4 Responses to a shirtless man with apples...

{Trick?...}

So, we live and learn. From living through Halloween 2015, I learned the following: (A) That you can't leave lit jack-O-lanterns outside, plus leave your porch light on, without sending children the message that you have candy for them; (B) That our indoor lamp and our outdoor porch light are controlled by the same switch; and (C) That most kids nowadays are not pumped about free fruit.

More detail: my roommate and I were getting into our zen, preparing for an evening of Halloween adventures downtown. He was in his room killing zombies on the computer; I was on the couch in only a pair of comfy jeans, watching gore-makeup tutorials on Youtube with my laptop. In years past, our street had been fairly thin on trick-or-treaters—so neither of us expected FOUR groups to show up. But show they did. And I—the Halloween ambassador for our home—leaped up each time to offer the best I had of Hallow's Eve cheer and treats:

“Oh wow! You guys look great/frightening/totally convincing! Sorry, I have no candy—also no shirt on—but I do have a bag of jazz apples! Apples, anyone?”

The four responses played out as follows:

Knock 1: 8 KIDS, 3 PARENTS, and a STROLLER

Me – “Oh wow! You guys look great! Sorry, we have no candy—um, let me see what we have though … Ooh! We have apples. Do you want apples.”

7-year old boy/Transformer – “{wrinkles face}NOo.”

Me – “{to parents} Sorry guys. Happy Halloween!”

exeunt. … (2 minutes pass.)

Knock 2: ATTRACTIVE MOM and 2 KIDS

Me – “Oh, a lion, and a ghost! Totally convincing! I actually DON'T have any candy—but I do have apples! Apple?”

4-year old boy/Lion – {silently shakes his head with heart-meltingly underplayed lip-droop}

Attractive mom – “That's okay. {looks at my torso; turns to her boy and girl} Ask him if he's got any vodka, kids. I bet he'll have that {smiles at me}.”

Me – “Alright {laughs}. Y'all look great! Happy Halloween.”

exeunt. … (5 minutes pass)

Knock 3: 5 KIDS and LARGE MOTHER

Me – “Oh wow, you guys look really scary! I'm sorry, I don't have candy—but I do have apples! If you're interested.”

Boy/Skeleton & Girl/Princess-thing in front – “No, thank you.”

Me – “Really? No one likes apples, I guess. Happy Halloween!”

Large mom – “{looks up as last kid steps down} Put a shirt on.”

exeunt. … (15 minutes pass)

Knock 4: ONE LARGER-THAN-ME BOY(85% sure) and YOUNG DAD

Me – “Hey! Happy Halloween. You look great. I'm sorry, I don't actually have any candy.”

12-to-16 year old boy(?)/Sunday grandma holding up a large pillow-case – “{Sincerely and unabashedly} Well, what do you have?”

Me – “I've got a bag of apples, but nobody's wanted them—”

Boy – “I'll take an apple.”

Me – “Yeah?! Alright!{grab apple out of fridge, wash it off, palm-dry it} Here you go, dude! Good on you.”

Dad – “Thank you {waves from stair-bottom}.”

Boy – “Thank you!”

Me – “Happy Halloween, you guys.”

exeunt.

I'm pretty sure that large child was male—I hope so. I really committed to those masculine pronouns as I tried to be jovial and non-chalant handing that giant child an apple: honestly, that was my favorite moment of the night—well, that, and when our friend dressed as Gumbi found another person dressed as Gumbi's horse Pokey, and they hugged and danced on the downtown sidewalk for minutes. But that boy marked the beginning of the Halloween spirit. Rock on, Grannie.

Phrases that don't improve relationships ...

{I was surprised at how well I fit into the panel...}

So I went online today and saw a video being shared enthusiastically by female friends of mine. Interested in further expanding my sense of life from a woman's-eye view, I watched.

