I'll Send You My Love On A Wire, Lift You Up, Every Time, Everyone, Ooo, Pulls Away, Ooo, From You

--"Black Sheep", Metric

I routinely watch The Amazing Race. I don't recall exactly during which season I became a fan, but I've been watching for awhile now. It never fails to amaze me how exciting and entertaining each episode manages to be without the artifice that so many other reality shows possess. Usually by the end of the race I'm rooting for one or two teams based on the strength of their personalities and on the strength of their character.

It's true. I don't like watching the teams that do nothing but scream at one another. While it might make for much more dramatic television it bothers me when teams that do nothing but bicker get ahead in the game. It's no fun for me to contemplate we might live in a world which rewards badgering one's friend, relative, or significant other to motivate them. I tend to feel better when there's one or two teams that seem to get along and still maintain a competitive spirit. I'd like to think this would be the kind of team I would field if I were to participate--which I almost did.

The team I like the best this season is a father and daughter team named Gary and Mallory. He's an entrepreneur and she's Miss Kentucky 2009. Yes, there is a bias because ever since I visited that state it's made an impression on me. However, they really are the most wholesome and just positive team on the race. I mean--if you're going to watch a show about teams of two having to endure physical, intellectual, and sometimes interpersonal challenges you need people who are easy to root for. Mallory--well, Mallory is just a hoot and a half, as Lucy would say. She's so peppy and amazingly endearing to everyone, including the other teams. I don't know if she has an ounce of guile or rancor in her. And Gary is patient and soft-spoken. What amazes me most about him is he's fifty-three years old. Yet he's keeping up with men and women half his age. I'm not sure if that has more to do with his hobby of running triathlons and marathons, or if it's more to due with his persistence. The man just doesn't know when to quit or give up. Separately, I'd root for each one of them, but together they're going to be a force to reckon with this season.


hello again, friend of a friend
----

As aforementioned, I once had aspirations to compete in The Amazing Race. My friend Carly and I went so far as to fill out the applications and send them in (at least one of us did). At the time I was excited at the prospect of being able to roam around the world and be on a show that I truly enjoyed. What I was also looking forward to was the idea of getting to know Carly better because, at the time, we'd hung out a couple of times but had never had that test that all good friendships go through, a road trip. In our case it would have been an extended road trip.

At the time I thought she would have made an excellent partner to go adventuring with. Not only is she young and in relatively decent shape, she also possesses that daredevil attitude that every eventual winner on the show seems to have in spades, which is more than I could say for me. As much as the height challenges and possibly the eating challenges might have slowed me down, together I think we would have made for a decent team.

Where I think we might have run into problems would have been the dynamics between us. While relations between us have always been good, I really don't think of Miss Flib as someone who I would trust immediately with my life. I didn't realize it at the time, but that's what basically is the main criteria for choosing a partner for the race. Physical fitness, mental toughness, and a positive attitude all are factors, but what I see now is that choosing a partner should have been a bigger deal to me than it was. Carly's willingness to entertain the idea was the extent of my interview process and I realize now it shouldn't have been the only factor in making my decision. I have no doubt it would be fun to run a race with her, but I'm not so sure by the end if our friendship would have been the better for it. There's a lot I still don't know about her and a lot she still doesn't know about me, which is why I say that trust issue may have interfered a bit with us running a decent race.

Surprisingly, I don't believe I'd want Breanne to be my partner either. I trust her with my life, sure, but there's a lot to be said about what we're like when we get together in person. I know us well enough to know that the pressure of the situation and the way our personalities mesh would cause problems between us. We really only have two speeds, calm and easy or full throttle at each other's throats. I've spent enough time with her to understand the difference. When we're on vacation with each other, when we're visiting with one another, that's calm and easy. That's nice. When we're competing either with each other or against each other, that's full throttle. As sure as I am that our relationship with one another is rock-solid, I'm also sure that it's not always a pretty picture. Competing with her on the race would not make for a pleasant time as much as it might be more memorable for the pairing.

Honestly, I believe the best pairing at this time would be Toby. She's my closest friend after Breanne and, unlike the Georgia native, she and I have always maintained a much more easy approach with one another.

