucial information he would need to put the right suspect in jail. Yes, it's predictable, but that's not why people continue to read her books. It's the fact that the married couple act like a devoted couple through and through that keeps people coming back. It doesn't matter how far apart they started out; the fact that they ended up as close as they did is the important fact to take back with you.

They were other series, The Beekeeper's Apprentice series by Laurie R. King involving a much-older Sherlock Holmes and his assistant/protegé (and eventual wife) Mary Russell immediately jumps to mind, which employed the odd pairing of man and woman to good effect. But it was Anne Perry's series which brought forth to mind that notion that love and murder are often linked. Their both mysteries that seem impossible to decipher at the outset, but with a little diligence and more than a little stumbling along the way, eventually a discovery is made which places everything that came before it in context.

That's why the star-crossed lovers is such a natural fit for the mystery genre. What fun would it be if the hero (or heroes) figured out the whole business of love as easily as one of their cases? In an episodic series or in a series of novels it's imperative that the central mystery of the story be solved before its end. But love? That's one mystery that can keep on mystifying until well after the last page is written or the last shot is ever filmed.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

You Made Yourself A Bed At The Bottom, Of The Blackest Hole, And Convinced Yourself, That It's Not The Reason You Don't See The Sun Anymore

--"When It Rains (live)", Paramore

I watched The Watchmen today. After all the hype and after all the attention the adaptation has drawn, I still think the story holds up. Not only is it as every bit exciting and mature of a plot as it was in the graphic novel, but I think seeing it up on the big screen only adds to the action sequences. I don't know about most people, but when I read the graphic novel I always pictured the fights and the stunt sequences shorter than they were in the film. Maybe they just expanded upon them to flesh out the movie, but they really enhance the violent nature of the main characters and the people they come across. In that regard I think the film comes out ahead of the print medium.

What also struck me was how the story's message of it taking violence to end violence still seems prevalent in culture today. 1985 isn't that long ago, I know, but I'm amazed at how little the world has change in those almost fifteen years. Here we are, almost two decades later, and the world is still seemingly on the brink of collapsing under the weight of its differences. There still isn't a lasting measure of peace in the majority of the world and we're still seemingly distrustful of what the other side of the globe is up to. There's still this mentality that we have to prepare ourselves for the worst because that's exactly what is looming on the horizon.

Granted, both the graphic novel and movie go to the extreme to exploit this idea. However, the thought that it's going to take something cataclysmic to unite us still resonates with a lot of people. A lot of people believe things have to get much worse in a hurry, something has to go horribly wrong all at once, before everyone will see what a dark path we're headed down. It doesn't take men in tights fighting in Antarctica, nuclear missiles destroying the Eastern Seaboard, or, yes, giant squids, to know that. And maybe the movie has it right. Maybe it's going to take an engineered catastrophe to provide the solution. At the very least the film seems to say that it's going to take people of conviction to accomplish this task, people willing to sacrifice their ideals, their philosophies, and even their own lives to get the job done.

Conflict is in our nature and it takes a lot to fight against our nature.

----

I remember our family used to take these family trips down to Knott's Berry Farm. It would be my parents, my brother, and my two cousins. We used to like going to Knott's because the lines were usually shorter than the other parks and the fact they had a huge arcade in the middle of the park where seemingly all the newest video games would come out before anywhere else close by. I don't remember how many times exactly we went during our elementary school days, but it felt like a lot.

I also remember we liked going because they had this one ride there, the Soap Box Derby. It was this roller coaster that had some great turns and banks, sharp inclines and descents, and plenty of noise. What it also had going for it was the fact that it was actually four roller coasters set up side-by-side by one another so that, whenever one car went out on one track, the other three went with it. It was like a roller coaster race. We loved it. We loved the competition aspect of it. We loved pretending that aerodynamics and weight distribution could affect the outcome of the race, much like a bobsled, when the truth probably was each "race" had a predetermined winner. We also liked the fact that each time through took possibly two minutes and that the lines were short enough to get back on again rather quickly.

There were times where we must have rode that thing ten to twelve times in a row.

Yet the time I remember the most is when another family caught onto the fact that the lines were short and the thrills were big, and started looping the lines like we were. Fairly soon it became apparent that a small rivalry was being formed as every time we rode, they would ride. Before long on that day, one group would wait for the other so that we could compete together. At first, the posturing was fun in nature. I remember while we were both ascending the first hill one of them leaned over to our car and shouted, "May the best man win!" My cousin's reply? "We intend to! We intend to!" It was stuff like that that marked our first forays into racing each other.

