Friday, March 30, 2007

Love On the 6 Line

Across from me, an ugly couple holds one another.

The boy's thin hair, tied back uncomfortably,
Reveals the puffed cheeks of an old woman.
His smooth skin undermines the age his height would suggest.
Small wire glasses frame shallow eyes,
Which he uses to stare lovingly at his modest treasure.

The girl is not much prettier,
Her face pulled together around the nose.
Her black roots push out her hap-hazard dye-job
To awkward lengths about her low cheek-bones.
Her body is misshapen, so as to be unattractive;
Not, however, enough to be interesting.

He exits at Volontaires, blowing an awkward kiss towards her.
She exits minutes later at Falguiere, looks about impatiently, then shuffles off.

I can imagine they believe others are looking at them with envy,
even jealousy.
I can imagine they believe we purchase their pretense, and pine for a love like theirs.

Little do they know, we are looking on with earnest,
Wondering who will be the first to tell them they are fooling no one.
The blanket is not a cape.
The broomstick, not a horse.

A Blog Transformation

For all eight of you who have purposefully or accidentally viewed this blog, I apologize for the lack of posts upon it. I'm not a blogger. I don't journal. I don't write prose for pleasure. It's just not me. However, I love the idea of using this a connection to anyone who's interested if I'm dead or not. Thus, I have decide on a transformation. Like a wounded phoenix from ashes unknown, I'm returning as a poetic blogger. Blogging the only way I know how, in short, ill-punctuated, seldom-read verse. Note, this is not my way of sharing poetry. I am not some angst filled teen trying to find an outlet. This is just the best way I know how to include others in my life and not feel like it is a chore.
Welcome to the new blog. For those of you who hate poetry, farewell. For those of you who hate bad poetry, farewell. For those of you bored enough to read my rambling thoughts. Bienvenue.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Je parle Anglais

I am now blogging (God help me for using that as a present participle) on an English based homepage. Please don't find yourselves under the false impression that this will add to the quantity of my blogs, but rest assured that the few blogs I post will be done with far less burden and confusion on my part. I am currently in the "shop" here in Paris proper and wanted to share just a small word of wisdom with you all.

Today I shaved. Not a monumental experience by any means, certainly not worthy to write hope about (which I seem to be currently contradicting) but notable nonetheless. I haven't fully shaved since last August, so it was quite a shock to those at the office who have never known me shorn. Amid the congratulations, ill thought out compliments, and obligatory ackowledgement of my once invisible face, one comment stood out. An assumingly well-intentioned office worker made the "compliment" that I look "thinner." Now as a precursor, I'm not under the false impression that I'm grossly out of shape or painful to look at. Some close friends and family are reasonably concerned about my cookie intake, but for the most part, I'm relatively healthy. However, at the comment that I am now "thinner" I can only assume this is in direct connection to the far less flattering "less thick."

The moral of this worthless story is just to say that unless as a close friend you've been confided in that a certain person has poor self esteem and a concious acknowledgement of a weight problem, never, in proposed compliment, inform him or her that they are thinner. This can only end in them pondering and then subsequently blogging about their obese past, presnt, and future.

Tell them they look great. Tell them they look good. Tell them anything that doesn't directly compare to their poorer past self. You'll find they'll see its harder to move away from that grotesque human of mere minutes ago than you have. They'll have some understandable connection to them.

Gig em, Whoop, Ponder

Saturday, March 17, 2007

I exist

I'd like to take some time in this first blog to celebrate the life of Justin James Wolfshohl. It is few and far between that you meet a man with the patience, integrity, and kindness of Justin. It is he who originated this blog for me over a month and a half ago. It is my laziness and preoccupation with baguettes that has kept the blog unused. Well, if its all the same to you, that stops today. Today I'd like to talk about March Madness. I'd like to tell you why it should required viewing for all males.
With permission, I'll proceed.
Historically, it would be difficult to call me a sports fan. The only sport I played was tennis. Now, Tennis is a fine sport, but not the way I played. After my second year on the Freshman team, I hung up my "D-shaped" racket and pride somewhere behind a deflated pogo-ball and torn Wham! poster.
I grew up very separated form the world of sports, and, while I did not necessarily feel the repercussions of this lifestyle, I understand now what I have been deprived of. The organization, anticipation, and exaltations of large single elimination tournaments like March Madness are clear ways to discipline youthful males with a desire for knowledge, a sense of involvement in a national community, a consideration of loyalty, and the basis of a firm competitive spirit.
The typical adolescent is dangerously thirsty for deep drink of knowledge. There is no challenge in the educational system save standardized tests and the few and far between projects teachers seldom assign. Many students are not academically challenged until far into their high school career, even their college years. It is the lack of a necessity that leaves them in this slump. With involvement into historical and fact based events like March Madness, young men are engaged in roster and statistics memorization and also becoming part of living history. How many 30 year old men have readily forgotten the 1992 last minute shot by Christian Laettner? The answer is: not many. The men who saw this game have a specific place in sports history and that game has a relevance in their life that connects them into a community with other peers. It is this community of masculinity that our society is so desperate for.
Young men who are involved in sports at an early age, not just playing, but engaging have a better aptitude for a healthy competitive spirit. It is the ones who start late in their life who have trouble dealing with defeat. With a firm basis of competition that is not of their own actions, but instead of their own loyalties, young men are inspired to believe in teh ability of more than their own strength, they are forced to defer to, even rely upon the abilities of others to drive their own successes.
I am, for the first time in my life, an avid follower of the current Madness about us. It is with a regretful eye I look back on a history devoid of this epic battle of wills. There is not a human or societal emotion that cannot be expressed, understood, or experienced through the watching of these games, and it is in the early exploration of these emotions that create complete and balanced men, men we must be and men we must raise.
If you are a father, gather your son close and turn on the game. If you are a man, meet with friends and watch victory and defeat in the comfort of a brotherhood. If you are young, put down your book and video game controller. Experience the beginning of what will be your lifelong tutor.
Pencils and pens up. We will begin by defining "team."