Honea Express

Archive for the ‘Getting Old is Stupid’ Category

“If the stars were any closer I would fight them,” he said.

“The stars are not the problem, it’s the people between them that are causing all the trouble.”

“Then why is it called Star Wars?” he asked.

“Why aren’t you in bed?”

He stood there laughing in his pajamas, seeming so much smaller than a moment before.

________________________________

“The doctor called,” she said. “They say she only has two months left. Maybe three.”

“Holy fuck. How is she? How is he?”

“They aren’t good,” she said into a phone far away. “They found out on Friday, but you were in San Francisco and we didn’t want to bother you. There was nothing you could do.”

There still isn’t.

________________________________

“Is a cable car the same as a trolley?” he asked. His hands were grasping polls on either side and his feet were firm along the running board. The hills were fickle, climbing high then falling forever. The street was a blur beneath his dirty blue Converse.

“Are you having fun?”

He smiled against the wind and watched the peak rise to meet us.

“I am,” he answered.

________________________________

“We are shutting it down,” she said.

“Oh.”

“You have been here from the beginning, and this is hard,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” she added.

“I know.”

I walked for a while after that, lost in thought beneath a sky too blue and trees with the audacity to bloom.

________________________________

Across the calendar a line of Xs stand upon the dates that we have kissed goodbye. Each line an ending, a memory, and one step closer to hugging someone at the last possible minute.

The year goes out with a bang, just as it arrived. It spends its last week sleeping off holiday treats and shopping fatigue. As the end draws near it makes a reservation, shaves what’s hairy, and puts on something that pops. It’s a party after all, and the year deserves it.

In the wings waits the next one. It is young and naive, full of hope and promises. It watches the current year and notes what it will do differently. It watches and it waits, one eye always on the hourglass. It too will dress in something smart, but not nearly as outdated.

People pull out resolutions and change the date accordingly. The one becomes an awkward two and everyone is the wiser. They are losing weight and quitting vices. They are eating healthier and trying harder. They have waited a year to repeat themselves. The first week is the hardest, and often the only.

The children want to stay up until midnight because everyone is doing it and the reviews are fantastic. They laugh every time someone makes a joke about seeing them next year. They are alive with apple juice and Chex mix.  They are why the new year rings.

The year will fall, another will rise to take its place, and the world will carry on regardless. There may be song and a spot or two of dancing. Laughter is strongly encouraged.

Happy New Year. You deserve it.

Popular thought suggests that there is a spark inside all of us. Personal experience is that some shine brighter than others. That doesn’t devalue anyone. It just is. Accept it or change it. It’s your spark.

Mine twists like a lighthouse in a windstorm. It is either lost through waves of bourbon or cutting through so much fog to find you like a spotlight. When I shine I want you to shine with me. It is lonely at the top.

We live in a land of opportunity. The cobblestones are plated gold. The dust a blend of pixie. But dreams are not granted to the masses. We must walk uphill in every way, knocking on doors and selling our wares and what passes for awareness. Don’t sell yours short. The highest bid is often the most careless.

And there are dark doors that figuratively represent whatever you need them to. Literally they are but hinged barriers to the path ahead. The light from the other side glows like a burning picture frame. It is an invitation. It is a warning. It has a handle that only needs to be turned.

Opening doors is why steps are taken.

It may require pause. New paths are hard to start and old paths end too quickly. The scene from the doorstep is of rolling hills and promise. My feet are tired and anxious. There is a stack of shoes in the foyer, each covered in potential and glowing with dust (the smaller shoes shine the brightest). The surrounding floor grows sterile and absent as it stretches down the hallway. I cannot remember if I am coming or going. I am paused, and I am wondering where to put my foot down.

Some look to the heavens when they have nowhere else to turn. Some look there first. I look up and I see stars that stretch forever. I find more perspective than answers.

Perhaps it is the time of year. Perhaps it is the wind in your hair. Life is a dance of wonder and melancholy, and each step brings a gasp, each spin leaves a smile. We are tussled and chapped, and the deeper the dip the more we feel alive.

Perhaps decisions are best made when we don’t know that we are making them. We are lost in the movement. We are paused before doorways. We are always looking for a better place.

That is what I am doing here, writing in circles and wasting language best spent on documents and deadlines — thirsty words wandering from waterhole to wonder and always with the stars in their eyes, always with the day’s dust behind them.

Popular thought suggests that there is a spark inside all of us. Mine is helping to keep us warm, and perhaps that is enough of a wonder for anyone.

_______________________________________

Photo by ImaRawkStar

Today is December 1, 2011 and according to the Mayans, the mustache has ended. This is good news.

Mustaches and my face do not get along. In fact, the only thing that looks worse on my face is a fist (or whatever dirty joke you just came up with). I actually wrote a musical about the experience of growing a mustache for charity and how torn I was about the process. On one lip, I was thrilled to raise money and awareness for Movember and the fight against prostate and testicular cancers — our Dad2.0 team raised over $19,000, and the good people at Philips Norelco are matching $15,000 of that thanks to a series of shaving videos that many of us have made. I would also like to add that Baby Showers for Guys is donating $500 to the team (which includes many of the DadCentric guys!) in the name of their contest winner (which appears to be me!). That’s roughly $35,000 to cancer research just by not shaving. If only all good causes were this lazy, we could find cures for everything!

But the bottom lip is, I look like a real creep with a mustache. Even more than usual.

My wife hated it. It put her on edge and made her meaner than normal. She just assumed I had nothing nice to say.

My kids hated it. They said that it was sharp and itchy. They had no idea.

Society hated it. I couldn’t walk across the school parking lot without people throwing cabbage and pitchforks at me. In other news, my cabbage and pitchfork resale business is doing great.

You’ll catch part of the aforementioned abandoned musical in the clip below. The line was, “I look like I live in my mother’s basement, but that will soon change with this product placement.” And then the Philips Norelco SensoTouch 3D (Model 1250XCC), the Jet Clean system, and the Vacuum Stubble and Beard Trimmer would all get up and dance. It just wasn’t in the budget.

Here is the shaving video I made for Philips Norelco:

I will never shave the second mustache. That one isn’t creepy at all.

And now, a rare photo of me without facial hair:

I must admit, I swore off electric razors a long time ago, but the Norelco worked like a champ. It’s nice to work with products you can believe in. I’m looking at you, my phone service provider.

In case you are concerned that my freshly-shorn lip may catch cold this winter, don’t worry, I’m growing a dogstache. It’s really quite warm:

Thank you to all that participated, donated and restrained themselves from calling the authorities during the Movember campaign. Here’s to hitting cancer where it taint, once and for all.

Disclosure: The Philips Norelco products mentioned in this post were provided for free in exchange for the shaving video embedded above. I would like to thank Philips Norelco for the shaving system and their generous contribution to our Movember team.

We passed the flags flying halfway up. Waves of people walked alongside us. Some found themselves caught in sudden bursts of empathy, while others never even gave a glance. The flags carried on regardless.

Ten years since it happened. Ten more birthdays for my stepfather. Ten more anniversaries of the day that my grandparents wed — no longer a celebration of their moment, but now the deepest part of the deepest hole where my grandfather buries his loneliness.

September 11 is many things to many people. The day is marred with beginnings and ends and the stories of those still between.  It is like any other day, but only more so.

I can’t remember when I first wrote the string of words floating below, but I meant them and I called them a poem despite the broken form and blatant disregard for any thought of structure. Consider the chaos a reflection of it. Consider the typed words as a sterile version of those that once fell across a bourbon-soaked bar napkin, left to ripen in the forgotten pocket of some seldom-worn jacket. Consider them what you will, for yours is the freedom to do so.

On a September day
when school bells rang,
and leaves entertained thoughts
of leaving –
things went wrong in a world
that was much more right
than we ever thought it was.
On a September day
when the bells rang
for the dying.