Ciao Marco

Woke up this morning, hungover and still sleepy. While checking email, etc, I saw that a friend of mine tweeted “RIP Simoncelli.”

No way.

I was really hoping it was a mistake or misunderstanding, but it was not. Marco died after a freak accident at the Malaysian GP in Sepang. He was 24.
I sat around all morning, trying to make sense of it and, in the back of my mind, thinking about my upcoming races this weekend. I haven’t thought about not racing for a second, but it’d be incredibly arrogant of me to say that I won’t be thinking about it during setup and practice.

We all know the risks associated with racing (and even just riding) motorcycles, but, every now and again, we are dealt a horrible and tragic reminder of just how serious it is out there. I’m gutted for Marco’s family and friends, but I cannot imagine how Valentino and Colin must feel right now. Neither can be assigned any blame in the crash, but they both hit Marco.

I took the Ducati to meet some friends for brunch. It’s a short, short trip, but the sound of that big twin engine braking has never failed to make me feel better. We talked about the crash in passing, but they’re not bike people so they didn’t quite get it.

Early this morning, a 24 year old racer died in a racing incident. The rest of us woke up and got on with our day.

While riding home, I shifted into second a little harder than usual, and the 748’s front wheel climbed upwards. Instead of rolling off the throttle, I fed in a little more and carried it for about 100 feet. The 5-second sensation of flying, the Ducati’s soulstirring engine note, and the cloudless sky all came together in a perfect, wordless tribute to a brave life cut short.

Airport Smirking in TwEleven

Been flying around for work, and using my twitter account to make fun of people in airports. For best results, read from the bottom to the top.

-On the plane. About to dominate these hoes at inflight trivia.

-Let me reiterate: I can't name one cool guy that wears a vest.

-Fats girls and bumpits. Hot damn.

-I refuse to hope that the lovely woman across from me will be my seat mate.That way, it'll hurt less when it turns out to be a sweaty Swede.

-Sad, disheveled Asian man arrives in Orlando. Reminds me of that dude in the beginning of "Gung Ho."

-Thinking about shaving my head, man.

-Popped collar *and* a Mr. T starter kit?! You win, man. YOU WIN.

-Kids arriving at the Orlando airport are almost as happy as I am to be departing.

-Unless you're Ray Charles or Stevie Wonder, I don't care how bad the glare is; only dickholes wear sunglasses indoors.

-Woman across from me looks me up and down, says "I'm glad you're not wearing Crocs.Take me to PleasureTown."Ok, she didn't.But her eyes did.

-I think that, if I was an airline pilot, if see what I could do about not wearing that ridiculous ass hat.

-Lovely woman sits across from me, smiles. I am immediately thrown off my asshole twitter groove.

-13 year old boy in a headband and aviators. Little league doucherdom.

-I'm not especially good looking, but I can promise you this, hypothetical future wife: you will never see me in a pair of Crocs.

-I can't name one cool guy that wears a vest.

-Two dudes in acid washed jeans having a conversation in Russian. Trying to gauge whether they'll get the joke if I yell "Wolveriiiiiinness!"

-2 young women looking at pics on a laptop. One says, "and this is my little brother."I'm fighting the urge to say "bitch, that's a mistake."

-A boy's icecream melts while his sister gives him unintentionally awesome advice: " OMG, eat it. Lick it on the sides. Swallow it already"

-White pants/black panties takes another lap. I see you, modern day Hester Prynne.

-One really sick Asian, coughing and sneezing, trying to give me SARS and shit. That ain't cool.

-At this point, I would be surprised if I saw an older woman *without* a fanny pack. Oh, Orlando.

-Stankin Europeans talking that jibberjabber, smelling like ass.

-I don't care how crowded the airport is, the seat next to me is taken... #unlessyoureabadB

-Fellas, if you're going bald, go gracefully. Just saw a dude who looks like Kevin at Pam and Jim's wedding.

-A late 20s woman trying to have a very polite, rational conversation with her laptop. It ain't trying to hear that bullshit.

-Changing clothes in an airport bathroom is as close as I'll ever get to being on Fear Factor.

