Adventurous Thoughts

Sometimes....Well...more than sometimes, I get bored sitting in an office all day. I can think of about a thousand things I'd rather be doing. Like rock climbing or SCUBA diving or deep sea fishing or skiing or searching for some ancient Inca/Aztec/Egyptian/Phoenician ruins that hold the true key to the origins of human history. But I don't do any of these things. Instead I go to work each day at 10 AM and go home at 7 PM. My life is nothing if not routine.

I wish my life was more like Jaques Cousteu or Indiana Jones instead of Dilbert but that seems to be the way things have happened for me. I read books by Clive Cussler, Jon Krakauer and others about searching for buried treasure or climbing into the heights of the Himalayas or searching for the lost secrets of mankind.

I've always had more than a passing case of wanderlust. Looking up into the sky at night and seeing the stars, I'm still as amazed by how distant they are and yet as real as the ground I'm standing on. It always feels me with a sense of awe. There's all that space out there and I'm just this little being standing on this little world that's in the corner of one galaxy among countless others in the universe. I think about how the Earth is probably like a grain of sand in the desert of the universe and I am like an atom in that grain of sand. I think about how there's so much to see, so much to know, so much to experience and within my lifetime, I will never know or see or experience even a minute fraction of all that is out there. I also know that when it comes down to it, I'm just one of six billion and something people on the Earth and I'm not really that significant in any way. I'm probably not so much more intelligent or talented or gifted than anyone else.

It seems like thinking this should cause me to feel discouraged, but instead it makes me feel inspired although I can't say exactly why. Maybe I am pitifully insignificant in the grand scheme of things, I tell myself, but I'm going to do all that is in my power to experience all that I can, to soak up all the knowledge that I am able to learn, to make a mark on this world somehow. If I think about these kinds of things hard enough and let myself go with it for long enough, I will literally get chill bumps.

I get the same feeling from looking out on the ocean. I think of how long those waves splashing against my feet have been crashing onto this beach. I think of how deep and vast the ocean really is. I think about ancient explorers who left their homelands without any idea of what awaited them out there on those vast ocean waters. Thinking about all of these things gives me a spiritual feeling.

But I can't keep it for long. Soon it's back to work again, back to the mundane reality of my life. It's not so bad really. But I think it should be more. I think I can do more to make it more if I really put my mind to it. My mind runs endlessly looking for ways to make that happen.

I could go off on some wild trip or something I suppose, but it would seem irresponsible to me. A good man has to take care of his responsibilites first and if he has a chance for a little adventure, that's a bonus, if it doesn't happen...then oh, well. You have to take what you have and mold it to be as much as it can I tell myself. A man has to be practical, patient and prudent as well as being a dreamer.

"All men dream," Lawrence of Arabia is said to have said. "But not equally. Those who dream by night within the dusty recesses of their mind awake in the day to find that it was vanity. But dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes to make it possible."

I like to think I'm one of those dreamers of the day. Now I've just got to get to work to make something happen.

Not a Quandary After All

So I'm currently in a bit of a quandary. Here's my situation:

I am currently working at a residential children's center in Thomasville, Georgia. I've been employed there since about the middle of April of this year. It's a cool job as jobs go. I'm the therapist for the boys who live on what we call our intermediate level unit. These boys are here mostly because they were removed from their homes by the Department of Family and Children Services due to being abused, neglected or both. Most were placed in numerous foster homes prior to coming to live here, but were unable to be maintained by foster parents because of the severity of their disruptive behaviors. The kids I see range in age from 13-17 and have a variety of issues. I see them all for formal therapy sessions once a week and throughout the week on an informal basis.

Sometimes I just hang out on the cottage they live in and talk to them about whatever they want to talk about or go outside and play basketball with them. It's a job I enjoy more than any job I've ever had. I've really formed a strong relationship with almost all of them. I'm not always Mr. Softy to them. I let them know right up front when I think they've messed up, but I'm always full of rewards and positive comments when they do the right thing. I feel almost like I'm their big brother. I like to think I'm really making a positive difference in their lives.

