Notes on Aging

I turned 24 several months ago and have put together a list of my thoughts on aging. I thought this was important to let the world know as I near the quarter-century mark.

- I fart more now.

- I worry about trans fats, and I even considered switching to Lean Pockets.

- note to reader: when I wrote the above point I accidentally wrote “I worry about trans farts more...” I don’t know what a “trans fart” is, but I’ll bet my horse it stinks.

- I don’t think “aging” should be spelled “ageing” – that unecessary e could really piss somebody off.

- I don’t know if I fart more because I haven’t switched to Lean Pockets or because I don’t exercise. Anyway, Chris is the one who has to deal with it, so wtf?

- Some of my students call me “Mr. Klein” - weird

- I wonder what my future children will want to call me: Pop? Dad? Poppy? Papa? My Ol’ Man? Father?

- I still don’t know the first thing about buying a house. This portends ill.

- It’s true that when you get older it becomes more difficult to remember things: just yesterday, I got hit by a car, and then I forgot, and got hit by the same car. Actually, now that I think about, maybe I was the one driving.

- After listening to some new rap music, I thought to myself, “man, Snoop Doggy Dogg was much more articulate and wrote much better music than any of the posers today.” This is something an old person would probably say. ~“sippin on gin and juice…”~

- Speaking of rap music, I read the lyrics to Naughty by Nature’s “OPP,” a song I had heard in middle school, and thence discovered that the song is not about some guy named OPP whom we are all down with.

The Last Time I Saw Barry

The last time I saw Barry I was no more than a kid who occasionally shaved. I still remember the way he entered the room. There was something about him that brought all conversation and activity to come to a complete, awestricken stand still. His hair tied back modestly, glossy and healthy against the collarless, black silken shirt. I could never forget him.

Here am I, again in the presence of that heralded human. He sits not ten feet from me in a small coffee shop. I wonder, as I try to study, what he is drinking. What is he thinking? Even after graduating from college I know I’m a nobody next to him. I mean, you don’t just walk up and strike up a conversation with a guy like that. You better have something profound to tell him or bring an infant to be blessed by him. I wish I could just look at him, but my head is uncovered and I can’t easily remove my shoes. My breath is short as he heads for the door. The displaced air from his movement is sweet in my nostrils. He is gone.

The last time I saw Barry I didn’t understand him. I still don’t and I probably never will.

Jeff's Not Unique: Part I

“Was that faux hawk intentional?”

He reddened to the roots of his meticulously styled hair at her cutting remark. He turned on his heels and looked into the freshly polished, full length mirror. “Oh, hell no…I don’t like how the lady cut my hair this time.” He quickly drew the palms of his hands over the piecey tips, destroying the central precipice that just an hour before he’d taken so much pleasure in constructing. “I didn’t tip her.” He let ring a nervous laugh through his chapped lips. Lips that had a lot of potential, he thought, but they were often chapped. One too many times had he left his blistex in the fifth pocket of his jeans and run them through the dryer. That’s how he had ruined his favorite tank top.

He took two smooth steps past the shoe rack and into the small bathroom. He turned the faucet on and began washing the sticky hair product from his hands.

He leaned against the porcelain basin, staring intently into the mirror.

“I’m going to shave my head tomorrow.” he whispered.

But he knew he never would.

My Dream Last Night, or, "My Biological Clock is Ticking"

Stuart's birth came out of nowhere. I pretended he looked cute, but to tell the truth, his head was prodigious, and he looked disconcertingly like some sort of man-baby freak. Immediately after the delivery, I went away on an extremely important business trip for a week. I suppose that Joel must have stayed home with the man-baby, but I can't really be sure. It’s all a blur.

Upon my return, I was discouraged to find that I couldn't remember "little" Stuart's middle name. I somewhat sheepishly asked a friend – Christine - what it was, but she must have thought I was joking because she just laughed and started talking about something else. Some friend… It turns out that Stuart's middle name was Luke, but I sure didn’t remember naming him that.

Stuart turned out to be a pretty good sport. Since the birth took me totally by surprise, I had no baby clothes on hand; it turns out that old towels keep babies just as warm as effeminate, pastel onesies. I started keeping Stuart in the kitchen sink as I would do the house-cleaning, and he didn’t complain much about that either.

