pocketcontents replied to your post: I just saw my brother cry for the first time since…
YOU WERE IN YUBA CITY AND YOU DIDN’T CALL ME? WTF?
We would have had so much fun skinny dipping in the Yuba River, drunk on Bartles and James wine coolers, you know?
I love words.
I just saw my brother cry for the first time since he was nine. He’s leaving tomorrow at the ass crack of dawn for a nine month ceramics residency at the Art Center at Mendocino, California. Last time I saw him cry was in 1986 on the day I left home in Massachusetts with Chris for four years in Yuba City, California.
It’s been so good having him here in Kent for two years, and I’m going to wake up tomorrow feeling a little less anchored.
I know he’s going to have an incredible experience living on the edge of the Pacific and making pots, though. He doesn’t belong in Ohio any more than I do. Less so, if that’s possible.
One of my favorite things about Tumblr is that I get the opportunity for new perspectives on old beliefs.
I’ve read some brilliant posts and have had some interesting conversations with some interesting people. I had a nice little chat with pikkutiikeri yesterday and got to see a few things from a Finn’s point of view, which I greatly appreciated.
My core beliefs are my core beliefs, and you’d have to give me a pretty compelling argument for those to change. Yet there are other things: the ancillary thoughts and ideas that surround those cores - like electrons surrounding an atom - that shape those beliefs, and that have the most potential for change.
Change enough of those and eventually the core changes. It’s a tough slog, but it can be done.
Should it be done? Absolutely.
It should be done if, for no other reason, than to challenge yourself. To learn why you believe what you believe. Not because you were raised that way or conditioned to believe it, but because you know that it is the right thing for you because you took the initiative and proved it to yourself.
Challenge yourself. Challenge others. Create a conversation and open some eyes. Especially your own.
DON’T GET TOO COMFORTABLE
I just got home from Washington, D.C., where I spent the weekend to attend the bachelor party of a close friend and former colleague. We had ridiculous amounts of fun. I caught up with old friends and made new ones — all of them smart, creative, amibitious and, without exception, wonderful human beings.
I joked yesterday that when I met the groom-to-be about eight years ago, he was “a broken man.” But it wasn’t really a joke. He was miserable then, almost completely lost at sea, with nothing to buoy him but a nagging sense that things had to get better.
Within a year, he took a leap of faith and moved to the capital to take a demanding but potentially rewarding job that he wasn’t fully confident he was cut out for. “I feel like an impostor,” he told me in the early weeks of his new gig. But he stuck with it, because if nothing else it was challenging. It was interesting. Mainly, it was different.
Since then? His professional trajectory has been nothing short of meteoric. He has risen with distinction to the very top of his profession. Today he’s an extremely influential man in arguably the most influential city in the world. And, oh yeah: Next weekend, he’ll be married to an impossibly wonderful woman who makes him happier than I’ve ever seen him.
In the wee hours of Saturday night, we were riding home in a cab down 18th street in Adams Morgan when another friend spotted a neon sign that beckoned to him like a siren.
“Jumbo Slice,” it said.
“Stop the car! Let us out here!” he cried, and the driver obeyed. The rest of us were too drunk or half-asleep to question it.
So next thing I know, we’re stumbling through a crowd of drunks toward the promise of gooey cheese and pepperoni and grease running down our arms on a scale that is at least somewhat more “jumbo” than we’re accustomed to.
I’m happy to report the neon sign did not lie.
You don’t really get a sense for it in the photo, but these slices were massive, requiring multiple paper plates to (barely) support their bounty. They were the perfect ending to a night that had celebrated excess. And as we walked slowly back toward home, munching on our Jumbo Slices along the way, the groom-to-be drunkenly related the tale of their evolution.
“Originally they were just, you know, merely huge,” he said. “But then the place down the street started making a bigger slice. So these guys started making theirs a little bigger and then the place down the street bought a whole new oven — a bigger one, so they could make even bigger pies. Naturally, this place had to respond in kind, and so now it just keeps escalating. There’s no telling when it will end, really.”
“It’s like a pizzeria arms race,” one of us said. “A Cold War of kitchen equipment,” someone countered. “We can only hope that one or the other side enters a phase of perestroika and the whole thing ends peacefully,” we added, laughing hysterically between bites.
And that’s when it occurred to me: You really need to be around people who challenge you if you’re ever going to get anywhere.
Classes at KSU start tomorrow and tonight the city pulsed with some terrible live concert and now bedtime for my 2nd grader is getting disrupted by fireworks in our back yard. She’s standing at her bedroom window watching and I’m in bed with the iPad about to dive into the next chapter of Barbara Kingsolver’s latest. My belly is full of grilled cheese (fresh mozzarella & caramelized onions) and homemade tomato soup with basil.
Happy Sunday, y’all and yinz.
I skipped the weekend, although I lifted a shit-ton of stuff when I filled in for our manager at the farmers’ market yesterday even though one of the vendors helped me break down, but holy hell those cement things for the umbrellas are 50 pounds and I parked on the wrong end of the lot, so my heart was racing and my arms felt as if they were injected with lead and this morning I decided I needed a day off, but tomorrow is my bitch.
You heard it here first.
Mark my words.
Watch your back, tomorrow.
I got my eye on you.
And my shredder. The traditional one. The rectangular cone with five sides.
I have one about Kate Hepburn. And one about Judd Nelson. And one about a ghost in a mirror. And one about a ghost in the wall of a ten foot hole in the ground. And one about a circus bear chasing me around a Victorian house under the full moon while I’m wearing a blue and white polka dot bikini.
we’d have fun.
Yeah, no fucking shit, Sherlock.
things feel like they matter so damn much, but then something else happens and that last thing you were all jammed up about doesn’t even register on your radar anymore?
funny, grand, silly, stupid, crazy, awesome, what it is?
Asian Goddess at 11 - m4w - 34 (bar 11 near Hyde Park)
Date: 2010-08-27, 1:49PM EDT
Reply To This Post
You: Asian Goddess at 11. White slinky dress leaving nothing to my vivid imagination. Your buttcheeks looked like 2 Easter hams wrestling for holiday supremacy. You were standing at the bar flirting with two Abbott and Costello types. One tall and doofy, the other squat and round. One of them placed a cold beer bottle against your rear end and you pretended to like it. I knew then it was so on!
Me: One of the 4 Wall St. types at the table next to you. I was the alpha male of my group, not the bald guy. I thought your cheeks were detecting the heat of my stare but I could be wrong. I am flying home tomorrow, so let me know if you want to meet up tonight. Same time, same place.
Craigslist - making it possible to hate guys you have never met since 1996!
Beck - “Soul Suckin’ Jerk”
I’ve been loving the hell out of these Craigslist missed connection musical dedications. Are you guys following this tumblr? No? Well, go on. Hurry up.