Those of you who know me know that I like to write a poem now and then. Those of you who know me also know that most of my poems happened in high school, meaning they read like the liner notes to an unsigned emo album. But I have kept up with it since then, and I thought I'd post of few of my latest attempts here on the old bloggity blog.
For the past few weeks I've been training for a half-marathon timed for about when Nick gets back in country next year, so we can run together. It has been hard, and has revealed to me what an "ex-athlete" I have become... I can still do athletic stuff (like play basketball), but not in a prolonged fashion. Case-in-point: keeping dedicated to the running has been tough early on due to, among other things, what I like to call my grad-school baby (known in other circumstances as an emerging gut.) So I wrote out some self-encouragement the other day, (semi) beat-style:
"Run"
I'll not be a slave to the master switch
Gotta get outside to scratch my itch
Feet to pavement, shoes to grass
Until these empty feelings pass
Until these devils shut their mouths
Get up, get out, move around
Gotta eat for strength and not for joy
Save that for your work now, boy
Breathe twice deep, and sweat, and smile
Give yourself to the world so wild
Thank your arms for the work they've done
Stretch your legs in the rising sun
Run now boy, run
Run now boy, run.
I hope everyone is well!
Peace,
Joe
things i've noticed, things others have noticed for me, and things i hope to notice later.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Not a bird, but just as fun.
Tonya and I have a cat named Toby.
Saying he is an energetic kitty is like saying Conan O'Brien is a little tall.
Both of these are only halfway true. Some days Toby could power a small city. And Conan does not stand up from his chair so much as he unfolds from it.
Unfortunately for things that are not molded of one solid piece of metal, Toby's exuberance often gets away from him and settles into something fragile. Often that something fragile is our other cat, Oscar.
So we decided we needed to entertain Toby better (thinking that we might drain some of his energy for him, before he drained it on, say, my head while taking a nap.) We got him numerous toys to chase and bite and thrash. Most of these ended up under the couch or lost to the eternity that is the underneath of our cabinetry. But one has remained. It is a collection of unnaturally colored feathers on the end of string. This string is in turn on the end of a very flexible stick. When you move the stick, the collection of feathers flits about in a very convincing bird impression. This impression is especially award-worthy to Toby, a life-long house cat.
But for the Tobes, this is no impression. It is life and death. It is the hunt. It is the pride of bringing home the bacon. Or collection of neon-infused feathers.
This toy is so precious to him I have to keep it in the one place in the house where cats aren't allowed, my room (I have a lot of instruments which are apparently marked with some invisible cat message saying, "knock me over. Then sleep on me.") So whenever Toby starts getting a little enthusiastic about the DVDs, I break out the bird. Toby locks on, and for as long as he isn't wheezing, we play. I try to make it as bird like as possible, throwing it around like the poor things you see trapped in Wal-Mart. Toby pursues with what can only be called reckless abandon. Except for when it is called insane intensity. Have you ever seen a cat do a triple back flip? I have. All the while with teeth bared, making a growling noise that sounds like it is coming from the basement. Once he catches it, he tries to get away from me to enjoy the kill. But I have to follow him to prevent that act (Oscar actually ate one of the feathers the other day. Later, the cat-box was AWESOME). So he marches around the house, breathing heavily, while I trail behind him with the rest of the apparatus in my hand. Every once in awhile he'll look back at me, growl, and pick up the pace. Finally the bird part will break away from the rest, and he'll loose interest. Then I pick it up, and the game starts all over again. We do this until:
1) he can't chase it anymore as evidenced by the old man sound coming from my cat
2) I can't make it go anymore as evidenced by the old man sound coming from my chest
3) Oscar attempts to enter the fray and ends up under the coffee table
4) Toby flies across the room in an apparent attempt to crash through the wall like a cartoon. Seriously. Cat-shaped hole.
I then put the not-bird back in my room, wedged between my sitar and dulcimer. Toby then staggers to the nearest thing he is not supposed to sleep on, and crashes. Right now he is sleeping on my computer bag.
Having cats is not boring. Sneezy, yes. But not boring.
I hope everyone is well!
Peace,
Joe
Saying he is an energetic kitty is like saying Conan O'Brien is a little tall.
Both of these are only halfway true. Some days Toby could power a small city. And Conan does not stand up from his chair so much as he unfolds from it.
Unfortunately for things that are not molded of one solid piece of metal, Toby's exuberance often gets away from him and settles into something fragile. Often that something fragile is our other cat, Oscar.
So we decided we needed to entertain Toby better (thinking that we might drain some of his energy for him, before he drained it on, say, my head while taking a nap.) We got him numerous toys to chase and bite and thrash. Most of these ended up under the couch or lost to the eternity that is the underneath of our cabinetry. But one has remained. It is a collection of unnaturally colored feathers on the end of string. This string is in turn on the end of a very flexible stick. When you move the stick, the collection of feathers flits about in a very convincing bird impression. This impression is especially award-worthy to Toby, a life-long house cat.