Thinking about it--our biggest disagreement so far has been this nuisance about her isolating herself from the rest of her friends as she begins her college career. But even then it's not like I've been wanting to throttle her or anything. She doesn't cause my venom to rise nor does she stress me out at times.

The content of one's character is often hard to define. It's a huge assortment of values and philosophies that have to be wrangled out of a person's actions. Often times what one says and does gives little indication to what one believes. That's what misunderstandings tend to occur. Misunderstandings do lead to fights. That's why I believe Miss Frisson and I would make a capable team. I'm just not so sure there would be the stress of disagreement that plagues most teams. We tend to see eye to eye with one another and I know she would back me up as I would back her up. And like Breanne, I trust her implicitly.

We might argue, but it wouldn't be game-changing like an argument between B. and I would be. I'm fairly confident the level of disagreement between us would ever rise to a fevered pitch. The most Marion and could muster would be a dull whisper. Like everyone I've mentioned in this post she has a fairly positive attitude. Her catchphrase is "Don't postpone joy," after all. She has the smarts, the athleticism, and the patience to make a willing competitor. Lastly, like Carly, I think I would relish the opportunity to get to know her better. And I know I would definitely love having a story or two that includes me and her together in them.

Who one picks to be their ideal Amazing Race partner might not be up there in terms of importance as one's ideal spouse or one's ideal best friend. However, I think it can tell you just as much about what qualities you value and the kind of company you choose to keep. In my case, I have the luxury of having a person who matches up well with what I believe the race requires out of you and a person who would make the whole experience, well, amazing.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And I Don't Want To Change Your Life, But There's A Warm Wind Blowing The Stars Around, And I'd Really Love To See You Tonigh

--"I'd Really Love To See You Tonight", England Dan

I'm in the midst of a crisis here. I'm debating whether or not to see Paranormal Activity 2 later today. Normally I wouldn't even hesitate going out to see a horror movie because they don't often scare me that much. I've been through all the horror movies relatively unscathed because most of the time the combination of the supernatural effects and overwrought acting are enough to bring my disbelief to the forefront. Most of the time when I leave the theater I leave the movie behind me.

Yet that didn't happen with Paranormal Activity.

That movie scared the fucking crap out of me.

Literally two or three weeks after I saw the movie I was still frightened to go to sleep at night. Of any horror movie that one was designed to push my specific buttons. It didn't have a cavalcade of CGI effects to distinguish it as a movie. It didn't have people who seemed to be reading from a script. Most importantly, it dealt with what happens to you while you were asleep. If there's one subject matter that unnerves me it's the idea that anyone or anything can disturb you while you are sleeping. That's a huge fear of mine, being attacked in my sleep. Paranormal Activity is just scene after scene of a couple being severely attacked in the middle of the night.


hello, yeah, it's been awhile
not much, how 'bout you?

I'm not like Lucy. I can't hear or watch a ghost story and remain unaffected. As much as I love to hear them, if it's told well there will be repercussions for me.

That's where my conundrum comes in. Just as at St. Rita's when I would check out Strangely Enough, a collection of possibly the best "true" American ghost stories ever written, and its sequel, The Strangest People in the World, I do enjoy being scared. Reading all sorts of ghost stories and supernatural tales is a hobby that Breanne and I do share. I just can't stay away even though I know it's going to bite me in the end. I'm just like those kids whose parents tell them not to watch anything scary before bed because it will keep them up all night. I have both an attraction and a fear of those certain kinds of stories.

I know what's going to happen. I will have to go through another couple of weeks of being afraid to sleep in my own bed. I'm going to be calling all my close friends to talk to me until I get drowsy. I'm going to sleep more often with the night light on. And for what? Just so I can see if the sequel lives up to the original? I don't know if that's a good enough reason to put myself through such hell.

And yet despite my best efforts not to give into temptations, I know myself too. Somehow, some way, I'm going to convince myself that it won't be so bad this time since I know what to expect. I'm going to talk myself into being brave for those few hours and then have it all shatter when I get home.