-Being an Arab in an airport must be slot like being a Bama fan in Auburn right now.

-Little kids with kid-sized luggage is not cute; it's just a giant pain in the ass of people who like to walk without dealing with your shit.

-Dude sitting on the big planter, one foot up on his rollerbag, looks like he has a bit of the captain in him. Also, looks like a daterapist.

-I apparently put on some cougarbait cologne without realizing it. In the words of Snoop Dizzle: "I said I am; go axe my mother, and with..."

-If you're white, don't do dreadlocks. Just don't.

-Old dude wandering around the terminal, mouth agape like a freshly-caught catfish.

-Grannytoe. Gross.

-Old woman leaning on a huge planter, her thighs on the rim. She looks like a man pissing in the world's biggest toilet bowl.

-White pants, black panties. Not exactly classy, but still commendable and appreciated.

-Two French Canadians are talking about Toomer's Corner. They can't figure out why it's a big deal.

-Airport twitter stream: engage.


-Not sitting with the boots and jeans; instead, I'm squeezed next to a woman pushing 2 bills. FML

-Big girl gets busted trying to carryon. 3 bags. C'mon, son. You ain't slick.

-Double denim and Redwing boots. If that ain't country, I'll kiss your ass.

-Time to board. If I'm sitting next to jeans-and-boots, I'm highfiving the flight
attendant.

-Dropdead gorgeous woman renews my faith in the jeans-and-tall-boots combo.

-Baby-craving grandmother flits between infant sleeping in mother's lap and the gate
information screen; unnecessarily stressed out

-Early teen girl's ringtone is MJ's Smooth Criminal. Mote importantly, who the hell is calling her at 620 in the AM?

-Hair-plugged doucher and trophy wife in matching tracksuits. Yes.

-The ginger is doing work on that cheesecake.

-The airport is one of those rare places where only about 10% of the people really know their way around.

-35ish Latino man, not entirely sure he can pull of the linen suit and pink shirt thing he has going on. Looks like Marietta Vice.

-Tall ginger woman sits down to eat breakfast: a huge Starbucks and what appears to be a 4 lb. hunk of cheesecake.

-40ish dude with a killer front-tuck. I hear you, 1999!

-When I see an airport worker with a duffle bag, my experience with movies says that it has to be full of cocaine or dirty cash.

-Late 30s woman in pajamas and sweatshirt, trying to decide if her comfort level is worth looking like a jackwagon in public.

-If they weren't wearing security lanyards and ID tags, most airport workers could be confused with the homeless in College Park.

-Ricky Bobby takes his seat, pulls hat down over face. A small, mean part of me hopes he sleeps through boarding

-Dude ambles into the gate area in the official white guy uniform for early spring: shorts, flipflops, baseball cap, Polo, and NorthFace. TFM

-Old school playa in a maroon 7-button suit. It's hard out here for a pimp.

-Even though boarding won't start for another 30 minutes, one old guy sits poised and wide-eyed like a free safety before the snap.

-A man of obvious style and distinction arrives at the gate in a NASCAR team hat and jacket. I suspect he pisses excellence.

-And there's the first Ed Hardy sighting of the morning. It's too early for gold foil, America.

-Despite (or maybe because of) the uniform, I can never quite take airline pilots seriously. They look about as official as milkmen.

-A family shows up; the grandmother is eying the infant like a grizzly bear looking at a salmon.

-Not a lot going on right now; there are three people at the gate, and a handful of airport workers are shambling through the terminal.

-Airport twitter stream - engage

__________________________________________________________________

-And we're off. Stay classy, Tampa. And thanks for stopping by

-Pierre the Hutt is asleep, dreaming about eclairs and shit.

-Another luggage handler appears below the plane. Completely unsurprised to see neck tattoos.

-I wonder if a pilot ever faked a mechanical problem just so he could "emergency land" in the Bahamas or somewhere else really cool

-I think that, if you fly with Delta a lot, they should let you sit in the cockpit and maybe drive the plane sometimes.

-The firstclass FA is a sweet Asian lady, while the one in coach looks like she starred in Tyler Perry presents Madea Got a Job with Delta.

