nostalgia

on youth and endurance

Submitted by raymond on Sun, 04/10/2011 - 12:28pm

regarding:

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

p73 Running every day is a kind of lifeline for me, so I'm not going to lay off or quit because I'm busy. If I used being busy as an excuse not to run, I'd never run again. I have only a few reasons to keep on running, and a truckload of them to quit. All I can do is keep those few reasons nicely polished.

white belt in verbal judo

Submitted by raymond on Mon, 07/28/2008 - 9:26am

this is a short piece I wrote for the ADHS website in 2005 regarding events of December 2003. the non-profit I was working for at the time was contracted by the Roman Catholic Diocese of Phoenix to give "Safe Environment" and sexual assault / abuse prevention workshops to all Catholic schools in the area. given that the POWER program was delivered to 7th through 12th graders, the junior high and elementary schools would often invite parents to an "information session" about a week before we would present to each school. through some fluke of scheduling, I was sent to this parent night pretty much by myself before I had ever delivered or even seen the entire program. (the other presenter mentioned is not Tom, but someone who presented another program and couldn't help answer any questions about mine.)

This "baptism by fire" will be funny in hindsight, I tell myself.

I barely stifle a smirk. I doubt that the men and women glaring at me would share my amusement. Surprisingly enough, even the nicest of people completely lose their sense of humor when perceiving a threat to their children. There is a moment of silence as I look down at the wilting piece of notebook paper my mentor had scrawled a very rough outline on. The answer isn't there, but even if it was, I wouldn't realize it because in this magical moment, I manage to forget what was asked of me.

Welcome to my first parent night ever.

fulghum is smiling smugly somewhere

Submitted by raymond on Mon, 06/23/2008 - 1:25am

for speaking at a conference, I received a gift bag that included a matching "padfolio" and lunch cooler. I felt my bpa-free stainless steel adult thermos filled with red kool-aid would go well with my adult trapper keeper* and my adult lunch box. despite having all this neat stuff, however, I'm still not (yet) invited to eat at the cool kids' table in the cafeteria. perhaps I should find an adult equivalent to the slap bracelet.

*as if I needed further verification that I'm getting old, I asked a student worker if she knew what a trapper keeper was and she said, "isn't it just a folder?" is it possible to explain how many nascent nerds felt that their entire social status hinged on acquiring one of these "just a folders?"

a moment of silence

Submitted by raymond on Wed, 09/26/2007 - 7:01am

Wir müssen durch viel Trübsal in das Reich Gottes eingehen.
We must enter the Kingdom of God through much sorrow.
(Acts 14:22)

about twelve years ago, I attended a fairly rigorous music camp. by rigorous, I mean that every student had a three hour mandatory practice session scheduled every day. in addition to that, there were other blocks of optional practice time which *limited* students to a total of 7-8 hours a day. at the end of the optional evening practice times, the camp counselors would have to go door to door to remove students from the practice rooms 1/ for legal supervision reasons but primarily 2/ to keep the students from practicing so much that they injured themselves.

"fairly" rigorous.

Garden State (soundtrack)

Submitted by raymond on Wed, 09/07/2005 - 5:18am

my last year of school in chicago, some random evenings would begin with someone buying a couple of CD's or bringing CD's somewhere ("what are you up to?" "absolutely nothing, but I got music") and end with everyone in a living room crowded around a coffee table full of mudslides and beer. inevitably, some mess of rock and electronica provided a backdrop for fervent and entertaining conversations which were punctuated by the more tipsy of us exclaiming, "you've never heard of [the YADDA YADDA band]?!?! you MUST listen to them RIGHT NOW." as nerdy as it may seem, this wasn't a competition to belittle our friends and lord our extensive music knowledge over them. the evenings weren't frantic with strutting and puffing of nerdiness. well, not always. more often than not, these were evenings of simply enjoying good things; beer, music, company. it was us saying "savor this. relish its awesomeness."

during one of those weekends or between them or whatever, I got a wild hair up my ass to develop a playlist entitled "music to lay around and waste the day to." the goal was to create a mix that wouldn't put you to sleep, wouldn't make you feel antsy and wouldn't make you feel like laying around all day contemplating or just enjoying music was a waste of time. after awhile, milan and I managed to string together a series of songs which created a vague impulse to sit down and maybe recline a little, but nothing worthy of the title. the project was soon aborted or forgotten and filed under "random shit that would be cool to work on after I get a perscription for adderall."