Now here's where the quandary comes in:

My girlfriend, Deirdre, originally moved to Thomasville with me back in March of this year. Prior to moving here, we both lived in Savannah and were sharing an apartment together. She was offered a job managing a restaurant in this area and wanted to move here to take it. I was very dissatisfied with my job in Savannah and my hometown is only about a thirty minute drive from Thomasville, so it wasn't a hard sale for her to convince me to quit my job and move over here with her.

So that's what we did.

It took me a month, but I was fortunate enough to get hired at the place I work at now. Deirdre, on the other hand wound up only working at the restaurant that had hired her for about two months. She had a personality conflict with a supervisor there and was let go. Then she had a horrible time finding another job. Meanwhile, the rent for the apartment we were staying in plus my other expenses was taking up my entire pay check and she and I were having to live almost like paupers on my single income. On top of this, I began to become very unsure about our relationship in general. I started to have doubts that she and I should be together at all.

I shared these doubts with her and after about a month of her trying to convince me I was wrong to have doubts, and me telling her I was not wrong, and of general misery all around, she packed up all of her things and moved back to Savannah.

After she left, I told myself for awhile that I was glad she was gone. It was so good to have my independence back and not to have her weighing me down all the time. But it didn't take long for me to realize I was fooling myself and that I was actually more miserable now that she was gone than I was when she was there and we were bickering back and forth half the time. I thought of all the reasons why I missed her so much. It was because she was so loyal and committed to me and also because I just missed our relationship in general: watching shows on MTV with her, downloading music on the computer and singing it together, walking her (our) dogs together, going swimming in the apt. pool late at night together, reading all of my stories to her, not to mention having her beside me to sleep with every night. The cliche is true I suppose. You don't know you have a good thing until it's gone.

But I decided I wanted it back. So one weekend I drove to Savannah to see her without even telling her I was coming in advance. I got there and we had the most romantic weekend of my life. Since then I've been driving the four and a half hours to see her every weekend. It is wonderful to see her on weekends, but the rest of the week is pretty much a drag. I feel like my life is pretty much on hold as long as I'm here and she's there, but we're still together. So I told her at the beginning of September that I was going to move to Savannah to be with her by the end of November whether I had a job or not. She's found a steady job there and is starting a second part time one as well, so at least there's that to keep us afloat until I find something.

I've already let my boss here know that I'm leaving at the end of the month although I can't say I'm leaving without some reservations. I doubt that I will enjoy my next job more than this one and it has been very tough to tell the kids I'm leaving. I could ask her to move back down here with me and she probably would, but it just seems to me that we need to live our life in Savannah and not Thomasville. Savannah is the place I want to be. I love the city, especially the downtown area and the beach. Being there feels like home to me. Realizing how much I liked living in Savannah was another thing I didn't fully know until I moved away.

So I suppose there's not actually a quandary for me after all. I know what I'm going to do although it's scary to think about not having a source of income for awhile. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed and making a leap of faith. To me, I believe that it's the right thing to do and maybe more importantly in this case, it's what I want to do as well.

Remarks on Remakes

I'm going to begin this post by responding to Janet's Tell It To Me Tuesday question. What are some of your favorite remakes? Nothing immediately sprang to mind but as I continued to ponder the question, a few remakes I've enjoyed did manage to surface for me. The first was "Faith", originally recorded by George Michael in 1987 and remade by Limp Bizkit in 1997. Both versions remind of where I was when they were popular. A sophomore in high school in '87 and slogging through my third of four years in the Navy in '97. The tone of both versions sort of fit my mindset at the time as well: all full of adolescent lust in the George Michael version and feeling a bit angry and rebellious for the Fred Durst & company rendition ten years later. That was the only remade song that really resonated with me that I could think of.

I did think of two movie remakes that were very cool to me. The first is Great Expectations in 1998, starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Ethan Hawke. I was originally going to say that this was probably stretching the definition of a remake as it is a modernization of Charles Dickens' novel and not a remake per-se, but then discovered that the 1998 version could be said to be a remake of a 1946 movie based on the novel.