-Boom. Love that bump to first class. Look nice and be polite to people at the gate

-Can't wait for that cranberry juice and Biscoff cookie. #itsthelittlethings

-I wonder if you can wheelie one of those luggage trailer carts

-Tall dude in the all-black. "Dammit, John, you look like you're goin to a funeral." "maybe I am"

-Luggage handler outside the plane with a Mr T starter kit, Louis V Nikes and D&G stunna shades.

-Fat French dude from the restaurant sitting next to me on the plane. Smells like cabbage and Drakkar Noir

-TSA is serious about this flight. Swabbing hands and everything

-Lady pulling a purse-sized rollerbag, has hair like Javier Bardem in No Country for Old Men.

-Two ladies across from me talking the third, stop abruptly, look away right as she returns from wherever. Ménage a trois of awkward turtle

-Borderline cute TSA agent, moseying around the gate like Wyatt Earp with a pushup bra.

-Look, Planet Earth, I like women in yoga pants, but that industry needs some government regulation. Why make make size 20 stretchy pants?

-Gateworker comes out from behind the desk. Ass so big she makes Nicki Minaj look like Olive Oyl. So much booty, she could be an asssstronaut

-50 something white dude in shorts and some Oregon-yellow ErrForceOnes. C'mon, son.

-The strippers from the restaurant are sitting behind me at the gate. Chicks dig the pinstripes.

-A couple of Army guys roll through. Bless em, keep em safe

-The PA speaker tells us to report suspicious activity as a guy walks by, scratching himself and singing Love in an Elevator. Apropos.

-Older lady wearing a huge fuzzy top hat. Hold up, granny; you ain't in Jamiroquai.

-Dude wearing a nice suit with a Packers tie. Have to assume he's a doucher.

-Three strippers chatting loudly about their trip to Dallas and lapdance technique. "yeah, girl, you just gotta really grind it in there"

-Fat French dude eyeballing my lunch. Chingchangchong, I can't understand you. #theyalsothinktheyrethebestdancers

_____________________________________________________________________________

-Airport twitter stream - engage

-Boarding the plane. Next stop - Tampa, FL; home of roughly half the world's stripper population.

-Customer service agent still on the honeymoon with his red jacket. You didn't win the Masters, dude; you just got an airport asskisser job.

-Didn't get the first class upgrade. Sometimes I think Delta takes joy in raising, then crushing my hopes.

-Lady with the baby fulfills dreams of pervy dudes. Is it legal to breastfeed in an airport? I feel like this is a homeland security issue.

-If the people at the gate were playing pickup basketball, I feel pretty confident that I'd be in the first 3 picked. Feels good.

-Dude on the elderly assistance golfcart trying to run game on a PYT. Can't hear, but pretty sure he's saying "can I holla? Hollahollaholla"

-Large woman in a red tracksuit knocks over bags. I fought the urge to say "Oh Yeaaahhhh!" Afraid of asswhipping and noone getting the joke.

-Of the 100 or so people sitting at the gate, literally no one is talking to one another.

-Middle aged guy in a suit stands, looks around. Wait, make that "a hundred middle aged guys in suits stand, look around."

-The terminal crowd parts for a man in Carhartts, a RealTree button down, and an Alabama hat. Roll Tide.

-Dude in skinny jeans. That shit will never be acceptable.

-Older couple holding hands and cuddling; they're either still neckdeep in love or committed to making the rest of us uncomfortable.

-I spend a lot of time in airports and I've never seen someone cool carrying a violin case.

-40ish man feeling a little out of place, kicks up the cool by leaning on a pillar and putting his foot on it like a Cinemax shower scene.

-Flight arrives from Pittsburgh. 3 out of 5 passengers have passable kid rock goatees.

-Gate agent in a too-fly-for-work hat, looking like ghetto Robin Hood

-Greasy chick in a pair of Jackie Os....at 630 in the morning. The sun has literally not been out in about 12 hours. GTFOOHWTBS

-Young woman with a tiny baby in arms, wearing a loose fitting shirt. 75% of dudes at the gate are thinking "come onnnnn, titty!"

-Aaand, after a few months' hiatus, the airport twitter feed is back!