Sigh. Tonight's going to suck. I just know it. LOL

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Oh, Atlanta, I Hear You Calling, I'm Coming Back To You One Fine Day, No Need To Worry, There Ain't No Hurry, Cause I'm On My Way Back To Georgia

--"Oh Atlanta", Bad Company

The first time I tell anyone my milkshake story it tends to be met with disbelief. Most people assume that the milkshake I was privy to near Monticello was good, but certainly wasn't the best milkshake ever made as I claim it to be. They relegate my assertion to a mixture of fond recollection and my general sense of dramatic exaggeration. No matter my protests I can never fully convince them that my evaluation was and still is a fair assertion of my critical faculties.

While it might be true that in most instances I remain the least unbiased individual on the planet, in many instances that is exactly what I am. Milkshakes, like a great many subject, is a matter of taste so a certain bias does creep into any evaluation of them. However, I am fairly confident that had any of my harshest critics sampled the aforementioned example they would have tasted the unmatched quality like I did that day back in April of '86. Nostalgia does not enter any long-held conviction I still possess regarding my memory on the subject matter nor does my flair for fondness for creative license. That milkshake stands on its own, heads and tails above any other milkshake which has been made before or after it.

When one stops to contemplate it when you critique anything; be it films, food, or novels, there must be examples which stand on either end of the quality spectrum. There always has to be something which exemplifies a particular matter at its best and something which exemplifies something at its worst. Granted, applying the moniker "best ever" or "worst ever" does invite incredulity on the part of spectators, but for everything that is good there has to be everything is evil. For everything that is topnotch there has to be something beneath contempt.

I just happened to find the best example of a milkshake ever poured, plain and simple.

----

That brings me around to the topic of Atlanta. Like that milkshake, it too is something I haven't experienced firsthand in many years. Indeed, coming up this December it will have been sixteen years since I first visited and in April fifteen years since I last visited. And yet I still think of Atlanta as being one of the most charming cities I've ever been to. I'm well aware that every city I've been to in the last twenty years since I started seriously traveling have had their own charms and their own unique selling points. But there's something about the certain Southern city that clinches it for me as being the best example of what a city in that part of the country is supposed to be like. I don't know if it's the people, the history, the architecture, or the general mood of the area, but I still ache to go back one day when I get the whole "agreement" business behind me.

True, part of my affection for the city has to do with the company I kept while I was visiting, but even taking Lucy out of the equation I think Atlanta would remain my top choice for Southern cities one must visit at least once in one's lifetime. I mean--I like Louisville and all. And the gods know I'll never forget my time in the environs of Wheeling, but those places and all the other examples of Southern cities I've been to don't hold a candle to the gem of Georgia. It's like comparing apples (peaches?) and oranges. There are cities in the South and then there's a true Southern city.

That's what Atlanta is to me, a true Southern city.


same old place
it's the same old city
what can I do?
i'm falling in love

Yes, I do possess a bit of nostalgia for it because my visits there did take place during a happier time in my life. And, yes, I could be overblowing how beautiful and, well, majestic everything is there. Every city has its darker corners and every city has its less than photographable areas. Atlanta is no different. I'm not suggesting that every part of Atlanta means as much to me as every other part. What I am suggesting is that the city as a whole means something to me. It means something to me getting a bit of barbecue at one of the places where barbecuing was perfected. It means something to me to be walking down the streets of one of the oldest cities in one of the oldest cities in the United States. It means something to me being around a people who are so polite, helpful, and just plain friendly when put in comparison to the rest of the country. It means something to me to look up at buildings that hold their gravity and memories in every cracked veneer. It means something to me to say I was in one of the most exceptional cities I have ever visited.

I haven't visited every major city in the U.S., though I'm trying to. I haven't even contemplated how much more beauty there is out in the rest of the world. All I can place Atlanta in comparison to are the cities I've already seen. As much as Boston remains my favorite city and where I feel most at home in, Atlanta will always rank right up there in terms of cities I consider eventful. Boston might be old, but I don't consider it to be as graceful, as majestic, as breathtaking as Atlanta. Boston is like the hometown that feels comfortable and safe and inviting, while Atlanta is the City--full of history and spectacle and definition. It's much the same for every other city. They all have their selling points, but Atlanta by virtue of having only seen it the two times holds the key to my heart as being a paradise still not fully explored.