Something about that movie was just so haunting to me. I could relate to Pip's unrequited affection for Estella only too well. I read the book some time after seeing the movie and was surprised at how closely that movie followed the novel in spite of the modernization of the setting. The book held me in thrall as much as the movie. Come to think of it I could have mentioned Pip as someone in the movies I could really relate to from Janet's last TITMT.


The other remake that came to mind was also a modernization of British literature: the 2001 film, O, starring Mekhi Phifer, Josh Hartnett, and Julia Stiles. It is a teen modernization of the Shakespearean Tragedy, Othello and could also said to be a remake of two previous movie versions of the play: a 1952 version starring Orson Welles and a 1995 one starring Laurence Fishburne. I didn't see either of these two movies, and to be honest haven't read the original play either, but I certainly got the point that it was a dark and disturbing work from seeing O. I remember being horrified that all these kids were allowed to really die at the end. Dark and disturbing always appeals to me when it comes to movies for some reason although I don't know if I could put myself through the emotional strife inflicted by O more than once. The message seemed to be that jealousy is the basest of human emotions and nothing but destruction comes from it.

While we're on the subject of remakes, I can think of a few remakes that really seemed like stinkers to me compared to the original. The remake of The Amityville Horror comes to mind. The remake just fell flat for me while the original had my hair standing on end. The Adam Sandler version of the The Longest Yard also didn't measure up to the original for me. A lot of people I know thought that it topped the Burt Reynolds' original, but I have to adamantly disagree on that one. I didn't think Sandler's ridiculousness worked in that one.

So the moral of this blog entry is that some remakes are bad while others are good. Pretty profound, huh?

The Yin and the Yang of Me

I love football.

I always have. Sometimes I ponder the reasons why this is so. My love of football seems to go against the grain of many of my other interests. I love to read. I love to write fiction and to write things like this blog. I enjoy listening to music and singing it as well, if the truth is known. I enjoy movies. Actually, more than enjoying movies, I like the whole idea of the art of film-making and want to learn more about it. I've never been an actor on any level, but whenever I hear actors talk about their craft, I'm completely fascinated. Almost anything that's artistic completely captivates me. It always has.

Is football artistic? On the surface, there doesn't seem to be much artistry in one team of eleven brawny guys trying to bash another team of eleven guys around in order to move a ball from one end of a field to another. One could probably successfully argue that there is a certain artistry in football and in all other sports as well. Well designed and successfully executed plays are works of art in their own way. Eleven men, all striving with all of their will and strength towards a common goal and working together with symmetry and precision certainly holds a strong artistic element. Besides this, a well-conditioned athlete is an artist of sort. He has honed his body through daily hours of training until it has become like a sleek, well-oiled machine capable of many physical feats that the average human can only dream of doing.

Having said this, I believe it would be disingenuous for me to claim my love of football stems from its creative attributes. I believe my reasons for enjoying the game are much more basic. It appeals to me on a very primal level. I'm drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I always have been and probably always will be. It is the sheer physicality that attracts me. Bodies crashing into bodies. Running, catching, dodging, or just plowing through someone. It just makes my blood flow hotter in my veins.

I believe there is a yin and a yang to my personality. The writing, reading, artistic interests appeal to one side of me while any very active activity appeals to me in a different way. Football is probably chief among these but it is true that almost any sport or activity that forces one to exert one's self and strive towards a goal excites me.

To be a whole person who is true to himself, I believe I need to pursue both of these sides to myself as fully as I'm capable of doing. I think of the ancient Greeks' philosophy that a man (or woman) should strive to develop both his body and mind to the fullest. Those who did this could truly call themselves renaissance men.

I would certainly love to be one of those!

'The Departed'--A movie review

Last weekend, I saw the film, The Departed, with Deirdre, my girlfriend, and my Aunt Gay. Both of them agreed, that while the movie was certainly riveting and complex, it was just too gruesome and dark for their tastes. They hadn't quite known what they were getting into. I hadn't either to tell the truth, but the movie's violence, to me, was quite satisfying. To me, it was just a sublimely excellent movie.