 {:Video-Link:}

The video, posted by 'Huffpost Women' (10 Dec. 2015), is titled: “48 Things Women Hear in a Lifetime* (that men just don't).” Its recites familiar phrases, by young girls and grown women and elderly ladies, pointing clearly to some cultural attitudes that, if they were directed at me (Josh, a man), I would find irritating, frustrating, condescending, and/or dispiriting.

As I watched on, I realized that, in fact, some of these phrases HAD been said to me many times, by my once-partner in a long-term relationship—which I found humorous; an inversion of stereotypical roles. But I also found this sharpening my sympathies for those women on screen, because my partner's persistent repeating of those judging, dismissive, role-imposing phrases was a large part of why my relationship ended … not because they were conventionally sexist, in my case—just because they didn't show understanding or respect for me, and were said way too often.

Of course, as a man, receiving those comments makes me a comical exception to the norm—she once told me I was the “gayest straight man” she'd ever known (and that, I took as a compliment). But if I were a women, these comments would be unremarkably ordinary—which, I think, would have made {female}me even more irritated: I, man-Josh, can walk away from a relationship when I begin feeling insecure, infantilized, disrespected. But a woman can't walk away from that in a general culture … so yeah, if you're thinking of using these phrases—whether on a woman, a man, or a kid—ask yourself first: “Is this going to improve the relationship?”

Things women hear in a lifetime—Said to me:

You need to wax your eyebrows.

(Really more of a request: “Can I please wax your eyebrows again?” She also once Kamikaze-waxed my nipple—I don't recommend it.)

Why are you getting so emotional?

(My response: “I'm not. But if I were, that condescending sentence would not help me regain my calmness.”)

Stop being so dramatic.

(My response: to recap what had just happened, and counter-assess, “That's not being dramatic. That's talking things out.” or “I'm not being melodramatic; you shin-kicked me with a figure-skate, so I walked back to safer side of the room.”)

You would be really pretty if you just made an effort.

(Slightly adjusted: “You could look really handsome, if you had some fashion sense.”)

Haven't been / Probably won't ever be said to me:

* PAST *

Your dad will have to chase the boys away when you're older.

(I was danced-up-on by a 40-year old at an academic convention in San Francisco once … he wasn't even part of the convention. I guess I give off a vibe.)

He picks on you because he likes you.

(No: I was picked on because because I was overweight, pale, wore a felted explorer's hat, and had a haircut that looked like my dad had done it—because he had. And he was a city planner, NOT a barber.)

Don't wear that to school, you're going to distract the boys.

(No: more like my mom saying, “Why do you feel the need to draw attention to yourself?”)

Don't be a slut.

(That was the opposite of my problem.)

No guy wants to have sex with a virgin.

(That was a lot closer to my problem.)

It must be that time of the month.

(My dad would say that, but always in reference to the library book sale.)

Nice rack.

(I made a rack once in shop class—but it was NOT very good. It also wasn't hanging off my chest.)

 * PRESENT *

You don't wanna go out with me? You're ugly anyway.

(Two girls have ever asked me out. I said “Yes” to one. The other had given me a bouquet of dead white mice on a wire tree in a vase. Honestly, it was pretty sweet, given circumstances—I left a message.)

You like football?

(No: I get, “You don't watch any sports?” But I can get out with, “I'd rather be playing than watching.”)

Your drive is kind of intimidating.

(I get “Your eye contact is kind of intense.” That's different, though—I probably should work on that.)

Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.

(Never been part of a wedding party—but I'm 32, so who knows. Maybe I'll get an “Always a groomsman...”)

Your biological clock is ticking.

(I hear, “Make sure you warm up; you don't want to pull something.” But that's not said as I'm heading out trying to make babies.)

* FUTURE *

You're not taking your husband's last name?

(Who knows? Maybe my wife will have a really amazing last name, like “Blackwood” or “Helstrom.”)

Your husband cooks dinner? You have him really well-trained.

(If you flip this to “Your wife … you have her really well-trained,” that's WAAAY offensive; don't say that one!)