Eventually, though--possibly on our eighth time through--it became apparent that we seemed to be winning more than they were. Again, at the time, we thought it was because we had set our line-up correctly or that we were leaning into the turns better. Eventually, while we were in line together, one of us or one of them started trash talking again. The only difference this time was that the tension was no longer good-natured. I may have been just a kid at the time--not more than ten or eleven--but I could tell the difference between two groups of people who were having a friendly rivalry and two groups of people who were slowly forming a strong hatred of one another.

That ride, that last ride we raced together, there was no friendly ribbing. Instead of light-hearted jests being exchanged between the cars, full-blown swearing and middle fingers were being flung far and wide. The whole race I wondered exactly what would happen once we stepped out of the car if we won again. I wouldn't say I was scared because between my older cousin and myself I thought we had a good shot at beating them in a fight. I think it was just the fact that things could escalate that far over a roller coaster that I was trying to piece together. Sure, I wanted to win and, if anything, it would be the other group would be provoking us into defending ourselves. Yet I was struck with the absurdity of getting that worked up over something that, in the end, was so inconsequential. So we could beat you at the Soap Box Derby, what does that prove. My family and I basically had bragging rights that would last maybe to the end of the day, if that long. I didn't see the point in either of our parties getting that overheated over something that was just plain silly.

In the end they walked away from racing us. Maybe one of their party saw the futility in attempting that vigilantly to win something that carried no lasting reward or maybe they really were called away towards something else in the park--lunch, another ride, or what have you. I just remember the feeling of relief that nothing major come of our diatribes against one another because a part of me thinks that had we talked that bravely and acted that smugly with another party of the wrong people the results could have much different.

I also remember having the thought, as young as I was, that if people can get this upset over something that doesn't matter then I can only imagine how far people would go for something they really care about.

----



take these chances
we'll make it somehow

Part of me thinks that if the shoe had been on the other foot, if we had been the aggrieved party we would have done something more stupid than what ended up happening. At the very least we would have been kicked out of the park again, at the worst somebody could have gotten really hurt. I'm kind of thankful that they had the good sense to walk away before steps were taken in the wrong direction. I'm glad somebody had the common sense just to let it go.

Just like the story says.

War never ends until people end them. Conflict never dies until we kill it.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Felt All Flushed With Fever, Embarrassed By The Crowd, I Felt He Had Found My Letters, And Read Them Out Loud

--"Killing Me Softly", The Fugees

We've been writing for almost five years now. Personally, I've been here since the beginning, ever since I thought I'd be piloting this flight solo. In that time I've only met a few people who were reluctant in wanting me or anyone else here to share their stories with the world. By in large more people haven't had a problem with my reliving out whatever adventures or mishaps I happened to have shared with them. Most people take it as a compliment or as a small tribute that I would hold onto such treasured and deem them worthy enough of retelling. I don't know--I've always adopted a policy of no subject or story being off-limits and I would like to think everyone in my life is confident enough in their decisions for me to include most of the stories that involve them. I have nothing to hide and I believe everything I write here has some deeper purpose other than to spread gossip.

Yet there are one or two people who I've known for more than a few years that routinely refuse to allow their names to appear here. Breanne knows a few members of her family that do not believe it's polite to air their dirty laundry on a public site. Even Toby herself has had trouble in the past in including everything she's wanted to say about everyone she knows. Out of respect, we all have had to kill post ideas or otherwise change details to appease whomever it is that doesn't like the way an idea is presented. If it were up to me, I would run each story as is. But that's the danger in wanting to present an anecdote which involves too many other people; you kind of have the obligation to make them happy too if at all possible. It's one thing if the story in question involves a disagreement, but it's another thing entirely when all parties involved have a different take on an otherwise simply sequence of events.

I think that's why when I run stories about B. here I always ask if she's up for typing up a counterpoint post, a rebuttal, if you will. I mean--if I have at my disposal the viewpoint of the only other person there, then why not employ it, right?

Where the waters get somewhat murky are the points where I choose to write about somebody I no longer have any contact with. I'd love to tell you more stories about the lovely Heidi, but some of the details she shared with me at the bookstore were spoken in confidence and simply because they are compelling stories is not a valid enough reason to break the confidence. I'd love to detail each and every outing with Jennifer, but I feel bad enough writing about the dead that I get scared I'm doing the wrong thing in even bringing her name up. Then you have the people like Carly and Ilessa, whom I've simply lost contact with. I tend to write less and less about them the more time slips by between having last contact with them.

