The Urban Pantheist

This is from a letter from my father, which he sent to several dozen people, so I don't think he'll mind me excerpting it here. He gets one date wrong--I moved to Boston in 1987 not 1986, but that doesn't affect the meaning of this piece.

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You wouldn't think I would need to make a post like this, since I literally take a picture every day and say something about my life. But 3:00 doesn't tell the whole story, and it doesn't get off my chest what I need to right now, I guess.

Thursday was the Bowling for Rhinos event, the second one that I presided over as President (presidents preside, I suppose) of the local AAZK chapter. Initially we were worried because we only had spots for 40 bowlers, then we had problems filling even that many (we had about twice as many last year). Anyway, what ended up being a bigger issue was that the location was in Boston proper, meaning bad traffic and bad parking situations all around. People spent a lot of time in traffic and circling the block, so getting going was rough.

But once the event was rolling it kind of ran itself. The other AAZK officers snapped into their roles and made me feel like I didn't have to worry about every little thing. I delegated. I trusted. I circulated and saw that people were happy. I even bowled.

Friday Kikipuff called me and asked if we could get a beer after work. I went to the bank and deposited over 2000 dollars from the bowling event. Then I went to the other bank and checked my personal bank balance, discovering that I was overdrawn. Kikipuff bought me dinner and a couple beers, and I circled the drain of despondency that money troubles always drag me to. She offered to lend me money, I refused.

Kiki was going out with friends later, but wanted to hang out a little while longer, so we went to a second hand shop across the street. We flipped through CDs--an activity that I find at once comforting and depressing. I hadn't done it for years, but found that many of the same titles were in the racks. (Poor Frente!) The records were even worse, but I did come across Gordon Lightfoot's Sundown, and showed it to Kiki. She didn't really know who he was, and I don't know why I showed it to her, saying "the title track is a really catchy soft rock tune."

That night the dogs woke me up three times (to get drinks of water, and to pee). One of the times I decided to use the unexpected awake time to learn all about Gordon Lightfoot. I listened to the song "Sundown," and got it in my head for about 36 straight hours.

Saturday Alex came over, offered to lend me money--I refused. We had a nice time playing with the dogs and hovering around the fire, and talking about movie night this coming Tuesday (Pacific Rim, if we can get a copy, otherwise I'm making everyone watch Snakes on a Plane). I borrowed 30 dollars from Alexis.

That night was a housewarming party, I bought a pumpkin pie with my borrowed money, drank other peoples' beer, sat around another fire with Kiki, and made her listen to Sundown. On the way home (about 25 miles) my low fuel light came on.

For a while this morning I was sulking about being broke, thinking about begging on LiveJournal, selling things and putting out a paypal button or something. I was worried that some autopay thing would go through and hit me for another overdraft fee. I asked Alexis to paypal me some money so my account could absorb such a thing.

Today I noticed a leak around one of our toilets, said it was probably the wax seal around the drain pipe (I'd seen this happen with plumbing at work). Alexis googled it, watched a youtube video of the repair, and said, "we can fix this ourselves." I said "Are you fucking kidding me?" I'm a big proponent of paying specialists to do specialized work, but obviously was in no position to argue, what with having no money. She went to the store (with my car, getting me enough gas to last until next payday) and got a wax seal. She did all the work except moving the toilet, which I did. We put it all together and it still leaked a little. She took it apart again, then googled the problem, and decided we needed a wax-free seal thing (a big rubber thing that sticks to the underside of the toilet.

Alexis had had it with the store--already too much xmas shit and xmas shoppers. I volunteered to go buy the thing (it somehow felt good to buy something) and then we set upon fixing it again. Once it was all back together the last nut wouldn't screw onto the last bolt, even though we'd done it twice before. We gave up on it. The toilet isn't leaking. Alexis made shepherd's pie, and eating that and writing this has made me feel a little better about having no money.

The view from the kitchen window on xmas day 2012. Alex came over around mid-day, and when the snapshot alarm went off she was out getting Chinese food. I spent most of the day from 1-5 standing by the fire and a little bit playing with dogs. I felt pretty gloomy most of the day--I always want December 25th to be an anti-celebration, reveling in not belonging, but it's hard to pull off unless you have others who want to indulge those feelings with you. Alexis was gloomy too, but I think she was partly preoccupied with the puppy's health issue, and partly in a deep funk about the weather.

