Spring In Your Step

Just as spring has sprung up before the official launch date, so too has the year advanced much further than I can fathom. Time just never seems to be a constant, only ever moving too quickly or too slowly, when of course it is only perception that is altered. But yes, spring was leaked this year like most new albums and movies tend to be. And I gotta say, I don't mind. Am I sweating awkwardly sometimes? Sure. But I tend to be doing that anyway.

To repeat what I've said and what lots of people say, you wouldn't really appreciate spring and summer weather without the contrast of winter. It's true, and it weeds out certain types that might not make a place so joyous were there not seasons. The question I have is: if I didn't have seasons to contend with, would I become the type of person I am alluding to and denigrating? And if so, is it by virtue of the changes brought on by climate, or by proximity of those who enjoy such a climate? A little from either column is the most likely of answers.

I don't think any of that made all too much sense, but there's no sense trying to make recompense or deleting the damned nonsense.

Signs of oldness are rearing their head once again in my life, like how I was tired yesterday after spending all of Saturday drinking and enjoying a few beverages in the early afternoon of Sunday. Lethargic zombie would describe my energy level. Good thing Starbuck's flavored my iced coffee Italian armpit this morning. I'm surprised it didn't cost extra.

I got nostalgic for a place called college this weekend too, in a way that would never happen if I was at my own college campus. It's hard to explain but it doesn't really need explaining, it's just that usual thing where I'd love to have lived a thousand different lives in a thousand different places but to do so all at once, and not really over accumulated lifetimes. This is why there are books, movies, and so on. And booze. Because you've got to relax the mind sometimes.

Time to go off in search of a secluded trail to run peacefully. Or send a bunch of emails. Same thing.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good as can be expected Monday.

Marchmellow

March has maybe been a little less than mellow, but at the risk of telling actual details of my real life, let's just say that I haven't been overly diligent about finding time to blog. Very few people's loss. I have heard it said that it is better to have blogged and blogged shittily than never to have blogged at all but clearly that is a made up statement and it isn't true because I don't want to read shit and I certainly don't want to write shit, despite what may develop at times.

That's when you order coffee at 9pm and listen to The Immigrant Song on repeat. Why are there even dislikes on that video? I don't understand my fellow Americans sometimes. It's also intriguing due to the very anonymous and simple clicking of a button, defining oneself while really not and doing so easily. Not that defining oneself should be such a conscious effort. It'd be great to just be. Like I wasn't just trying to be anything other than a guy who runs a lot and gets sweaty. Warm enough weather has hit the city of Chicago and I found myself on a jaunt in shorts sans shirt. I thought about it, thought maybe I should wear a shirt. But the usual came to my head: 1) I sweat a lot; 2) I hate doing laundry; 3) who gives an eff-bomb (I try not to be too profane on the old blog here)? I wonder how many dislikes I would have received if people could click as I ran by. The future!


As usual I'm getting really bad at recognizing people, by which I mean that I recognize people I don't even know, but simply have seen a lot. No sense enumerating because I don't want to add another layer to the weirdness pointing out who they are and it somehow coming back to blog me in the ass...paranoia much?

Well, here's hoping we're done being the land of the ice and the snow, even (especially?) when those refer to meth and coke respectively. Running is my drug. And caffeine. And sugar. And booze. There are more things on this list. My body is a temple, and I worship a little differently than some might. That's enough out of me.

Leap Year?

Leap here...or here, ya hear? Shit, I nearly missed my four posts per month quota. Good thing I'm testing Bud Light Platinum. So far I say it tastes like Bud Light, but it's 6% alcohol by volume. The bottle is a strange blue that brings to mind Zima even though Zima is a clear bottle, but I suppose it might recall that blue label if it were transparent or, more accurately, translucent.

When we think about the gift of getting an extra day in February, it's good to remember that we're really missing out on about a quarter of a day those other three years.

I'm gonna be honest here, I haven't got a lot of material on the brain at this moment, so I'll just send out some positive vibes as we roll into March.

If It's Dallas Thing I Do...

Well, did, it was go to Dallas. In fact, I'm there right now. You've got to mess around with the emphasis of the syllables in that there title for it to make sense, but once you do I think you'll catch my drift. I haven't really figured this city out since I've only spent about three days here, much of it in a hotel room, but there's plenty to like. Things or at least one thing that will prevent it from being a city I consider truly livable, is that one must drive everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I haven't experimented with public transit, and maybe it's not bad, but the fact remains you won't be doing much pedestrianing. There are dedicated paved paths that have been put in for pedestrians, runners, and cyclists, but it's still a sprawling metropolis. It's no real knock, it's just compared to what I have encountered, and enjoy, in other cities.

