Before I lived in Memphis, our family spent some time in St. Louis. An idyllic suburban neighborhood where kids from the entire block played in the streets and families got together on weekends for cookouts and pool parties. My best friend was a boy my age named Matthew. Continue reading Neighborhoods
I woke up with the taste of bile in my throat. My dreams were full of me choking and hacking, vomiting repeatedly. I was back in my parents’ house for a big family gathering. Smiling and done up business casual I excused myself repeatedly for emetic purposes. No one really noticed or cared. Parties like that are just collections of uncomfortable people waiting it out. I could traipse through the living room dressed as Dr. Frank N. Furter and the most reaction would be nervous giggles with an occasional, “Oh my!” What’s worse, almost no one would get the reference. Continue reading Morning Revelry
“You aren’t old enough to have regrets,” my Uncle Mark said.
I was 14 and just finished baby-sitting my incredibly well-behaved cousins. I’ve often wondered if my aunt & uncle gave me those gigs just to get me out of my parents’ house. I know I loved being at their house because it was quiet and full of satellite TV. The kids were very easy to hang out with and, at their age, often taught me things inadvertently. That’s how kids are at that age. It could also just be what you do when you need a babysitter.
I mentioned regretting something on the car ride home. The assured nature of my uncle’s remark made me pause for a moment. Why would my age factor into regret? I had done things in my life I wish happened differently. It’s not a question of appropriate – just a fact of my existence. At 14 I’d already circumvented my parents’ will and had experiences that only led to heartbreak. How could I NOT regret that.
I know now. Regret is a choice. Something you have to feed, like a pet. If you stop feeding your guilt and regret it’s easy to abandon some concerns. And, more importantly, some of those concerns should be starved to death. I have a catalogue of experiences in my memory but I don’t regret many. Most of the things I did to rebel weren’t only natural but recommended for my young adult development. My aberration is the only thing separating my childhood from cult life. At least, from what I’m seeing.
Objective and relative both have many meanings. Things are relative except our relatives which are things unto themselves. The objective view of things from a relative situation is like looking through a prism, trying to discover which facet is correct. It all depends what you focus on. I don’t expect to have relatives that react to my objectivity but relatively speaking it’s an objective problem with no solution.
I don’t know if that last paragraph makes sense. I typed it anyway.
What’s a Brazilian?
“It’s where they use wax to remove all the hair around all the sensitive things down there,” I say, gesturing at my crotch.
Oh
“Oh, I totally recommend getting one.” I assure her, “It’s just like skydiving. Try it once. You’ll either love it and want to do it forever or think it’s nice and never want to do it again.”
I’m conducting a social experiment. I have a hypothesis about Craigslist. While a veritable gutter of thievery and whores, it’s also a giant flea market for kink. If you know how to use the system it can work for you. In my experience if you want something that specific, the fastest way to success is being direct with an many people as possible. Cuts down on the bullshit. I just posted an ad to Craigslist titled Knows What She Wants. Continue reading Math & Orgasms
People at the bar will judge your choices. Stay silent. Stay proud.
All music has a heritage. Even if you order food to go.
It’s all the same. The boy you do like and the boy you don’t like. They are the same person with different things showing. Once you know we’re all the same it’s easier to stop caring what people think. The isolation is still a challenge. I play a subversive game without even trying. Hyper-awareness is a symptom of an abusive upbringing, so they tell me. I’m wedge-shaped and there are times I can’t get out of the way even when I want to. It makes me a frustrating person to keep around. Continue reading Sometimes
When I tell someone they need more confidence, the first reaction is always, “I have tons of confidence!” Continue reading Confidence
Today I witnessed a TV commercial for St. Jude Hospital, or as Memphians call it St. Jude’s. The sad music and slow motion shots of bald white children reminds me of the starving-African-children charity commercials from the early 90s. Back when things like terrorism and daily suffering happened on other continents. A submissive male voice sadly recounts the vague premise, “Cancer sucks – We try to make it suck less hard.” I slowly realize the advertisement is meant to pluck at heart strings.
I’ve probably donated more to St. Jude Children’s Hospital than any other non-profit, cumulatively. There was a period of time in Memphis when every other purchase I made donated some reciprocal amount to the hospital. The only pride I could have in Memphis resided in the cancer research done in that facility. My dark side also relishes the fundamental structure of the experiments – if you offer us your child’s tragedy we’ll give a free lodging and a slice of hope. It’s a win-win from where I’m standing. I gave money to them because there was real progress being made.
Seattle feels as far away from Memphis as Memphis does from sub-Saharan Africa. I suppose it isn’t really that strange. I just wonder how many people here donate something to St. Jude versus the locals donating to the Seattle Children’s Hospital. The research St. Jude does is impressive but all sick kids are sad. Even the curable ones. I’ve spent most of my recent charity on the service industry recently. In the coming years I hope to reinvest all my charity in myself. I guess that means my ultimate goal is to be a good investment. I think I’ve already found some people who believe that’s true.