But for the Tobes, this is no impression. It is life and death. It is the hunt. It is the pride of bringing home the bacon. Or collection of neon-infused feathers.
This toy is so precious to him I have to keep it in the one place in the house where cats aren't allowed, my room (I have a lot of instruments which are apparently marked with some invisible cat message saying, "knock me over. Then sleep on me.") So whenever Toby starts getting a little enthusiastic about the DVDs, I break out the bird. Toby locks on, and for as long as he isn't wheezing, we play. I try to make it as bird like as possible, throwing it around like the poor things you see trapped in Wal-Mart. Toby pursues with what can only be called reckless abandon. Except for when it is called insane intensity. Have you ever seen a cat do a triple back flip? I have. All the while with teeth bared, making a growling noise that sounds like it is coming from the basement. Once he catches it, he tries to get away from me to enjoy the kill. But I have to follow him to prevent that act (Oscar actually ate one of the feathers the other day. Later, the cat-box was AWESOME). So he marches around the house, breathing heavily, while I trail behind him with the rest of the apparatus in my hand. Every once in awhile he'll look back at me, growl, and pick up the pace. Finally the bird part will break away from the rest, and he'll loose interest. Then I pick it up, and the game starts all over again. We do this until:
1) he can't chase it anymore as evidenced by the old man sound coming from my cat
2) I can't make it go anymore as evidenced by the old man sound coming from my chest
3) Oscar attempts to enter the fray and ends up under the coffee table
4) Toby flies across the room in an apparent attempt to crash through the wall like a cartoon. Seriously. Cat-shaped hole.
I then put the not-bird back in my room, wedged between my sitar and dulcimer. Toby then staggers to the nearest thing he is not supposed to sleep on, and crashes. Right now he is sleeping on my computer bag.
Having cats is not boring. Sneezy, yes. But not boring.
I hope everyone is well!
Peace,
Joe
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Books are Nice.
Hey! Ho! It is a post from Joe!
Yeah, so falling down on the blog didn't do much to motivate the blogger in me. I wonder sometimes why I don't keep up with it the way I used to. But I write about that almost every transient post I make here now. So lets just say I was kidnapped. By monkeys who don't believe in the interweb. Case closed.
Lately I have found a way to weave pleasure reading into my daily habits, along with the many pounds of reading I do for professional type things. I just finished re-reading The Dharma Bums, by Jack Kerouac, The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran, and am in the midst of Naked, by David Sedaris. This triumvirate of awesomeness led me to the title of this post. To give everyone a taste, here are my favorite quotes. Some are picked for their serious contribution to my personal growth, others because, well. Here you go:
The Dharma Bums:
"Aw I don't wanta go to no such thing, I just wanta drink in alleys."
The Prophet:
"You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts; And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime."
Naked:
"The Greeks will be here tomorrow afternoon, and we need to hide the booze."
Ah, the power of words without context. I promise, each of these is better with what surrounds it. Except maybe the first one. That one is great on its own.
If you haven't read these, pick one and give it a try. Dharma Bums and The Prophet are both very short, and Naked is turning out to be one of those books you want to put down and never read again while finding that you have lost the ability to let go of the cover in each hand, and so keep reading. All three have been, to beat the poor poor horse, a little life changing. These books are nice.
The monkeys are coming! I have to hide my iBook.
I hope everyone is well.
Peace,
Joe
Yeah, so falling down on the blog didn't do much to motivate the blogger in me. I wonder sometimes why I don't keep up with it the way I used to. But I write about that almost every transient post I make here now. So lets just say I was kidnapped. By monkeys who don't believe in the interweb. Case closed.
Lately I have found a way to weave pleasure reading into my daily habits, along with the many pounds of reading I do for professional type things. I just finished re-reading The Dharma Bums, by Jack Kerouac, The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran, and am in the midst of Naked, by David Sedaris. This triumvirate of awesomeness led me to the title of this post. To give everyone a taste, here are my favorite quotes. Some are picked for their serious contribution to my personal growth, others because, well. Here you go:
The Dharma Bums:
"Aw I don't wanta go to no such thing, I just wanta drink in alleys."
The Prophet:
"You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts; And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime."
Naked:
"The Greeks will be here tomorrow afternoon, and we need to hide the booze."
Ah, the power of words without context. I promise, each of these is better with what surrounds it. Except maybe the first one. That one is great on its own.
If you haven't read these, pick one and give it a try. Dharma Bums and The Prophet are both very short, and Naked is turning out to be one of those books you want to put down and never read again while finding that you have lost the ability to let go of the cover in each hand, and so keep reading. All three have been, to beat the poor poor horse, a little life changing. These books are nice.
The monkeys are coming! I have to hide my iBook.
I hope everyone is well.
Peace,
Joe
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