"Do I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself. I am vast. I contain multitudes." -Walt Whitman

:malicious user:

Monday, November 29, 2004

in memoriam
he left this weekend.
he left behind a wife, a daughter. he left behind a bar called "dignity" that a lot of us will never be able to reach.
that's all i know to say.
goodbye, george.
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Tuesday, November 09, 2004

press pause
on hiatus.
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Saturday, November 06, 2004

the englishman who went up a hill but came down exhausted
in an effort to thwart my body's increasingly agressive offense to turn me into the pear-shaped man, i decided i'd leave the car in the lot today and run my errands by bicycle.

what the hell was i thinking?

the wisconsin glacier retreated some 60,000 years ago, leaving behind long island, a strip of land that is relatively level on the south shore and rather hilly and jagged on the north shore. i grew up on the south shore, with its beaches and long plains. on a decent hill the surrounding land was so low you could see the empire state building 30 miles away. now i live on the north shore, where it's not uncommon to encounter two or three sizeable hills leaving the driveway.

the trip to the bank was enjoyable, riding west down little plains road (note the false sense of comfort the name implies) to broadway and then to my savings institution to conduct a financial transaction (read: make the necessary deposit so the rent check doesn't bounce). then off eastward to the library.

east of my house is a bit of a bump called cuba hill. cuba hill nearly killed me earlier this summer when i decided to bicycle to the park. today i had headed out west, thus avoiding cuba hill.

but no matter how i sliced it, the library is east of the bank, and there was cuba hill's longer, no less evil little brother waiting for me. i shifted to low gear, bent over the handlebars, and peddled up that damned hill. during which time i considered several ideas:

sisyphus had it easy.

walking might work.

i could go back, couldn't i?

how the hell does he do this?

maybe i'll die. that wouldn't be so bad, would it?


i made to the summit, and was rewarded with the coast down the other side. this should have been a relief, but by not pedalling i had the freedom of mind to focus on my heart trying to pound its way through my ribs and out of my chest. my lungs were ready to call a cab.

by the time i reached the bottom of the hill, however, cardiac arrest no longer seemed a certainty. so, idiot me, i continued on to the library. picked up the cd they were holding for me.

and headed back home. westward.

into the waiting maw of cuba hill.

now, logistically, there was no way i could've avoided a hill on the way home without a good five mile detour. i could've gone back the way i'd come, but that would've added another mile or so onto my route.

plus, being the pighead i am, i had to show that hill who was stronger.

i reached the base of the hill and, once again, bent over the handlebars and focused on pumping the pedals. the asphalt actually started to blur a bit as i ascended. i thought back to high-school cross-country, when i'd hit that wall and then go past, just to finish (usually in the bottom five). i wondered if i'd hit that wall now, and be able to climb the hill as a man/machine, pumping adreneline with a lizard-brain focus.

but i didn't hit the wall. what i did almost hit was a landscaping wagon parked on the side of the road, ramp down. i glanced up from the road and there it was. i wish i could amuse you by telling you that i rode up the ramp and crashed into the back of the wagon, but the truth is i swerved around it at the last moment. the distraction robbed me of any last remnants of athletic discipline; now i was moving on sheer stubborn pride. the top of the hill didn't seem to be getting any closer. i pushed. i cursed internally (no breath for swearing audibly).

i crested the top. from that point, i can literally coast all the way back to my doorstep.

i pulled over instead, and stopped at the curb, ten feet down the west side of cuba hill. i didn't care if i collapsed, or if i walked the bike home, or if i sat at the curb for the rest of the day. i'd beaten that stupid hill.

i sat down on the sidewalk, holding the bike against my knees, rinsing and spitting out the contents of my water bottle. looking back up the hill behind me.

eventually, i got back on the bicycle and coasted home.

i don't know about you, but some days i need those little victories.
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Friday, November 05, 2004

creep
the dog has not always been the most affectionate creature. not that he's aloof (that's the cat's job), but he's never been a face-licking, slobbering kind of dog. he'll lay next to you, but not on you.

until lately. he's decided, apparently, that being scritched is a good thing, and maybe even being petted is ok. but he still won't just jump up on you.

he starts from a distance. usually when i'm sitting on the bed, or the couch. he'll lay down a few feet away.

and then creep towards me.

it starts as a yawn worthy of sarah bernhardt, in which the front two paws overlap a few times as if he's wringing them out. somehow this always ends with the paws and nose pointing in my direction. this is followed by a minute or two of apparent 'settling down'. next, the paw wringing again, but without the accompanying yawn. each wringing of the paws brings the front of the dog a few inches closer to me, while the back of the dog remains stationary. this has the unsettling effect of making the dog appear to lengthen considerably from his normal proportions.

the wringing/creeping cycle repeats a few times until the dog is threatening to snap his own spine, at which point something happens that can only be desribed as "gracefully clumsy": the hindquarters of the dog lose their traction and 'thwump' forward in an effort to rejoin the rest of the animal. this momentum invariably pushes the dog's paws onto my lap. then he looks up to see if this enchroachment is forgivable.

of course it is forgivable. rewardable even. with a scritch.
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Wednesday, November 03, 2004

nightmare alley
four more years in king george's america

to my son and daughter:

i'm sorry. i tried.

love,

-dad
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Tuesday, November 02, 2004

threshold
one way or the other, the world will be so very different tomorrow.
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i used to be disgusted. now i try to be amused.
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