Friday, August 26, 2005
In this corner, weighing 10.5 ounces...
I don't understand, in an evolutionary sense, why humans had to develop higher emotions-for example, love. Wouldn't sheer, hormonally-fired and synchronized lust between the sexes be enough to guarentee reproduction and continuance of the species? It works for practically every other animal on the planet. Sure, one could counter that having two parents partnered in monogamy provides more security and nurturance for the offspring, leading to higher rates of survival and more significant development, but it also paves the way for child abuse, dead-beat divorcees, infanticide and spouse-icide a la Scott Peterson. Mrs. Peterson would've been much better off had 'ole Scotty knocked her up when they were both in heat and then disappeared down the alley never to return.
Sometimes I feel like my heart and my hormones sicken each other and take out their enmity on me for making them live together in the same body. My heart won't let my hormones enjoy their natural desire to roam and sow wildly. By the same token, my hormones won't allow my heart to peacefully enjoy hearth and home when the full moon howls and the spring air is sweet with sweat.
If I had a choice to surgically remove one or the other, which would I choose? Hmmm. It's an interesting proposition. I could definitely enjoy a brainless destiny tracking down and satiating every pheromonal whim without the nuissance of longing or regret that having a heart causes. On the other hand, how dreamy to be happy with the one I'm happy with, forever, without ever a sideways glance or unsightly stiffy at the beautiful passersby. Would that not be tranquil and everlasting bliss?
But, due to some fucking alleged advantage, I have to contend with both. Instead of enjoying either of the aforementioned, single-minded scenarios, I feel like a piece of sentient meat being torn in half by two ravenous carnevores, one who wants me all to itself and the other who wants to pass me around to the rest of the pack. What a ludicrous and infuriating deviation of evolution, this 'higher' emotion, love. What a heavy and primal weight on the soul, this 'lower' instinct, lust.
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Sometimes I feel like my heart and my hormones sicken each other and take out their enmity on me for making them live together in the same body. My heart won't let my hormones enjoy their natural desire to roam and sow wildly. By the same token, my hormones won't allow my heart to peacefully enjoy hearth and home when the full moon howls and the spring air is sweet with sweat.
If I had a choice to surgically remove one or the other, which would I choose? Hmmm. It's an interesting proposition. I could definitely enjoy a brainless destiny tracking down and satiating every pheromonal whim without the nuissance of longing or regret that having a heart causes. On the other hand, how dreamy to be happy with the one I'm happy with, forever, without ever a sideways glance or unsightly stiffy at the beautiful passersby. Would that not be tranquil and everlasting bliss?
But, due to some fucking alleged advantage, I have to contend with both. Instead of enjoying either of the aforementioned, single-minded scenarios, I feel like a piece of sentient meat being torn in half by two ravenous carnevores, one who wants me all to itself and the other who wants to pass me around to the rest of the pack. What a ludicrous and infuriating deviation of evolution, this 'higher' emotion, love. What a heavy and primal weight on the soul, this 'lower' instinct, lust.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Wherever We May Roam
So my mother is in the process of selling her house. In a matter of weeks, the transaction should be complete and we'll be loading her belongings onto a truck to drive to an apartment halfway across Northvale or in some other nearby town. For years, many many years, I have been waiting for this moment. For her as well for me. For change. For an uprooting and replanting and all the opportunity for reflection and redirection that offers.
And now it approaches.
I feel like I should be sad. My childhood home. The place I spent every waking minute, prior to moving out, of my life in. Gone. Wrecking-balled to the ground. Carted off in containers. Buried in a dump. Replaced by a McMansion. (McMansions in Northvale selling for close to a million-do you believe that crap?!)
Maybe the sadness will strike when I walk out the door with the last box and know that I will never set foot inside that house or on that property again. Maybe knowing that I will never smoke another cigarette next to the boiler and blow smoke out a ground-level window, or push an electric lawn-mower through 3 foot weeds in the suffocating mug of Jersey summer, or leap over the banister from halfway up the stairs onto the dining room floor-maybe this knowledge will strike in an instant and cause a flood of sadness to stream down my face.
