24 hours of my favorite movie of all time, sitting here in the semi-darkness of my in-laws’ Christmas tree. It’s a magic I remember from 1985 brought forward to now, as my wife dines upstairs with her family. The whiskey’s worn off now, and I’m feeling sleepy. Talk me to sleep, Jean Shepherd. Remind me that I will be you, looking back at my childhood with an eye jaundiced by distance, tilting at history and always, always seeking the narrative hidden in the moment that blooms in our old age.
Lifeline, the first and last aid received, staff of survival, bottle of water of life. Sustain me through these last preparatory hours, lubricate the gears of my mind machine. Facilitate me as I seek success; keep me free from unhealthy excess; guide me on this simple quest. Though I don’t often pray, I say … Amen.
3 more days until I give up my parking space for the month. 72 hours before I can rest in my mind. Half a week, and I’ll breathe a sigh of relief. Now, though, it’s internecine… Let’s dance, Tylene.
Friday night spent at work, finding out that I can listen to songs from the internet on my aging laptop. This is a welcome find, as it makes the research on American literature and war easier to deal with. Grooveshark, you’re so much cooler than Landshark!
A man named Joe suggested I read this book. So far, it does not disappoint. Take these lessons and use them in the classroom, I can hear him saying. I can also hear him saying ‘God don’t make no junk’ and ‘For crying in a bucket! Don’t do that…’ Would it be safe to say I like this teacher? Yes, it would. Is he my favorite teacher? At the moment. Will I be someone’s favorite teacher someday? I hope so, but even if I’m not, I just gotta keep one thing in mind: ‘God don’t make no junk.’
Semester is closing in, shutting down for the dark days of winter. On the horizon, a few miles from land, new classes, new challenges, a new raft of teachers. Much further out, the degree, the career, the classroom of my own. The next few days, though, I fight upward against a falling sky. Back bent against gravity, mind warped by my own procrastination. 7 habits have not taken over yet, so let me pick up pens to hedge these bets.
Lately, I’ve been doing shorter updates, and including pictures taken with my camera phone. I had started a Tumblr for this reason, but I’m finding it easier/better to do this here at Polyhack. Maybe it doesn’t make as much sense, given what else this blog is supposed to be about, but then, the only REAL reason I have this blog is to exercise my writing muscles as often as I can.
It’s just that sometimes, taking camera phone pictures and using that as an offer to make some freshy fresh is more satisfying than letting this little speck of space on the Internet grow dusty through misuse.
Maybe I’ll have a big blog coming soon, or… maybe I’ll take a neato picture with my camera phone, and write something pithy for you all again.
Excelsior!
About to do homework when I notice this curiously named file in my documents. I open it to find a pleasant chord progression I can’t quite identify, and a noodly lead track, soloing right alongside, in perfect harmony. Both tracks: ukulele. When did I record this? No idea, but methinks I may need to write some lyrics, sing it, record it and give the people a new Odd Relations tune.
Gather round that table, dessert’s on the agenda. It’s time to loosen the belts, ahead of food-coma, chocolate and pumpkin pie outriders of the coming storm. Family proud of its pastry chef designer daughter mother hostess (not pictured). Leaving, I turn back to wave to my sister, her family, my family, and this tom stares back at me (pictured). I wait til the street is cleared, no one watching and… I sneak across to squeeze his eyes. Happy? Thanks, living.
Young basketball players in the other room on Thanksgiving Eve, awkwardly throwing around the rock, make noise like this is the last basketball practice they’ll ever attend. Here, I’m sitting, planning out my attack for how I’m going to teach Hamlet to your sons and daughters in coming years. Ophelia on the sidelines cheering Laertes or Hamlet; Horatio, with the No-look Pass. Polonius breathing shallow behind the arras, cleft in twain like Gertrude’s heart.
