Say Goodnight, Gracie

The month of February keeps chugging along, and in its wake lay death and mental destruction. Judging by the way this month has panned-out so far, this may be the longest lasting twenty-nine day period in recorded history. I'm starting to think that Punxsutawney, P.A may indeed be ground zero for something even more sinister and under-handed than I initially thought - unfolding in a very Machiavellian fashion.

Today is that evil of all evil days, Valentine's Day - a time we commemorate the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, among other things. As I write this post, sitting in the student union building at the university, I find myself surrounded by very perky sorority girls, decorating the building with tacky paper hearts, naked baby angels - which bring its own creepy vibe - and prepare their bake sale goods for the masses.   

On this day that signifies love, relationships, and Hallmark's spike in sales, I'm reminded of my favorite Raymond Carver story - the namesake of this simple blog - where he penned, "It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we're talking about when we talk about love."

Okay February, what other evil hath you wrought upon us?

The day "The Pope of Soul," Don Cornelius took his life set a dark, strange tone for the beginning of February. I would even venture to argue that his death, falling on the first of the month may have set an apocalyptic chain of events into motion. Although I never experienced the real-time effects on popular culture that Soul Train provided, its influence is evident in the broad range of music that I enjoy. 

Whitney Houston, like Cornelius, struggled with her own demons - although her melee played-out on a far more public stage - resulting in what we sadly know as the drug-induced antics of Whitney and Bobby. The day Whitney Houston got-together with Bobby Brown (and his infamous, cocaine laced marijuana) was the beginning of a very public, mental and physical deterioration for the greatest voice of her generation. Despite leaving the toxic environment that fame, addiction, and apparent self-loathing created, she was not able to recognize the truth of her reality; that failure killed her.

At one point not that long ago, I realized that the life path I had chosen was making me miserable beyond belief. I was working in a business that had lost its allure years earlier, but I felt trapped in a comport zone that I didn't know how to get out of. I began behaving in a way that created my own bubble of self-loathing and potential mental and spiritual destruction. Before I knew it, I had created a reality that can only be described as a dark wasteland - inhabited by dis-trust, backstabbing, and the crazy rantings and pontifications of senior citizens and arm chair quarterbacks.

So for now, I'm just going to attempt to get through the rest of this perilous month without falling into any more pits of distress. Of course, that will drag me into the month of March, signified in the great state of New Mexico by miserable, soul crushing winds, and my birthday - how fitting. 

As a side note, I was recently discussing my day of birth with someone who shares a birthday with Niccolo Machiavelli (which is too cool) and I told her that I don't share a day with any notable personalities - I was wrong. Upon deeper investigation - which in the 21st century boils down to a quick Google search - I discovered that I share a birthday with Charles Ponzi. Thanks for nothing, universe.

I don't know about you, dear reader, but I'm more than ready to bid goodnight, goodbye, and good-riddance to this month. February has its root in Latin and is roughly translated as purification, which I would take as a purging of all mental, physical, and spiritual negativity. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?

Valentine's Day cocktail of the week: 

Vodka Tonic

Half-fill a tall glass with ice. 

Add 2.5 ounces of Chopin Vodka.

Pour in 4 ounces of tonic water.

Garnish with a wedge of lime.

Enjoy. 

Repeat. 

This beautiful libation is absolutely best enjoyed to the lyrical poetry of Bob Dylan. 

Happy Tuesday!

Waiting for Mr. Fix-It

February has roared onto the scene with a fury of activity that all began with a rat and his shadow - not to be confused with Me and My Shadow.  

The month opened-up with news about the most over-exposed resident of Punxsutawney, PA, and his evil prophecy for the continuance of this bleak winter. He delivered this prophetic news to the throngs of on-lookers and shut-ins; watching from behind their iron-barred windows, no doubt surrounded by cats and stacks of old newspapers. How many of these adulating fans wouldn't hesitate to send ol'  Phil to his maker upon meeting him on a cold night, rummaging through their trash cans? Anyway, the scene culminates as a group of what I can only describe as 'a gaggle of Monopoly Men' - sporting tall, black top-hats and tails - crowd around the holy one for the highly sought-after photo-op. This is what I assume is pure Punxsutawney fun at its best.

Thinking about these events, I'm reminded of Bill Murray's (he's everywhere) beautiful description of this sight, "A thousand people freezing their butts off waiting to worship a rat." 

This is all interesting in that this fanfare played-out as the backdrop of my latest sidetrack. To be fair,  it wasn't so much the rat & company, but the timing of its appearance that I now associate with my moment of weakness. This moment led to a brief stint into the dark depths of my old ways.

I'm starting to realize that superficially judging people and drawing conclusions based on the actions of others is one of the characteristics I'm working to change about myself. During my days as a back-room dealer of what someone once angrily described as "half-truths," I found that contacting people was easy. The political world orbits around, among other things, the Blackberry, and the immediacy of communication that little miracle provides. This usually meant that when I sent someone a message, their response was in my inbox before I could shake a stick (which upon further reflection, I don't recall actually shaking a stick). However, I'm starting to learn that this mode of operation does not exist in the outside world - among normal people, that is.

Sometimes it's difficult to recognize that people work on their own timelines and we never really know what others may have going on in their life. While the eyes of the world were intently locked on that fat critter in Pennsylvania (that may be a bit over-dramatic), I found that I was upset over the fact that others weren't operating on my timeline. I felt that I had once again put myself "out there" and was upset that it wasn't unfolding the way I had anticipated. Well, as it usually does, the universe planted its boot right on my ass and forced me to realize that my perceptions were based on insecurity and selfishness. I now understand that my brain and my heart were not seeing eye-to-eye and that attempting to endlessly analyze people (especially the eternally perplexing mystery of women) isn't the journey I set out on; learning to be more understanding and tolerant is my goal. 

So the bus that I'm traveling on made a dramatic, if not brief detour into a ditch. After some deep reflection and conversation, I was able to recognize my stupidity - a process that I now fully embrace - and get back on track and ready to move forward. After all, we're all just people, right? 

As I leave that bitter dose of self-doubt, self-loathing, and Madonna's Super Bowl half-time show behind, I head straight into the Valentine's Day quagmire - a fun-filled day for single people everywhere.  

Cocktail of the week:

Mojito Sparkler

Fill a tall glass with ice.

Bruise 6 fresh mint leaves in the bottom.

Add 2 ounces of rum.

Sprinkle 1 teaspoon of fine sugar.

Top off with club soda.

1 wedge of lime. 

Enter the pearly gates.

This refreshing dose of heaven must be enjoyed to the sounds of Brian Wilson (the mad genius) and the Beach Boys.

Happy Tuesday!