Dorcas Gustine: Great Character, Stupid Name

This is from Edgar Lee Masters’s Spoon River Anthology. It’s a great book that you probably pretended to read in high school. Every poem is a first-person epitaph, and, between the lines and in the gaps between the poems’ points of view, it subtly illustrates all the spiderwebbing scandals and fears of a small town. I’ve loved it since I first picked it up in Robby Davis’s beginning acting class in high school.

For one assignment, we had to pick an epitaph, create the character, then perform the poem. I forgot which one I did in high school (and when I had to do it in undergrad, and then again in grad school), but there are a few that I’ve always loved. My favorite, though, is this one:

Dorcas Gustine

I WAS NOT beloved of the villagers,
But all because I spoke my mind,
And met those who transgressed against me
With plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing
Nor secret griefs nor grudges.
That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised,
Who hid the wolf under his cloak,
Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly.
It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forth
And fight him openly, even in the street,
Amid dust and howls of pain.
The tongue may be an unruly member—
But silence poisons the soul.
Berate me who will—I am content.

It doesn’t need much explanation. Dorcas is a tough old broad, and the straightest of shooters. There’s an amazing, rugged dignity in her ruthless honesty. The greatest thing about her is that she is, to borrow from Raymond Chandler, neither tarnished nor afraid.

Anyway, I’ve always wanted to be Dorcas Gustine when I grow up (except I want to still be a dude). My favorite people are those who are not afraid to fling their uncomfortable truths into the daylight, and address them thusly. Too many of us skirt around the things that we really know, slowly poisoning ourselves and the people around us.

I like to think that anyone who has a place in my life is worthy of the truth, and is made of stern enough stuff to handle it. It’s a tough ditch to dig, but I’ve never told someone the truth and felt worse about myself afterward. Does it make for some uncomfortable moments? Absolutely. But I’ll take an awkward, unpopular truth over a warm, fuzzy lie every time.

All a Lot of Oysters, but No Pearls

Wayyyyyy back in the 80s, a man sat at a kitchen table with his 10 year old son, who watched while the man cleaned and oiled his service revolver. He said to his son, “Son, the measure of a man is simple: Do the right thing, no matter how much it costs you and, if you say you’re going to do something, you do it. If you can get up every morning with that on your mind, and go to bed every night, knowing that you lived up to it all day, you will have earned your rest.” The old guy repeated those two rules a few hundred times between that golden day in 1987 and today.

They’re a great set of rules, and I think they’re right on; all the best people I know abide by those 2 things, even if they’ve never said them out loud. I don’t always measure up, but I try, every day, to measure up to the goal the old guy set for me (and, later, I set for myself).

If there’s a problem with walking around with those two things framing your life, it breaks down like this: you get so used to automatically doing what you think is right that you are completely blindsided when someone in your life does something that runs counter and that ends up negatively affecting you. I find myself getting frustrated with people who handle themselves in a manner in which I don’t, whether it’s as simple as a teammate not playing hard or as serious as a work associate acting unethically.

That doesn’t necessarily make them bad people or not worth your time; it just means that, somewhere along the way, your belief structures don’t match up. The question is, do you now have a clearer idea of who that person really is? Is it a one-time slip, or evidence of a pattern? Whatever the answer is, where do you from there?

By nature of being human, we inevitably let one another down; it happens. The difference, I think, is when you know that your actions are going to needlessly hurt and/or disappoint someone, and it doesn’t make you want to change your decisions. Everybody wants what they want, but how much damage are you prepared to leave in your wake?

I’m not better than anyone; I think I fail more than anyone I know. With that being said, I just can’t help thinking that I (along with everyone else) deserve better than I sometimes get. That sense of entitlement makes me a little ashamed of myself. Why do I deserve better? I have an amazing life regardless of the infrequent slings and arrows, so why do the actions of other people bother me so much?

I’ve been chewing on this for a few weeks now. After a series of disappointments and disappointing people, I don’t have an insightful conclusion to this one, and have to wonder if there’s no pearl to be found.

At the end of it all, I don’t really have anything to complain about. I have an undeservedly good life with great friends and family, and the best dog to ever take a dump on grass. And, most nights, I sleep easy, knowing that I earned my rest.