And maybe just like the milkshake it holds so much hope for me because I keep anticipating the day when she and I will be reunited once more.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Sometimes You Make Me Feel Like I'm Living At The Edge Of The World, Like I'm Living At The Edge Of The World, "It's Just The Way I Smile," You Said

--"Plainsong", The Cure

Most people don't have a favorite dinosaur. Hell, most people haven't given enough thought to even have a few contenders for that title. I, however, once upon a time gave it serious thought.

When I was about eight or nine my brother used to have small plastic dinosaur toys that were similar in their plastic feel and construction to toy army men. They had all the usual suspects--the stegosaurus, the pterodactyl, and, of course, the tyrannosaurus rex. Yet my favorite of the bunch was always the lowly triceratops. It may have been reading that triceratops were well capable of taking down a tyrannosaurus that led me to choose them, but even before reading that bit of information I knew that they were the dinosaur for me.


and then you smiled for a second

That's the thing with having favorites. It doesn't have to have any rhyme or reason for me. I'll often pick something on a whim and come back later with reasons why I took a liking to them. I've been doing it all my life. Be it dinosaurs or bands or food--there are just times where I don't want to mull over a decision for hours and pick something because it's the first thing that catches my eye.

However, eight times out of ten they end up sticking around as my favorite precisely because I can find reasons to back up my decision. Yes, I know it's a backwards process, but it resembles a lot my creative process. Usually I find the gloss first--the title in the case of my writing, or what a thing looks or sounds like in other cases--then, after I've had some time to research, I get down to the meat and potatoes of the thing. I don't know if it's because I have an innate eye for spotting something I'll like from far away or if it's simply a case of impulsively becoming smitten with something only to be forced to defend my choices later on. It's probably a bit of both.

All I know is that I'm a fan of anything that can make me smile, even if there is no sound reason for me to like it all. I believe in first impressions. And I especially believe in first impressions that later turn out for the best... mostly because it makes me look wise all along. LOL

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

You'll Find Out Just Who Is Your Friend, Don't Be Sad, I Know You Will, But Don't Give Up Until, True Love Finds You In The End

--"True Love Will Find You In The End", Mates of State

I know it's the last thing you expected to see here, but just because we're not talking right now doesn't mean I would forget. I mean--I most of all should know that if a friendship is real then you've got to keep the big picture in mind. Momentary setbacks aren't what's important. It's the idea that two people, when they build something real, it should be built to last a lifetime. It should have reasons why it can't be torn asunder; it should have reasons why it needs to be fought for.

And, frankly, I can think of eighteen reasons why this, whatever this is, is something I think is worth fighting for:

1. You reintroduced poetry into my life.

2. We shared a near-death experience together.

3. A person is defined by the company he keeps and it would say a lot about me if I were to lose you as a friend.

4. I see a lot of what I was in what you are now.

5. I feel like we've only just begun.

6. Hearing the word, "gosh," just isn't going to sound the same coming from anyone else.

7. Your family has already made me feel so welcome, it would be a shame to lose them too.

8. You're one of the best motivators I've ever met.

9. You're far more talented than I am and I'm a person that likes to be surrounded by talent.

10. I'm really dying to know what happened to Ilsa now that you're at university.

11. I would miss those freckles.

12. I'd rather not have my last memory of you be a bitter one.

13. We've known each other too long for it to have been a fluke.

14. I refuse to believe that I'm that easy to get rid of.

15. You gave me hope when I was feeling like so much of it was wasting away within me.

16. Nobody can replace your smile.

17. You never made me feel out of place and I never made you feel like the ugly one.

18. You're eighteen years old on the outside, but have about eight hundred years of wisdom and insight on the inside. That's a rare find.

Happy birthday, Marion...

