the drinking times, when things feel gone.  good even.  when tumblers catch you

as you pour yourself away.

but in the morning you’re farther from yourself than when you started, and there’s no way back

to the mysticism of the night.

it’s a chasing-tail race, a declining spiral, and the going can’t get going fast enough

to chase down those last few feet in front of you.

the emptiness.  the nothing.  the promise of a dream, revealed.

the prescient sorrow of precipitous failure.

it’s the fading of lullabye memories, of fuzzy-faced loved ones locked up

in brain-cells of not forgotten, but not remembered.

all silhouettes and outlines.  shapes.  soft definition and fantasy.  nothing is real behind the

billowing calm of desperately opaque drapes.  just the anticipation of an idea.  the hope of a

dream.  the smoke-whisper of purpose.

but the campfire has gone cold, the moon has retreated,

and the night’s sinister streak is busying itself again turning shadows into false promises.

two blind mice, two blind mice.  see…

one blind mouse, one…crap.

home free.  home run.  home field advantage.  home turf.  hometown hero.  take the long way home.

you can never go home again.  there’s no place like home.  homesick.  homeward bound.  drive home.  home cooked meals.  home for the holidays.

take me home.  make yourself at home.  home is where you lay your head.  home in.  something to write home about.  home away from home.

home is where your heart is.  my home is your home.  starter home.  work from home.  bring home the bacon.  make a house a home.

the home stretch.  home care.  homestyle accommodations.  the lights are on but nobody’s home.  a home truth.  hit close to home.  phone home.  come home.

First: let’s dispense with the obvious.  Menstruation.  That’s it, that’s all we’ll say of that.  The word itself is arduous enough.

Second: the apparel.  Have you looked at what these women have to wear?  Gymnasts, beach volleyballers, water polo players (and for that matter, participants of any water-based event)?  These athletes can’t be loving their attire.  The only real respite is judo, where everyone basically looks like they’ve donned their robe to get the Sunday morning paper from the end of the driveway.  But the rest of these outfits…they’re tight.  TIGHT.  And they look uncomfortable.  I understand the concept of form-fitting attire, but these things are literally grafted to their skin.

I hear you, it’s just the way the Olympic uniforms are, right?  FALSE.  Have you seen what the men are wearing for these same events?  Take gymnastics.  Yup, the male gymnasts have on tight tank tops, but they toooootally get a pass with their breezy, MC Hammer-esque pants.  Why not have them wearing speedo bottoms, wouldn’t those be optimal for terrestrial and airborne acrobatics alike?  And volleyball? While the women wear skimpy swimsuits, the men get away with board shorts and shirts.  Oh, and of course their backwards baseball hats.  I’m serious – seriously serious – they’re part of the uniforms.  Each player has an identical USA hat, customized with their number.  Really?  Really really?  Why not wear a fashionable headband, or a barrette, just like your female complements?

Third (and this is the kill shot): Makeup.  Seriously, have you thought about it?  All these male and female athletes are performing these incredibly challenging feats of strength and agility.  They are pushing themselves to the limits of their physical prowess, not to mention brazenly taunting Sir Isaac Newton himself (who needs to revere the laws of gravity, motion, etc. anyway, right? – see links below).  But the men have it easy.  They don’t have to worry about anything but the physical task at hand.  The women, on the other hand, have to do all of those things PLUS not smear any of their foundation, rouge, or eyeliner.  Have you seen the female gymnasts, right before or after they compete in an event?  Not a smudge.  And their hair – perfectly in place, even with all the G-forces of a triple-sideways-over-around-flip-tuck-spin thing.  And the swimmers?  Some of them wear earrings in the pool!  And they have all that hair to tuck under their caps.  All of this can’t be ideal of drag reduction, can it?  C’mon guys, do you have anything that can rival these aesthetic handcuffs?  Oh, what was that?  Your legs?  You shave them?  And your armpits too?  Right, well, welcome to the two most banal, boring, everyday events in a woman’s life.

