The Roads Most Traveled

The month of February finally vacated the pages of the calendar, though it left kicking and screaming. Although that evil month did indeed finally come to an end, it didn't leave before taking our beloved Davy Jones with it. Despite the trials and tribulations that February bestowed upon us, now is the time to look forward, in anticipation to sunnier skies and happier times. As I write this, I am in the middle of celebrating happier times (Charles Ponzi and I have a birthday today) and reflecting on the past.

I'm beginning to realize that as each year passes, the circle of people I define as "friends" gets smaller and smaller. This fact becomes most evident on birthdays and other similar celebratory occasions - - in which I find there are few people I look forward to spending my time with. I image that as time passes, we all see friends leave the reservation, new friends take their place, and if we're lucky, we find those rocks that are always there - - either physically or in our hearts and minds. 

I also find - - as I image most people do - -that I spend a significant amount of time on this day of my birth, reflecting on the past and those people that inhabited that past. Speaking as someone who's been single since about 1999 - - a time in which I awaited with baited breath for the impending doom and chaos of Y2K and the Spice Girls topped the charts - - so I can't really claim that my past is littered with the broken hearts of the women I've encountered, but it doesn't mean that I haven't loved my fair share. 

The women of my past all had their flaws - - the women of my present are of no exception - - but despite that, I can say that the few I loved will always be with me. One of my favorite writers recently wrote on this subject and went so far as to pen the following brilliance, "He loved the wrong women, or the right women at the wrong time." This gem is exactly how I feel about all the women of my past, but describes my present with even more precision.

The bright side about time is that people change and wounds heal, becoming what Machiavelli described as memories and waking-dreams. I can confidently say that I've changed over the years, hopefully that change has been more positive than negative in nature. So as I take a short break during my birthday merriness to pen this brief entry, I reflect on all those past / current loves and friends that are forever a part of me. Some of those can't be here with me either because of geography and others, because of circumstance.

All of those beautiful souls from my past influenced the person I am today, whether they know it or not. The path I've been traveling has brought me sorrow and joy while teaching me valuable lessons along the way. I strive to be a more caring, understanding, and open minded person. As I have reached the ripe ol' age of thirty-two today, I find it so important to express my love and appreciation for those people that leave indelible marks on my soul - - life is just not long enough to do otherwise. 

Now more than ever, I realize that we all carry around the baggage of life - - we are all but curbside valets to our experiences - - but it's that baggage that makes us the people we are. As the irrepressible James T. Kirk once expressed, "They're the things we carry around with us [our personal baggage]...if we lose them, we lose ourselves!"

So as I end this somewhat erratic blog post and return to my libations, I'll repeat and reflect on that wonderful sentiment, I've never loved the wrong women, rather the right women at the wrong times.       

Cocktail of the week(end):

Any well-made spirit that makes you happy!

The consumption of any beverage pairs very well with the musical philosophy of Neil Young. 

Happy weekend! 

    

   

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!