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And I'm Not My Perspective, Or The Lies I'll Tell You Every Time

--"Absence of God", Rilo Kiley

I was reading earlier today about how Cyndi Lauper did not play "(Goonies R) Good Enough" in concert for almost twenty years. Now the article I was reading didn't get into specifics, but I have a skulking suspicion that it had something to do with her being embarrassed of a song she wrote and performed in her youth. I imagine that she didn't want to be recognized for an effort that, frankly, no longer defined her. I also imagine that it took the two decades for her to acclimate herself to the idea that that particular song was and still is part of who she is as an artist.

It's the same with a lot of us. We earn these reputations for certain traits in our character at a young age. These reputations then follow us around for a good number of years regardless of whether the actual traits themselves persist. For instance, in elementary school people saw me as the strange kid in class, which more or less is a reputation that has dogged me for a good number of years. Now I'm not doubting the validity of such a claim--admittedly, I do have my weird tendencies--but it is a moniker I have never quite been able to shake. Another appellation which has been applied to me is that I only am attracted to young Caucasian girls--most time with the emphasis being on the young part. That too is a legend that I've spent a good deal of time and energy trying to downplay.

It's not shame which prompts my efforts to keep these labels from being spread around. I would have to say that in both cases the labels were apt. However, I would have to further say that they were more true once upon a time than they are now--which is the part that never quite gets added on.

And so, just like Miss Lauper, I just find it easier to not mention either nuances of my character as being real. Upon first meeting, it's not like I'm going to say that I'm the weird guy who has only ever dated young women in their teens, but that would be true. It's just not the image I want people to portray. Most of the time I like people to get to know my other facets before I trot out those deeper parts of me that more often than not have lead to arguments and misunderstandings.

I mean--yes, eventually if I get to know a person enough I tend to let those proclivities come out into the open, but it's not everyone I feel who gets to see me in my entirety. The labels I used to suffer through all the way through high school are ones I tend to like to put behind me because they're not the labels I believe which best define me at this point. They're not the bulletin points I would hit if someone were to ask for a summary of me.

They can't be. What they are are qualities that were once central to my viewpoint once upon a time. But over time their place in my universe got usurped by qualities which became much more prioritized and valued. In the end, who I am can never be entirely summed up by naming all the things I used to be.

Everything that people could say about me--whether it be my obsession with Avonlea to the fact I'm still friends with people almost half my age--are just songs in my catalog. Hearing one isn't going to give you a complete idea of me. It's only when you listen to the entire history of what I've produced that you begin to hear exactly what my "sound" is. And while I won't deny that there are songs I'm prouder of than most, I will say that there isn't a song among the bunch that I would get rid of if I could. Personally, I like who I am at this point. That wouldn't be possible if I attempted to gloss over the more unfavorable songs in my repertoire.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Keep With Me Forward All Through The Night, And Once We Start The Meter Clicks, And It Goes Running Through All The Night

--"All Through The Night", Cyndi Lauper

I never got read bedtime stories as a kid. At least I don't remember the practice being enforced in my parents' household. I think our parents taught my brother and I to read at an early age expressly for the reason of being able to entertain ourselves with books. Consequently, I never got to live through that whole experience of being comforted at night by one's parents patiently waiting by the bedside until I fell asleep.

I've always thought that had a lot to do with my being a horrible insomniac. Whenever I got scared late at night (usually of ghosts) I never felt comfortable running to them to come help me. Somewhere in the back of my mind that my concerns wouldn't be taken seriously. At that point I would have two choices--try to tough it out in bed, waiting for whatever malevolent creature was out there in the wilds of the hallway to come get me, or stay up to watch television. As you can tell by somewhat voracious viewing appetite I usually chose the latter option.

Maybe it would have been different if I had had someone who I thought was willing to stay up with me. Maybe I wouldn't have felt so alone on the other side of midnight if I knew somebody who would've broken their slumber to comfort me. But I didn't.

Yet I never forgot the experience of being scared and on your own when the whole world seemed to be dead to you. I don't think it's a feeling I'll ever forget (even as I am writing this at 3:28 in the morning). And because of that I was in the rarified position to be there for someone in a way that someone was never there for me.