You're dating a younger man? You're such a cougar.

(Mmm—no, I think they'd use the word “creeper,” if I were in that situation. Can't we ALL just be cool animals? Please: “You're dating someone! What a penguin.” )

He traded her in for a younger model.

(If I ever get traded for a younger model, I'll be like, “Pfff. You always rode my brakes too hard, anyway.”)

You should feel grateful you were catcalled.

(I got catcalled once, running shirtless; felt good. Then I overheard a girl say to her friend, “Naw, I wouldn't go for that”; I decided I'd rather get no comments than get that mix.)

Isn't that outfit a little young for you?

(No: I hear, “Don't you have any clothes that fit you? You're not in high school.”)

You still wear makeup? How adorable.

(If I'm 70 and wearing makeup, “Adorable” is probably not the first word people will think of.)

You must have been beautiful when you were younger.

(Dude. That's like saying, “Grandpa, where'd your ass go?” Sure, I'll be able to tell you, “time ate it; it used to be a juicy bubble.” But can't you just tell me you like my kind eyes, in the present?)

Be kind, be patient, be understanding.
Because that's how you make yourself a gift in this world— right?

If I stumbled into my hero ...

Do you ever wonder what you'd say if, while walking down the street, you crossed paths with some hero / anti-hero of yours? Based on experience, I'm assuming that I would say something less-than-ideal: “You are—just great! Can I kiss your head?” or “You're really mean to people—have you ever thought about being kind?”

But really, what do you say if you only have a moment in passing (assuming that you're not willing to trip them to squeeze out a few seconds of prep-time)? You don't want to be rude and monologue at them endlessly—nor say something trite that they've heard from at least five strangers every day that week. So here's me drafting—feel free to add your own heroes / anti-heroes to the list—just in case:

for Heroes ~~

Stephen Colbert 

 – “You are a curious, joyful, eloquent, and loving human being; you humble me.”

Pope Francis  

 – “Your loving example is a challenging gift for those who distrust religion's intent,
and for those who follow its dogma, alike. Thank you for championing faith's true, open spirit.”

Elizabeth Warren

 – “We need more teachers like you in D.C., making the walls transparent for this democracy.
Every time I see a clip of you online, I imagine a thousand people's hearts screaming,
'That's what I was feeling!'”

Bernie Sanders

 – “Every time you state a principle—explained in terms of simple, sensible, conscientious
actions—you make me feel younger, saner, more full of hope. You cool our nation's fever.”

Dalai Lama

 – “Your laughter is a seed that I carry in my chest. When I am sad, it reminds me that I
am also happy, and that I can place that joy on top like a warm, saturating light.”

Russell Brand

 – “You glow with purpose. I look forward to watching you age into a more and more refined
version of that fire.”

for Anti-heroes ~~

Bill O'Reilly

 – “Mister O'Reilly! The most confident, wise people I know talk to everyone as an equal
and show compassionate attention when they are presented with a challenge.”

Ted Cruz

 – “Eloquence can be used two ways: to find a common ground amidst factious voices and from there grow, or to re-shape the words of alternate voices until they seem like your view. One of these
nurtures love in society; the other, only dominance and resentment.”

assorted Corporate Decision-Makers for factory farms, NRA, oil/coal, etc.

 – “Money, in all its expressions of influence, is a place-holder: dynamic, unstable, and intrinsically worthless. This planet, in all its experiences of life, is equally dynamic and delicate—but arguably infinite in value. If you measured your legacy in terms of that life—quality, health, well-being—
in total, how much have you gained?”

Putin et al. dictatorial leader types 

 – “Hello, sir. I value my life; I have no intention of getting in your way.
One man's will means nothing.”

Custom pants ...

What are the Abominable Snowman's pants made out of?

… Brrr-lap.

And what are a spider's pants made out of?

                                 … Caught-in.

Then what are a parrot's pants made out of?

                                                            … Polly-ester.

