At the end of A.I. one of the most underrated films ever David is given a chance to spend one day with the mother he bonded with millennia before. It is a one shot deal. It is a very sad scene but a very perfect day. Here is my perfect day, it was one summer afternoon long ago.
Sunshine and eighty degrees out; the sky blue and extending unbroken and cloudless to the horizon. Late August midday warm ocean water surrounds me. I am standing chest deep and a couple hundred feet out from shore watching twisted and watching the wave start to crest behind me. Throwing my arms out so as to form a crucifix I bounce forward and up at a 45 degree angle in hope the wave catches me.
First up, then forward, my body is blasting through the old guys and little kids who are just wading. The wave has caught the bottom of my arms and I am heading fast in for the shoreline. I rush and rush. The ocean here is gritty and has little bits of seaweed, dark green and pocketed with little bubbles of air. Rushing over this gunk I am sucking salt water into my nose and mouth.
When the ride is over I lie for a second on the beach with sand in my trunks. All I want to do is to get back out there and catch another wave. It is mindless fun. The cycle of walking out, watching the waves, tensing up and then heading back to shore in that momentary burst sucks the energy out of you. Vigor evaporates not in little bits but by the handful, by the bucketful. Again, again, into the waves and froth. In my mind I think maybe there will be a bigger and better wave or maybe not but I keep going out until I feel limp and pulverized.
Eventually I drag my tired waterlogged ass up to the towel. My fingers are like prunes wrinkled and unnaturally white. Lying on the blanket I close my eyes but the sun still beats its way through my eyelids especially when I am lying on my back. Turn over, turn over again. This is the old days, screw any worries about skin cancer I am decades away from forty. Hell, maybe the suntan lotion (no we are not talking sunscreen) has an SPF of 4.
Eventually the sand in my swim suit is bothersome enough that combined with the sun’s intensity I decide to walk up to that aqua green snack place that says "Steaks, Fries and Soda". On each end of the take out counter is a huge red circle made of metal and painted with that weird enamel paint. The red ball in cursive says Coca Cola.
I take out a wet soggy one dollar bill out of my pocket and order a large Coke, lots of ice. I walk around the backside of the snack stand head to the city booth at the end of the street. The comfort station sits at that point where the road meets the beach. Balancing the soda on top of the valve for the urinal I take a leak and then head back out to my towel.
Resting on your elbows you scan the beach from here for any of the regulars. Maybe Captain America is out lying on her towel. She is called Captain America by every guy on the beach because of her swimsuit. The whole thing is red and white stripes but the bra part is covered with stars.
If Captain American is out on the beach the lifeguards won't be worth a damn. She has this habit of lying face down and unhooking her top so you can see most of the side of her breasts. These 20 year old college boys that they hire as life guards will spend most of their time watching to see if she shifts on her blanket just enough to give them a thrill. The Titanic could be sinking a hundred yards off the beach and they wouldn’t see it.
Even if the Captain isn't here it is a good day. The water is warm and the waves are high but manageable. Some days the reality of a good bodysurfing run outweighs the chance to look at an exposed hooter, no really.
Another couple of rounds of body surfing and the day will be done. One last dip to rinse off the caked on sand and then I put my Ho Chi Minhs on and head off the beach. Even with flip-flops, on a day like this the sand will creep between the sandal and my foot and burn the heck out of my sole. Youch, youch double ouch as I run for the end of the sidewalk.
With any luck my hair is a nano degree lighter, my tan a shade or two darker. I am hungry. I don't eat at the steak place at the beach it is too expensive and the cheese steaks are on rolls that are too small. Nayh, I walk a block or two up from the beach and grab a slice of pizza. It is local pizza joint owned by a couple of guys with a few stores up and down the beach. Good tomato pie is the solution for body surfing hungry. Another coke and I wolf down the pizza so fast I burn the living shit out of my mouth. To this day I think pieces of my soft palate were lost from too many slices of too hot pizza.
