I've been quiet. Too quiet...
I've posted but one entry in the month of September. And only 50 all year on this, the 273rd day. I wish I could say that my journal had seen more fanciful swooshes with a pen, but alas it is as sparsely populated as this blog.
Where have I been? There and back and there and back and there and back again. Flying across the United States on Delta or Continental or Midwest earning magical miles that might serve me well on some future vacation to God knows where. In Connecticut. In New York. In Seattle. With stops in San Francisco, Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, Denver, Cincinnati, Atlanta, Minneapolis, and a host of other American cities.
I've learned to become a renter again. The myriad keys jingle jangle on their respective rings. A key for the top lock. One for the bottom. A key for the mailbox. One for the front door. Another for the laundry. I've not yet received the one that will unlock my frazzled mind.
And I've learned how to rent a property. Ants that might be of the carpenter variety. The final water bill listing more than a grand in owed debt, which made me think either the house had hit an iceberg or there was some kind of mistake. It happened to be the latter, though I wonder if I'd be covered if it were the former.
I've relegated myself to dog loving status rather than dog owning. Alas, Buddy is no longer mine. After an 'incident' with a slow moving car, Buddy went primal and high-tailed it at what neighbors described as 'mach 1' to some remote part of Milford, a good two miles away from the grandparents' house. By the grace of God, a woman saw the missing dog poster and called to let us know she had contacted the local shelter. Buddy returned home shaken and a bit scratched around the edges but otherwise fine. Still, I knew I needed to find him a good home. It just so happened that my grandparents' neighbors had lost their dog of 13 years this past year, and they also just so happened to adore Buddy. Well, the decision was easy enough. They, with their fenced yard and two daughters, now have a puppy with whom they can play.
I also find myself, for the first time since I was in the seminary, without a car. Who needs a car in New York anyway with subways, planes, trains, buses, and taxis aplenty. The 2006 Subaru Forester will now carry my parents through thick and thin, especially on their hilly roads in the midst of ice and snow.
I can count a new job and new boss, though I wisely choose to say no more about work within this blog.
And I've begun to move along in those more personal aspects, which will also remain deep within the recesses of the journals I keep.
I have reconnected with family. A niece who, when last I saw her, decided to bring to me penguins and monkeys and phones and bears from her pile of toys. A mother who has returned from the swamps of Florida to battle the soon-to-be-frigid northeast. The old man, who battles with some mysterious and some not so mysterious ailments, all the while cheering that the Red Sox will not be in the playoffs this year. An uncle who has, through remarkable will power, lost so much weight that some don't even recognize him. A brother who works and coaches and sleeps and eats... and who is one of the most devoted fathers I've met. And the list goes on...
And the beat goes on...
A lot of change. And with that change, I give to you yet another look for 'A Life in Days'. I'm somewhere in the top right of that picture... I think. New York is a big town, after all. Everything close is either on your doorstep or a 20 minute walk. Otherwise, it's a $2.25 subway ride away. Unless you're going to Newark International, in which case you want to catch the NJ Transit train from Penn Station for a mere $15.
The night grows long. The bed awaits my precious slumber that I might rise early to get to Grand Central for to journey to the outer reaches of Connecticut. There awaits a game in which the real Huskies have the chance to overcome 'Mr. C' and his brother (and sister) Commodores.
Until next I write...
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
3WW (Demure, Offend, Volatile): Stupid Is...
‘I don’t mean to offend…’ John didn’t finish the sentence.
‘Well, you have. Good night, sir,’ the butler said curtly and shut the door with assertive finality.
John stared at the lion knocker attached to the ornate white door and considered his options for reentry. He would not allow an arrogant butler and an overly sensitive young woman ruin his shot at redemption.
He knocked, loudly. The butler answered discourteously, ‘Have you no concept of the negative?’
‘What?’
In vernacular common to those raped by your kind, no means no. Good night, sir.
John anticipated the next move and wedged his right foot into the center of the door. The adrenaline dulled the pain he felt from his old football injury.
‘Good God, sir. What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m coming in,’ he growled. ‘Move!’
The butler attempted to push the door, but his strength paled in comparison. John leaned back to his left and catapulted his upper body at the middle section of the door. The butler reeled backwards and hit a mahogany table sending the kaleidoscopic glass piece crashing to the bamboo floor. John stood over the middle aged man as if the victor of some ancient battle.
John did not make eye contact with the butler. ‘Just tell me where he is. You know I know this house. And I’ll tear it apart to find him.’
Obviously distressed and suddenly demure, the butler spoke in whispering tones, ‘the master of the house is in the bedroom.’
‘Thanks,’ he said under his breath, remembering the manners his mother had hammered into him.
He climbed the stairs, unsure of his next move. He never really thought about next moves; he simply made them.
At the top of the stairs stood the young woman.
‘He doesn’t want to see you,’ she attempted to say with attitude. She couldn’t hide her fear.
‘Listen, tramp, if I want your opinion, you’ll give it to me.’ He wasn’t particularly adept at delivering the one-liner.
She stepped back as he approached the top stair.
