quartet

In grade school, I remember sitting in music class and listening to “Peter and the Wolf.” Fascinated by the idea of different instruments for different characters in the story, I was still confounded by the task of picking out the sounds of each within the whole. In college, Patrick introduced me to an amazing variety of classical and modern music, and urged me to listen to the individual sounds. I tried so hard, but the more complicated the pieces became, the more frustrated I got; it all seemed to blend so well that I couldn’t focus on any particular instrument. Older still, my ear for music is no less of a meat-grinder, smushing up all the delicacies into one enjoyable mass. But occasionally there are moments when I can latch onto a slithering...

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Posted on 23 Jul 1999 | Comments Off

tight pants and cold beer

Liquid360, the café where Birmingham Boardgamers is held, got their liquor license. They’ve also reportedly gone “corporate,” which means to a teenage boy (and sort of to me too) that everyone has to wear the same ugly style of logo-emblazoned polo shirt and … *gasp* … tight pants. Mind you, “tight pants” means to this teenage boy “pants with legs that are loosely based around one’s own actual size,” as opposed to what we old people call “skater pants.” Or used to, anyway, until we realized we were old and that was the lamest thing ever to call them and by the way, no one says “lame” anymore either. Regardless, I love skater pants. I love pants with legs larger than the...

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Posted on 20 Jul 1999 | Comments Off

i speak spain

“I speak Spain,” she said. “Yes,  I speak the whole country.  Portugal is a little prickly on the tongue –  but it’s the price one pays  for speaking an entire country.” “It’s the mountains,” he said. “Yes,” she said, “all those mountains.  And nobles.  At least they bathe. Didn’t used to;  I had to use the Black Sea as mouthwash.” – h.m.b & s.m.e © 1999

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Posted on 14 Jul 1999 | Comments Off

breaking up

Here comes the backlash of the backlash. I love my brain. Rereading some of my old paper-journal entries last night, I discovered several themes. None of them are catchy or cute, but they’re the framework for the worst pattern in my life so far: not believing that other people believe me, and so withdrawing in some sort of elaborate punishment to myself and to aforementioned people. I also have this strange obligation thing going on, like X number of people are depending on me at any given time, and if I can’t deliver the emotional support they need, I Am A Bad Person. ï ï ï Dr. Doctor and I discussed meeting once a week instead of twice; I accepted. More like, leapt at the offer. Going to therapy twice a week makes me feel decrepit, like I need a...

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Posted on 12 Jul 1999 | Comments Off