I guess that's why so much of the focus of my posts here is trained on me. You don't need permission if the only meaningful subject is yourself. You don't run the risk of embarrassing someone if the only someone you're choosing to write about is you. Don't get me wrong--if the post I want to run is compelling enough I won't hesitate to run with it. I just won't use somebody simply to fill pages.

First and foremost, this site is about the three of us here. There's never going to be a point where all we are doing is spreading rank rumors about our family and friends. Something here is never going to begin with the words, "So-and-so is doing this or that" and then not follow up with some meaningful connection to the statement. There's never going to be a point where the comings-and-goings of other people are ever going to be the focus of the pieces here. First and foremost, this is a place where we come to express how we see our world, our lives, and to look back on our past. If that past happens to include other people, so be it. I, for one, welcome the opportunity to show the breadth and depth of all the interesting people I know. And I probably could fill pages and pages with nothing but all the weird and wonderful stories these people have told me about their lives. But those aren't my stories to tell; if it didn't happen while I was there then it doesn't belong anywhere near here. I couldn't do that to somebody else; steal their stories just to provide something interesting to read here.

It's also the reason why I don't like including politics or religious topics here. Those are stories about other people that most of the time don't involve me directly. And if it's not about me then I really don't want to write about it nor have you read it about here.

It took me a long time to figure out the mission statement of california is a recipe for a black hole, but I finally got it narrowed down. The whole point of this place is to give a deeper insight to myself, to Breanne, and to Toby. If it doesn't fulfill that prime directive or if it distills that directive for other purposes, then it doesn't belong here.

Honestly, I'd rather tell a mundane story about me then tell the most exciting tale about somebody else I know. Let them write their own stories and choose how in-depth they want to delve. I can only tell you what I know and about what happened to me with complete honesty.

Let them write their own blogs if they want to.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Cause It Was Us Baby, Way Before Them, And We're Still Together, And I Meant Every Word I Said, When I Said I Love You I Meant,That I Love You Forever

--"Keep On Loving You (cover)", Lisa Loeb

As scandals go it wasn't as nefarious as Watergate. it didn't make as big of a splash as the Iran-Contra hearings, and it certainly wasn't on the scale or scope of Enron. What it was, though, was an incident that happened to me recently that still resonates today.

It was the big fantasy baseball scandal of 2007.

----

Back in 2007 I was just in the auspices of joining and competing in my first fantasy baseball league--my first fantasy sports league of any type, actually. I'd always wanted to try it out being as interested in number crunching, probability, and gamesmanship for as long as I can remember. Not only that but I've always been a big baseball but to begin with. Fantasy baseball seemed tailed to my particular talents and skill sets. It was going to be 12 of us; all employees, former employees, or friends of employees of Bally's Total Fitness in Norwalk. We were all newbies at the time to the world of fantasy sports so it was all being put together by a Bally's employee named Manny. Keeping that in mind, it wasn't surprising that the majority of us didn't know what to expect or how this would all end up when we met up on that Saturday afternoon in March of 2007. We were all expecting to have a good time. I certainly did not ever conceive that it would ever lead to one of the hugest blow-ups I have ever had nor that it would cause such a huge stink that its effects are still felt.

The draft went fine. I would say all of us walked away from the table with a good sense that we had stumbled our way through successfully. The only minor trouble came from a co-worker named Elio who couldn't make it out to the draft. That should have been our first sign that there might be a wrinkle in the operation that would prevent everything from running smoothly. It wasn't a big deal at the time, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.

I began the season auspiciously, jumping to an early lead within the first few weeks. I'd say by the first ten weeks I had built up a commanding lead over my nearest rival. It was up to this point that the cracks in the system began to show. Manny, again, mostly due to his inexperience running a league, started making a lot of moves that I thought were a little hinky. Trades and additions that seemed suspicious. I wouldn't go so far as to label these acts examples of collusion, but they most definitely were not the type of decisions one would expect from a commissioner.

Briefly explained, a commissioner's actions need to be above reproach. Even though he has a team just the same as everyone else in the league, his actions always carry more weight with them because he has the power to totally stack the deck in his (or anybody else he chooses) favor with none being the wiser. He has at his disposal methods and tools to add points, change settings, and overall screw with the system of the game to make it unfairly biased and, therefore, not fun anymore. I should know because ever since that first league, I've been commissioner in about 80% of the leagues I've joined since then.

In retrospect, some of these worrisome signs very well might have been honest glitches in the system, some erstwhile ghosts in the shell, so to speak. But I maintain to this day that some type of abuse of power was going on with a select subset of the owners that lead all the way back to our commissioner, back to Manny.