And what are Mr. Clean's pants made out of?

                                                                                                … Lather.

Life-sampling ...

I traveled to Iowa this summer, for a family reunion. Families often set some time aside for “catching up” on biographies—being saturated with each others' stories, and curious about them, and invested in how they develop, is an essential part of the human family dynamic. But in the course of daily life—especially when you're crossing state lines and wandering through airports—one can't help incidentally sampling others' lives as well. These following moments from my four-day journey, where I brushed by a sample of someone else's story, were particularly memorable:

{from life-sample #4: Descending into Atlanta...}

INT: AIRPLANE - DESCENDING INTO MOLINE, IL (5 August 2015)

Stewardess comes down the aisle to secure the airplane cabin for landing. A lanky young man is wearing black clothes and listening intently to his headphones with a hip blend of pensiveness, aloofness. He has not yet acknowledged the illuminated 'FASTEN SEAT BELTS' sign.

Stewardess:

“Sir, I', going to need you to put your seat belt on for me.”

Man nods.

Stewardess:

“Thank you.”

The belt is only half-tightened; it sags off to the side in a manner that would likely leave the man whipping around like a tether-ball if the plane lost its stability.

The man tugs on the belt and notices this. He looks for the adjusting-strap. He finds it, and promptly loosens the belt all the way.

He then slides across to the vacant window-seat beside him to watch our plane's descent through the windy sky.

*

INT: HAMPTON INN – MOLINE, IL (6 August 2015)

A man and woman sit together at one of a dozen small tables adjacent to the inn's complimentary breakfast nook. The woman has just returned from the hot-trays, where a row of identical half-moon omelets were stacked at the ready, on their sides, about 8-deep.

She cuts into her omelet and takes a bite. She chews thoughtfully.

Woman:

“It's good.”

Man looks out past the far edge of his bagel to meet her gaze.

Woman:

“I don't know if it's real, but—”

*

INT: SMALL RESTAURANT NEAR AUGUSTANA COLLEGE – ROCK ISLAND, IL (6 August 2015)

While the restaurant's three current patrons (including myself) eat their sandwiches in the enclosed porch alcove, the waitress joins two other female workers as they sit beside a table cooling off from the afternoon heat.

Waitress:

“I'm having grandpa watch my girl today. She's scared to death of her grandpa—anything he does. He's terrifying. She's at that age, you know. Stranger-danger.”

*

AIRPLANE CABIN – DESCENDING INTO ATLANTA, GA

(8 August 2015)

{This final scene it too rich to be told concisely in screenplay format; enjoy the narrative:}

A mother sits in aisle seat beside me, balancing her toddler son on her lap, with her youngest daughter by the window and her husband and older daughter in the seats behind her. For 40 minutes, she has been feeding them all from a bag of Dum-Dums and a pack of Red Vines "To help with the altitude," sticking spent sucker sticks and wrappers in the seat pockets.

As the plane prepares for descent, her son is clearly sugar crashing: kicking the seat in front of him, making it shake like a 25-cent storefront ride, and wailing inconsolably--deaf to her incessant baby-talk, and even to the stern bursts of "Stop it! Stop it NOW; that HURTS mommy!!" that darkly tinge her ebullience.

Somewhere around minute 3 of this explosion, it becomes plain that she suffers from air sickness, and the rapid descent is destabilizing her sugar-filled stomach. "Don't push on mommy's tummy!" The little girl turns away from this drama, toward the window, and pulls down the shade to watch the rushing clouds and twirling ground below: "Look! I can see--" "Close that window now!" snaps the mother, now pressing her head into the chair and breathing deeply to settle her roiling guts. "Bllaaa-Moooommmmyy, bllaaa, bll-ggh," the little boy has been crying so long he is now choking on his own saliva, and sounds like HE will be the first to lose it.