The Departed is a remake of an old Hong Kong film called Infernal Affairs. I never saw that movie, but if it was better than the remake, I definitely want to. The cast is full of A-grade actors including Martin Sheen, Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon, Leonardo DiCaprio and Jack Nicholson. My first thought on the movie, seeing it advertised on television, was that it was a film that wanted to let a lot of famous people do a cameo, but when I saw it, I was like: 'Wow, these guys are really acting!'

The characters played by Matt Damon and Leonardo Dicaprio were portrayed as kindred spirits in a way, but one took the path of the dark side, while the other chose to be on the side of the good guys. Ironically, the good guy, Billy Costigan, went undercover pretending to be one of the bad guys, while Damon's character, Colin Sullivan, becomes a Massachusetts state trooper, but is in reality the semi-adopted son and right-hand man of Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson), Boston's most wanted and most powerful gangster.

Both the police and the gangsters know a "rat" is in their midst, but neither side knows who the rat is. A horrific cat and mouse game ensues and in the end only the character played by Mark Wahlberg is left standing. Everyone else has 'departed' in pools of blood and bullets. It is a movie that has me still thinking about it a week since I saw it. Not many movies do that. I keep trying to figure out what its overriding theme is. It's something like:

How far can one depart from his true self and still remain themselves at all? What is loyalty and who should we be most loyal to: our father? Our family? To our society? Where does one cross the line between good and evil?

The film does not answer any of these questions, but puts them all out there quite blatantly to let the viewer reach his own conclusion.

The Departed is a 'guy film' and a half. No sentimentality lurking in the corners in this one. My only slight objection to the movie was the ending. There seemed to be no real resolution. All of this took place and nothing good seemed to come from it. There is no moral victory. But I think that's the point. Scorcese doesn't believe that good necessarily wins out in the end. 'The world is a dark place and it will continue to be, he seems to say.' There's not necessarily a silver lining to be found.

The movie's violence is satisfying in a very visceral way. It is not random killing, but thoughtful, calculated, intelligent, brutal violence portrayed so graphically and yet so artfully. The only movie I could really compare it to is The Godfather.

It was a movie that hit me in the gut and I definitely would love to go back to let it take another whack at me whenever it comes out on DVD.

What's On Your Mind??

So this is my second blog entry ever. Thinking of what to write here reminds me of a question I'm often asked by my girlfriend when I suppose I'm looking slightly more pensive, distracted or befuddled than usual.

What's on your mind?

I hate that question. Is it really a question that can be answered honestly without expounding for several days? When you are asked what's on your mind, does that mean you're supposed to say the last thought that you consciously had or does it mean that you're supposed to share every single thing that's you've thought about for the last hour or day or week or year or within your lifetime. Should I talk about my thoughts on the meaning of life, the constant conflict between religion and science, my thought provoking ideas about the important social issues facing our nation, the relative importance of space exploration or should I talk about how it's almost time to trim my fingernails or what brand of toothpaste I really prefer? It is an impossibly broad question and one that would take a lifetime to answer thoroughly And as soon one reported all that's on his or her mind, there would be more to take its place. It's an interminable loop really. How could a person really expect an answer to such a question?

Is there a difference in what's on your mind and what's in your mind? Usually when she asks me this question, I am on the phone with her and watching a football game. My mind is half on our conversation and half on the game. What's on your mind? is usually my signal that she's feeling quite rightly that she doesn't have my full attention. My oft-used and somewhat transparent strategy is to not answer the question by saying something like: If the Falcons can make one more first down, they may have this game in the bag. I think they ought to hand it off to Dunn one more time and let him get the job done. Such a response would likely not endear me to my beloved's heart and would also confirm her strongly held suspicions that she is not on my mind to the extent that she desires. Instead of this response, I will say: I was just thinking about how nice it will be when I can be with you in person again every night and we can cuddle on the couch like we used to instead of being reduced to phone conversations like this. (She lives in the beautiful city of Savannah, GA right now while I'm marooned in the plains of a Southwest Georgia hamlet.)