Goodbyes

It’s a little ridiculous, how certain things hit you.

Tonight, I was at Turner Field for Bobby Cox’s last game. After the last out and the end of the game, wherein the Braves came up just short, the old guy took his final curtain call, tipped his hat to all of us, and trotted down the steps, out of view and, presumably, into Cooperstown.

I caught myself getting a little misty. A quick glance around our section confirmed that I wasn’t alone in it; about half the guys there seemed to be squinting and sniffing. But my throat and chest didn’t tighten because Bobby Cox won’t ever manage another game for us. It's the end of an era, et cetera et cetera, ad nauseum.

Surrounded by 45,000 or so people, and standing with some friends, I missed my mom.
It’s not a new feeling; I miss her all the time. Everyday. But, when it hits you in your chest, out of nowhere like a car accident, it’s a little more real.

Mom was the biggest Braves fan I’ve ever known; that’s weird because there was nothing about her that would suggest that she loved baseball as much as she did. When my friends found out how much she loved the team, it was like discovering that your pastor really, really liked UFC/mixed martial arts/whatever. She didn’t always agree with his in-game decisions, but she always appreciated that he was, above all else, a class act.

(I could go on about this all night, but tomorrow promises to be a long day, and real life rarely has or gives time for sentimentality)

Anyway, as Bobby made his way off the field, and everyone (even the Giants) gave him a standing ovation, I wished my mom could have been there beside me, saying goodbye to one of the good ones.

Live every second

Night, all.

Smirking in an Airport

I get bored in airports. I used to keep a book or magazine in my travel bag, but, after talking about books all day, I'm usually tired of reading. So, lately, I've been peoplewatching and saying mean things about them on twitter. There's something to be said about the economy of it, and it's an interesting exercise to tell a whole story in 140 characters; not entirely unlike trying to write a poem in blank verse. So, if you ever see me smirking into my iPhone in the airport, this is probably what I'm doing:

-Dude in the airport reading Slaughterhouse Five...looks just like a guy that you'd imagine reads Vonnegut in an airport.

-Mid20s girl bitching on her phone about having to gate-check her bag as the gate attendant gate-checks her bag. It may end up in Indochina.

-Balding guy with what appears to be a mullet in its death throes. Hang in there, buddy; keep living the dream.

-Young, pale dude killing a big bag of M&Ms; willing to bet a hundy that he's going through World of Warcraft withdrawals.

-Older guy, bags hanging off both shoulders, is poised to pounce when the attendant breathes the first syllable of "now boarding."

-Person of indiscriminate gender wearing an LSU T, holding a pillow. Most likely smells of Funyons and dead dreams. Will probably sit by me.

-Older gentleman very, very close to falling asleep. Excellent chance that he's going to fall out of his chair. May also piss his pants.

-Smug man in his early 30s, intermittently looking up from his iPhone, smirks into his Vitaminwater Zero, goes back go tweeting his snark.

-Gentleman in a pair of Carharts, on the phone with (presumably) his credit card company. "I just wanted to tell y'all I'm going to France."

-Gate attendant with a not-quite-right ponytail smiles like a jackal, instructs everybody else to wait on the delta medallion flyers.

-I've seen way too many gold-foil Affliction tees this morning. Really looking forward to being home tonight.

-Two Korean girls that have been in Florida too long. Equal parts Seoul & Jersey Shore.

-Small woman in military fatigues, holding the largest laptop of all time. Dom Delouise didn't have a lap that big.

-Dude younger than me in a bowling shirt. No immediate evidence of any sense of irony. I think he's given up on life.

-Large woman listing back and forth as she lumbers down the central walkway. I shit you not; she has a gallon-sized ziploc full of hot wings.

-30something dude in a pinstripe suit, no tie, and stupid hair. Pauses tweeting on iPhone to answer email on blackberry. Rolls eyes. "Shiiit"

-Older woman across the aisle, smiling demurely. Has her flirt game on point, but has been botoxed so much that she looks Chinese.

-Little girl with grandparents. Face painted up like a tiger, holding Mickey Mouse. She will regret the pictures they're taking in 5 years.