"Honey, give me a puke-bag," she says to her husband, and he calmly obliges (he seems quite well-prepared to this drama), but the boy pushes it away, kicking again and bouncing on her stomach, to which he is woefully strapped and buckled. She then hold the bag to her own face, and breaths to the side, in my direction, a few times, a few times deeper, and then "Blerggghh" the bag begins to fill with the unmistakable neon glow of many, many liquified candies.

For a moment, this seems to distract the boy from his tantrum--but only for a moment So as she hands her husband that first weighted bag and begins to fill a second one, the boy resumes his crying as the jet careens--far too slowly, it now seems--toward the runway.

We land. "Now do you see why mommy doesn't fly that often?" She jests to her daughters. The family laughs as they load up a trash bag with their various plastic and biological waste. I collect my hat and bag. The man beside me pulls his homemade burrito from his seat pouch and stores it in his carry-on. "I bet you're glad you didn't eat that during the fight," I say to him. He laughs, "Yes, I'm very, very glad."

Answer is probably 'No,' still I wonder ...

Has there ever been an animal so cute and adorable that a predator decided not to eat it? (“Please? Look into my large, universally trusting eyes …”)

If time-travel were possible, and people could go back at the end of their lives to tell their younger selves a few things to do better, would history see an up-tick in college retention, volunteer work, voting, progressive political action, and environmental consciousness—alongside its increase in sexually-transmitted infections, skydiving, and world tourism?

When humans are no longer the premiere dictators of this natural world, will the next species up piece our practical wisdom and heroic stories back together, along with our bones and funny machines? (“And if you'll look to the left: this is called a Ferris wheel—they used to sit in these and spin around for amusement …”)

If women were in charge of social-political world affairs, would men still be allowed to go without shaving on weekends and wear comfortably ratty clothes outdoors?

Has anyone ever been wearing a really tight G-string, and farted so intensely that it played a note? (“Sally! Hurry up, we can still make it in line for free beers if {Blllrrrng} … What was tha?-eew!”)

This is how things go ...

(orig. Graphite drawings by Sam Durant, 2004 -- "Routine Action" & "Boys throwing rocks at British forces, Belfast, 1976")

STEP 1: A person goes to the gym, runs on a treadmill, says' “This is great!”

“You know what would make it better?” they say, “A television!”

STEP 2: A person goes to the gym and watches television on the treadmill.

You know what would make this better?” they think to themselves quietly, “A couch.”

STEP 3: A person considers going to the gym. Instead, saves some travel-time

and stays home, watching the show they would have watched on the treadmill.

*

STEP 1: A visionary has a moment of clarity, sees the resolution—“If I can gather a small group, mortally devoted to to ending violence, we could create a healing sanctuary in this violent world.”

STEP 2: That visionary seeds and fosters a community based on empathy and sustainability.

It attracts many who are tired of the larger society's callousness and waste. Together, these people prove to the world that school can be enjoyable and pragmatic, work can be rewarding and creative, life can be simple and purposeful, love can be unqualified and free.

STEP 3: The national economy recovers a bit, and there is a 10-year period where no major wars break out. Elders in the community tell stories of how things were. But they grow old.

Their children go to the movies and fall in love, and listen to club music, and wonder why their co-workers hated school so much, and worry that their corporate employers don't care about them as people, and vote for a “small government / deregulation / privatize healthcare” politician, who is well-tailored around his obesity and funds attack ads and cheats on his wife, because he promises to lower taxes.

*

STEP 1: I dreamed up this great idea for a movie. I wrote out the plot with great enthusiasm;

I built out the scenes with determination; I filmed half those scenes; I edited two of them.

STEP 2: “Maybe this movie wasn't such a great idea,” I began to ponder. But!

I have a lovely idea for a child's book... and a catchy song worth recording... and a PhD dissertation...

STEP 3: I write a blog post about the 'progress' of humans, questioning that progress's ultimate value;

even its ultimate morality. “Now I don't feels so bad about my half-done projects,” I say to myself.

The momentary surreality of waking up ...