She is slightly mollified by this response but not entirely convinced. "You weren't thinking about that. You were thinking about the football game." She is right of course, but I'm not quite ready to throw in the towel.

"Well yeah, I was thinking about the football game, but I was thinking about what I told you too. That thought was just a little further back in my mind when you asked me. Anyway, if you already knew what was on my mind, why did you ask me?"

"I wanted to see if you would tell me," she says.

"And I did tell you," I respond. "Anyway, what's on your mind?" (Reflecting is also a useful strategy in dealing with this troublesome question I've found.)

"I was thinking about how much I love you."

"Why do you have to be so cheesy?" I say. "I love you too by the way."

Then I'm distracted by the sight of a uniformed man running down the field carrying an oblong pigskin spheroid more commonly called a football. He is dodging would-be tacklers and at last somesaults into the end zone and instantly mobbed by his adoring, ecstatic teammates.

"YEAH!" I exclaim, standing up with my arms raised, nearly dropping the phone entirely in my excitement. "Michael Vick is a bad man!" I say. "He just went sixty yards for a touchdown!"

"Ha ha!" she exclaims. "I see what's on your mind!"

"Oh well," I say, defeated.

She's a smart girl, my girlfriend.

First Blog Ever--Ode to Janet

Okay, so I'm going to blog. Give the credit (or blame) to Janet from theartofgettingby.com. She believed I ought to blog because of the letters I used to write her while I was marooned in the U.S. Navy for four years. She thought they contained some amount of wit and depth apparently. We became penpals due to the most random of circumstances. Her college sent out letters to we poor lonely sailors deployed out in the middle of Extreme Boredom Tedious Sea and hers fell into my hands. Those letters brought a little hope of hooking up with a young, fresh-faced college girl to our grizzled, sea-weary crew. Of course I considered the purpose of my letters to her to be much more high-minded and intellectual than pursuing such a coarse and common goal, but underneath it all was the vain hope we would one day meet and live happily ever after, or failing that, to at least hook up a couple of times.

Alas, it was a misguided hope.

A couple of times I called Janet and although our letters were full of wit and playful banter, our real conversations turned out to be tortured episodes of awkward silence. I guess we just worked better on paper. After one such unproductive hour, I placed the pay phone on the receiver, mourning the lost minutes of the ten dollar calling card I had purchased, and noted that my arm-pits were soaked with copious amounts of sweat as a result of the experience. I had been in such a state of anxiety that my hands were shaky. Truthfully, I would have driven the however many hour trip from Norfolk, Virginia to Rowan College, New Jersey with the slightest word of permission from her. Thankfully she never gave it. It probably would have been a grand debacle of some sort.

I never quite fit in in the Navy for whatever reason. I like to think it was because my life ambitions consisted of more than where I could find the closest bar like many of my shipmates and also I eschewed endless games of cards to stick my nose into countless books and thus missed out on many bonding opporunties. But those are probably inaccurate reasons born of misplaced snobbery. In any case, to me, the Navy was bondage and slavery. My enlistment gloriously ended in July, 1998 and I headed back to civilization. I have been in a considerably happier state of mind since then. I continued to write Janet for some time after I went home, but no longer felt the desperate drive to communicate with her as I did during my Navy years. It was like the second I became a civilian again, a yoke of almost clinical depression came off my back entirely. Her letters were beacons of light on the deep, dark sea during that time and I still have all of them in a shoebox pushed to the back of my closet. To me, they represent fond memories of a lonely time.

I read her blog now as part of my morning routine. They always crack me up but she's really thoughtful about a lot of topics too. I think she's a born columnist. I always think it's kind of cool to meet a person in such a completely random way and then stay in touch with them in a quasi-way throughout most of your life. Pretty cool how things work like that.

So this ends my first blog entry. This was completely from the hip and I wonder if I can really do this regularly. I'll probably branch out into many topics and we'll see what happens.