‘Look, bitch, are you gonna try to do somethin? If not, get the hell outta the way.’
The only motion she made was backing up against the wall.
He didn’t knock. When he entered he saw the giant of a man in his specially crafted wing-backed auburn chair. His hair was grayer than he remembered. His jowls had begun to sag like misshapen breasts. His eyes were closed.
‘Hello, John’ he bellowed.
It was the only voice that could give John pause.
‘You are a volatile prick now aren’t you? I’ve asked not to be bothered, but you obviously have something pressing to share.’ He kept his eyes shut.
John said nothing; he couldn’t think of anything to say. He had never practiced the lines in his head. In fact, he had never imagined this day would come. He had assumed death would come first.
‘ Look, son, you have about five minutes before my security detail comes up here and breaks your legs. I’ve personally asked them to wait at the front door for that long to give you the chance to talk, shoot, or do whatever else you came to do. But if I know you at all, I’d imagine you’re wondering what the hell to do next.’ The old man paused. His voice became suddenly soft, but no less commanding. ‘You’re not that bright of a guy, John. So, let me save you some of your precious brain power. The woman I killed wasn’t your mother. She treated you like a son, but she wasn’t your mother. And I’m not your father. It’s embarrassing enough that you’re related to me in some sense, but at least it’s not by me inseminating another woman. Let me put it straight, John. You’re a mistake, a science experiment gone wrong. I cloned myself; you’re the result. And you’ve been a pain in my ass ever since. A thoughtless, useless bastard. Well, I think it’s time I declare the experiment concluded.’ His eyelids parted to reveal fierce pale blue eyes. ‘Times up…’
The old man stared into the eyes of the head of his security detail. John had disappeared.
‘Find him,’ the old man ordered.
‘Well, you have. Good night, sir,’ the butler said curtly and shut the door with assertive finality.
John stared at the lion knocker attached to the ornate white door and considered his options for reentry. He would not allow an arrogant butler and an overly sensitive young woman ruin his shot at redemption.
He knocked, loudly. The butler answered discourteously, ‘Have you no concept of the negative?’
‘What?’
In vernacular common to those raped by your kind, no means no. Good night, sir.
John anticipated the next move and wedged his right foot into the center of the door. The adrenaline dulled the pain he felt from his old football injury.
‘Good God, sir. What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m coming in,’ he growled. ‘Move!’
The butler attempted to push the door, but his strength paled in comparison. John leaned back to his left and catapulted his upper body at the middle section of the door. The butler reeled backwards and hit a mahogany table sending the kaleidoscopic glass piece crashing to the bamboo floor. John stood over the middle aged man as if the victor of some ancient battle.
John did not make eye contact with the butler. ‘Just tell me where he is. You know I know this house. And I’ll tear it apart to find him.’
Obviously distressed and suddenly demure, the butler spoke in whispering tones, ‘the master of the house is in the bedroom.’
‘Thanks,’ he said under his breath, remembering the manners his mother had hammered into him.
He climbed the stairs, unsure of his next move. He never really thought about next moves; he simply made them.
At the top of the stairs stood the young woman.
‘He doesn’t want to see you,’ she attempted to say with attitude. She couldn’t hide her fear.
‘Listen, tramp, if I want your opinion, you’ll give it to me.’ He wasn’t particularly adept at delivering the one-liner.
She stepped back as he approached the top stair.
‘Look, bitch, are you gonna try to do somethin? If not, get the hell outta the way.’
The only motion she made was backing up against the wall.
He didn’t knock. When he entered he saw the giant of a man in his specially crafted wing-backed auburn chair. His hair was grayer than he remembered. His jowls had begun to sag like misshapen breasts. His eyes were closed.
‘Hello, John’ he bellowed.
It was the only voice that could give John pause.
‘You are a volatile prick now aren’t you? I’ve asked not to be bothered, but you obviously have something pressing to share.’ He kept his eyes shut.
John said nothing; he couldn’t think of anything to say. He had never practiced the lines in his head. In fact, he had never imagined this day would come. He had assumed death would come first.
‘ Look, son, you have about five minutes before my security detail comes up here and breaks your legs. I’ve personally asked them to wait at the front door for that long to give you the chance to talk, shoot, or do whatever else you came to do. But if I know you at all, I’d imagine you’re wondering what the hell to do next.’ The old man paused. His voice became suddenly soft, but no less commanding. ‘You’re not that bright of a guy, John. So, let me save you some of your precious brain power. The woman I killed wasn’t your mother. She treated you like a son, but she wasn’t your mother. And I’m not your father. It’s embarrassing enough that you’re related to me in some sense, but at least it’s not by me inseminating another woman. Let me put it straight, John. You’re a mistake, a science experiment gone wrong. I cloned myself; you’re the result. And you’ve been a pain in my ass ever since. A thoughtless, useless bastard. Well, I think it’s time I declare the experiment concluded.’ His eyelids parted to reveal fierce pale blue eyes. ‘Times up…’
The old man stared into the eyes of the head of his security detail. John had disappeared.
‘Find him,’ the old man ordered.
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