Back to the first floor flat, a quick outdoor shower, a shift into jeans and a t-shirt and I am off to the boardwalk. Hey the breeze will be warm but cooling and the smell of salt air will drive any allergies I have away. No matter what might happen up on the boardwalk, today was about the body surfing. Twenty five years from now all I will remember of this day is that one big wave that I rode till it planted my nose in the clammy sand at the edge of the beach. It was the ride that I will measure the rest of the summer and maybe the rest of my life by.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
A Fountain, the Moon and the value of belief
The moon is white and hangs in the second pane from the top of my second floor home office window. Warm this moon is now illuminating the ultimate moment of the young lives of many in my community.
In East Lansing university finals ended today and graduation is tomorrow. The energy these degreed young feel tonight beneath Luna’s milky blanket is something I wish I had. If only for a moment my senses would awake to that electrified sense of a wide open universe. Bug lust and passion and dreams as big as the world are all mixed up and course through their bodies and minds.
So perfect a moment is this night that to slip away and lie in the May grass is an imperative. Wearing t-shirts with comments emblazoned like “I don’t need to pee in a cup to prove I’m on drugs,” they look up at the illuminated chalk colored firmament pledging forever friendships, fidelity to ideals, love or to remember if nothing else. For most only a thin sliver of the ideal will last, but that is life. But life is also this moment and they don't need and don’t deserve to have anything rob them of their dreams not just yet.
As my old geometry teacher used to say “sic itur ad astra” or “thus you shall go to the stars”. It from Virgil and his amazing work the Aeneid. Okay I am fudging this a bit what Mr. Helms actually said was "Ad astra per aspera" which is a bit rougher. It means through difficulties to the stars and is attributed to Seneca the Younger. But as these the young hopefuls lie in the grass tonight having escaped Mom and Aunt Joan waiting back at the Hampton Inn and the questions about what is next and is your place broom clean for key turnover “thus you shall go to the stars” is what is appropriate.
On my night like this, or one right before this night those 31 years ago, I found myself sitting by the fountain in front of the dorm making an apology. It was one I owed so very deeply. Over the years I have tried to draft my feelings about what happened that last term at university in a way that would allow me to work through it but it never comes out right. The best way to describe it is in that old Rolling Stones lyric from Wild Horses,
I watched you suffer a dull, aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines,
Can make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
To that person now after all of these years I offer my hope that you have reached your stars.
Silence. My silence is at times almost total. My children look at me as if I was catatonic. My wife looks at me as if I am addled.
I haven’t been writing and I haven’t been reading. My community connections are very thin right now. It is my own fault or maybe not completely. Most nights I ache by the time I have the chance to get in front of the computer. Having found some blockage in my heart my doctor now has me on Lipitor. It may be the drugs; my oldest brother had a very adverse reaction. Me, I just have a mild ache that pretty much remains the same. Tomorrow I do a blood draw. Monday should bring some results or maybe Tuesday. I know it is the weekend and processing these things is not really a 24 hour basis kind of activity when a non emergency situation is involved. Still it is hard to get focused and write when you feel like you have been running a 5 K. And yes I once did run a five K so I know what it feels like.
Okay it is not just the aches that have stopped me from writing. There is the computer kafuffle. In our home we have traditionally two desktops and one laptop. The “kids” desktop has now died. Okay intellectually I know I should just migrate over and use my laptop. But well I am old and my vision is not good, not really and the big assed monitors on the one dead and one working machine are scaled to be more easily readable for me. Thus I don’t always go to my laptop as my first choice of computing. Hey those monitors on the desktops are set at about 14 point type. Get over it.
Well anyway my beloved is working on a writing project. It is a complex power point display. It involves photos, text, dancing bears and a soundtrack too. Well the laptop would accept the images from the digital camera but the still working desktop would not. On the other hand the working desktop has the needed publishing software. Thus the two computers are now part of the in-home all media drafting collective. I am writing this now at 11:30 on a Friday night because everyone has gone to bed and one computer is open. Yea me.
Okay I haven’t been totally honest; I did read a Biography of Plato’s Republic by Simon Blackburn. I have to admit I struggled with the Plato’s Republic in college and thus the explanation of my line on Facebook about wishing I had studied more. If I dig out my copy I am sure there will be a bookmarker about a third of the way in and a moisture ring from a beer bottle’s bottom on the cover. Even reading Blackburn’s distillation left me with many moments of glazed eyes but I did get a much better sense of the threads of arguments and how they have been used through the years, by Arab, Judaic and Christian theologians, not to mention as fodder for the careers of Hume and all those other dead philosophers.
