flahute

APPEAL TO THE GRAMMARIANS

We, the naturally hopeful,
Need a simple sign
For the myriad ways we’re capsized.
We who love precise language
Need a finer way to convey
Disappointment and perplexity.
For speechlessness and all its inflections,
For up-ended expectations,
For every time we’re ambushed
By trivial or stupefying irony,
For pure incredulity, we need
The inverted exclamation point.
For the dropped smile, the limp handshake,
For whoever has just unwrapped a dumb gift
Or taken the first sip of a flat beer,
Or felt love or pond ice
Give way underfoot, we deserve it.
We need it for the air pocket, the scratch shot,
The child whose ball doesn’t bounce back,
The flat tire at journey’s outset,
The odyssey that ends up in Weehawken.
But mainly because I need it—here and now
As I sit outside the Caffe Reggio
Staring at my espresso and cannoli
After this middle-aged couple
Came strolling by and he suddenly
Veered and sneezed all over my table
And she said to him, “See, that’s why
I don’t like to eat outside.”

  — Paul Violi

Once again, it’s that time of year … time to sit back and reflect on all that I am thankful for.

1. Work continues to chug along. The bet that I made that our stock would rebound last fall has paid off nicely … I lowered my average cost significantly, and my portfolio is above water once again.
2. I met and dated a fabulous woman for a few months this past summer, and while it didn’t work out, I learned a lot about myself and how to handle myself in a relationship.
3. I rediscovered much of my love for the bicycle, and while my mileage still isn’t where it was several years ago, I doubled my 2008 mileage, and am looking forward to spending some quality time on the bike over Christmas down in Arizona
4. The Trooper is still chugging along, after a starter and clutch replacement for way too much money, but it should get me through another year or two before it dies completely
5. And yet again, last but certainly not least, I have good friends, both old and new, who all seem to genuinely care in one way or another.

Thank you Mom & Ralph, Ben & Doris, Geraly & D.J., Art & Rachel, Richard, Matt, Scottie, Carol, Jon & Ellie, Sly, Shauna, Jennie & Joel, Darrell & Theresa (whom I feel are rapidly becoming family), Marit & Dayna (who each, in their own way, helped me to realize and change some things about myself), Heather & Gigi (both of whose constant smiles remind me that life is to be enjoyed), and most especially, thank you Hayley, for allowing me to love again, if only for a little while.

THANKS  

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
smiling by the windows looking out
in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

  — W.S. Merwin (b. 1927), American poet and translator.

Big town’s got its losers
Small town’s got its vices
A handful of friends
One needs a match, one needs some ice
Call-waiting phone in another time zone
How do you say I miss you to
An answering machine?
How do say good night to
An answering machine?

  — The Replacements, “Answering Machine”

REMEMBER, BODY …  

Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds where you lay,
but also those desires for you,
shining clearly in eyes
and trembling in a voice—and some chance
obstacle thwarted them.
Now when everything is the past,
it almost looks as if you gave yourself
to those desires as well—how they shone—
remember—in the eyes that looked at you,
how they trembled for you in the voice—remember, body.

  — C.P. Cavafy (1863 – 1933), Greek poet and journalist. Translated by Aliki Barnstone

Anyone who knows me well knows not only that I have a fascination with words, but also love to debate … I can argue semantics for hours, much to the dismay of people around me at times.

I’m pretty sure that’s why a friend of mine gave me a book this past summer; because I was driving her crazy with my insistence on using the right words … but I wonder if she knows how much I’m actually enjoying reading it?

Sol Steinmetz’s Semantic Antics: How and Why Words Change Meaning, published by Random House, “shines a light on the often complex evolution of the meaning of words” according to Jesse Sheidlower, editor of the Oxford English Dictionary.

For example:

AWKWARD

Before 1400 there was a word in English, awk, meaning “the wrong way, backhanded,” that was of Scandinavian origin, probably old Norse afug. Though the word had fallen out of use in English by the 1600s, it survived as part of the compound word awkward, meaning “turned in the wrong direction, upside down,” literally, “toward the wrong way.” From the idea of doing things the wrong way, a new meaning, “ungraceful, uncouth,” developed, as in Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida (1616), where Ulysses says: “And with ridiculous and awkward action … He pageants us.” From this sense came the current meaning, “lacking dexterity, clumsy, bumbling,” applied to persons and things, as in an awkward gesture, an awkward situation. “I have not seen a more clumsy, awkward, and unhandy people.” (Jonathan Swift, Gulliver’s Travels)

Of course, when I whip out this newfound knowledge, people look at me like I’m crazy … which leaves me feeling, well, awkward.

Oh well, what’s a guy to do?

Over Labor Day weekend, I made my first trip back to the Bay Area since moving to Utah … while there, one of the things we did was go to the Cantor Art Center at Stanford University. I took lots of pictures while I was there, but never really go around to editing and uploading them.

Well, I finally have some done, so now I’m sharing them with you, my faithful readers. I have no idea where these masks are from, except sub-Saharan Africa and late 19th or early 20th century. I just thought they were incredible.

NOVEMBER NIGHT

Listen. . .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall.

  — Adelaide Crapsey

IT IS THE TIME OF RAIN AND SNOW

It is the time of rain and snow
I spend sleepless nights
And watch the frost
Frail as your love
Gathers in the dawn.

