January 22, 2012

My Lord, By and By

How many Sundays do you read about some new something with abstracted and mysterious military influences.

David Bowie, you didn't start this.

Prada, you didn't start this.

Or the physical phenom in high school.

Or the prodigal son.

I'm going to take this coffee and this delicious muffin and go elsewhere.

It's not like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, entirely.

My military influences are neither abstracted nor enigmatic:

South Weymouth Naval Airbase
The other day I was telling someone how you didn't hear / notice the hospital helicopters that constantly flew over our place -- except for the way they momentarily scrambled the TV reception. But then Margaret was, No you can totally hear them. And I was, Oh yeah, I grew up on a Naval Airbase.

Or that I was applying to the Academies -- I'll tell you those stories sometime -- or that I had a ROTC scholarship that I was fortunate enough to turn it down even if things were a little touch-and-go feeling at times. I'm all for ROTC, it just wouldn't have been right for me.

And then there were the Naval Academy guys in the peacoats when a friend's family took me to the Navy Academy's wrestling tournament. I'm pretty sure that'll be in my list of "best gateway drugs" at my life's-end award gala.

I was really into WWII as a kid -- though it never strayed to obsession and I can only share the most useless trivia about that war and the Great War.

Do you know why we call them tanks?

Time travel.
Everything all at once, forever.

Sundays have been so many things.

"Dimanche" really does sound amazing in the string of French days.

Lundi, mardi, mecredi, vendredi, samedi, dimanche.

I can't remember Friday, and I'm sure I can't spell, but it still works -- you can feel it.

I'm feeling better.

Look at this amazing traffic circle.

Take a deep breath and edge your way to the right.

Keep on edging and it's all gonna be ok.

No the "right" part isn't symbolic -- I still believe in taxes.

I'm still an unrepentant pinko.

Did I tell you about that time I peed next to Bobby McNamara? Wicked, huh?

Let's get something done.