Sparked by the Republic book I pulled a short paper of Blackburn’s called Religion and Respect. I am not done with it but there have been some interesting bits. Here is one in particular that caught my eye. Understanding that I may not agree with Blackburn’s ultimate conclusions in his paper I do find some merit in this.
I shall not in this essay dwell on the infirmity of ‘anything goes’ postmodernism.
In the present context, that would be the view that belief is a purely personal matter, and furthermore one that is free from normative control. That is, any state of mind on such subjects is as good as any other, and it is some kind of infringement of a person’s right to suppose otherwise. The bull’s-eye is drawn wherever the arrow of belief lands, and everyone, always, scores the same.
I think this is inconsistent with any proper conception of belief, which essentially requires a contrast between getting something right and failing to do so. Archery where you are allowed to draw the bull’s-eye wherever the arrow lands, is not a sport in which you always score highly. It is an activity in which there is no score at all. But here I can rest on the simple reminder that nobody for a moment believes in this promiscuous equality of belief in everyday life. If high tide is at midday, the tide table that says that it is at midday is better than the one that says it is at six o’clock, and thereby puts you on the rocks.
Id., pp 3-4.
Okay enough of the navel gazing. I did come up with one thought of my own recently. It is simple and I think true. Who I am can be defined by the contents of my iphone. My social circle and business world is defined by the numbers on my contacts list. Who really matters right now is reflected on the recent calls list. The local sunset that is my wallpaper shows the romantic wistful side of me. The music on my ipod app shows I am an old hippie wannabe struggling for some relevance, Nic Jones, the Ramones and the Killers. The locations on my mapping applications mostly ice rinks confirms I am a putative father of at least one child who enjoys athletics. The fact that the rest of my apps break down between liberal media (NYTimes and NPR tuner), children’s games (only the lite read free versions) and mind challengers like SAT word hangman and Dictionaire, show I am a tolerant or permissive parent somewhat frugl trying to keep current and desperate to avoid mental decline caused by my children.
Okay I am done for tonight. Enjoy the weekend.
In East Lansing university finals ended today and graduation is tomorrow. The energy these degreed young feel tonight beneath Luna’s milky blanket is something I wish I had. If only for a moment my senses would awake to that electrified sense of a wide open universe. Bug lust and passion and dreams as big as the world are all mixed up and course through their bodies and minds.
So perfect a moment is this night that to slip away and lie in the May grass is an imperative. Wearing t-shirts with comments emblazoned like “I don’t need to pee in a cup to prove I’m on drugs,” they look up at the illuminated chalk colored firmament pledging forever friendships, fidelity to ideals, love or to remember if nothing else. For most only a thin sliver of the ideal will last, but that is life. But life is also this moment and they don't need and don’t deserve to have anything rob them of their dreams not just yet.
As my old geometry teacher used to say “sic itur ad astra” or “thus you shall go to the stars”. It from Virgil and his amazing work the Aeneid. Okay I am fudging this a bit what Mr. Helms actually said was "Ad astra per aspera" which is a bit rougher. It means through difficulties to the stars and is attributed to Seneca the Younger. But as these the young hopefuls lie in the grass tonight having escaped Mom and Aunt Joan waiting back at the Hampton Inn and the questions about what is next and is your place broom clean for key turnover “thus you shall go to the stars” is what is appropriate.
On my night like this, or one right before this night those 31 years ago, I found myself sitting by the fountain in front of the dorm making an apology. It was one I owed so very deeply. Over the years I have tried to draft my feelings about what happened that last term at university in a way that would allow me to work through it but it never comes out right. The best way to describe it is in that old Rolling Stones lyric from Wild Horses,
I watched you suffer a dull, aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines,
Can make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
To that person now after all of these years I offer my hope that you have reached your stars.
Silence. My silence is at times almost total. My children look at me as if I was catatonic. My wife looks at me as if I am addled.
