Know what’s really getting to me? Picking out expensive things to fill up a wedding registry. I barely give a hoot about kitchen appliances. I enjoy cooking but I have stuff to cook with. How much better can new pots cook macaroni and cheese? I want a hiking backpack and a jet boil. Maybe a circular saw. All the rest can sleep soundly beneath the shadow of my indifference.
It’s Friday, nerds, and that means stay up late watching Letterman. Or maybe Jerry Springer cause they only play it late at night where I come from. All the crazies come out on Friday and that’s why I’m staying in. If the phone rings, I’ll let my mom get it but before she does, I’ll get very scared that it’s for me. If I do get summoned, sometimes I lie and say I have plans. After this happens, I want to bury my face is a pillow and wheeze my last nasaly breath with my glasses pressed against my eyelids and no friends in the world. It’s the aimlessness really. What’s the point? Maybe we’ll end up cruising Broadway scoping out a drag race or find some coffee shop and do headstands. What else is there to do? Is tv watching not just as pointless? Just without other people? That’s where logic fails me and I turn to Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves or something – something to burn my skull from the inside. Oh Baseketball. Oh sweet Panic Room.
The problem with throwing centerpiece fruit into the trees at your friends’ wedding reception is that it might get eaten by a horse. Who the hell knows what happens after that? Maybe the horse gets a stomachache and falls down dead. Maybe fruit loving hyenas catch the scent from Africa and attack your friend’s horse, who is now sweating citrus. Maybe a girl horse gets frightened by the bright colors and some well-meaning boyfriend horse sees the fear as a weakness and forces the other horse to eat the fruit as a means of overcoming her phobia thereby cementing what was once at most a wariness into a full blown experiential terror at the sight, smell or taste of papaya.
I don’t know about any of this; it’s all just possibilities. All I know is drop kicking a lemon is just about the worst way to not get your pants dirty.
Do blogs have feelings? What if I were to not write on one for a while? How would it feel? Would it reformat my charts? Would it unexpectedly quit many times over? If you prick a blog, will it not eat your documents? Oh blog of mine, forgive a lowly blogger for his blogless blog blog.
When you are unemployed, one day you will go visit some friends’ wedding for a weekend in Tennessee. The mead will flow and by doing so, anoint your virgin petals with the sweet nectar of hearty re-acquaintance. Brothers and Sisters from another life will climb the heights to greet you and through the lens of their life-moves will you judge worthy your endeavors and strike to achieve them once more. All your demons will rear and retreat while the whispy and transient ghost of prospect will wholly substantiate.
And so, while the oppressive palm of doubt may press slowly but strongly from the reaches of your mind, forcing questions and negating answers, you, heartened, are able to win fortitude and bravery by minding timeless memories and witnessing warmth in the genuine smiles on the faces of the dear and hopefully soon-to-be-near.
Macker and I are the proud owners of a spinning bookshelf. We bought it from the Virgin Megastore that’s going out of business on Union Square. I haggled for it. 100 dollars to 75 dollars. I picked it up with my Plymouth. It required disassembly to fit in my backseat. I had to scoot my seat way up like I imagine a Smart Car is normally situated. There it sits beneath our clock. I feel lucky we have a TIME magazine subscription. It gives our room the feel of a bookstore. Like a café in a bookstore because it’s so close to the kitchen. There’s a slot for a plaquard on top that may soon exclaim, “Book Shelf.” There are several slots for further signage that may soon describe, “Eric’s Books” or “Mackenzie’s Books” or “Our Books.” It’s kindof blocking the door buzzer, a wall socket, and the thermostat but it’s a small price to pay for the benefits of a spinning bookshelf.
If you did not know, a West Point cadet is not honor bound to snap your neck if you step onto the parade ground lawn unbidden. This was just one of the things I learned when I went to share in the graduation celebrations of West Point’s class of 2009 yesterday. My cousin is a member of this class and he took time out to help me and more of his family get acquainted with his life on base.
We saw train ups, boot camps, beast teams and salutations from many summer cadets. We took cookies from an event we weren’t invited to. We joked about snipers on the roofs and argued about whether the big chain that was once stretched across the Hudson was meant to keep the British out of Manhattan or keep them in. Six plaques dedicated to this chain could not grant us a winner.
Also, skipping rocks on an army lake is almost as easy as anywhere else, but skipping bark here is nearly impossible.
After reading The Lords of Discipline, I was surprised to learn that West Point upper-classmen are not allowed to put broomsticks behind your knees and make you squat until you pass out. They are allowed to make you paint many wrought iron things however.
The blocky, masculine buildings stand out in my mind as different from any I’ve seen before. This “West Point” of the Hudson River is indeed worth the hour and a half trip from NYC if you get a chance. And if you get a chance with your family and a West Point graduate, then you’re in for a real treat.