  — Izumi Shikibu, translated by Kenneth Rexroth

SAGE FRANCIS – GOT UP THIS MORNING

It’s not that what we’re doing is wrong
But let’s try to keep this a secret
Between me, you, and the song
A menage a trois that sings to me
Sinfully
When god plays along

     What you want with a woman who won’t do what you say?

I was sweet on her
She was sweet on Jesus
We slept with a blanket barrier between us
Master of her craft, I had her laughin’ like hyenas
When I asked her if she’d marry an elitist
Staggering genius in lace
With the grace of a drunken monk
The mask isn’t seamless cause her face says something’s up
But I don’t dare ask her I just listen
Switchin’ to my good ear and adjusting my position
As she discusses Ginsberg I listened and learned
As she dispersed his words I just resisted the urge to do like he would
Whatever he wanted, if she allowed me to
She dangled that carrot then asked me:
“What would Bukowski do?”
Oh don’t go there
He’d make you his mom and then completely lie about it in a book later on

     Got up this morning
     Didn’t know right from wrong

Spirits were lifted when she whispered something French in my ear
Tension was there
When I responded in English it sounded less sincere
The sex in the air couldn’t be left alone
So welcome to the Terrordome
A bedroom full of pheromones
Where nothing that we say is set in stone
If I thought it was for posterity I’d already be writing better poems
But I’m talking in extremes
Best this and best that
Best not regret anything that ever gets said to this hell cat
Creepin on all fours
Ready for combat
With secretive wars sneaking her claws in our contract
Bending every which way but loose with no proof that anything that we’ve suggested to this day is the whole truth

     Got up this morning
     Didn’t know right from wrong

I heard her chemical romance was a medical slow dance
Said my advance was sexual
Held my genitals with cold hands
Set up the Coke cans
Broke out the Red Ryder
Then one by one I tried to knock down everything that’s dead inside her
She used to treat street dividers like a balance beam
Arms spread wider than the legs in her dad’s magazine
Re-enacting the pages that she got trapped between
I used it for kindling and then spilled the gasoline
Now I’m your water boy
I fetch it from your cheeks just like tennis balls
Smell the stench of your weakness on the bedroom walls
Somebody careless let em vaporize
“Who let these fall to the floor from your poor vacant eyes?”
Disintegrate
This ain’t a great first impression
But I work better on pages, they say words are my profession
Let me spell it out in simple language
Plain English
I want your suicide to be a book of mine that I never finish

     Got up this morning
     Didn’t know right from wrong

     What you want with a woman who won’t do what you say?

Wow, have I been lax on posting anything original lately. As often happens, life has taken a few unexpected turns and I just haven’t really gotten around to it.

For the past several months, I was dating a really incredible woman. Unfortunately, it was a long-distance relationship and the 800 miles of separation became too much of an obstacle to overcome, and we split up a few weeks ago. One of the many great things about this relationship is that I learned I can fully commit emotionally, and take all the risks necessary to make it work; and even thought it didn’t ultimately work out, I don’t regret a second. If the opportunity arose again, I would still dive in headfirst without a second thought or a second glance. And the next person who enters my life romantically will also benefit from what I have learned and continue to learn.

In other “news”, I’ve also been having some car problems. The Trooper had intermittent starter problems for months, but every time I took it into the shop, it would start right up for the mechanics, so they couldn’t diagnose the problem. Eventually, the starter finally crapped out for good, and I had to compression start for several trips before I could get it back in and the starter replaced.

Of course, as I’m sure as anyone who drives an older stick shift knows, compression starting a car is not the best thing in the world for the clutch or transmission. I’m guessing my clutch was getting pretty worn anyway (although I never really noticed any issues), but a couple weeks after getting the starter replaced, the clutch died … so another day in the shop getting that replaced (along with the corresponding expense).

Hopefully, the Trooper is back in good running condition and I won’t have any more problems in the foreseeable future … at least not until I can put together enough dosh to buy a new(er) vehicle. Requirements: 4WD/AWD and big enough to put bikes and/or skis inside, preferably without having to remove anything except perhaps the front wheel.

Work is going well; recently changed departments to Corporate Actions/Re-Org. This means that instead of dealing with branches who are trying to figure out how to open new accounts and complaining about statements, I’m now dealing with people who are wondering when stock splits and dividends are going to be distributed; what the terms of tender offers are going to be, etc. Perhaps because it’s new, or perhaps because it requires a bit of research skill and inductive/deductive reasoning, but right now this gig is kind of fun again.

Cyclocross season is going well … yeah yeah, I’m not racing, but a number of my friends are having breakout seasons, and the series is continuing to grow by leaps and bounds, and I’m getting to work with a great bunch of people to continue to make it a success.

Thanksgiving plans are coming together. Christmas plans are in, well, the planning stage … looks like a road trip to Arid-zona to see the fam, along with bringing bike(s) to work on getting in those extra miles over my break and get started on 2010; then on to Los Angeles to see some friends I haven’t seen in about 7 years and maybe a couple of rides up the Malibu coastline … then back to the 801 for New Year’s (although I won’t be doing anything for NYE itself, most likely), and the Last Call Cyclocross Race & Party to close out the UTCX season.

Life is good. It could be better, but it’s been a whole lot worse, and I seem to be turning another corner. I’m looking forward to the next steps in the journey.

Art O'Connor and Bo Pitkin at the 2008 Cutthroat Cross

Bo Pitkin on the run-up, Cutthroat Cross 2009

Rachel Cieslewicz, Cutthroat Cross 2009

More later … and more on Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/veloworks/sets/72157622649040705/