the garden state soundtrack is what I would've tried to create, if I hadn't kept myself so busy with being lazy. the music is, for lack of better descriptors, refreshing. comforting. the songs seemed to be selected in the same "hey, listen to this, it's neat" way that we spent our weekends. so much of pop music nowadays seems to inspire or express angst, pain and irritation. or, the music is designed and manufactured to make us feel cool. "I broadcast my badassedness by blaring sheer cool from my speakers. acknowledge my might!" not that I myself don't occasionally roll my car windows down and crank up the ludwig van, but such constant brazen self-assertion and angst tires the soul. I find myself more and more easily exhausted by the clamoring and whining of "sir, I exist!" from those who haven't realized that, frankly, the universe doesn't give a damn.

take a break from all that. sit outside. put the album on. take a deep breath. let yourself be saturated in the everyday visceral. the soundtrack makes no demands of you or your attention except maybe one; drift. obey and after a few moments, I swear it seems like even the trees sway in time to the music. maybe I'm just a sucker for music that makes me want to lay down, close my eyes and smile. maybe 200 mg of caffeine is bound to make most people euphoric. whatever it is, this CD definitely inspires whatever bliss within you (even the most minute memory of it) to well up and sweep you away. some magic within the listless strumming and the gentle crooning inspires the sweetest melancholy, nostalgia, and optimism. cheers to the realization that so many ecstatic moments have come and gone, but should we choose, we can find ourselves immersed in more like them. cheers to the realization that a significant amount of our stress is about the insignificant. cheers to art that reminds us that the ecstatic can be found in the everyday.

buy this disc. savor it. relish its awesomeness.

rhodes retread - part 1

Submitted by raymond on Fri, 04/22/2005 - 8:17pm

the other day, out of an extreme and overwhelming desire to be annoyed, I accepted an opportunity to speak at my old junior high. with my low threshold for frustration, one would expect to find me snatching saggy trousered twits and breaking the brats across my knee in no time. being immersed in this particular brand of idiocy on a near constant basis, however, I have developed a bit of tolerance for it. this combined with the euphoric effects of intaking a couple hundred milligrams of caffeine every few hours made the situation a bit more bearable-- even to the point of inspiring a bit of nostalgia and introspection.

the kids were at an age where their personalities and identities were emerging-- mostly either buying whole-heartedly into mtv culture or being strictly molded by their parents. you could see the developing seeds of future yuppies and mean girls and misogynistic males, natural born leaders, diligent drones and, of course, the outcasts. between students, there was a constant unconscious social experimentation; near pavlovian tests of which actions garner attention, affection, rejection and disapproval. the hallway was a zoo of screaming, strutting, laughing, posturing and parading that reminded me in many ways of some of the clubs I've been in.

as I wandered around and marvelled at how the school had at once changed so much and yet so little, I wondered about the roots of my own self, my own identity. what shaped me? what was my method of experimentation?

I found myself in the social studies department during one of my breaks.

of all the teachers I've ever had, I think my 7th grade social studies teacher liked me the least. I wasn't disrespectful or disruptive or anything like that. no, the problem was that a good friend of mine at the time was remarkably adept at making assorted gadgets to launch small objects and I had no qualms about testing these gadgets during class.

the class was fairly big (30+ kids) and excruciatingly slow, even by public school standards. we sat in opposite corners of the classroom, basically wallowing in our boredom until we devised a way to shoot messages at each other silently and effortlessly. this worked astonishingly well (usually leaving us in fits of giggling) until one misfire made a note punctuate the sentence my teacher was writing on the board. my gadget was confiscated (and may I add, marvelled for its engineering prowess) and I was let off with a roll of the eyes.

clearly, our text-messaging system needed some tweaking.

I found side projects like this infinitely more interesting than lessons about how the pilgrims invented the indians and so forth. as such, I spent my time doodling schematics instead of copying sections out of the textbook or even listening to the teacher. given that I understood the material and I was within a few points of setting the curve on every single test, I felt that the homework was unnecessary. I didn't bother doing a 400 point "project packet" I considered to be "stupid retarded." with all the time in class to work on our designs, my friend and I managed to reinvent the messaging system with some fishing line, hooks and paperclips. I finished that quarter feeling like I had accomplished something.

that feeling only lasted until the report card came.

continued next week

variations on a theme by kaufman

Submitted by raymond on Tue, 05/27/2003 - 8:27pm

"All is ephemeral, both what remembers and what is remembered"
-- Marcus Aurelius

I felt like the luckiest guy in the world to be able to be there, sitting across the table from her. Having pancakes in the middle of the afternoon of all things. I wanted to save that moment. Right there. Right then. I wanted to capture the essence of it, to put a label on it and file it away for the next time I needed it. I wanted to remember each feeling, each thought, each and every detail. I wanted to save whatever the hell it was that made me feel so good. I wanted to fold the comfort I felt upon itself and delicately set it aside so I could wrap myself in its warmth the next time I faltered.

