Year Six

Six. Huh? Apparently I played soccer when I was six, and I was good at it. Though, I now blame the soccer for the piss poor condition of the cartilage in my knees. Damn Pele! I also apparently took the camera man real serious when he said to say cheese. I look almost pained. And why the sweat pants underneath the shorts? On the bright side, when can I start wearing sweat pants again? Is it at thirty because then I'm pumped about thirty.

This second picture is, (presumably not all the damn things have dates)from when I was six as well. But the great thing about this picture is how it ties together my quest for a man cave with my childhood. In previous posts, (insert imaginary link here) I talked about my desire to have a nice warm basement with a thick rug or at the very least, a polar bear skin. And now I realize why that quest was so ingrained in my memory. There I am, lying not just on a white polar bear themed rug, but I'm also on top of a beautiful and dense rug. The sort of rug that can store memories even better than pictures. Why in the hell did we get hardwood floors? Our unborn children will never lie on the floor with such glee. They'l lie on the floor and get splinters.

Positives-First grade. Great year. Great teacher. You're still at an age where people can believe in you, and you believe you have the ability to turn it all around. It's not quite like sitting in a cube shredding paper and then filling out a job application. A bit of hope still reigns.

Negatives-Not too much really. You're still the quiet kid in class but you've got a couple of friends. A teacher who smiles at you in the sort of way that makes you believe you're special. You remember one day, helping her son to put chairs up in the classroom. You remember him crying because he got his first A-. You remember trying to think just what the heck the big deal was, handwriting was a C plus on the best of days. But then again, now that kid is going to be a doctor and the best you could do is write him a crappy poem about it. Maybe you should have cried when you got a C? Who knows? Kids are dumb like that.

You remember tether ball. Who the hell invented tether ball? You remember the kids who cheated and stood over the line to keep from getting out. You never did that. A few years later you'll start doing that sort of thing. It hasn't occurred to you yet to win any way but honestly. It's a good year. Towards the end you start playing football. You discover that you are fast. You discover that this gives you the kind of street cred at school that you had craved the year before. You associate these two things.

You do well in school because people ask you to. You enjoy making them happy. Your handwriting is still crappy but you've ditched the glasses. You can see the board just fine, and now the other kids don't make fun of you. It's good to be six.

Year 5

Imagine with me driving down the highway, it's midday. The clouds are spinning sunlight through them like a spider's web, soft and slow. The music is turned on in your car. You're listening to a song that makes you happy to be alive. Without realizing it, you are connected to the long eons of human beings who have been moved by the sound of music. The world is a benevolent place. And in the haze of early afternoon, a shape flashes inn front of your car. It's a deer, and it's now ensconced on your front bumper. You're on the phone with your insurance company when the life passes from the deer's eyes. It occurs to you suddenly that you are going to perish yourself some day, and get buried, and cried over, if you're lucky. And then a lot of other generations are going to do the same thing. In short, you were lied to. The world is not a benevolent place.

This is analogous to the pictures that I've been posting over the last few days. It appeared that I was headed on a path for greatness, at least cuteness. By the time I was thirty I'd have changed my name to Max Power and I'd be working at Goldman Sachs with a hefty expense account and driving home in my Corvette. And then I hit year five. It all ends. Scroll through the pictures from the previous days of my blog and tell me you saw this coming? You didn't. It's like that f-ing deer jumping out into the road.

Interpolation
S: Are you serious?
M: What?
S: Someone let their dog poop on the walkway we dug out to the car. It's the one place we can go, and they let their dog poop on it.
M: The world his a shitty place.
S: Huh.
M: That was a joke.
S: Oh.
M: Genius wasted.

Let's deal with the specifics first. I went from a cute young boy with a Jim from the office haircut to looking like the strange white guy from every missing child poster of my youth. Give me a mustache in this photo and I'm pretty much a forty year old man. The hairstyle is? Well? Pretty much the sort of thing you see on men who troll by elementary schools offering candy. The glasses. Huh? Huge. And weird. And they make me look strange. My hip Lacoste shirt? Gone. Replaced by a shirt that says, "Hey, hey, come here. I've got some cool Lizards I want to show you back at my house. What? Where are you going friends? Oh. I guess I'll just walk home by myself. No parties this year?"

Interpolation:
S: My parents roof is having trouble.
M: Well, I dug our roof out for three hours today.
S: That's great.
M: So are you telling me that your parents need their big strapping son-in-law to come and help them clear off their roof?
S: That would be great yeah.
M: I can hardly feel my left shoulder, and I think I may have torn an MCL or something up there. My sciatic nerve is.....