After Stuart's birth, our dinner party conversations invariably turned to Stuart's big, fat head. People don't usually tell new parents this, but big-headed babies are great conversation fodder. Our friends made fun of Stuart with a tenacity that was both humorous and charming; our soirees have never been more intimate. And if that weren’t enough fun, Nick started hiding Stuart in different out-of-the-way places as a joke. After about an hour of Balderdash, Nick would say, “Hey, where’s that balloon-headed baby anyway?! I can see the sun again, because his fat head isn’t obscuring the light, that’s how big his fat head is,” and we would all chuckle. Then we would start looking around for Stuart, and sure enough, he would be nowhere in sight. A rousing game of “Find Stuart” always ensued. Oh, the times we had.

10:30 am

One stands and sways in torn jeans and a tan jacket.

His paunch hanging under a worn red shirt that appears

Like a junior-high overbite. It is 10:29 am.

The other - a plaid sweater-coat, is calm

And short…collected, cool, knowing the wait

Will be worth the score. It is 10:29 am.

The door is shut but the lights are on –

Movement within. Signs that the first in will receive

His due. It is 10:29 am.

A beard and a bow-tie hover above

On the red-striped brick building, a remnant of

A southern past. It is 10:29 am.

At 10:30, the Colonel opens his doors.

Observations on life as a Hoosier

It’s cold.

I thought about taking up smoking because of the cold – or because of the media.

Our neighbors are quiet – the flayed dog I hung in the doorway seems to be doing the trick.

Noone from the blog but Chris and I honored the blood pact we all made several years ago where we vowed that we would move to Indiana by 2007 and start a cult.

The people who play Settlers here are just as annoying as those in Oregon.

Bloomington is the best city in Indiana.

At the local Afghani restaurant, when the server brings your food, it’s really funny if he has a dish but doesn’t know whose it is and noone tells him. Foreigners.

People on public transportation annoy the living daylights out of me. I rode the bus to campus yesterday morning and for ten minutes an elderly short woman talked with the bus driver about how the mall opens early at 7:30 am so people can take their walks, but its icy out so she can’t make it to the mall, and they should really do something about that ice or...

I actually got off the bus before my stop and walked the rest of the way. It was 12 degrees or something, but the cold was a welcome change.

On the way home she was on the same bus and she became friends with a man in sunglasses who was on his way to the YMCA to get his ID picture taken. They talked loudly about the need to prosecute individuals who don’t shovel the snow from their sidewalks and how there’s a number you can call to alert the local authorities to those negligent bastards. The man in sunglasses told the small woman at least seven times that you can be fined for not shoveling your sidewalk, and the small woman made it entirely clear that if she took one false step and fell on her left hip she would immediately die.

New Balance 574s are common, as are UGG boots. These seem to the reigning footwear paradigms amongst Hoosiers.

I hope you all can visit.

To Disneyland

ahem. . .

oh how great you art
grand land of magic and dreams
salute you I do

or did.

i’m chary of stating so still—
have the vagaries of time and piles of tomes
forced the blush from my cheek?

???
?????
??

the end.

Oxymoronic

Sign outside of convenience store, Bloomington, IN:

"Dasani water ALL FLAVORS: $2.99"

MySpace Survery Mother Russia style

Name: Sasha Pavlovich
m/f: m
Current location: Internet café
Birthplace: in the gulag (haha Siberia)
Lenin or Stalin: Lenin was cuter ;p
Favorite band: Deep Purple/Nirvana/Abba
Vodka or beer: both at same time – lof :^>
In the past month have you drank alcohol: yes
In the past month have you been drunk: Only when I take driver test – just kid, me lose eyes when drink mean vodka.
Tolstoy or Dostoevsky: noone, busy drinking mean vodka
Do you want to get married: only to American – http://www.RussianHotties.ru
Age you started smoking: 10
Do you want to go to college: I buy degree instead
Irkutsk or Yakutsk: neither
Paul McCartney or Kurt Cobain: CANT DECIDE
Yesterday or Smells Like Teen Spirit: add in Macarena and make medley – I like boom shake boom
Is Kurt Cobain dead: no!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Metro or bus: both
Summer or winter: Winter – more reason to drink
Number of cd’s you own: I dont technical own… ;)
Favorite movie: Titanic/Pink Floyd’s the Wall
Favorite hang-out: underpass by my hous
First thoughts waking up: where am i?!!!!!!!! where is my wallet???
Age you started drinking: the womb (thanks mama!)
Most overused phrase on instant messenger: loll comrade
Favorite pastime: Russian roulette jk – only sometime
What do you want to be when you grow up: pirate ^ just like my papa
Group dates or single dates: many single date
Coffee or tea: Tea my mamma raised me good
Do you shower daily: i dont have shower…
Been in love: yes every day new girl
Favorite holiday: Women Day haha
Favorite TV show: Santa Barbara
Do you think you’re attractive: have you seen my moustache?! it awesome!!!!!!!!
In the past month have you stolen anything: define “stolen”
What country would you most like to visit: Washington D.C.
Shoes you wore today: ABIBAS

Editors note: I'm sorry to all you intellectuals out there, but I couldn't resist the juvenile stereotypes and hackneyed jokes. Hopefully I got it all out of my system, but I can't make any promises.