I haven’t been writing and I haven’t been reading. My community connections are very thin right now. It is my own fault or maybe not completely. Most nights I ache by the time I have the chance to get in front of the computer. Having found some blockage in my heart my doctor now has me on Lipitor. It may be the drugs; my oldest brother had a very adverse reaction. Me, I just have a mild ache that pretty much remains the same. Tomorrow I do a blood draw. Monday should bring some results or maybe Tuesday. I know it is the weekend and processing these things is not really a 24 hour basis kind of activity when a non emergency situation is involved. Still it is hard to get focused and write when you feel like you have been running a 5 K. And yes I once did run a five K so I know what it feels like.
Okay it is not just the aches that have stopped me from writing. There is the computer kafuffle. In our home we have traditionally two desktops and one laptop. The “kids” desktop has now died. Okay intellectually I know I should just migrate over and use my laptop. But well I am old and my vision is not good, not really and the big assed monitors on the one dead and one working machine are scaled to be more easily readable for me. Thus I don’t always go to my laptop as my first choice of computing. Hey those monitors on the desktops are set at about 14 point type. Get over it.
Well anyway my beloved is working on a writing project. It is a complex power point display. It involves photos, text, dancing bears and a soundtrack too. Well the laptop would accept the images from the digital camera but the still working desktop would not. On the other hand the working desktop has the needed publishing software. Thus the two computers are now part of the in-home all media drafting collective. I am writing this now at 11:30 on a Friday night because everyone has gone to bed and one computer is open. Yea me.
Okay I haven’t been totally honest; I did read a Biography of Plato’s Republic by Simon Blackburn. I have to admit I struggled with the Plato’s Republic in college and thus the explanation of my line on Facebook about wishing I had studied more. If I dig out my copy I am sure there will be a bookmarker about a third of the way in and a moisture ring from a beer bottle’s bottom on the cover. Even reading Blackburn’s distillation left me with many moments of glazed eyes but I did get a much better sense of the threads of arguments and how they have been used through the years, by Arab, Judaic and Christian theologians, not to mention as fodder for the careers of Hume and all those other dead philosophers.
Sparked by the Republic book I pulled a short paper of Blackburn’s called Religion and Respect. I am not done with it but there have been some interesting bits. Here is one in particular that caught my eye. Understanding that I may not agree with Blackburn’s ultimate conclusions in his paper I do find some merit in this.
I shall not in this essay dwell on the infirmity of ‘anything goes’ postmodernism.
In the present context, that would be the view that belief is a purely personal matter, and furthermore one that is free from normative control. That is, any state of mind on such subjects is as good as any other, and it is some kind of infringement of a person’s right to suppose otherwise. The bull’s-eye is drawn wherever the arrow of belief lands, and everyone, always, scores the same.
I think this is inconsistent with any proper conception of belief, which essentially requires a contrast between getting something right and failing to do so. Archery where you are allowed to draw the bull’s-eye wherever the arrow lands, is not a sport in which you always score highly. It is an activity in which there is no score at all. But here I can rest on the simple reminder that nobody for a moment believes in this promiscuous equality of belief in everyday life. If high tide is at midday, the tide table that says that it is at midday is better than the one that says it is at six o’clock, and thereby puts you on the rocks.
Id., pp 3-4.
Okay enough of the navel gazing. I did come up with one thought of my own recently. It is simple and I think true. Who I am can be defined by the contents of my iphone. My social circle and business world is defined by the numbers on my contacts list. Who really matters right now is reflected on the recent calls list. The local sunset that is my wallpaper shows the romantic wistful side of me. The music on my ipod app shows I am an old hippie wannabe struggling for some relevance, Nic Jones, the Ramones and the Killers. The locations on my mapping applications mostly ice rinks confirms I am a putative father of at least one child who enjoys athletics. The fact that the rest of my apps break down between liberal media (NYTimes and NPR tuner), children’s games (only the lite read free versions) and mind challengers like SAT word hangman and Dictionaire, show I am a tolerant or permissive parent somewhat frugl trying to keep current and desperate to avoid mental decline caused by my children.
Okay I am done for tonight. Enjoy the weekend.
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