This is the year that I kissed the Goldman Sachs job goodbye and officially became socially awkward enough to pursue an MFA. Thanks year five. In this year I was incredibly scared of my kindergarten teacher who tried to hold me back. I learned that I can't cut straight with scissors. Still can't. I learned that other kids don't take to the kid too shy to talk in class. For some reason, (though with the picture now I'm not sure I blame them) they don't want to hang out and be his buddy. Special thanks to Chris, wherever he is for not thinking that I was a regressed learner just because I looked like a forty year old and didn't speak.

Positives-Nothing good about being give. Terrible year. You're no longer young enough to have people expect nothing from you. Suddenly, you are thrust into school and expected to do things like glue macaroni and cut out circles and say the alphabet. And they begin B.F. Skinnering your ass, rewarding you for the good things and subtly punishing you for the bad. You begin to learn about social groups, and you have to try and figure out how to orient yourself. I'm certain that I'm not extrapolating my experience to everyone. I'm pretty sure five is terrible across the board.
The funny thing is, I worked for a few years at elementary schools. All the kindergarten teachers were sweet old librarian types, or young and pretty education job graduates who loved each and every one of their students. Where were you all when I was in school?

Actual Positive-I spent four hours digging out snow in various places around my house today. Parts of my body hurt that I'd forgotten that I have. "Oh, there's a muscle there. Who knew? And it's inflamed." And at the end of the day I've still got five hundred other house projects looming.

Positive- I think we may have gotten a Nintendo this year. This pretty much says it all. Who needs friends when you can just create friends on your television? Who'd want a bloke to throw a football to when you can just conjure up Mario and kill some Koopa Troopa's?

Negative-Pretty much everything else. Expectations, the soul-crushing boredom of school that might hit you only once or twice but it is the beginning of something that you didn't know existed when you are climbing trees in your back yard. The world is not a benevolent place out to bring you joy. It is dull and drab and grey and full of scissors that will not cut straight. It almost makes you glad you are going to be thirty. Then you wonder whether the pain in your lower back will cause you to remain bedridden on one of your weekend days instead, and you long for the big glasses, the strange hair, and the collared shirt because you were young.

Year 4

The best part about this getting older project is the variety of responses that it brings from other people. Unfortunately, they sort of fall into certain categories based on the age of the person that I'm talking to.

At or nearing the age of 30: These folks like to say things like,"Thirty is the new twenty. You'll be happier in your thirties because you've put all the craziness of your twenties behind you. Think of all the vacations you'll be able to take. I mean, you really know who you are in your thirties. It's a great time to really just be yourself and do all those things that you weren't smart enough, or rich enough to do in your twenties. Quite frankly, I think your thirties are at least twice as good as your twenties.

Counterpoint: These folks seem to have a vested interest in proclaiming thirty as a great age. I'd hate to accuse them of outright bias, but it seems that it is adventitious for them to consider the dawning of thirty as some great break through. But really, I love you all. My favorite thing about talking with college students is how hopeful thy are.
M: I got an MFA in creative writing.
CS: That's great.
M: I accrued this huge debt, and I've got nothing to show for it.
CS: You've just got to follow your dreams though. No regrets.

That's the sort of optimism that I'll miss and that thirties folks are throwing my way.

People in their twenties: Firstly, read above. They seem to think that thirty isn't that old. Read, when I tell them that I'm going to be thirty I think they actually just translate it to twenty-five. They are thinking, "I wouldn't know some guy who is almost thirty? I'm a young person. This guy is probably lying." I guess I pretty much believe that to these people aging, working at the same mind numbing job day in and day out, shopping for groceries at seven o'clock et al are just imaginary things. I'm not really turning thirty, I'm just getting a bit older. It doesn't mean the same thing. It's a vague thing. Not an age that they'll ever reach themselves.

Counterpoint: Read: mind numbing work, financial decisions, grocery shopping, car insurance et al.

People who are considerably over thirty: These people have a tendency to remind me that thirty isn't all that old after all. "You're so young," they say, with a sincerity that is undeniable. Hell, thirty is young if you're pushing sixty five. Is sixty five young if you're pushing eighty? I don't know. I'm curious. These people sort of genuinely cheer me up because they honestly believe that thirty is young. They don't have to say it like my fellow thirtyites, they don't consider it some vague thing in the distance like the twenties, it's a reality, and it's young.