Shape-shifting:

Once, I woke up in a half-dream, having fallen asleep with both hands under my cranium,

and was convinced for a moment that I could volley my head upward like a beach ball.

I tried, and was half-disappointed, half-relieved.

Detaching:

Once, I woke up sideways in a reclining chair, the edge digging into my hip.

My Father was shouting, “Josh! It's almost 6! You'll be late for aikido!”

And so I hopped up, imagining that I'd sprint to my room.

My right leg hit the ground running; my left leg hit the ground like a dolphin flipper,

having fallen deeply asleep.

My body hit the ground heavily,

so I crawled to my room.

I got dressed on my back, then leaned against a sofa to battle the rising pins and needles.

After about 5 minutes, I limped to the car, feeling quite grateful for impermanence.

Once, I woke up next to my girlfriend

(who was sleeping to my right),

with my right hand draped across my body

(holding someone's—not my girlfriend's—hand

against my chest).

I quickly discovered that I was holding my own left hand

(which had lost circulation and gone numb).

This would be significantly easier to explain to her than either

(A) “Somehow, your hand came off during the night, and it was due to my pulling,” or

(B) “I think we both fell asleep before it happened—but Jess, I'd like you to meet the newest member of our bed...”

Transcending:

Several times, I've woken up with both arms above the covers,

my blanket tucked under my armpits and wrapped across my chest,

and momentarily concluded that I had fallen asleep in a strapless dress.

My next-next thought is always, “No, that's just the blanket,”

but my second thought is usually,

“My arms are cold; I should have worn something to cover my shoulders.”

Things I've learned from hitting my face ...

{*PS: don't try to walk through glass doors. -- January 2013}

Don't wear sunglasses

into a movie theater

—cost: headbutting a black felted hallway corner

Black tables look like shadows

when the lights are out

—cost: purple eye socket; a girlfriend's laughter

Don't swim underwater with your eyes closed

while smiling

—cost: chipped tooth

Keep a safe distance when walking behind children

who brag, “My father breaks bricks with his head”

—cost: sore jaw (compliments of a backfist)

Just because someone loves you

doesn't mean they have fine motor control

—cost: a forehead bruise (and, “No, please don't try to hug me again”)

Things that film-makers do, thinking no one will notice? ...

 

THE 'IGNORE EMOTIONAL REALITIES' TRESPASS:

{“ACTORS JUST NEED TO SAY WORDS AND HAVE THE RIGHT FACE, OKAY?”}

E.G. – Force two people to kiss with their mouths while their bodies are

actively pulling away from one another in mutual repulsion—

and then instructing the man to honk the woman's breast like a clown nose.

(see The Fault in Our Stars)

THE 'IGNORE PRACTICAL REALITIES' TRESPASS:

{“I KNOW I SET UP THIS ONE TRUTH, BUT IT'S CONVENIENT FOR MY STORY ARC IF I CHANGE THAT NOW.”}

E.G. – Spend hours emphasizing how inhospitably, instantly deadly cold it is outside

of a perpetual motion train, then crash the train when the weather outside lets up a smidgen,

then have the survivors trudge a few yards into the lifelessly pristine snow,

and—on seeing a (presumably hungry) polar bear—instruct them to stand in awe,

as though witnessing a portent of good things to come in their immediate future.

(see Snowpiercer)

THE 'A GOOD LINE IS BETTER THAN A BELIEVABLE SCENE' TRESPASS:

{“LISTEN, I CAME UP WITH THIS REALLY MOVING DIALOG, AND IT WILL MAKE PEOPLE CRY AS LONG AS THEY'RE NOT THINKING”}

E.G. – Have a boy's brother invent a medical robot, who demonstrates

awareness of both physical and psychological maladies.

Then have the brother die in a horrible fire.

Later, when the boy grows sad and says, “It still hurts,”

The robot will scan him and say, “I see no signs of physical injury,”

and the boy will reply, “It's a different kind of hurt.”