Alex was good company even though she was feeling a little under the weather herself. Jim and Turtle played most of the day, and the big dogs joined in but wimped out of the cold pretty quick.

I called my dad, who was not traveling on xmas for the first time in 15 years, and he seemed okay with being home alone. His plan for the day was to call all his relatives.



I was inordinately pleased with myself for having spent much of the previous half day preparing firewood and storing it in the shed to keep it dry. The gloom broke after dark, Alexis and I cuddled and watched John Carter. This weekend we will probably do some kind of xmas thing with the Vermont family, and my dad may come along too if the weather isn't too shitty.

As much as I'm trying to be calmly disengaged from "the holiday season" (rather than simmering with rage, as is my tradition), I have to say something:

The concept of "shopping days," specifically counting them down--marking time with days left to buy something ANYthing for everyone on "your list" until the arbitrary but very sacred date selected, is unbelievable offensive to me. It's the last thing about the season that unreasonably infuriates me.

That and Salvation Army Bell-Ringers.

Carry on, Peace on Earth y'all.

Amazing. Alexis posts that she has stuff to give away, and her friends actually want it! Well, it IS Hello Kitty stuff.

We did the first cut of knick-knack items, and filled one box. It was surprisingly easy to look at items that I once considered indispensable enough to put up on a shelf to gather dust and dispense with them. Even the Simpson's stuff! Anyone want any Simpson's stuff?

I also brought one box of books and one box of CDs to the library and left them on their loading dock, per their instructions on their website. Also surprisingly easy, considering I spent good impulse internet money on many of those books from Amazon.com. You may ask, why don't I sell them back on Amazon, or Ebay, or half.com or whatever, and those are one good question split into many, with one disappointing answer which is I am terribly lazy. The more effort I put into dispensing with my things, the more depressed I get, and with winter and the horrible xmas holiday essentially upon us (they are upon us, go to a store and see) I don't need any other reasons to be depressed. Especially considering my life is pretty excellent and I have no reason to be depressed, except for, you know, the brain chemistry thing.

I have several more loads of books to dispense, and since I've tried arranging them by who might want them, subject, and size, and different times, they are completely random. Wicca, natural history, humor, photos of the earth from space, you name it, the usual kinds of stuff people get rid of when they move. Or are planning to move at an as-yet undetermined time in the probably near future.

So if you want anything I used to own, let me know. Let me know especially if you live in the area and are willing to drive by my house and pick the stuff up off the curb, because that's the level of effort I'm willing to put into this. Or if you want any of my old books or CDS, just check them out of the Brookline Library.

Trying to get out of Christmas by saying you aren't Christian is like trying to get out of prison rape by saying you aren't gay.

The goal this morning is to find a place where we can take the dogs, that isn't already overrun with people and their dogs. We'll have to resort to finding a place that's somehow not conducive to family fun and cookouts and swimming, since this is one of those holiday weekends where people who only have fun twice a year get up the gumption to do so. One of the reasons I hate all holidays is that they inspire this sort of desperate urge to participate in the collective mood. Usually it's a mood that I think people should get into more often, for no reason, like the generosity of xmas, the recognition of death and horror of halloween, or the drunken pride of being irish or not of st. patricks day.

This weekend it's ostensibly the recognition of those who pay the ultimate sacrifice in service to the country, but it's actually about the beginning of socializing outside season. Probably in warmer places it means something else. I'll find out someday. I heard Bush expounding on the meaning of Memorial day and I wanted to throw the radio out the window. I hold him and his cronies personally responsible for the unnecessary sacrifices of thousands over the past eight years, and I think he should be forbidden from talking about the subject, unless it's under oath at his criminal trial.

Wow, I really didn't intend to rant on this post. Anyway, after that I'm going to meet a good friend for lunch, so that we can socialize before his wife has a baby and Everything Changes. He's an LJ friend, too, but I'll let him decide if he'd like the blogosphere to know about his personal life.