Counterpoint: They are probably guilty of the same backward nostalgia that I am when thinking of my twenties.
J: You look good man.
M: You should have seen me when I was twenty-five.
Who the heck says that? Am I that old? Am I already reflecting on the years past.
J: Thirty isn't that old. You're still young.
M: The mirror disagrees.

Is it just a physical change?
Answer: No. Only slightly. Turning the big 30 has a lot more to do with things left undone.

Age four. It was a solid year for me. In this year I started wearing those fancy polo shirts with the little animal on the side. I'm fairly certain it's not a Lacoste shirt, but it could be. And Lacoste is really popular in Europe and in yuppie havens. At four, I was an aspiring golfer apparently.

Positive-A lot.

Today as I was walking down the ice filled street on my 1:45 minute commute to work (it took me 2.5 to get home) I slipped a bit on the ice and almost did the splits. This action caused my knees to spread apart and for several ligaments to get stretched, ligaments that are sort of quasi-throbbing right now. And, as I was lifting weights to try and attempt to keep my youthful vigor, I noticed my right shoulder beginning to give way like my left. Why? Because I spent a good deal of yesterday snow shoveling. And, I my elbow, surgery a few years ago, started hurting again.
Yes, you're reading a laundry list of reasons why it sucks to be turning the big 30. When you fall and almost do the splits at four, you laugh. Your shoulder only hurts for a moment, at most, a day. You can wear a faux Lacoste shirt without knowing how sweet you are. You can comb your hair forward without looking like a weirdo. Four is a pretty solid age, but you're starting down the path to real childhood and away from being a toddler.

Positive-I played with light brights and an etch a sketch. You know what kicks ass? Those things. Go ahead, go out and get yourself an etch a sketch or some light brights and see what you've been missing for the past twenty four odd years.

Positive-I could eat Kraft Macaroni and Cheese every day for snack and I loved the stuff. I didn't have complex taste buds that required things like spices, or cooking acumen, I just needed some hot water, fake cheese and pasta.

Negative-Despite the smiling picture, this is the year in which I began to encounter my overwhelming shyness in social situations. I remember not playing with the other kids at the daycare. I remember, just watching them, or playing quietly with one friend.

Positive- I was four. Again, fairly light on the expectations.

Negative-Expectations. It's time to begin to socialize, become a part of the cement mixer, conform. It's time to learn those ABC's a little better and time to nail down 1-10 counting.

Positive-The world is still untethered.

To all who are aging, I love you.

Year 3

Let's discuss the elephant in the room first. Apparently when I was three years old I looked like a shy little girl. I mean, if you didn't know that was a dude you might think it was a great pic. of some quiet little girl. However, we've got some solid positives as well.

Positives: Look closer. What's that on my stylish birthday hat? Oh yeah, it's Superman. I was early onto that bandwagon, and I love the guy standing next to him as well whoever the "h" he was. I'd probably say "h" at age 3 as opposed to hell.

Negative- I look like a sweet little girl.

Postive-My hairstyle. I pioneered the look that Jim made famous on the office like twenty four years after I made it all the rage. If someone out there is a lawyer, can we sue? And if not, go to "h."

Negative-Am I drinking soda in this picture? What kind of parenting is that? Everyone knew in the early eighties that soda was really bad for you and had high fructose corn syrup in droves. This may not be true. My memories of the early part of the eighties are a little non-existent.

Positive-I was at a party. Someone invited me to a party. And maybe it was actually party, but I still invited myself, which counts for something.

Positive-I doubt I spent any time clambering up onto my roof and shoveling snow and trying to figure out where the leak was coming from. Though, I did climb that twenty foot ladder with all the confidence of a three year old being left at school for the first time.

Positive-My shoulder didn't hurt. My elbow didn't hurt. My knees didn't hurt. I wasn't and old man in horrible shape shoveling snow for hours. Just kidding. I'm still in my twenties.

Negative-What's with the hands in the cup kid? I asked for water not your fingers.

Other positive things about being three: you're not as cute as you were when you were two, but your language skills start to pick up. People don't expect much of you though, perhaps a little alphabet mixed in with some counting from one to ten. All in all, pretty easy stuff. I could crack that kind of stuff out in no time.

Long day. And now I have to figure out how to get to work on an irregular bus and metro schedule because our street hasn't been plowed yet. That is reason enough to curse thirty and yearn for three.