The audience will understand that the robot has suddenly forgotten all its stored information

about the psychological aspects of health impacted by injury and trauma,

and now needs to download these basic medical concepts.

(see Big Hero 6)

THE 'MUSIC IS REALLY IMPORTANT, UNTIL THE END' TRESPASS:

{“DUDE, I'M GLAD WE HIRED A WELL-TRAINED COMPOSER WHO CREATED A SCORE TO ACCENTUATE AND INTENSIFY THE TONE OF THIS MOVIE. I'M ALSO GLAD THAT SMACK-MOMMA'-DIDDY WAS AVAILABLE TO RECORD A BITCHIN' RAP-ROCK BALLAD FOR THE END CREDITS”}

E.G. – Almost every award-nominee, big-budget, big-stars movie ever.

I have to work at being an optimist...

When I see a well-dressed man quickly leaving a restaurant,

and he bumps into a well-dressed young boy while turning a corner,

and says loudly to him, “Congratulations to you!”

and hurries toward the exit—and then I notice

that the man is carrying a wrapped present.

When a young woman rear-ends my 1980's hatchback, then buckles in her child,

exits her 2000's sedan and explains, “I don't have my insurance on me,

and this is my father's car. Mine's in the shop.”

Later, she calls me with an offer of $400, and a body-shop tells me it will be $1802,

so I pitch to her $1500, and she replies, “This has to come out of my paycheck.

But I know a guy who works at a shop—would you be willing to drive down there?”

And I remember, among her many expensive-looking tattoos,

Between angel-wing shoulders and scripted wrists,

a pair of brass knuckles.

When a serious relationship is going less than 100% perfectly

and I walk by another couple acting happier in public,

and then I get a smile from someone else attractive who,

in a moment without plans / words / laundry, seems so shiny,

and then I have to look back at that old face I'm with

and remember how deeply perfect she

must be to keep finding

goodness in me.

When I turn on the radio, and it's

the last chorus chorus of a song I like,

the last set before a commercial break,

and I hear those words,

“Are you having a problem with...?”

YES! Yes, probably, I am!

But I'm doing fine with just diet and exercise.

And also—I know you didn't write

the commercial; you're just reading it.

And I know there probably is someone out there

who really appreciates

having this thing, or knowing

it's only $27.99 this month,

and where to find it.

And thank you,

for the offer.

Things we talk about while driving...

(...eyes out the window...)

{An old lady sits in the passenger seat.

pulls down her mirror at a red light, 

reapplies her lip-stick}

"Old ladies put on their lipstick so thick! It's cute."
"That's because they keep kissing it off on everybody:
sons and daughters, little children, restaurant wine glasses...
She's not touching up her make-up; she's re-loading."

*  *  *

{On a street corner, 

a heavy-set man with a ponytail 

unloads his truck}

"I don't know how anyone who's obese can be homophobic
without feeling like a hypocrite."
"Why?"
"Because once you get above 350 lbs,
there's really no clear difference between a man and a woman."

*  *  *

{A dog arches its back to poop,

maintaining steady eye contact with its owner}

"That little dog is really staring hard at his owner.
'I'm watchin' you, and I'm poopin'; watchin', and poopin'."
"Makes sense. Because in the wild,
you have to keep an eye on whoever is around,
so you don't get attacked."
"Right? And anyone who'd kill you while you were pooping
is probably NOT the person you'd want taking your life.
Because they're clearly willing to eat you while you're pooping.
It's like, 'Come on, have some self-respect:
this is literally me at my most disgusting.'"
"Right? Just wait a second. ...
I'm watching you, and I'm pooping."

A metaphor, for starting...

There's so little pressure in a good idea; so little risk of failure in a dream.
So much pressure in following through; so little chance at doing anything perfectly.

But there's so little pressure out in space; we'd gas up and die if we stayed there long.
And there's so much pressure on this earth; we naturally push against it, growing up.