I've got a lot of Valentine-related wordplay I'm itching to lay down but I did already lay it down pretty thick on Twitter. That said, if you've ever read this blog description and my profile, we're not really talking the first time I've committed some redundancy. See also: many of my posts.

At any rate, folks down here in Dallas are really friendly, which is nice, because in spite of being a griping grumpus on here from time-to-time, I'm a pretty friendly individual. I have the benefit of staying awfully near Highland Park, which could also be considered not a benefit depending on how you view things. It's lush and wealthy and thus safe – and man is there a lot of high school pride [t]here – but that also makes it completely unrealistic as a place I'd ever be capable of living. Still, I enjoyed taking a jaunt out through the neighborhoods and seeing the amazing properties. Yes, many are huge, but the architecture tends to be tasteful, which you can't say of a lot of large homes. These go behind homes though, and cross into the hacienda realm.

I did venture out to far less lustrous segments that comprise the actual city, although that has been my strange feeling: I don't know in some ways where the city actually is. Highland Park is a town it's own, yes, but the parts I have wandered in trips and in runs, I hardly known if I truly have been in the Dallas confines. I think I did run out to East Dallas today, but cardinally challenged as I am at the moment, suffice to say that, wherever it was, it was not the place to be.

Though it isn't particularly valenkind, I'm going to jot down a few more valenlines. Those are for jotting and not for snorting, although after those some red liquid might be reporting. Really I'm feeling quite valenfine, not at all in a pickle or valenbrined. About the day I cannot valenwhine, for I enjoyed great valenwhine, and also some bourbon at the valentime that I did valendine. Vaguely here you see valenrhymes, some of which are lackluster, a few which valenshine, and none of which earn me one single valendime. For that I'd have to do some real valengrime, though nothing that would earn me a valenfine. You'll note that I used that last one already, but the meaning was different, so please, hold steady. It's about time I rode the valenpine, since I've nothing too earth-shattering like a valenmine. As the silence does settle, enter the valenmime, and now I believe I'm in a valenbind. Not many other options can I think of at this time, leaving me really quite valenblind. Really that's all that I care to compose: thanks for the memories Dallas, with that I close.

Valenmime's Day

Valenmime's, the day for silent admiration and appreciation of that special person(s) in your life, complete with a little face paint, and maybe a stripey shirt. Don't worry, my punny brain aggravates me more than it possibly can you, what with my being unable to take a respite from it. I suppose I don't pun in my sleep, but even there I'm not entirely sure.

At any right the tines of valen are upon us tomorrow and we can look forward to heart-shaped boxes and other heart-shaped paraphernalia. It should be noted that paraphernalia carries with it, at least to me, awfully dirty connotations. It just means the stuff and things necessary to do certain things and stuff but I guess I tend to put a silent [drug] in front of it. Not that all drugs are bad...Some pop artists have been known to contend that someone's love is their drug.

When links change or go down, this blog is going to make even less sense with all of the free associating going on.

As I have mentioned in here before, I'm not much of one for St. Valentine and his associated holiday, but rare is the one ambivalent to its celebration. People seem to be really into it, or violently against. I used to come closer to the latter, but each day I crawl a little closer to the who-gives-a-shit camp. Camps getting pretty crowded! If you're a superficial piece of shit, chances are you'll want, or do, some superficial shit tomorrow. If you're a sentimental piece of shit, chances are you'll want, or do, some sentimental shit tomorrow. If you're a curmudgeonly piece of shit, chances are you'll be rather curmudgeonly.

That seems like enough for now. Don't worry, I'll be back on this same website, different IP address soon. Anytime I am out of town I like to get in a little blogging from said place. Thanks for listening google!

Oh, and how bad was Adam Levine trying to sing a Beach Boys song at the Grammy's? Pretty bad. Some will contend there was worse going on I am sure, but I didn't catch much of the program, and this was bad. Then he held the microphone like a sheepish mf when meant to sing with the band. Kind of like the drunk that shouts for attention and, when they receive it, realizes the spotlight generates a lot of heat and you might in fact need to do something when it's there. What else was there to do, smile knowingly and shake his head? Or perhaps not to go round thinking precisely so highly of himself. But hey, I don't know the guy, I just know that was the kind of off-key rendition you could expect from me.