Year 2

Year 2. My second year was a pretty solid one. I developed an interest in trains and fire trucks. I know, totally crazy. I mean, what little boy gets excited about trains and fire trucks? All of them.

Positives of being 2: I didn't live in a place that was truly emulating the blizzard on Planet Hoth. Forty mile an hour winds coupled with three feet of snow make life here a bit hellish.

Negative-I lived in Merced.

Positives-I could still wear a pair of overalls and feel pretty solid about my wardrobe.

Negative-I'm wearing a football pair of overalls, they should probably say something like farm man, or tractor loving boy or something.

Positive-I'll give you a big positive. What's that I'm looking at in the dark there? Am I scared? No. That's destiny baby! I'm looking into the light and what do I see? Artistic genius.

Negative-Kind of set my gaze a little high there, should have settled for moderately successful and mildly fulfilling life! That's not the sort of thing that you can tell a two year old to aspire to though, they are noted criers. Like town criers.

Positive-I've got blond hair.

Negatives-Where is the sun? Where is my blond hair?

Positive-I'm not one of those happy looking two's. I look like maybe I'm ready to kick some ass and then write you a poem about it.

Negative-This just provides more fuel to S's fire of claiming I'm typically unhappy.

Positive-At this age you can pour juice all over your face, make a mess at the table and people will take a picture of you.

Negative-The same behaviors at thirty get pictures taken of you down at the police station.

Positive-I had no clue what the hell an ice dam was. I didn't spend my day swinging a seven iron at shards of ice out an open window in a blizzard.

Negative-I couldn't swing a golf club at shards of ice. Really satisfying stuff.

Positive-I still have the dinosaur phase of my childhood to look forward to.

Negative-Now I can only look back on the dinosaur phase of my childhood.

Positive-I didn't have any plans. I was just taking life as it came to me. I didn't have to think about scaling my roof and brushing off snow to keep the sky light in the bathroom from leaking.

Negative-I can't really come up with anymore. Being two kicks ass! You are majorly cute, developing language skills, and still small enough to hug and adult's leg like it's a big f-ing tree. Those were good times.

The Final Countdown: Year 1

In memoriam of my twenties, I'm counting down to the date of my thirtieth birthday. The day that I officially become the old guy in a club. The day that I officially become a man who probably should already have a kid or two if he was serious about it. The day that I become a guy who relies on fouling younger basketball players in an attempt to keep up. The day that I reflect on how much debt I've accumulated and how little money. The day that I. Well, this could go on forever. Let's remember some better times.

As you can see in the picture above I was pretty excited about being one. I don't remember much, but I've spent a bit of time around one year olds of late. Likely people gathered around me while I drooled on a blanket and marveled at the amazing things I could do.
"Look at him roll over! He's so advanced!"
"He's so tall for his age!"
A: Well, he is in the fifty second percentile of height.

Likely, people also marveled over my ability go grow teeth, gnaw on fingers, and make sounds that weren't even remotely like speech.
"I think he just tried to say da da."
Actual noise being something more like: wuhookkkkjjjjj. Or something of that nature.

Positive things. I was well ahead the pink shirt curve here. My parents put me in the thing well before dues in Miami were sporting them at hot night clubs.

I probably wasn't thinking things like: "From the moment of my conception I've begun to die." Or: "What gives life of meaning and how am I going to achieve that meaning in a meaningful manner?" I probably didn't even know the word meaningful though I've been told I was a bright child.

I was pretty excited about my stuffed bear. S hates stuffed animals. I think this akin to hating children at Christmas, just outlandish. Stuffed animals are our friends who are with us when no one else is. Look at that bear! I love that f-ing bear. I probably didn't know the f word at this point either.

Other negatives- I routinely shat myself.

Positives-It didn't bother me in the slightest.

Positve/Negative: I was a fairly cute child, but not obscenely so. At least I wasn't one of those kids who parents hold up to your face and say, "Isn't he cute?" And of course, they are not. They are cute because they are small, but they are not exactly the Lord's gift in the aesthetics department.

Negative-I didn't have a blog.

Positive-I didn't waste solid creative writing time on a lousy blog.

Negative-That happy sun thing behind me. Mom? Dad? Were you two no good dirty hippies?

Negative-Not knowing the term no good dirty hippies.

Positive-Not ever being reprimanded for speaking incorrectly.

Snow Day!

I grew up in the Sacramento Valley in Northern California where it snows about once every thirty years or so. Ergo; snow days were just some mythical day that kids in other parts of the world go to enjoy. A day without school. Amazing! This was my first snow day, but I'm twenty nine years old. It was everything I imagined it could be and more.