Our plates arrived under piles of starch and sugar and other manifestations of pure goodness. Magnificence. Her eyes, nose, mouth were all a titter with the barrage of sensations. Her face glowed as she prodded the various concoctions in anticipation. She shot me an excited smile with raised eyebrows that said, "Do you see this? Doesn't it look great?" She looked back down and wrinkled her mouth as she concerned herself with how best to begin. Her delicate features furrowed as she considered how much and how quickly she could shovel food into her mouth while maintaining a level of daintiness.

She looks up at me. "Is this about me?"

"No. Sorry."

I'm not sure if she believes me. She pouts in mock disappointment. She is very pretty. She has these incredible eyes I keep getting lost in. Occasionally, I forget to keep my mouth closed when I look at her. "It's good. I like it so far. You're such a good writer."

"Not really. I'm stuck." I just saw Adaptation. Kaufmann got stuck. Then, he wrote about being stuck. That was pretty cool. I could be cool. But, I remember that annoying kid in junior high who wrote an essay about how he had nothing to write about and thought he was novel and clever until his teacher failed him as an object lesson to the other kids who were thinking about trying to be novel and clever. That kid was not cool. I don't want to be that kid again.

"Well, did this actually happen? You could write about how it actually happened."

"Not really. I have all these false starts and random snippets leading in directions I don't want to take it. Here's a piece I think I want to use, but I'm not sure." She looks down at the laptop. I try not to stare at her neck. I can never concentrate all that well when she puts her hair up. She is very pretty. I stare at my coffee instead. I take a sip and end up staring at her lips. Her mouth is slightly opened as she reads.

I was smiling like an idiot. There was something about the way she optimistically poked at her food. Something about seeing her enjoy herself. I want to say this something was "cute", but "cute" doesn't make me want to climb across the table to kiss her. "Cute" doesn't saturate me in pleasant memories. Lying in bed together on lazy Saturday afternoons. Walking down a quiet street. Her standing very close to me for a moment before kissing my neck.

"This is nice," she says without looking up. I chuckle. She smells good. What is it? Lotion? Perfume? It's intoxicating. My mind struggles for something witty to say.

"Yeah." Idiot. My mind slaps witty-things-to-say neuron for being incompetent. The neuron blames the perfume.

I felt pained. Some dull indescribable ache that for so long, I couldn't understand. The sight was a reminder of what no longer was and what no longer could be. The pain was the longing I felt for those days, the days of such simple contentment. Pancakes in the middle of an afternoon. That moment came so easily. Why did we live with such strained irritation? Hesitation. Distraction. Our moments reeked of effort. What had happened?

"What?" she asked. I had barely touched my food.

"What what?" I replied. This was how we now solved our problems; staring contests. Seemingly casual jousting over a torrent of emotions. I couldn't flinch first. I couldn't be the one to say "I need you. I love having you in my life" because if she didn't feel the same way, it would just be...

"No really, what?" She lowered her fork and knife as she looked at me with increasing interest. I may have been holding my breath. Her brow furrowed just slightly and she cocked her head to one side in an attempt to read the thoughts that are thrashing about in my mind. I felt my thoughts starting to etch themselves into my forehead. She still wasn't sure whether she should be concerned or amused, but this was a staring contest I was going to lose if I didn't come up with something quickly.

"I..." want to tell you that you're beautiful. am enjoying myself. need you. wish things worked out. am thrilled to be here with you. wish I bought roses for you today. don't know what to say. "... have something stuck in my teeth."

She touches her lips. "Aw. That's kinda sad," she says. She sits for a moment still looking at the screen. Thoughtful. Re-reading passages. She's very pretty. We're sitting very close together. Every breath I take is filled with her scent. What voodoo is this? I can't think straight to save my life. Is it my turn to speak? She says, "It's good though. How does it end?"

"I don't know yet. I have a few ideas..."-- none of which are coming to mind at the moment. I'm scrounging about for words. My mind is furiously slapping neurons. This feels familiar. She looks at me again. I am lost again. She bites her lower lip and smiles. Our faces are very close together.

"What?" she asks again.

Tell me what you think. Tell me how you feel. Tell me something has lingered. Tell me you've moved on. Tell me you miss getting pancakes too. Tell me something. Anything. "Nothing."