Nor Dark of Night

Morning’s stillness parted
By jingling bells
Not sleigh, but mailmen
Mail carriers
Mail persons
Unloading sacks from vans and trucks
Loading up cars to deliver
Unwanted fliers and circulars
Bills with past due reminders
I listen from my bed
Dreams cut short
No longer in my high school
In my underwear
Fighting dragons with my Geo Prism
Now awake and aware
As the plain clothes post officers depart
To fulfill their weekdaily chore
I wish that I’d closed my window

dinner conversation

[This is part (probably the beginning) of what will hopefully become a larger, more awesome piece in the near future.]

"Baby," I looked at her and said, "I think you might just be my soulmate."

It was our third date and things were going well. Olive Garden seemed a bit crowded for a Tuesday, but the wait hadn't been excruciating. Grace seemed to be enjoying herself so far and I was much less nervous than I had been on our previous dates

"Souls can't mate, Jack. They don't have genitalia."

My first date with Grace was to a movie and our second was a group date sort of thing with two other couples, so this was our first chance to really talk for an extended period of time.

"Typical," I said, "Everything's about sex with you."

She arched her eyebrows slightly. "You're one to talk with your porn star name, Jack Redman."

I affected a bit of a pseudo-British accent, "Actually, it's John Tyler Redman the third."

"Oh…I see. Like the president?"

"That's right. Number ten. Practically a founding father. Beats being named after Taft I guess."

Grace chuckled to herself. "You know…Taft was eaten by wolves."

"Really? Wolves? I wasn't aware." I took a sip of my ice water. "And what's your middle name, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Actually, Grace is my middle name. My first name is Whitney."

I managed to stop myself from making the obvious "danger is my middle name" reference, figuring she'd heard it a million times. "Whitney Grace Connors, huh? How very sorority girl of you. I'm surprised you didn't go to Vassar." Grace has dyed black hair and a lip ring and "dressed up" for our date by wearing Dr. Martens instead of her usual checkerboard Vans, so I knew that one would hit her where she lived.

She chuckled slightly again. I really dig her laugh. "Yeah…I guess I'm a real disappointment."

Steve, our waiter, returned to the table with the signature Olive Garden salad bowl and watched while we served ourselves, waiting to offer us some grated cheese. I accepted. Grace declined.

"No cheese? Are you vegan or something?" I nodded thanks to Steve as he walked away.

"Were you not here when I ordered the veal parmesan?"

I shrugged. "I don't know…I figured maybe you love animals, but really hate baby cows for some reason. You watched a baby cow murder your parents when you were seven?"

"That's it." Grace faked wiping away a tear. "I'll never forget that sight. The heartless bastard just stood there chewing his cud, redigesting their torn flesh while they slowly bled to death in front of us."

"How traumatic. I think I saw the Lifetime movie about it now that you mention it. Wasn't your mother played by Judith Light?"

"It was Meredith Baxter Burney, actually. Brilliant actress. I just wish they hadn't picked a young Tori Spelling to play me." Grace was sniffling now, pretending to blot her eyes with her napkin.

"Tori Spelling, huh? I didn't realize her dad had pull over at Lifetime too."

"Never doubt power of Aaron Spelling. If he could land her a role opposite an acting legend like Dustin Diamond, he could do anything."

"Point taken. It's a good thing he's dead now or Tori would be getting an Oscar nomination."

Grace had let up on the fake crying by now and took a bite of her salad. "I don't know, Jack. It hasn't been confirmed yet, but I think his powers may just work from beyond the grave."

I put on my best generic serious actor voice. "God. Help. Us. All." The salad was tasty, not to vinegary this time. "So what sort of trouble did you get into today, Ms. Connors?"

"No trouble, sir. Just went shopping."

"Really? How is the gang down at Hot Topic?"

Grace did this cute thing where she bared her teeth and looked like she was going to growl. "You're one to talk, Mr. Thrift Store. 'Ooh…look at me. I'm so hip and ironic with my secondhand t-shirts. I only wear clothes somebody died in.'"

"Dude…who told you that I tried to buy hospital ID bracelets after I saw that chick in Constantine?"

Grace crunched on a crouton. "You're a sick, sick man."

I stuck out my tongue. "Takes one to know one."

"Oh…so I'm a drag queen now? What does that make you?"