6:52 A.M. Wake up in the guest room where I sleep nightly, apparently having conceded possession of the master bedroom to the squirrel.
7:24 A.M. Wake up a second time. Conclude that the guest bedroom gets too much light. Curse the sun for waking me up. Walk into the squirrel's room.
8:15 A.M. Wake up again. Make big plans to write. Conclude that nothing else can actually happen.
9:12 A.M. So this is what it's like to be unemployed? I wish I was playing a video game right now. I could probably do that for eight hours solid and never notice the difference.
9:37 A.M. Wake up again. What a crazy dream. I bet I don't forget that one for a while.
9:52 A.M. Wake up. What a crazy dream. Does everyone have the craziest dreams when they are only sleeping because it's a snow day, and they are barely sleeping because they don't have other shi to do?
10:07 A.M. Wake up. Another all-time classic. I can't wait to tell people about these crazy dreams.
10:24 A.M. Wake up. I guess I better go collect my unemployment check.

5:35 P.M. Sit down to write about the four crazy dreams I had. Concluded that I don't remember next to nothing about said dreams. Anne Lacy was in one of them. We talked about fiction.

10:30 A.M. Begin reading Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri who's main claim to fame besides being an excellent short story writer, is being attractive. Not exactly something writers pride themselves on.

11:15 A.M. Open the windows and stare outside at the snow. Shake my fist vigorously at said snow.

12:23 P.M. Have a sandwich. Congratulate myself on managing to make a half-decent sandwich. Mentally curse all the people who make fun of married men when they are alone. "Bachelor life, eh? Frozen meals."
"No sir. I had delightful sandwich with avocado on it thank you very much. Then I drank a glass of wine and listened to some Beethoven. Only some of that is true, but screw you anyway."

1:00 P.M. Decide to clean up the house in preparation for S's return.
1:15 P.M. What's the point in cleaning anyway? Remember a phone call from S last night in which she asked if people were taking their shoes off at our door when they came over. Try and imagine myself three thousand miles away at a busy work conference asking S if people were taking proper precautions with our floor. Can't. Is this really the sort of thing that certain people think about? I mean. I appreciate it and all, but it's just not something I would ever think of.

Imaginary Call Home:
S: How is your trip honey?
M: Fine. Fine. Are people using those new coasters when they put drinks down on the coffee table?
S: (Silence)
M: Are they!! It's driving me nuts. I can hardly focus in any of the meetings because I'm just imagining that little circle of condensation on my brand new coffee table. Answer me!!!!!!!

2:12 P.M. Decide to watch a movie. Pick out the movie based on its brevity. End up watching Somer's town. Decide that I like it because when British people say naughty things it doesn't seem as naughty. This is pretty much a well-known thing, but it's nice to have it reinforced every now and again.

3:24 P.M. If I know you, I may have had a dream about you last night, but I can't remember the specifics. No funny business in any of the dreams though. Just good old-fashioned strangeness.

4:22 P.M. Decide that it's time to take the trash out in prep for S's return. Put on my snow boots and conclude that my earlier foray into sweeping the floor was a waste. It was just going to get dirty again. This is my whole understanding of cleaning. Why should I clean my shower if it's just going to get dirty again? What's the point? Please insert some existential dread in the preceding sentences.

4:35 P.M. Arrive back at the house having tromped through roughly 26 inches of snow in our backyard. Try and imagine starting a nice garden in the frozen tundra of our backyard. Conclude that the better plan would be to start raising reindeer instead so as to sell the venison to people who can't get out of their house for food.

5:12 P.M. Whoops....Realize that I haven't started writing yet. But I've read 187 pages of a book, watched a movie. Swept the floor. Vacuumed the rugs. Loaded and unloaded the dishwasher. Emptied the trash and recycling.

5:14 P.M. Look back at my list of things that I've done. Suffer from mild depression. Why isn't, flew down the fresh snow on a saucer on there, or dug out an elderly neighbor? Or, hiked to the grocery store and made myself a quality dinner. Or. I guess that point is that with an unstructured day, at twenty-nine, I get sort of sad that this is what a day amounts to. Hell. It wasn't even ill-spent. Perhaps that's why we crave so much distraction in our contemporary society. Perhaps that's why it's harder to retire than to start working the 9-5. What are you going to do to fill up all these hours?

5:38 P.M. Begin writing. Script pictured above.