And on that note, I'm out.

Film Real

At times I will find myself watching a movie, enjoying it, and then stepping back – either during or shortly after – and assessing how unrealistic certain characters and behaviors are. And then, every now and then, I observe a person in real life that one of these screenwriters must have met or known. If not this person directly, then the sort of carbon copy or cookie cut that exists somewhere. The one we pretend we aren't. There's nobody like me. But no no, Adele will find someone like you.

The creature in question, which is really an unfair characterization because this woman is incredibly nice, is just overflowing with bubbly positivity. Why is it that, when this goes too far, it comes across as neurosis and borderline insanity? Why am I getting so aggravatingly introspective in this here blog of late? Gotta be the winter weather. It's cool, just blame shit. But seriously, every action is so emphatic, from her enunciation of "uh-huh", to the hand motions, the head movement. She is so well-meaning, so honest, and it's so...frightening...And it's a date! Sometimes I'm not sure whether to blame these people for going on coffee shop dates and talking so loud, or to blame myself for going to these places and, well, let's be honest, listening in here and there. I can only take so much before my headphones go in.

Groundhog Day has come and gone, which I'm sure Bill Murray is thrilled about. I guess the little dude out in Pennsylvania saw his shadow and there will continue to be weather for as many days as this planet survives, which is longer than me, so long as those 2012 doomsdayers are incorrect.

But I do like Groundhog Day, even if only for spawning that film. The concept of living the same day with a different consciousness and getting it right, and coming to grips with the monotony and lows of our lives and taking time to focus on some of the right things is great, but I often like to then arrive on the tangent of someone living your day and your life somewhere. Which is why this crazy bitch in this coffee shop can be written about so well by someone who has never met this exact her. She's everywhere, and nowhere.

I'm stoked for the Super Bowl tomorrow, where the best advertisement is sure to be for our love of loafing, drinking, and consuming unhealthy foods while rejoicing in the athleticism of others and, for too many, advertising itself. Since I'm so down on advertising, I'll note that advertisement sounds decidedly less evil if you give it the British pronunciation, a soft 'i' in the middle – tis a way for me to cope.

I can't believe this sweatshirt is already pilling!

What's Wrong is Write?

Or is it what's write is wrong? I can be a pretty judgmental sonofavich when it comes to writing. All writing, from the short story to the novel, journalism, plays, screenplays, and the often forgotten letter. Even in internet comment, this very blog, or text via phone I have grammatical standards — which results in the suffering of those who are text recipients of mine. Far worse: I don't always get grammar right myself. I do like that there are many styles of writing, but it's the levels that bother me. What is it, really, that separates good writing from bad? You pick it up and you just know, right? Except what do you know? You know what style appeals to you for reasons you can't grasp which may or may not be influenced by all of the individuals around you who you do or don't like who do or don't like the things you are trying to determine whether you do or don't like.

That's a long introduction meant as an effort for me to not seem bitter about stories like this one. Billed as a Cinderella story, I was unable to locate the evil stepmother (perhaps Hocking's drudgerous day job) and noted as well that it was devoid of pumpkin-based carriages and glass slippers. See, what I'm being is what is, in common parlance, an asshole. I know the Cinderella comparison need not be so literal. And you know what, good for Hocking. I thought, yes, here is someone who circumvented the system (publishing) which may not have evolved quite as much as it should in the digital age. I shall resist going off on my usual tangents about the loathsome nature of digital. Where there is bad there is good, and vice versa.

So, wanting to root for Hocking, I read the first page or two of her hit book and I couldn't help getting a little deflated. The draw or appeal for me to keep reading wasn't there. That exposure though, was a while back now, and I just revisited it to try to be more...fair? It still wasn't what I would call good, but nor did it seem as bad. And that, of course, is part of the problem.

Really it isn't about this woman who managed to achieve success because, really, good for her. It's just that usual bastardly not-quite-entitlement where I hope to be slotted in, so I can enter the echelon of the lucky few who earns their keep writing.

Shifting gears, I'd like to give a quick shout to the Sister Cities of Chicago. It seems like a pretty good list to me, and only corroborates why I find myself happily ensconced in this Midwestern metropolis.

At any rate, a warm wave has interrupted the cold of winter and so it's a reminder of sunny warmth on the horizon. You've got to embrace that cold depression for the enervating transition to summer. Let's see what old Punxsutawney Phil portends.