-Feminine dude at the gate counter, loudly asking why he hasn't been upgraded. Gate attendant searching for a nice way to say "b/c you suck"

-Young woman in obnoxious business suit. Think Annie Lennox in "Sweet Dreams," but with Terrence Cody's shoulderpads.

-Early 20s Nicole Ritchie clone. Chanel sunglasses so big, they look like those huge novelty sunglasses from a 1986 Spencer's Gifts store.

-Flight attendant longstriding down the concourse, wearing a pair of Club Cheetah heels and a face like Indiana Jones's jacket.

-Airline pilot walking slowly, hands in pockets. Trying to look casual despite the ridiculous hat. Hopefully, he's not too drunk to fly.

-Ordinary white guy walks past, sees my iPhone, quickly pulls his iphone from his pocket like it's a sign that we were separated at birth.

-Little boy behind me has discovered the simple, perfect joy of making fart noises. Welcome to the club, little brother.

-!!! Guy at the gate counter says, "No, I can't lower my voice!" fighting the urge to run up and say "Ain't you seen my movies? Mm mm bitch!"

-Older lady stretching her shoulders while reading a magazine, unconsciously doing the Bankhead bounce.

-Older person of undetermined gender with a Bobby Cremins white-blonde bowlcut. Looks like the world's biggest kindergartener.

-Larger teenage girl reinforces the known fact that only a very small number of people look good in sweatpants.

-Gentleman in his 40s, either reading his daughter'wife's magazine or disturbingly interested in Britney Spears's recovery.

-Ridiculously attractive Indian woman. The baddest chick at the terminal, even if she's wearing a UF tee and mom jeans.

-Family of Gingers. Fucking gross.

-Mid-20s woman, probably a dancer of some kind, makes a convincing case for being one of the few people that look good in sweatpants.

-Obviously blind and friendless man sitting on a bench. No other explanation for him leaving home in an Georgia Tech polo.

-Trio of Guidos, reeking of spraytan, steroids, and repressed desires for man ass.

-Late 20s girl in jeans & faded GIJoe tee, haircut blurring the line between asymmetrical hipster & "I got drunk & went to Supercuts."

-Hairy-backed and barbwire-tatooed gentleman in a black tank top, making sure everybody knows that they're in Orlando.

-Well tanned and Ed Hardy-clad dudes. I really hope they're European and not douches who should know better.

-Young woman beside me in the midst of a very serious, grownup conversation about business while eating the world's biggest Snickers bar.

-(Sort of) woman fullbacking down the concourse. Either a really butch lesbian or an authentic, real deal Holyfield lumberjack.

-A full gate's worth of unhappy people, sitting, frowning, and sweating together. Can't really blame them; they're going to Salt Lake City.

-Family of dirtnecks, rolling about nine deep. Lots of sleeveless tees, not a lot of dignity. I didn't know that Thorsby had an airport.

-Two women, probably coworkers/colleagues, sitting as far apart as adjacent seats will allow, patiently hating each other, eating skittles.

-Homeland security guy, pushing a cart, a little too proud of his blue shirt & badge. Looks like he failed out of campus policeman school.

-Puffy, peroxide blonde girl skypes loudly "I got this real bad sunburn all over my tummy.I think I'm allergic to the FL sun. The kids suckk"

-Doucher dad and hipster daughter arguing over who gets the window seat. He keeps looking around, "will anybody see me choke this trick?"

-Squad of late teen dudes, swathed in Hollister, Bieber hair & deep Vs. Future DateRapists of America.

-Middle aged Asian woman in horrible glasses, looking like emeffing Kim Jong Il in this piece. Your soccer team is awfulllllll!

-Late 30s redhead in a pair of her daughter's jeans, seriously testing the limits of bra technology.

-Early 40s guy in company-issued polo, not satisfied with doucher flattop, had to take it to the limit with the Kenny Powers goatee.

-14 year old jackwagon, looking like a funsized Fred Durst.

-Junior college softball team rolling hard. In their heads, they're in slow motion while Pantera or some such bullshit is the soundtrack.