As she's written about countless times, Breanne used to have a problem with running away from home a good deal of the time. I'm not here to expound upon the reasons why since those are articles best left to her to articulate. I can, however, speak about the practice's effect upon me. Being someone I deeply care about, even from early on into our friendship, it usually fell to me to try and talk her back home. In those instances where she would not answer her folks' pleas to return back to the household, I was practically the only one whose phone calls she would actually take. And I know I was the only one she would regularly call of her own volition when she would go on these jaunts through the city.

You could say it made me that voice in the night for her. She wouldn't have admitted it at the time but I think she called me precisely because she was scared of being alone. She used to tell me that she was calling because she needed somebody to talk her into going back home, but more often than not that's precisely what she would end up not doing. We'd talk for an hour or two, she'd make her way to her friend's house or a relative's house (or sometimes not). The only criteria that would remain the same would be the fact that she would not get off the phone with me until she felt safe.

I used to believe that it was a little too much responsibility for someone to take on in the name of friendship. After all, I had never encountered anyone else whose duties as a best friend included making sure that their friend had a warm place to sleep that night and access to a hot meal the next morning. I had never run across anyone else who had to fret their friend being startled by phantoms of misbegotten rapists, murderers, and other such criminals every time he encountered a prolonged moment of silence in the conversation. I used to think it was too big of a job for one person to handle. If she died, if she was hurt, if she was never found again--it would be my fault. I would receive the lion's share of the blame.

I used to tell her and her parents that her leaving home was their affair. I told them that I didn't want to be their middle man. At least in the beginning that's what I told them.

Then one day not long after I had been looking after Breanne for a few months it hit me. This isn't what one friend does for another usually. It's far too much of a burden for a common, ordinary friend. What the task resembled and what I began to think of it as was what an older brother does for his sister. He covers his sister even while he's still there watching over her to make sure she doesn't get into any serious trouble. He's the one who stays up on the phone for her because she feels like he's the only one who "gets" her. He's the one who is able to reassure the parents that, although she doesn't feel comfortable coming back just yet, he's making sure that that's the decision she'll eventually arrive at.

Most importantly, it falls to somebody who more resembles a brother to be there when she just needs a voice on the other end of the line to reassure her that she's not alone. Because it doesn't matter whether or not he thinks she's being foolhardy and reckless with her life. He can't physically be there to rein her in. What he can do is be the reassurance she needs to stay sharp while she is out on the street. What he can do is not let her fall into despair like he did when he was young. Perhaps he never actually read her stories while she was walking through the neighborhood at eleven, twelve, or much later at night, but he did tell her stories of what he did that day. He did make up stupid jokes about what a wicked brat she was. And, of course, he sang to her every request for a song she ever made of him.

It was the least I could do. Especially after I started understanding what my updated role was, I finally could see that more than recriminations, more than passing the responsibility on, and more than I-told-you-so's, Breanne just needed to feel like someone was on her side. She needed to feel like somebody understood why she was angry and hopeless and confused. And rather than brush aside her concerns like they didn't matter, she merely needed someone to stay up with her until she was ready to go to sleep, once she had that feeling of safety again.

I stopped minding the late-night phone calls. All of a sudden it became more worrisome on those nights when her parents would call me worried and she didn't call. It stopped being a chore I wasn't sure I was up to undertaking to a responsibility that I bore with a certain sense of urgency. It's one thing to feel you have a friend who you're constantly bailing out and it's another thing entirely to feel like you have a sibling you're worried about. At that point I didn't have a choice, I only had an unbreakable link to somebody for the first time in my life.

After that, that's when I started that whole, "Good night, Breannie mine, with your eyes so bright, tears so silvery, and my kisses still wet on your cheek," thing because that's just the kind of thing that a brother would say to his younger sister. And it became our little signal that everything was right between us.

Indeed, that's a good deal of what she still is to me, the younger sister I never had. And to this day I still end of the majority of my phone calls to her in the same manner... no matter what time of the day it is. She'll always have me to be the person who is always with her when she's feeling lost and alone.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers