on genocide and dry eyes

Today, I spent entirely too much time in front of the computer, and as a result, my eyes got a little bloodshot. I tore the house apart, but I couldn't find the eye drops anywhere...so although I was in utterly no pain, I had no choice but to go around looking like I either had pink eye or had consumed a large amount of various illegal substances.

Later in the night, I found watching television on the couch with my wife when the following conversation occurred more or less verbatim:

"You know, I think I have a solution."

"To your ugly eye?"

"Yeah. It just occurred to me that I have a kitchen...and a knife...and an onion."

"Oh, no, Mike, you don't want to do that."

"Why not? It would make me cry."

"Yes, but it would inflame the membranes."

"Oh."

"You should just try and think of something sad...like the Holocaust."

This is why, by the way, my life is completely awesome.

an anniversary tale

Me and my beautiful spousal unit got married in January of 2003. We met at the mayor's office and were officially hitched in the city counsel chambers. Actually, I sat outside the mayor's office waiting for her to show up, and she waited outside in her car for me to show up. There was a tense few minutes there where I worried she might've returned to her senses and taken off for North Dakota or parts unknown.

But she came in and, against all logic, married me anyway. While I don't understand this, I am eternally grateful...particularly every January 24th. While we try to do something nice, we suffer the setback of being dead-ass broke, so rather than the traditional gifts, we just settle on a modest meal somewhere. This year, though, I mad a serious effort to do things properly.

First, I went and opened our firebox to look at the certificate...and with a quick glance at the form, I saw "2002." Hah, I thought, I could've sworn we were at nine years...not ten. I was happy I discovered the mistake in advance, though...nothing like avoiding looking like an idiot, particularly when anniversary dates are concerned.

I really had no idea what the standard gifts were for the tenth year. So I did what people in the 21st century: I googled it. The traditional gift was aluminum. This didn't really help. They offered gift suggestions, but I didn't think an anodized saute pan would really say "thanks for being married to me"...particularly as I'm the one who does the cooking.

They did list a modern gift equivalent, though, and it was...pewter. This didn't really help; I live in a small town where House of Pewter has yet to open up a franchise. I sent an e-mail to a local jeweler asking for suggestions. They wrote back, saying they didn't have any pewter jewelry, but (of course) diamonds were a perfectly acceptable substitute! I did some browsing online, and I did find a diamond ring I could afford...which had a genuine 1/20th of a carat rock. I could afford the ring, but the magnifying glass it would require to see the thing would put me over budget. I wrote and explained this to my wife, but she rejected my alternative offer to do origami out of aluminum foil.

When I recounted the full story to my wife after she returned from work, she told me we had in fact been married in 2003, not 2002. I went back to the form, and the "2002" I was was when we got our marriage application. I then googled the ninth anniversary, and the appropriate gift was leather. That I could've done.

However, I would've felt weird giving her a leather gift in front of our 7 month old.

my shiny weekend

Much of last week was dominated by my darling Progeny Unit's case of being illin'. The poor little kiddo has acid reflux, so we have her on a drug and off the natural BoobJuice and onto a special formula (cost as if made from ground gold, awkward to construct, makes poo smell horrific). What's worse is the little tyke is still obviously in pain...it might be getting better, but it ain't there yet, and she ain't comfortable.

I don't want to minimize her discomfort, and I know she must be feeling terrible. I cannot, however, shake my personal viewpoint. Namely, I feel horrible and useless. She's not happy, and there's utterly nothing I can do about. My knowledge goes to feeding, to diapers, to rocking her, and to singing Eagles songs in my limited, creaky voice, and when all those fail me, it's frustrating. It generally puts a black cloud over my mood.

This is where I was when my Spousal Unit came home from work on Friday. She took one look at me and told me "you need to get out tonight. No, it's okay...you really need to get out."

Luckily, there were entertainment options. I live in an awesome town, and it was the weekend of the Black Swamp Arts Festival...which is truly one of the greatest weekends of the Bowling Green social calender. This year, it caused the clouds to lift.

Because of the BSAF, everything became shiny.

I walked downtown, hit the Thai food vendor (chicken on a stick, fried rice, and a noodle dish), and headed toward the parking-lot-turned-beer-garden. The chicken particularly is awesome and shiny...I half suspect they baste it in butter. Halfway through my meal, I saw my former bass player. In spite of her duties as festival chair, she sat down with me, hung out, and, as I shoveled delicious Thai food into my gullet, we had a great talk about our former band and our changing relationship to music. She was called away for festival duties/hobnobbing, but then some other friends came by...then some more...then some more. Eventually, some of us got close to the stage to watch the very cool Stone Foxes play before I had to head home.

Next morning, my Spousal Unit had to work, so I was back on kiddie duty...but, far from being uncomfortable, the kiddo was in a positively bright mood. The Progeny Unit woke up just fine. She was happy when I woke her, happy when I changed her, happy when I fed her, and happy afterward. She fell asleep in my arms, and she was calm when I was able, with very little effort, to get her back asleep in her crib. She had a good nap, during which my spousal unit returned bearing carry-out.

After a meal/brief conversation, we got a call from an awesome friend who asked, "would you like me to come over and babysit your daughter so you two can go to the art festival?" So, an hour later, my darling Spousal Unit and I were walking hand in hand down main street, sun shining on our faces, looking at art, meeting friends, sharing an order of freshly cut french fries, and just having a wonderful time being a married couple again after a few months of being parents only. The art was even shinier this year...lotsa new artists, really cool and inventive stuff. Spousal Unit bought a postcard from this local artist who did watercolors of Halloween-esque stuff and interpretations of The Wizard of Oz. I saw about thirty seven things I just really needed to have and vowed to become a millionaire by next year's fest.

We got home, and our kiddo was just fine...beaming, even. After a good afternoon and dinner, I had to go back downtown as my new band The Black Swamp Rats was playing a show at the auxiliary rock stage.

I got there a bit early and loaded my stuff into the bar. For some reason which escapes me, they had some hip-hop guy playing in the rock club, so I jetted out of there and went back to the main stage. I ran into my new bass player, we met my old bass player, and went to the front of the stage to see Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears. The band was, for some reason, all wearing matching black pants and shiny white (albeit not matching) shirts...but in spite of the pseudo-costumes, they utterly rocked. Joe Lewis in particular played guitar as if he was strangling the thing...which is the way it should be.

When my bassist and I got back to Howards, there was (again, for reasons which escape me) a trio playing. There was a guy on a computer. There was a guy playing death metal guitar (albeit with less melody). There was a drummer who was wearing a gas mask. They weren't as good as they sound as if they'd be, and we were to follow them. Luckily, though, the room filled back up as we set up. It was a new experience for me...playing in a new band (with whom I haven't had a full band practice), without a set list. It went fine, though. Actually, better than fine. There was a packed room. There was fairly raucous applause. There was dancing...I first noticed the woman in the shiny red dress swaying, but there were multiple dancers in the crowd.

I did a few screw-ups during the set, but they were the kind that, unless you knew my parts, you wouldn't really notice. Fortunately, I'm really the only one who knows my parts, and in general, my playing--particularly in my solos--was shiny. I think I passed the audition, because as I was getting my stuff off stage, my bassist came over, shook my hand, and thanked me for joining the band.

I got a good audience reaction as well. Although there weren't a lot of my friends in the bar (two of my closest were there for the set, but my gig lined up with someone else's birthday), I did receive several compliments. My singer told me [name redacted-local rock star] was checking out my guitar, and the singer for a cool band (with whom Analog Revolution played our first gig) told me I sounded really good in The Black Swamp Rats. Later, I got further confirmation that I did alright when, as I was hauling my equipment out of the bar, [name redacted-local rock star] (with whom I've never talked) bounded over, shook my hand, and told me I did "an excellent job."

The next morning, my Spousal Unit told me the Progeny Unit went to bed around 9 and slept through the night. When the kiddo woke up, she was again happy. After the feeding, I put her down on her play mat, and she was smacking the hanging octopus and giggling...generally in a bright mood.

Strangely enough, right about the time The Black Swamp Arts Festival was over, my daughter turned cranky again. The only real lesson from all this? Art festivals make everything glow.

somebody get me a doctor

A little over two months ago, me and the spousal unit welcomed our progeny unit into the world. Ever since then, it has been landmark after landmark: first time rolling over by herself (which actually happened her first night home), first sleep through the night (which hasn't happened since), first word (which sounded like "BBBBBRRRAAAWWWAAAGGGHHHH!!!" ... but very loud), first unbelievably scary diaper (the less said, the better), and first stock market tip (for a cryogenics company). This week, we have hit another landmark: first hospital bill.

Frankly, I'm glad. That means only a few more payments, and we'll own that kid outright.

They would've started rolling in earlier, but there were, of course, insurance mix-ups and bureaucratic snafus. At the hospital, they insisted our darling kiddo have the spousal unit's last name on all paperwork even though we were giving her my last name in real life. Of course, this led to rejected insurance claims, and I had to make separate calls to straighten out the mess with the facility's billing and the hospital's billing...which apparently are separate corporations in spite of occupying the same space/time coordinates. Stephen Hawking should be consulted on this anomaly.

We got the first actual bills yesterday. Honestly, they weren't as scary as I was expecting (which cannot, incidentally, be said about placenta). Unlike many of my fellow countrymen, I actually have pretty good insurance...which is one of the reasons I urge all you to join me in a rousting chorus:



The bills are, however, still curious. Both of them are from companies which label themselves "consultants," and this is frankly something I don't understand. If it's just a name thing, okay...hell, trucking companies are now "logistics corporations," so if a fancy title makes you sleep at night, I, as a former asphalt pigmentation application specialist, certainly understand. However, now when I see a statement from "Anesthesiology Consultants," I have to start wondering if it was an actual anesthesiologist whose services we used. Did the person who delivered my spousal unit's drugs really need to consult with someone? Will we get a bill for both actual and theoretical anesthetic services? How many medical people does it take to deliver an epidural?

Now...when is that damn diaper consultant gonna show up?

the costs of pregnancy

Pregnancy does many things to women. The spousal unit, for instance, has been suffering the standard spacial disorientation, pregnancy brain, fatigue, and numerous other symptoms, so I have a little bit of first (well, second) hand knowledge of some of the things pregnancy can dos.

Today, I found another effect of pregnancy.

I was doing student conferences today from home for my online class. In between video and text chats, I decided to use my spare minutes to assemble the urchin's crib-in-a-box. It took a while, particularly since I had very few short or no-show conferences...and it's very hard to get any momentum with a single five minute work session per hour. So, unfortunately, when the spousal unit got home, I wasn't completely finished.

I labored on, though. It was, after all a quintessential male activity...sitting in a study-in-the-process-of-becoming-a-nursery, bolting together furniture for the forthcoming bundle of joy as the pregnant lady rests in the other room. A little under an hour later, I had finally finished.

I came into the living room to grab the mattress, and the spousal unit followed me back to the now-it's-actually-looking-somewhat-like-a-nursery...and, of course, as soon as she saw the criblet out an "awww." I put my arm around her and said "you know, this really helps drive home the fact that in just a little while, I'm going to be a father"...and then, after a brief beat, let out a brief panicky yell and ran out of the room.

Nothing. I came back in the room, and the spousal unit was examining the crib.

"What? No reaction at all?"

She didn't even look up. "Get used to it, dear."

So, one more thing pregnancy does for women...it removes their appreciation for cheesy spousal drama. Sigh.

programming note

Today is a special day...it is the anniversary of the day where the higher powers blessed this earth by giving us my spousal unit. And if you know her, I want you to do a favor. When it hits 8pm, please take a minute out of your day to dance in celebration of Lori. It doesn't have to be a tango or anything, but I feel some celebration is in order, so shake it for my baby.

has it been that long?

When I first met her, it was her smile I noticed. There were plenty of other things that could stick in one's mind, but the smile...it lights up rooms. It's amazingly warm, friendly, and inviting...and it makes me feel magnificent, when I see her smile, like somewhere, somehow, I must have done something right in my life to be so well rewarded.

She's the warmest person I know. One quintessential Lori moment? We took a very brief trip to Spain so I could present at a conference. On our third (and last) day, we were walking down some back streets in Alcala (just south of Madrid), past shops and boutiques. As we passed a bistro, a gust of wind blew down a sign outside a restaurant we just passed. The fairly burly restauranteer came out to reset the sign, but Lori already beat him to it. The man didn't need help and couldn't thank Lori anyway, but that didn't matter...Lori saw an opportunity to help someone and did so, without thinking.

She's also hilarious. Much of her hilarity is probably unintentional. Her stories, for instance, often follow their own interesting internal logic, which escapes most conventions of order...she can start out talking about her grandmother and end up in a discussion of jelly packaging, and it somehow makes sense to her. In many respects, it's like being married to Gracie Allen, which means my life with her will always be interesting.

She also can be fabulously lively and crude. She'd hit me if I told too much, but one example will suffice. Since we got a Wii, I've noticed that she can have a tremendously foul mouth. Sneak a serve past her while playing tennis? A throw in Boom Blox doesn't have the proper effect? She gets blown up in Mario Kart? You will hear language out of her that would make most sailors look twice.

The calendar says that come tomorrow, we've been married six years. While I still intimately remember the day (and the city hall ceremony, the room decorated with plans to expand Wooster Street, where we became contractually obligated to each other), I have issues with the time. You see, I have a hard time fully remembering what it was like to not have her sitting next to me, to not see her walking up the driveway and smile when she sees me, to not be able to hold her at night before we both drift off to sleep.

It's a day early, but happy anniversary, my dearest spousal unit. I can't imagine being without you.

marvelous things I'd never hear if not married

At 2:37 last night, my darling spousal unit woke me up:

"Mike! Mike!"

"Huh?"

"There's some pencils...and pens!"

She then went back to sleep...and I had to learn how to incorporate this new knowledge into my life.

an anniversary

I remember it well, like it was five years ago today. It was snowy, cold, but throughout the blustery weather, I knew I had an appointment with...destiny.

I came home to the apartment, and I saw her...the woman with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. She was still unconscious from the medication, so I quickly bound her arms and legs. I knocked on my across-the-hall neighbor's door...we had met him earlier that month, when he had locked himself out of his apartment...we let him go out on our balcony, climb onto the roof of our three story building, and jump into his own apartment. He was more than happy to help me (as I'd turned a blind eye to the emanating weird chemical smells from his apartment and the unusual visitors coming all hours of the night), so together, we picked up the woman of my dreams and hauled her down to my car. She just started to come to when we got to the city hall, and she was just awake enough to slur through the wedding ceremony. Boy, she had a shock when she fully regained consciousness.

No, not really. The truth is, she had to work later than I, so I was to meet her at city hall, where we would be married by the mayor...who demanded our assurances that we didn't just meet in the bars the night before. I got there about a half hour early and waited...and waited. I was, for some inexplicable reason, fairly nervous, and the future spousal unit not showing up immediately didn't help.

Finally, she came through the door, also looking fairly nervous. It seemed that she had parked out on the street, didn't see my car, and decided to wait in hers until I showed up.

Since it was finally made clear that neither of us were running away from the other, the mayor came, introduced himself, and then married us...I think his secretary was our witness. We then went to a fancy dinner and then home, where we watched High Fidelity.

Later, the spousal unit's co-workers were upset with her not telling them about the wedding "because I thought we were family." My co-workers were upset with me not telling them because they wanted a party and cake.

It's been five years. In many ways, it seems like much longer. I have problems remembering what life was like before I met my beautiful life. She still comes home to me. We still laugh. We still hold each other. I can't imagine loving anyone more than I love her.

Ah, the joys of half a decade of contractual obligation!

a special day

Today's my lovely wife's birthday. If there was justice in the world, there would be dancing and street carnivals worldwide.

hearts and sliders

In celebration of that great greeting card-inspired holiday, the spousal unit and I went to (as I've mentioned before) the White Castle Valentine's Day Candle-light Dinner. And it was everything we expected.

There was a hostess who showed us to our pink table-clothed, flower-balloon-candle festooned table. The store was decorated in pink, with hearts. There were Cupid garlandss adorning the windows.

One of the workers, wearing a plastic apron decorated with hearts, took our order like a real waitress...she dropped off our menus, got our drinks, took our main order, brought our food, and checked up on us a few times. Actually, now that I think of it, we got better service from her than at many fine restaurants. And the whole staff approached the night with much better of a sense of humor than I would have, if I would've been a minimum wage-earning fast food employee being asked to play dress-up.

The meal itself was classic White Castle. My wife and I each had a number of sliders and split a sack of fries. Afterward, the waitress brought us a complimentary cupcake (with a heart ring stuck in the frosting) and a bag of Valentine candy.

It was probably the most romantic V day I've ever had...which says something about me, no doubt. The wife also enjoyed it very much...which, no doubt, also says something about her. This is why I love her.

absence

She gently brushed her lips against mine, kissing me, before smiling and thanking me for being so understanding. I just smiled and told her to drive safely before watching her drive away. What else could I do?

I felt bad enough as it was. I know that her mother, my mother-in-law, was in the hospital, I know that she was facing surgery, and I knew that my spouse should be there, needed to be there. I knew this, but I still resented it horribly.

And it's not that I don't like my mother-in-law and wish her the best. My mother-in-law is fantastic...smart, funny, insightful, caring. It's awful that she's ill, it's awful has to have surgery, it's awful that she has to travel to Cleveland for competent doctors. She puts up with too much in her life already, and she really doesn't need or deserve any other intrusion.

I know this makes me awful, but I cannot help but resent her a little bit for getting my wife for yet another weekend, in spite of how much I love my mother-in-law and want her to be well.

I am lonely, you see.

It's not like I don't have enough to keep me occupied. I have a presentation in two weeks, for which I haven't typed word one. I have parents, relatives, high school friends, life-changing former roomates, all of whom have been waiting months for word one from me. I have papers to write, book proposals to revise, classes to plan. Instead of doing any of this, however, I keep finding myself just sitting, doing nothing, being lonely.

Lonliness is never like it is in the movies or in overdramatic novels. There's no wailing, no shaking tears, no cavernous bouts of depression. I'm just empty. I have to force myself to do anything, and even then, I'm just going through the motions.

I read the saddest books I can find, and they suddenly move me not in the slightest. I try turning on the television, but that's no good...everything on the TiVo is one of "our" programs, and there's utterly nothing else that draws me in even a little. I try splurging, fixing myself a thick steak for dinner, but as good as it is (and I find myself knawing on the bone, regressing into a neanderthal), it doesn't really bring me any joy...five minutes later, and I am back on the couch, staring blankly into space. Nothing works, and there is no escape. Finally, I give up, crawl into bed, stretch out fully...but I keep looking over to her side, reaching out my leg so that I can feel her warmth, and she's not there.

It will only be a few days, I know. My love will be back on Sunday. Right now, though, that seems unimaginably far away, deep into the future. I want her here now. I want to see her eyes that can light up the room, see her flash that smile that makes me want to explode. I want to make her laugh, I want to hold her close, I want to smell her hair and have her body pressed up against me.

Before I had someone, I used to be scared of giving myself completely to someone else, of putting myself at anyone's mercy. Now, it doesn't frighten me that I've invested so much of myself into her as I thought it would, because she brings so much to me, makes me such a better person. I just need her, and when she's away like this, it reminds me of how much. Now, I'm just a little scared because I know why, deeper than ever, that I don't like being alone, apart, separated.

She did call yestersday, so I did get to hear her voice. It was lilting, beautiful, vibrant, and it filled me with so much joy yet also so much sadness. I wanted to talk to her forever, but after she left, nothing really happened to me, so I had no real tales or events to relate, and I couldn't really think of anything to say...so the call was entirely too short.

There was so much I needed to say to her, but I had no idea how to say what I needed to say, which always seems to be the case. How do you say the things you really need to say? Can you even really say them, without holding that person close?

That's why I'm lonely.

how lucky I am

Today is the anniversary of the day me and my spousal unit got legally connected, contractually bound. When we were talking about the occasion the other day, I told her that I can hardly remember what it was like before I met her...all I can remember are long nights curled up naked, in the fetal position, sucking my thumb, and letting out slow wails of depression.

Okay, I exaggerate. There was also drinking involved.

So, what did my lovely wife want to do to celebrate this special day? We're going to eat barbecue and see a Ben Stiller film.

This is not just an isolated incident. For Valentine's Day, I made us reservations for the White Castle Valentine's Day candle-light dinner. Now, it would be one thing if my wife humored me in my love for kitsch. But she is actually quite thrilled at the prospect...she did her happy dance.

I told my friend Bob about this, and he said "it looks like you two have a lovely, laid-back life together." I couldn't agree more.

Life is wonderful when you're with the perfect person.

nighttime conversations

My darling, wonderful wife has a tendency, from time to time, to wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me something, even though she's fast asleep. I'm a fairly light sleeper, and it does usually take me a little while to get back to sleep from these interruptions...but I don't mind, because when she wakes me, it's usually fairly cute or funny.

The first time this happened, she called my name a few times in a panicy voice. When I asked her what the problem was, she said, "I changed the sheets!" before rolling over and going back to sleep. I, meanwhile, was fairly puzzled. I spent the next hour or so trying to figure out what was wrong with the sheets. Of course, the next morning, she remembered none of this.

Saturday night, I was fast asleep and dreaming that me and my buddy Davin were picking up writer Joss Whedon from the fast food place at which he worked, and, to pass the time, Davin was teaching me a new system for abbreviating dirty words. Lori then poked me in the back a few times, waking me from this (albeit nonsensical) slumber. Groggy, I asked her what was up, and she asked me, "Are you liquid?" She didn't wait for an answer, though. I hit the restroom, and by the time I got back, my wife was once again snoring like a wildebeast.

The cutest one, however, happened a while ago. She came close to me, hugged me, and let out a satisfied "hmmmm." Then she rubbed my bootie, let out an even more satisfied "hmmmmmmmmm" before rolling over and going back to sleep.

She didn't remember that one, either, but I'll never forget it. I look at it as proof that my animal magnetism is so severe, I can woo 'em even when unconscious.

conversation as an event

Somewhere around the time I was 24, me and my father started to go out together and watch Monday Night Football at a sports bar. At the time, I was just getting back into football after a long exile, and it seemed as good as a place as any to continue this return to a sport which I used to love (and have come to love again).

We moved from bar to bar, year after year. We drank plenty of beer, ate plenty of wings. We watched a lot of football...and yes, it was good.

The football, however, was secondary. What ended up happening more than anything else was that I got to know my father as a person. Before the football nights, he had been just "Dad"...someone I loved, for sure, but not someone I really knew. This was really no one's fault...he was in the military for ages, and he did work a lot, but I was a moody, uncommunicative kid (how much has changed...(?)) who really didn't bond with too many people, and that sure didn't help. I got my mother because I spent a lot of time with her, but my father remained a little bit of a mystery.

Monday Night Football changed all that. We got to just talk. I found out that at work, when I was pizza manager guy, I operated just like he did, disciplined just like he did. I got to hear stories of his youth and compare them with my own. I heard Vietnam stories...clearly not all of them, but probably more than anyone else in my family has heard. I discovered that I liked him as a person, not just a father. We became friends.

When I moved up here to Ohio, one of the hardest things was watching that first Monday Night Football game by myself...

I never found anyone else to watch football with on a normal basis. My first roomate, the year before he moved in, used to come over on occasion, but when he moved in, he was never around, especially, it seemed, on Monday nights. A friend of mine used to live downstairs, but he'd only come up once a month. When we were dating, my wife would watch with me, and we would talk...and this was one of the places where I really got to know her and fall in "true love" with her...but she really doesn't enjoy football as a sport, and now that we live together and have other times to talk, she usually goes elsewhere. So football is, unfortunately, sadly, a solitary activity for me.

I've tried to find other activities to fill the void. One of the things I decided when I came up here and started studying Popular Culture was (sensibly, I think) that I needed to experience more Popular Culture. One of the things I did to this end was start watching the various Star Treks.

But I also started watching wrestling, at first as a "I need to figure out what the hell is going on here" activity...but then I found some fellow grad students who watched, so I would hang out with them. When they moved away, I found another student, one from my department, and I started going to the bars to watch the pay-per-view events with him. Eventually, I started going to his house to watch the weekly broadcasts, and I've been doing this at least since 2002.

Last night, me and a few of the regular wrestling watchers went to a TNA Wrestling event up in Detroit. While the show was, itself, very entertaining, a few things happened that made me really reflect on the nature of viewing, conversation, and friendship.

One of my friends, the one at whom's we watch wrestling, is moving away. He moves out this weekend. Although there have been rumors, I found this out for sure last night. I found out because another one of my friends asked him. And, after hearing this, I wonder if I would've known if someone would've asked.

I had loved watching wrestling with my friends...at first, just because I love my friends. I did grow to love the entertainment, but it has always been secondary for me. We were doing more than watching a stupid televised version of a fictional athletic competition...we were building community.

Or so I used to think.

After my friend's revelation, I started to wonder about the state of friendship altogether. Is it even possible to have friendships centered around one activity? Does that just lead to situational friendships? How well would I relate to many of them outside of the situation of wrestling viewing? And is the fact that I rarely can get them to do things other than wrestling a sign that they have these kind of thoughts as well?

None of these thoughts diminished how much I like this guy. I guess that what I hope for when I enter one of these hang-out situations is that the friendships I develop can expand beyond the actual event, that they can spread, that we can do other things, and that the event will quickly become secondary to everyone. But I don't seem to be able to get these situational friends to do anything else, for the most part. Is this, I wonder, due to the way that other people view their activities and the situational friends associated with them? Or is the fault somewhere within me?

Even though I've always been a quiet, shy kind of guy in many ways, I've also always had a thirst for friends, and I want more close friends. Right now, however, there's probably only three people in town with whom I can hang out regardless of the situation or event and just talk, hold a good conversation, and have that be the center of whatever we're doing, not the event or place where we're meeting...and I love these people dearly...but one of them has a family, and another one is busily dissertating, so that can limit contact. I wish I could pull them all to a quiet bar just to talk on a regular basis...and it's a shame that our schedules often limit this. I enjoy these people, but most of all, I need them at some deep level.

And I do have plenty of friends who live outside of Bowling Green, people whom I love and feel tremendously close to, but the distances can work against us there. I try to maintain contact, but I always get caught up in my work, and I never can do enough to be as close to these people as I would like. I've done an okay job with some, not so good with others, and others still have fallen off the face of the earth for me...much to my sadness. I try, but I never seem to have the time to put into overcoming the distances.

So, last night, I was thinking these thoughts when I got home. I should've been elated from the very good wrestling show and the fine conversation that did result, but instead, frankly, I was feeling a bit morose.

I got ready for bed and brushed my teeth. I tried to quietly crawl into bed, but my wife moved...I thought I had woken her up, but she assured me that she just went to bed herself. I told her I had a good night.

Then, my wife, my lover, my friend, held me...and that made everything go away, made everything disappear, save my wife's touch.

Sometimes, if you're lucky, you don't need an event or a reason...and you don't even need the conversation...

dumb and dumber

This weekend, the fine (?) folks at Girls Gone Wild were in Bowling Green. I gave my lovely wife permission to go wild if she so decided, but she declined.

Also, tomorrow is Talk Like a Pirate day. Celebrate. I'm gonna have to come up with a good post to do in pirate-ese.

true love

Although I told her not to get me anything, my wife surprised me with The Band's Greatest Hits. I'm a lucky fella

good news...

Today marks the second anniversary of the day I married my wonderful wife. I couldn't be happier. Lori never fails to amaze me with her tenderness, her good humor, and her warmth. I couldn't imagine being without her.