The Shitty Skull Sketch Project

I first saw her from across the cafe.
Clothed in black, pen in hand.
Brooding, brooding, brooding.
"It's poetry she's writing," thought I,
As I studied her bent figure scribbling fast.

The June Umbrella then caught my gaze,
Cowboy shirt wearing lead singer killin' it hard.
I stared into his eyes and he stared back,
Was that a wink? No. He must be queer
Bait.

Moving toward the bathroom later,
(the band was takin' a break for ganj),
I passed the poet woman and her pen.
Brooding, brooding, brooding.

And then I saw it, what the hell?
She was sketching, not composing a poem.

I think it was a skull that she was trying to draw,
or was it a baby?
I looked to see if her eyes were closed,
or maybe she was missing several fingers.
But she wasn't and they weren't.

That's one shitty skull sketch,
shittiest ever.

Or perhaps she's drawing with a single piece of 0.7 lead,
cause that's real hard.
But she wasn't and they weren't.

My Life: A Short Poem

Today I shined a tooth.
Yesterday I shined a tooth.
Tomorrow, I will shine another tooth.

Yours truly,
Dr. N.A. Smith DMD

Daniel Radcliffe

“Even the play's producers are surprised at Radcliffe's dramatic transformation. "To have a six-pack like that at that age, when some people try for 25 years to get one ... we were gobsmacked (translation: amazed) at how suddenly he turned into this swan," producer David Pugh tells PEOPLE.”

We at People Magazine recently had the opportunity of interviewing David Pugh, producer of the upcoming play Equus in which Harry Potter (aka Daniel Radcliffe) bares all.

People: I’ll get straight to it David, the people of the world know about the lightning scar, but they want more, tell us about Harry’s body.

David Pugh: Well, I and a number of the other producers were some of the first blokes to get a good gander at Harry during an initial viewing, and well, after we ripped our eyeballs from Daniel’s (aka Harry Potter’s) sumptuouosly peelie-wally (translation: pale) bahookie (translation: bum (translation: buttocks)) and flowering pubescence as seen for our upcoming play Equus, we didn’t stand up…that’s about all I can say, and I’m not even a bugger (translation: a fag that’s a man). Really, I mean really, Daniel views this role as his opportunity to tell the world, “hello world, here I am, I’m all grown-up and I’m producing baby gravy by the lorry-load [chuckles], so take a good hard look.”

People: What do you say to Daniel’s critics that think this play is not appropriate for him as a role model for the world’s youth?

David Pugh: Well, that’s a right good ol’ question…we…well…I don’t want to argue the toss but I’d have to tell them to give the play a chance and wait to see it, I mean, it’s not just about Daniel wiggling his beaver cleaver (translation: we think this is a penis) and deliciously rose-tinged arse all willy-nilly across the stage, it’s about real art and the beauty of life…and it’s about Daniel’s yummy body [licks lips].

People: In one of the pictures recently released we see Harry…I mean Daniel acting coy with a horse, is there any chance of giving the part of the horse to a Hippogriff?

David Pugh: [Erupts into laughter, wheezes uncontrollably through gnarled teeth, eventually regains composure] No…[Erupts into laughter again]…but that would be the bees knees, now wouldn’t it?

How's your walk?

We have clear skies in Portland, good weather for a post. My patient cancelled at 7:30 this morning leaving me free to sit in the library, write in my "Purpose Driven Life" themed journal and stare at the computer screen. I tried to check the blog and was immediately forced to upgrade to the "New Blogger" which is linked to Google as everything seems to be recently. Last week I overheard someone say, "Google has been doing some pretty nefarious things behind the scenes lately." He seemed genuinely concerned.
My message: We need some new posts. Jackie's most recent offering was great and I just read Natalie's thougts on Dante's treatment of the sodomites in her snooty english class blog, so I know she is still alive and capable of writing. We need an update from Chris and Joel; How is Indiana? Have you gotten over the jet lag? How has married life affected your respective dating lives? I'm interested to see if Nick will be able to form coherent sentences after his snowboarding induced concussion. Katie B.-write something deep, Christine L.-write a poem about turtles. Lets make it happen!