As if that weren't enough, Elio, the flaky and out-of-his-depth owner decided to move to Salt Lake City. This meant he all but abandoned our fantasy league. Sure, he claimed that his intent was to jump back in as soon as he settled in; but in the meanwhile, there were three or four weeks no actions were being taken by his team. No rosters were being set; no changes were being made. His team was basically a lame duck. So the word came down that we were to begin scouring our rolodexes for new potential owners to take over Elio's team. We thought that the best course of action rather than keeping his team around without a captain at the wheel. It was to be explained to this new manager that he would be shepherding someone else's flock and that he would have an uphill battle in front of him. But, if this man was willing, there were the beginnings of a really great team in Elio's old crew. And, if he were willing to put in the effort, there was a good chance he could still make the team competitive

I couldn't think of a better "man" for the job than Breanne, naturally. She loves baseball as much as I do and she too had been discussing joining a league at about the same time I started getting the itch.

I nominated her to the rest of the league and she was accepted without a much of a fuss. Again, in retrospect, I should have known better. I should have insisted that a more thorough review should have been performed, seeing as she was my friend. I think the implications of just how close the two of us are escaped them and that's what lead to the scandal as it unfolded later.

Within a few weeks, she and I were thick as thieves in the league. Not only had I found a perfect trading partner, but I also found someone I could discuss strategy and tactics in the league. We soon began a fruitful unofficial partnership. That's when all hell broke loose. The other owners took notice of how easily we were assisting each other (without breaking the rules, mind you) and they began to feel like it was unfair. I would drop players and she would pick them up two days later. I would trade for players expressly to give them to her for the real player I wanted from her team. Mind you, all these actions are not against the rules. It was more of the general spirit that we became exclusive collaborators that miffed everyone else. They felt like we were two heads of the same monster, impossible to beat. And we said that we were doing what any real owners would do, making moves to cover both of our asses. Where I had a hole and she had a surplus, we were more than willing to fix that. I don't know--I guess the trouble lay with the fact that we already knew each other so well, what we could pull and what we couldn't, that adding and dropping players became a simple yes-or-no procedures rather than the laborious task of haggling that it was for everyone else. In a sense, it was like asking my younger sister to do me a favor rather than asking a co-worker--all parts of the process were just sped up. We were making more moves left and right than anyone else in the league were making in a few weeks time.

It wasn't before long that we were accused of cheating.

In fact, I think the real trouble started when we went to Chicago that year. If making deals over the phone was quick, when we were talking off-handedly after dinner or before bed about how best to improve our teams decisions were being made at light speed.

As soon as we got back from our trip, formal charges were levied again us. We were colluding, we were deliberately throwing the game to make sure that one of us won, we were cheating. It didn't hit the final straw until I made a comment that, again, Manny was abusing his powers as Commissioner. Not only was I publicly accused of courting controversy, but I was also accused of intentionally bringing her in as a puppet. I was told I was calling the shots in this partnership, that I was effectively using both teams as one super team and she was merely a figurehead.

I walked. Or rather I should say we both walked. It didn't take long for what had been posted about us to hit her view either. Neither one of us were willing to be put through that level of scrutiny in what was supposed to be a fun game among friends. It's one thing to be competitive and act like a sore loser. It's another thing entirely to accuse an individual of cheating, let alone an entire conspiracy to commit cheating on a league-wide scale.

It was because of that that I started my own fantasy leagues; to maintain that sense of propriety and fair play that a fantasy game should have. I've started and run about eight leagues now and not once have I ever been accused of bending the rules in my favor. Not once have I been accused of setting aside what's best for the league in favor of what was best for me. More importantly, every single one of my baseball leagues Breanne has always been the first person I've invited. We still trade. We still help each other out.

But you know what? She still kicks my ass in the majority of those leagues. That gal sure knows baseball.

What I came away with is the knowledge of what's important to me. Before, I thought Manny and some of the other owners were playing fast and loose with the rules. I still stayed in because it wasn't a big deal at that point. It wasn't until someone accused Little Miss Chipper of the same allegations that I walked. It wasn't until I saw firsthand my good friend being maliciously slandered in the view of everyone that I told her it wasn't worth it.

Yes, playing fantasy baseball is fun and it's something I can see myself doing for a long time to come.

But there's something more important to me for far longer than a silly game has ever been. There's someone who came first before fantasy baseball ever took root as something I might want to do someday. That's the real joy get out of playing, the fact that it's something I can include her in without a second thought.

For six months out of the year it begins to feel like me and her joined at the hip again.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers