152 posts from 2007

There may or may not be photos of me performing Darling Nikki on a pool table.

I'm not sayin' either way...

For some strange reason, I am in an incredibly good mood. Loving even. I'm calling it "Living In The Love Cloud". I just right now made that up.

 

Aren't I clever?

 

I've had my morning workout, my morning cup of coffee, and the morning skim of my emails has yielded merely the transient emergency, as opposed to the Defcon 1 level doo doo that I've been getting lately -- which adds to this strange euphoria.

 

And then there's one other thing.

 

An associate received an email yesterday from her estranged husband threatening suicide. Long story short, relatives got to him in time. In the aftermath suspicions are high that it was a cry for help at best, a manipulative ploy at worst. It tore my associate to pieces. I spent an extremely tense hour with her yesterday afternoon while she waited for news. And now she really can't be happy over the result as it likely means that the father of her children is either a) extremely unbalanced or b) a manipulative fuck.

 

I'm not one to mark my life in comparison to others so that I can "be thankful." I consider that just short of reveling in the misfortune of one's neighbors, a pretty shitty proposition when you think about it. And besides, we really don't know what's around the corner for us now do we?

 

But I promptly went home last night and showered my family with touchy feely love. Hugs and kisses abounded. I wouldn't let them out of my sight. We even watched Dancing With The Stars (and not once did I come close to retching). The Artist and I even came up with a pretty mean rendition of the mambo to boot. And no, there aren't pictures.

 

So in spite of my world weary pseudo intellectual snobbery over the holiday season, I find myself very thankful and happy this year, for my health, for my family, for my peace of mind.

 

Just sign me: "Floating In The Cottony Soft Goodness Of The Love Cloud"

Some people still actually call them “chitterlings”, though they’ve been “chittlins” for as long as I can remember. For the uninitiated, chitterlings are the actual intestines of the pig, that are either boiled (once they’re cleaned of course) or fried and served in many homes during holiday meals. I loathe chitterlings. They stink and, in my opinion, they taste awful. But many in my family, my mother among them, consider these things a delicacy.
A Delicacy. That’s right, pig shit casings as delicacy.

My mother will get up in the middle of the night and drive 50 miles through a driving snowstorm for a plate of chitterlings. I won’t cross the street on a clear day to look at a plate of them.
My point? Be patient, I’m getting there.

I loathe the holidays.

Well not "loathe" loathe; more like dread. Christopher Priest started the ball rolling when he gave shape to my dread a few years ago. Then it was still a thing in its infancy, an itch at the back of my skull. For some time I had been pestered by the notion that “something” was “wrong”. I wasn’t enjoying the holidays like I used to.
Priest can be a bit doom and gloom at times - and his level of scrutiny and lament can rival Paul The Apostle - but in this case, he was my prophet. I have become his acolyte and incidentally, the family wet blanket of the high holidays.
And I have found a kindred spirit.  Someone who understands the strange tension caused by the toxic combo of incredibly outsized expectation coupled with extremely limited time that are the holiday season. RPM crystallized it perfectly for me this afternoon.

“…it's hard to recall what you enjoyed because it's covered in pig shit casing.”

Brilliance. Thanksgiving and Christmas have been largely lost for me, in the overpowering stink of chitterlings.
It gets increasingly more difficult for me to enjoy the holidays for the stench of pig shit casings.   Like I said, outsized expectations coupled with limited time. It becomes impossible to manage.  The Holidays have become for many of us an unmanageable list of things that “we must do in order to be considered a worthy human being.”  Obligations, just another set of obligations to add to the list of things we don’t have time, or inclination, to complete. Why cook these huge meals when most of us could stand to miss a few? And are you finding it increasingly more difficult to buy for people on your Christmas list? I am.  Moreover, I can’t think of a damn thing I want, let alone need. Someone asked me recently, without joy, without anticipation, but punctuated with a heavy sigh that marks the sense of obligation that has become Christmas, “What do you want this year?”

My response, “Well I’d like a book contract. A nice fat book contract; that would be really nice. And tube socks. I need white tube socks for working out.”

There were stares.

My uncle and I have floated a suggestion a couple of times over the last few years at The Big Thanksgiving Gathering In St. Louis (thanks to everyone who helped with the plane tickets). That perhaps we should scale back. Cut down on the menu. Maybe spend more time serving at a local shelter or church than eating.

More stares.

Oh there have been family service projects, during the holidays and beyond. However the annual food orgy has continued unabated.

It’s a pathology really. Otherwise healthy, intelligent people, gorging themselves on pig shit casings.
But I’ll hold my nose again this year and plunge in. Because ultimately, even though I’ll run to the store for nutmeg for the dish that no one will eat, that will get bagged and stored, and eventually thrown out, these people love and accept me, despite the fact that at heart, I’m about as enticing as a plate chitterlings. Because they remind me that some obligations are worth honoring, despite the pig shit casings.

Here’s hoping I get two bags of tube socks.