But I don't think it will. And I don't think it's because I've razed my attachments to the place where I grew up. I think it's simply because Home to me is more than the lumber and drywall that gave my family shelter from the elements. Home to me is every turn and corner on Oak Tree Road. Home to me is the railroad tracks behind Shopright and the concrete drainditch next to Aerco where Pohan and I used to sit puffing and pondering. Home to me is the air and the trees and the colors of sunset over Bergen County. And none of these things can be taken away from me. They will always be mine everytime I set foot in that wonderful, little town of bored suburbanites. My town. From now to the day I die, I own every blade of grass, every street corner, every person walking down the street. No more than any other native Northvaler, but no less.
A quick drive into Northvale is all I will need in some distant middle-age to rekindle feelings of home. That two-story red house on a hill, with its faded and falling asbestos shingles, its cracked and taped windows, its cool and mouse-infested basement, its indigenous and insidious weeds, will better serve this family as a paycheck than as a memory. Home is what we make of ourselves. Like turtles we carry the burdens and the blessings of our Home on our backs, wherever we may roam.
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And now it approaches.
I feel like I should be sad. My childhood home. The place I spent every waking minute, prior to moving out, of my life in. Gone. Wrecking-balled to the ground. Carted off in containers. Buried in a dump. Replaced by a McMansion. (McMansions in Northvale selling for close to a million-do you believe that crap?!)
Maybe the sadness will strike when I walk out the door with the last box and know that I will never set foot inside that house or on that property again. Maybe knowing that I will never smoke another cigarette next to the boiler and blow smoke out a ground-level window, or push an electric lawn-mower through 3 foot weeds in the suffocating mug of Jersey summer, or leap over the banister from halfway up the stairs onto the dining room floor-maybe this knowledge will strike in an instant and cause a flood of sadness to stream down my face.
But I don't think it will. And I don't think it's because I've razed my attachments to the place where I grew up. I think it's simply because Home to me is more than the lumber and drywall that gave my family shelter from the elements. Home to me is every turn and corner on Oak Tree Road. Home to me is the railroad tracks behind Shopright and the concrete drainditch next to Aerco where Pohan and I used to sit puffing and pondering. Home to me is the air and the trees and the colors of sunset over Bergen County. And none of these things can be taken away from me. They will always be mine everytime I set foot in that wonderful, little town of bored suburbanites. My town. From now to the day I die, I own every blade of grass, every street corner, every person walking down the street. No more than any other native Northvaler, but no less.
A quick drive into Northvale is all I will need in some distant middle-age to rekindle feelings of home. That two-story red house on a hill, with its faded and falling asbestos shingles, its cracked and taped windows, its cool and mouse-infested basement, its indigenous and insidious weeds, will better serve this family as a paycheck than as a memory. Home is what we make of ourselves. Like turtles we carry the burdens and the blessings of our Home on our backs, wherever we may roam.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Fooling around with time
Fred, Alex, Pohan and myself were lying about my room talking photography when I first began to develop simple understandings of the concepts of aperture and shutterspeed. I was able to use them last night for the first time with some success.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Shakedown Number Nine
I just got back from the 9th annual Shakedown on Kilkenny.
Once again, I made a couple new friends, spent time with old ones I barely see anymore and reacquainted with people I've known for years yet never really known at all.
Life is so short but the days are so incredibly long when we pull ourselves out of the city, out of the salary, out of the constantly progressing routine of working towards tomorrow.
I repeat myself: life is so short but the days are so long when we free ourselves from the constantly progressing routine of acquiring accolades and wealth and spend a little time being human with humans instead.
I failed to invite many of you to this and regretted it the minute I arrived there. You are my friends, my family, my self and I needed and missed you. The fault is all mine; I am slothful and disorganized. But next year I will work hard to communicate clearly and in advance to all of you who hopefully can make it.
It is hard to not go into details and yet impossible and undesirable to try and recreate them all. This year's Shakedown was emotionally bursting from the seams like the humid storm clouds that kept showering on us all weekend.
There was an empty space there none could fill but her family came and honored; there was a man who returned from the dead to sing love songs about immigrants and to remind us all how lucky we are to be here, every moment.
There were bonfires and barbecues, babies and DJs, thunderstorms and meteor showers.
There was the steady and tireless host, reminding everyone through action and action alone, that we can be endlessly loving and open in the company of greatness if we only let go of our insecurities and fly.
There was his constant reminder to love and be loved because our lives are so short but the days are so incredibly long...
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Once again, I made a couple new friends, spent time with old ones I barely see anymore and reacquainted with people I've known for years yet never really known at all.
Life is so short but the days are so incredibly long when we pull ourselves out of the city, out of the salary, out of the constantly progressing routine of working towards tomorrow.
I repeat myself: life is so short but the days are so long when we free ourselves from the constantly progressing routine of acquiring accolades and wealth and spend a little time being human with humans instead.
I failed to invite many of you to this and regretted it the minute I arrived there. You are my friends, my family, my self and I needed and missed you. The fault is all mine; I am slothful and disorganized. But next year I will work hard to communicate clearly and in advance to all of you who hopefully can make it.
It is hard to not go into details and yet impossible and undesirable to try and recreate them all. This year's Shakedown was emotionally bursting from the seams like the humid storm clouds that kept showering on us all weekend.
There was an empty space there none could fill but her family came and honored; there was a man who returned from the dead to sing love songs about immigrants and to remind us all how lucky we are to be here, every moment.
There were bonfires and barbecues, babies and DJs, thunderstorms and meteor showers.
There was the steady and tireless host, reminding everyone through action and action alone, that we can be endlessly loving and open in the company of greatness if we only let go of our insecurities and fly.
There was his constant reminder to love and be loved because our lives are so short but the days are so incredibly long...
Monday, August 15, 2005
9 to 5
Yes, dear readers, I have finally returned this summer to the one place I swore I would avoid at all costs---tho obviously any efforts have been too little too late-----Dad's real estate office. The daily grind. Selling homes, selling yourself, convincing people that you and a property are a little better, a little sunnier, a little more valuable than you actually are. I am not a seller. Not a persuader. Not a negotiator. I don't thrill at the chase, rarely rise to meet a challenge. I'd like to think that I'm a people person, that I make others feel comfortable and welcome----but I'm not a bullshitter, not a shoot-the-breeze, not a let's small talk at this keg party kinda gal. I've worked in this office for a couple of summers, and now that i'm older, a bit wiser, I alternate between 'what the hell, why not, if these people can do it so can i' and 'god, i hate talking to these people on the phone, i hate feeling like there's never any end to the work, hate basing a job on playing phone tag with busy and important brokers, contractors, clients, buyers, sellers...'
And part of it all is the environment within this particular office--I won't go into it in much detail here; jess knows thinking about it too much gets me all worked up. Bottom line, unfortunately the people my dad works with are skeezy and have on numerous occasions taken advantage of his honest, non-confrontational, low-maintenance character. Thus, I inwardly seethe at the mere thought of these people, let alone having to smile back into their serpentine faces on a daily basis. Thankfully, the office has been expanded this year, placing my dad on his own side of the building.
Rah rah rah.....such griping! Forgive this rant....... I love spending time with my dad. And it makes me feel good to know i'm making his job just a bit easier for just two (hopefully!!) short weeks. I like riding around with him, visiting properties the company is planning to auction off. Most are farms, beautiful rolling farms of corn, soybeans, horses, stone houses, rugged landscaping, big grain silos made familiar from my years visiting grammy's dairy farm..... ANd I know he loves having me around, showing me the business, introducing me, his daughter at Smith, to clients, acquaintances. Of course I can do this for two weeks for him.
And who knows, make a bit of money----never'll be able to even BEGIN paying the parents back for my cushy upbringing.
Love love love.
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And part of it all is the environment within this particular office--I won't go into it in much detail here; jess knows thinking about it too much gets me all worked up. Bottom line, unfortunately the people my dad works with are skeezy and have on numerous occasions taken advantage of his honest, non-confrontational, low-maintenance character. Thus, I inwardly seethe at the mere thought of these people, let alone having to smile back into their serpentine faces on a daily basis. Thankfully, the office has been expanded this year, placing my dad on his own side of the building.
Rah rah rah.....such griping! Forgive this rant....... I love spending time with my dad. And it makes me feel good to know i'm making his job just a bit easier for just two (hopefully!!) short weeks. I like riding around with him, visiting properties the company is planning to auction off. Most are farms, beautiful rolling farms of corn, soybeans, horses, stone houses, rugged landscaping, big grain silos made familiar from my years visiting grammy's dairy farm..... ANd I know he loves having me around, showing me the business, introducing me, his daughter at Smith, to clients, acquaintances. Of course I can do this for two weeks for him.
And who knows, make a bit of money----never'll be able to even BEGIN paying the parents back for my cushy upbringing.
Love love love.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Black Bears
August 8, Evening
Blairstown, NJ
Unusually cute little town in the sparse northwestern NJ county of Warren. Reminds me of the fictional CT smalltown of Stars Hollow from the Gilmore Girls (another of my recent obsessions). Three bookshops/cafes, two gift shops, a library, post office, diner, and theater company all line a short main street which is surrounded by big old victorians and a park. I was greeted warmly in the bar by patrons and the bartender. Even made a friend playing pool. That evening I was sitting on the lawn of a well-kept park by the side of a wide stream watching a guy fly-fishing. The reason I was in this town at all is because I am a soft, out-of-shape city boy who fears a black bear's fury.
I had switched my hiking plans from the Catskills to the NJ section of the AT at the last minute and was dropped off at the Delaware Water Gap to start a 90 mile trek towards Harriman State Park. The guy at the NJ - NY Trails Conference HQ in Ramapo had a few things to say to us about the bear population being large in the area, and there being a lack of water in several places, but I really had no concerns about it.
I said my farewells to Caitie and began my journey on Saturday at noon feeling more like a pilgrim than I had in a long time. I had quickly found a hiking stick, the mountains were beautiful, and the sky was blue. The first few miles close to the Gap were filled with day hikers but as I trekked further from the river I was increasingly by myself. By mid-afternoon I had already developed serious blisters on both feet.
I pitched my tent that first night atop a bald mountaintop with views to the east, north, and west. Sunset was spectacular and after eating my marvelous dinner of rice and beans I cleaned up, hung my food, and sat back to enjoy the rest of daylight by reading the trails manual I bought with the maps of the area. It seemed the most dangerous aspect of hiking was not the bears, plentiful though they were in this area, but injury. Twisted ankles, strained knee ligaments, breaks from falls - there are many ways to get hurt in the woods while carrying 40+ pounds on one's back.
I woke the next morning with only the slightest back stiffness. Breakfast, breaking camp, packing up and hiking by 8:15. The blisters continued to be a nuisance, but I felt I could deal with them. Late morning and six miles later the outside of my left knee began throbbing and I had to take a few breaks to stretch and massage it. At 1pm I passed a paved road and hiked another mile into the woods before I stopped for lunch. Studying the maps I found the next paved road to be another 14 miles north through the thickest black bear wilderness in North America next to the Smokies. And I was alright with that, until I began hiking again and realized I was limping on my left leg.
Now, even after reading expert material on the density of black bears in the area, and hearing word of mouth stories on recent bear maulings, I was fairly certain that given an opportunity, I'd have no great difficulty taking on a bear or two. I had a large knife at the ready, and I'd been playing the Xbox game Fable, so my skills at decapitating ferocious creatures had been honed to a fine science. All the same, I felt that it would be unfair to tempt innocent animals with gimpy white boy flesh and several pounds of Powerbars.
Thus, I found myself hitching with my thumb into some area that would give me decent cell phone reception and ended up in Blairstown, NJ. While not the elongated atheletic/meditational solo trip I had originally planned, I had several moments of extreme beauty: the stillness of the forest with no sound; the burning fire of a sunset over the pennsylvania hills; the exhilaration of climbing a 60 foot fire tower to panoramic scenes with intense winds. Maybe I needed a lighter pack. Maybe I needed a hiking partner. But someday I'll be back to the woods to slow down again and remind myself that wind and rock and running water call to the heart of my being.
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Blairstown, NJ
Unusually cute little town in the sparse northwestern NJ county of Warren. Reminds me of the fictional CT smalltown of Stars Hollow from the Gilmore Girls (another of my recent obsessions). Three bookshops/cafes, two gift shops, a library, post office, diner, and theater company all line a short main street which is surrounded by big old victorians and a park. I was greeted warmly in the bar by patrons and the bartender. Even made a friend playing pool. That evening I was sitting on the lawn of a well-kept park by the side of a wide stream watching a guy fly-fishing. The reason I was in this town at all is because I am a soft, out-of-shape city boy who fears a black bear's fury.
I had switched my hiking plans from the Catskills to the NJ section of the AT at the last minute and was dropped off at the Delaware Water Gap to start a 90 mile trek towards Harriman State Park. The guy at the NJ - NY Trails Conference HQ in Ramapo had a few things to say to us about the bear population being large in the area, and there being a lack of water in several places, but I really had no concerns about it.
I said my farewells to Caitie and began my journey on Saturday at noon feeling more like a pilgrim than I had in a long time. I had quickly found a hiking stick, the mountains were beautiful, and the sky was blue. The first few miles close to the Gap were filled with day hikers but as I trekked further from the river I was increasingly by myself. By mid-afternoon I had already developed serious blisters on both feet.
I pitched my tent that first night atop a bald mountaintop with views to the east, north, and west. Sunset was spectacular and after eating my marvelous dinner of rice and beans I cleaned up, hung my food, and sat back to enjoy the rest of daylight by reading the trails manual I bought with the maps of the area. It seemed the most dangerous aspect of hiking was not the bears, plentiful though they were in this area, but injury. Twisted ankles, strained knee ligaments, breaks from falls - there are many ways to get hurt in the woods while carrying 40+ pounds on one's back.
I woke the next morning with only the slightest back stiffness. Breakfast, breaking camp, packing up and hiking by 8:15. The blisters continued to be a nuisance, but I felt I could deal with them. Late morning and six miles later the outside of my left knee began throbbing and I had to take a few breaks to stretch and massage it. At 1pm I passed a paved road and hiked another mile into the woods before I stopped for lunch. Studying the maps I found the next paved road to be another 14 miles north through the thickest black bear wilderness in North America next to the Smokies. And I was alright with that, until I began hiking again and realized I was limping on my left leg.
Now, even after reading expert material on the density of black bears in the area, and hearing word of mouth stories on recent bear maulings, I was fairly certain that given an opportunity, I'd have no great difficulty taking on a bear or two. I had a large knife at the ready, and I'd been playing the Xbox game Fable, so my skills at decapitating ferocious creatures had been honed to a fine science. All the same, I felt that it would be unfair to tempt innocent animals with gimpy white boy flesh and several pounds of Powerbars.
Thus, I found myself hitching with my thumb into some area that would give me decent cell phone reception and ended up in Blairstown, NJ. While not the elongated atheletic/meditational solo trip I had originally planned, I had several moments of extreme beauty: the stillness of the forest with no sound; the burning fire of a sunset over the pennsylvania hills; the exhilaration of climbing a 60 foot fire tower to panoramic scenes with intense winds. Maybe I needed a lighter pack. Maybe I needed a hiking partner. But someday I'll be back to the woods to slow down again and remind myself that wind and rock and running water call to the heart of my being.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Packed and ready to walk off into the wilderness, August begins to shrug the weight of autumn onto my shoulders. I'll only be carrying my needs with me throughout this weeklong trek, and hopefully that lesson will be bridged into the responsibilities of the coming school year.
Yesterday I was helped by a guide at the NJ/NY Trail Conference HQ to mileage markers and water updates in certain areas; he also described graphic stories of people being mauled to death by hungry black bears in these woods - I'm actually more daunted by the thought of the 12 five and six year olds I'll be teaching to read next month. This trip is my chance to get away from the city, physically and mentally. Away from civilization in a way that will refresh my energies with daily swims, camp fires, and night sounds. Refreshed in a way that will allow me to return to Brownsville concentrated and excited to create an environment that be an oasis for the kids.
In any case, thinking about you guys and hoping you have a great week too. I'll get in touch when I get back, with photos and writings to share.
Peace all.
Yesterday I was helped by a guide at the NJ/NY Trail Conference HQ to mileage markers and water updates in certain areas; he also described graphic stories of people being mauled to death by hungry black bears in these woods - I'm actually more daunted by the thought of the 12 five and six year olds I'll be teaching to read next month. This trip is my chance to get away from the city, physically and mentally. Away from civilization in a way that will refresh my energies with daily swims, camp fires, and night sounds. Refreshed in a way that will allow me to return to Brownsville concentrated and excited to create an environment that be an oasis for the kids.
In any case, thinking about you guys and hoping you have a great week too. I'll get in touch when I get back, with photos and writings to share.
Peace all.