In the end, none of this really matters of course.  The men and women of the Olympics are incredible human machines and are awe-inspiring to watch.  Everyone who tries to make their national team, and those talented and fortunate enough to make it to the Olympics – you are incredible.  You raise us all up from our humdrum everydays and show us what it means to dream.  To hope.  To strive, to grind, to fall, and to get up again.  To believe, and not stop believing.  Through your physical elegance, you show us how beautiful it is to be human.  But moreover, you remind us how astonishingly lovely it is to be alive…

(…alls I’m saying is, the women do all of this with that extra touch of pizazz.)

—–

LINKS:

Newton’s law of universal gravitation:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newton%27s_law_of_universal_gravitation

Newton’s third law of motion:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newton’s_laws_of_motion#Newton.27s_third_law

an army, connected

shuffling up, reduced of emotion

faces glowing pallid halogen

mesmerized by their devices

flashing eyes of flickering death

..a shame about the location..

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adverse_possession

work with more or less vigor

on wednesday, hump day?

have exactly the same weight

when born void of zeal

floating in my father’s weightless embrace

peeking out over his shoulder

as the world ebbed away with lullaby cadence

sleep, whispering its secrets in my ears

as my limbs unravel and begin their subtle sway

like fields of underwater wheat

caressed by deep, gentle currents

floating. out to sea, out past the horizon

past the fingertips of gravity

to where sea and sky press together, quietly and softly

and promise to hold each other forever

and suspended there, wrapped in cloud-cotton blankets

i reach out my little man’s hand, and

pat-pat-pat my father’s back

to tell him, ‘thank you. thank you.’

Once you get past the smell, it really isn’t too bad.  Just make sure you go to the bathroom before you settle in for the night.  Once the sun drops and the temperature follows, you won’t want to exit the carcass until daybreak. While the exterior of your horse will provide excellent protection from near zero temperatures and biting winds, the interior will be nothing but moist. A freshly converted animal will be wet with the workings of life. And once you get this wetness on you it will make that cold night air feel even colder. Fingers will numb. Faces will burn. Skin can actually freeze. This, my son, is why you must always save your final trip to the bathroom until the last possible moment.

After you do enter your makeshift dwelling, there are a few more things you’ll want to keep in mind. First, sleep with your head inside the ribcage, feet towards the tail. At night, the smell of a fresh kill may attract other animals. It’s rare, as they will most certainly be nesting for the night, but it’s possible you may run into some scavengers looking for a meal. And if they’re out that late they will surely be desperate. And aggressive. And ruthless. The plains are a rough place in winter.

The reason you’ll want to sleep with your head inside the ribs is so that in the event of an attack your head will be protected. These hunters will pounce. They will paw. They will nip, and rip, and tear at the flesh of your host. Skin will give way, but bone will protect you. The strength of those ribs will give you enough time to draw your weapon and deal with your assailants. Your legs, of course, you will sacrifice. Your feet, they will most likely be mauled. But you’ll have your wits, and your face, and your eyes.

Lastly, dear boy, remember that the decision to kill your steed is not one you should take lightly. It is the act of a desperate man, and should be thought of as such. Before you come to this decision, you should have exhausted every other possible recourse. You should never – not ever – leave yourself vulnerable to the fading of a prairie day. The mere thought of my writing this letter has me nervous that you’ll actually need the knowledge it contains one day. Sacrificing your animal so that you may live is an incredibly selfish act, one that becomes stained with disrespect and dishonor if it is preceded by a lack of thought, or poor planning, or flawed decision making. These are the terms of your agreement with your horse, one that you should never forget.

Regretfully, I know the cost, this burden of survival. I have lived a day where my only option, my last and final option, was to lay down my friend so that I could spare myself his fate. I am not proud of this. I am not proud of becoming more beastly than he could ever be. In that moment it was he who treated me with more humanity than I could possibly reciprocate.

We are a selfish breed, my son. Never forget that. Carry it with you as you roam the trails, attempting to wash away our inevitable sin as we lay our transgressions upon the world.

Have fun at Boy Scout camp,

Your Father