-Eastern European dude in a tracksuit, which either makes him a gymnastics coach or one of Niko Bellic's friends from the old country.

-Hardcore business dude powerwalking through, got more shit on his belt than emeffing Batman.

-Too-stylish chick trying hard to look bored with life. Looks like she borrowed her boots from the female villain in Superman 2.

-Another woman disproves the aforementioned sweatpants theory. Pretty sure she's a dancer, too, but more of the kind that Tpain sings about.

----


In other news:
I haven't had time to mess up any relationships, watch the two month old Netflix DVD on my counter, or fix the flat tire on my Ducati lately.

Whatever happens, the dude abides.

Later, taters.

Here There Be Monsters

Every now and again when I’m driving or bullshitting in the garage, the radio will play a song from a few years ago, and I’ll be struck by a memory of whatever girl I was dating at the time. Sometimes it’s a reminder of some joke that or particularly great night, but sometimes it’s as simple as being struck by the image of her silhouette framed by the passenger side window and sunset, bathed in late-afternoon gold. These are the things I remember. Invariably, these good (sometimes great) moments lead me to wonder, “What ever happened to us? How could something that good have gone wrong?” And here we go. . .

There are plenty of things in life that are worth being angry about. I don’t get mad a lot, but I get mad. With that being said, there are very, very few things in my life that worth staying mad about. With that being said, if I’m upset about something one day, I’m probably over it by the next day or so. Whatever led the girl and I to go our separate ways. . .I just don’t think it’s as important as remembering what made us want to be together in the first place. When I think about people from the past, I think it should always be with a smile. Maybe it’s naïve, maybe it’s unrealistic; I could give a shit. It’s just the way I like to operate.

The flipside of that is, even though I would rather focus on the good stuff, the less savory memories are just as important (and sometimes even more so). Usually, the “whatever ever happened to us” thought is caboosed by “oh, yeah, she cheated on you” or “oh yeah; you drove her crazy because you’re a moody bastard” or whatever catalyzed the breakup. These are all lessons learned, and I admit that they’re important in growing as a person. With that in mind, however, I think those lessons should float around in the semi-conscious part of my brain, and not be manifested as some sort of checklist for the next girl; I don’t ever want to find myself thinking, “she’s getting really needy; remember how that turned out with (insert name here)?” It’s just a buzzkill.

My point is that, if you’re paying attention, there’s a million reasons not to want to be with someone. They are everywhere, from the way she does that little shrill whistle thing when a word ends with an S to her need to critique every woman that crosses her vision. (Sometimes, I pay closer attention to myself when I’m talking to people, and I get annoyed with myself within about 30 seconds. I mean, it’s ridiculous; I don’t know how my students made it through more than a week or two of my class without throwing shit at me.) The important thing, though, is what makes you want to listen, what makes you want to be around them. You probably see a thousand people a day, and maybe two or three of them really catch your eye. When you consider it like that, why would you want to focus on the things that make them ordinary?

But let’s get back on track. Way back in the day, when we were sailing around the world, discovering new lands and people and all that Christopher Columbus ish, the cartographer would often denote areas of the map with “Here there be monsters” or something to that effect. It could be a classic example of thinking, “I don’t know what’s here, so it must be bad.” More likely, though, it’s a statement of “Hey, we haven’t spent a lot of time here, so watch your step.” That’s the way I look at these 5 second memory flashes of old relationships.; they’re alluring, but more than a little dangerous. A peek in the rearview is a good idea every now and again, but I like to keep my eyes on the road ahead as much as possible. When you pass a familiar spot by the road, it probably still looks the same: oh, there’s that tree with the swing and that hill we used to lay on. But, when you stop, you notice that the tree is a little more gnarled, its branches sharper and leafless, and the grass is more weeds than Wimbledon. The tire swing is now dryrotted and dusty, serving as a frame for spiders’ nests and all their mummified prey. You realize that this is not the idyll you remember, but some kind of setting for misfortune.

There’s a reason you don’t go there anymore, but there’s no reason to let that color your memories of when it was more inviting. These moments are worth revisiting, but you have to watch your step because of what may lay sleeping in the waist-high grass.