"Eddie Murphy?"

We both laughed and there was a bit of a lull in the conversation while we took a break to eat. Grace broke the silence while I was twisting some noodles around my fork.

"Did you see Bush's speech today? What a retard."

I took a bite and shrugged my shoulders. Grace plays bass in a band called Crossbone Syndicate with her older brother. DC hardcore. Very political. My band plays shows with hers, but we tend to sing more about relationships and real life incidents. Sort of Brand New meets At the Drive-In. We were called Star Crunch at the time of the date, but now we go by The Alphabet Exchange.

Grace continued her thought. "Just what we need: more dumb Americans over there raping and pillaging and killing innocent civilians."

I took a sip of my iced tea and spoke softly. "Umm…Grace…I should probably go ahead and tell you that I'm a military brat and my younger brother's stationed in Afghanistan right now."

"Oh." Grace looked down at the table and took a quick bite of veal. Steve came by and refilled my tea. I took a couple of sips and bit into a breadstick. The napkin they put on them really manages to keep them warm. Grace was looking off at another table by this point, probably afraid to make eye contact.

"Hey, Grace, you know what I hate?"

Grace looked back at me, trying hard to keep a neutral expression on her face. "What's that?" she asked.

"Jews and black people," I said, managing to keep a straight face.

Grace laughed and shook her head.

"It's terrible. The Jews run Hollywood and the media. And black people crucified Jesus and shot JFK."

She looked around to make sure there were no people of color or wearing yarmulke in the vicinity. "And don't forget about Tupac and Biggie."

"That's right! Black people shot Tupac and Biggie," I said. "I almost forgot."

"And I'm sure they shot 50 Cent too."

"No, that was Woody Allen. Dirty Jew."

"Oh yeah…I read that on the internet. And didn't Jerry Seinfeld kill Aaron Spelling?"

I laughed a bit. "Nope. I hear from a reliable source that Yahweh himself smited Mr. Spelling out of jealousy. Or smote maybe? Seinfeld may have killed Elvis and Kurt Cobain though. Authorities are still looking into it." I took a bite of my pasta, which was mediocre by the way. Olive Garden never really impresses me.

"This is so informative, Jack. What else have the Jews been up to lately?"

"Well…I heard that John Stewart…"

"…whoa…leave John out of this."

"Sorry. I forgot that he's God to you dirty liberals."

"At least he's not Bill O'Reilly. Ugh." Grace fake-shuddered.

"I'm not a Fox News fan actually. I prefer Joe Scarborough."

"Welcome to Scarborough Country," Grace deadpanned. "No Passport required. Check your brain at the door."

We playfully argued about news pundits for a while and finished up our meals. Grace looked a bit sad when Steve brought our check. That's always a good sign, right? Steve didn't charge us for our drinks.

"Who are the ad wizards who came up with this one?"

Music videos have technically existed since the 1960's, but it wasn't until the 80's and the advent of MTV that they really became an art form. Performers like Madonna, Michael Jackson, and Duran Duran revolutionized the medium and massively boosted their own careers in the process. The question of which video deserves the title of all-time greatest is always up for debate. You could make a case for Pearl Jam's "Jeremy" or The Smashing Pumpkins' "Tonight, Tonight." Michael's "Thriller" video has to be included in the conversation as well as "Sabotage" by the Beastie Boys. There are several more recent artists like Kayne West and My Chemical Romance that have made videos worthy of being discussed and every video by Björk is pretty much amazing. One thing that is not up for debate, however, is the question of who made the smartest music video ever. That title, without a doubt, belongs to "When I'm Gone" by 3 Doors Down. Let me explain:

It was 2002 and Americans' patriotism was still riding high after the September 11th attacks a year earlier. Even many who were normally anti-war couldn't help but support the war in Afghanistan where it seemed clear that we were merely going after those that came after us. The controversial Iraq war was still to come and, unlike in the 1960's where a large group of people had a giant mental lapse and began taunting and spitting at America's mostly drafted soldiers, no one was wavering in their support for those in harm's way. 3 Doors Down could have gone the way of Toby Keith and written an over the top, rompin' stompin', flag waving, pro war anthem and probably not alienated most of their core fan base. But they didn't. Brad Arnold and company wrote a typical alt-rock album about relationships. After recording, however, the boys paid a visit to the USS George Washington, a naval aircraft carrier. Either the band or their record label most likely decided to scrap the previously filmed video for lead single, "When I'm Gone" and use footage of their concert aboard the carrier instead. Suddenly, "When I'm Gone" became an ode to our fighting men and women overseas and instantly cemented 3 Doors Down as the most visible band to "support our troops" at a time when practically everyone saw that as noble. How strong is that association? I'll start by saying that I'm not a fan of the band or their style of music. But to this day, over four years later, I think of soldiers when I hear the song, or even the second single off of that album, "Here Without You," whose video, to my knowledge, didn't feature a single active member of the military. Unlike other overplayed, schmaltzy radiogarbage of the era (ie: "It's Been Awhile," "How You Remind Me," and "The Reason), I don't cringe when "Here Without You" comes on the radio. Despite any feelings I may have about the Iraq war or Bush's presidency and the over-riding cynicism everybody tells me I possess, I can't turn a cold shoulder to the mental picture of brave guys in varying shades of khaki getting shot at in the desert while their families spend another holiday with a missing piece. Call me a sentimental sap, but it worked. 3 Doors Down got to me. And I have a feeling that they got to a lot of Americans. And that, my friends, is brilliance.

navelgazing rambleness

I vividly remember painting balloons in second grade. Natalie Thornwaite painted hers yellow with red polkadots and wrote the words, "Wild Thang" on it. Before the balloons were turned in though, she changed the phrase to, "Wild Thing." I remember being upset. I've never thought intentional misspelling was cool (although I did have a brief habit of spelling "rules" with a "Z"), but in second grade, replacing an "I" with an "A" was downright subversive. I was disappointed that she gave in to percieved societal pressure to be normal and censored her own creativity. Even at seven, I valued individuality.

That's pretty much been a constant ever since. There were times when I wanted to fit in, but never if it meant being the same if that makes any sense. My favorite Muppet was Gonzo. My favorite Anamaniac was Wakko. I loved Peter Tork on the Monkees and Murdoch on the A-Team and claimed "I Am the Walrus" as my favorite Beatles song. When people would call me "weird" I would take it as a compliment.

The question I have is why? What caused me to value uniqueness (within reason) over so many other things? I wonder if maybe it was because I've always felt odd myself. As far back as preschool, I was never cool or popular. Other than a few scattered moments, I was never completely ostracized, but I often felt like an outsider. Maybe that was the beginning. Maybe, at some point, I subconsciously decided that if my lot in life was to be weird then I'd turn it into a positive. So now when I find myself wondering whether I hate something because I actually hate it or simply because it's popular, I should stop questioning it since I already made up my mind about the subject when I was two.

Really, it's a chicken vs. egg thing. Either I'm weird because I value individuality or I value individuality because I'm weird or both qualities come from some unknown nature/nurture source that I could never hope to isolate. Pick option A, B, or C and it doesn't change much. I'm a bit strange sometimes and I appreciate other things that ever-so-deftly deviate from the norm. For better or worse, that's me. But I can't promise not to be hurt if you call me weird too much.

it's a boy

Am I the only person in America that finds it odd that everyone keeps talking about the Iraqi people like they're eight-year-olds? In just about every speech or commentary I've heard lately, from both sides of the aisle, politicians and pundits have been discussing the citizens or Iraq like we're trying to teach a bunch of children how to run a country. Apparently, if we keep supporting the Iraqis too much, then they're going to become relient on our help and never learn to do things for themselves. Maybe it's time to let little Jimmy leave the nest and fly solo. I know it's scary thinking of him out there on his own at that sleep-over birthday party with the other countries at Syria's house, but you can't be there forever to wipe his nose and make sure he's eating his brussel sprouts. Honestly, that's been the tone lately. It's so incredibly condescending. We realize that that the people running Iraq are all over eighteen, right? And not only are they adults, but they're millions of multi-faceted adults with different viewpoints and ideas. I'm pretty sure that, as we speak, some of them are thinking and behaving exactly as we'd like them to while others are completely in another sphere. And do we honestly think it's going to help to talk about all of this so much in such a superior tone? You realize that they know what we're saying, right? They have TV's. It's not like they can't hear us. The least Bush and Obama and Hannity and Colmes could do is spell the words instead of saying them. It works on other children.