Then after that it's up to Salem to our friends' Carrie and Ben for big Memorial day weekend cookout party with bocci or badminton or maybe just gta4, depending. It's supposed to be a gorgeous day today, so outdoor socializing is mandatory! The most amazing thing is that Alexis and I actually have tomorrow off together, just like a real married couple with 9 to 5 jobs. I don't know what I thought adulthood would be like when I was a kid, but I bet I didn't realize how important sleeping in was going to be. Oh yeah, baby, sleep--the last vice. I'm gettin' me some.

Our Urban Nature Walk yesterday was great. We walked around Jamaica Pond, and despite a dearth of binoculars, saw and discussed a dozen or so bird species, including one I'd never seen before (and without binoculars I originally IDed as a cedar waxwing). The white squirrel made an appearance, and one of the new participants identified a hedge as American bittersweet, a plant I knew existed but hadn't experienced. Naturally, Alexis took a bunch of great pictures, and if you haven't seen them yet, what's wrong with you? I mean, here they are. The same new participant told us of the burry man, a tradition I think we need to start up in the States.

We saw Grindhouse: Planet Terror this weekend. I enjoyed it, but I have a secret to confess: I'm tired of zombies. Yes, it's true. I think after Black Sheep I reached my limit, and yet I still have about 50 zombie movies in my Netflix queue. 28 Weeks Later and Fido are coming up soon, and I'm really looking forward to them, but after that I have to take a zombie break. Anyway, Planet Terror was generally well made, had some scary parts in the beginning, had a LOT of splatter gore effects (side note: I'm a very squeamish movie goer--I find convincing scenes of someone in pain very hard to take--but zombie movie gore doesn't gross me out for some reason) with squib packs that seemed to have a quart of goo in each burst. The cgi effects were mostly well-hidden. It just kind of goes on and on after a while (I don't know if this is a problem with Planet Terror or a symptom of my greater zombie fatigue) and wore out its welcome with me.

The guy behind BBT requested that I review Marquis, a movie co-written by the artistic designer behind Fantastic Planet which seems to be about the Marquis de Sade in prison having conversations with his penis, which is an animated character in the film. It hasn't been released on dvd yet, and out-of-print vhs copies cost between 15 and 60 dollars. If anyone has a copy they'd like to lend me, that would be most convenient. At this point, however, I think I need to watch something unfreaky to recombobulate myself a bit.

Last night was the first in many where I had vivid dreams that were NOT work anxiety dreams, at least not obviously. I've put more subconscious time into that than any other I've had. I should punch in when I go into REM sleep.

I vow every year to do no shopping of any kind between Thanksgiving and New Years to avoid the horror of the holidays, especially pumped in musical dreck, and every year I have to buy groceries and other stuff. The bell-ringer in front of my supermarket managed to clang her clanger in a slightly less annoying way than usual. Or maybe I'm mellowing out with age. I'll try not to rain on everyone's glitter-coated poinsettia parade, but I have some advice: RELAX. Don't work yourselves up into a yuletide frenzy, you Santa-ists. It happens every year, it's all festivities and ugly sweaters and singing ornaments and eggnog and forced cheer and meeting with friends and loved ones and blinking lights and human sacrifice claymation and cinnamon and menorahs and dreidels and wrapping paper and bows and awkward parties at work and dancing around explicit religious references at school and construction paper stars and butter cookies and BAM it's January and you're stuck with 2 to 5 more months of dark and cold and sleet and no public festivals except the Superbowl and Valentines Day. Except for you Australians. Do they have "the holidays" in Australia? And if so, WHY? Do you import Norway Spruces and spray them with artificial snow? Does Santa arrive wearing surfing shorts? Do you roast kangaroo nuts on an open fire? I digress. (I love you Australians, and I'm jealous of your upside-down seasons.) All I mean is, if you celebrate some kind of late December thing, don't burn yourself out, don't take it too seriously, despite what Old Navy and the diamond merchants (oh yeah, a 5000 dollar rock is a good gift) and the santa-hatted androids on TV would have you think, IT'S NOT VERY IMPORTANT. Some people don't celebrate any kind of holiday in December. Maybe I'll watch more zombie movies.

For Barb, who has a fine appreciation of the broad overlap (6 foot inflatable snowglobe anyone?) of bad taste and xmas decorations.

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