Ah the Jersey Shore…..breezy, fashionable and of course the epitome of all that is sweetness and light in the world.
Ok, so maybe this isn’t the nicest thing I have written in a while. (and for those who don’t know me so well, the above statement was indeed sarcasm)
My children go to one of the newer schools in their district. This, like most in life, has both perks and annoyances. This note is less about this school, more about the charming fellow parents that wait for their offspring to get out in the lobby.
Now I have never seen the show Jersey Shore. Maybe it is a bastion of family values for all I know, but I have lived in Jersey, visit there frequently and am a bit acquainted with the social patterns and structure. Because of that, and this particular covey of parental units, I call them the “cast of Jersey Shore”
Though in all fairness several are also faux “jaw-clinchers”. This is even more amusing then the rest of the cast, simply because Lacrosse has no Mainline and certainly isn’t New Hampshire.
So one member of this particular murder, has this habit of eyeballing me and on occasion has made comment. What is amusing is the range of looks and comments. I thought I was a walking dichotomy but dear readers, this is beyond that, it makes bipolar look like a social aberration as minor as the debate of lacing your shoes left over right or right over left. (no offense to my BP friends, we all know my stance on that and those that love me can attest to my mood swings. Probably those who hate me as well.)
These comments run from the disdain and disgust one can only get being in the bastion of social supremacy wearing worn out carhartt pants, a faded pocket t-shirt, thin and ripped denim over-shirt and bush hat. True, tis a wee bit of snobbery but nothing surprising.
This then swings to the other extreme; virtual eye-fucking and cat-in-heat comments when I happened to be dressed in a decent shirt, kilt and driving hat. Yes, from the same person whose venom burned holes in the floor clear to Ecuador the day before when I tarnished the sacred halls of education in apparent homeless couture.
Today’s conversation finally brought out the less-than-pleasant side in me. Yes my literary admirers I have one of those. I know, I hide it so well. With that I bring you:
How to win friends and influence people in the Coulee Region
Or
A real Jersey response to verbal flatulence
(Prelude: Christopher attends a production of “On Golden Pond” this weekend at the local community theatre where he is observed to be dressed in semi-formal kilt kit and acting appropriately i.e. did not piss in the potted palms.)
(The scene: Our Star, Cynthia speaks to a fellow Shore Member is a not-so-subdued stage whisper.)
Cynthia: I swear HE was at the theatre this weekend.
Phoebe: It possibly couldn’t have been, I mean…really?
Cynthia: HE was even wearing his kilt and was with this woman whose son was in the cast.
Phoebe: You surely are mistaken, theatre AND a date? Please.
(Wearing an Armani knock off, the star of the Shore approaches a scruffy cargo pant clad unshaven long haired individual trailed by her trusty side-kick)
Cynthia: Excuse me, weren’t you at the Lacrosse Community Theatre this Sunday?
Myself: As a matter of fact I was.
Phoebe: Really? YOU go to the theatre?
Cynthia: I was very surprised to see you there.
Myself: Yes I enjoy theatre very much.
Phoebe: Really. That is so surprising.
Myself: Why?
Cynthia: Well you just….well you don’t seem…..
Phoebe: …The theatre type is all.
Myself: Oh. Well, I do appreciate some culture.
Cynthia: That is very nice.
Myself: Well not yours so much, but yes I do enjoy the arts.
Phoebe: Well I…..
Myself: I mean I CAN chew with my mouth closed and everything. Know to start from the outside in with a place setting and shocking as this may seem, have been known to go to Broadway.
Phoebe: (much louder and indignant) I cannot believe….
Cynthia: I just don’t know what to DO with you….
Myself: Well, I really can’t help you with your beliefs; Father John at St. Mary’s might be able to. As far as doing anything with me, was that a request for suggestions?
(Phoebe proceeds so walk off huffing and puffing)
Cynthia: Well maybe…but I AM married……
Myself: Well if it is suggestions you are after, when trying to pick a boy-toy for those rainy afternoons, condescension one moment and blatant visual copulation the next moment isn’t the best approach.
Cynthia: I NEVER…
Myself: What? Oh my mistake…a thousand pardons.
Cynthia: Well….
(The villain walks off to better see the approach of his sprites and conclude this amazing conversation)
(Children approach, male sprite has a mini-gap male gap commercial in tow, introduces him, and viola’ it is Cynthia’s offspring)
Sprite: Ciamar a tha thu mo Da? This is my friend (insert micro jaw-clencher’s name)
Cynthia: WHAT did he just say?
Myself: That (Blank) is his friend.
Cynthia: No, no before that.
Myself: How are you Dad? Is that what you mean?
Cynthia: Oh yes….Why….you can speak another language….we should have coffee….
Myself: Should we? I think that would be rather unsuitable.
Cynthia: I cannot believe you said that.
Myself: What? A word with four syllables? Here I will make it easy for you. (lays on heavy Jersey accent) No friggin way are we grabbin coffee.
(The villain then leaves with sprites in tow to the background strain of Blank saying “His Dad is so COOOOOOL!”)
So dear readers, was this my better behavior? Sadly it was not. I am sure a strongly worded letter from the PTA as well as the producers of Jersey Shore is to follow. In defense of my boorish behavior I might add: 1. I refrained from foul language in any dialect. Something I KNOW will amaze my friends. 2. I have never approached these women and really am clueless as to who they are, and while in my mind and in the company of friends may mock them (hey common, we all do this) I never have so much as given a significant glance let alone an unkind word to others at school. 3. I keep out of the way and to myself to avoid any type of conversation at school. Simply to avoid moments like these or, to me something much worse, a invitation to get to know such people. My social travels simply are not up to that task.
So I hope that today’s events have amused you as much as they have amused you. Mayhap I have offended you. In which case, I beg the question “Why are you on my friends list again?”
Never a dull moment in my world, that’s for sure.
Swaying Bridges
All my life, I have created with my hands and heart
Poured sweat, feeling, blood and tears
Into bridges, spans to cross gulfs and join
Together, different places, emotions
Friendships, loves and simple connections.
Some have been simple things
A log laid over a small stream called
Minor difference of opinion
Others more stable, a graceful sculpture of
Wood, covered in vine, a protected crossing
Into the comfort and safety of another
Yet seldom do my bridges seem to last
And I beg to understand why
Is it the failure of the architect, a design
With faults built in, or the workman who can't
Follow the necessary blueprint
Or the supplier with shoddy materials not up to the standard
But my spans always seem to fail
Or get lost
The log, now overgrown with moss, lost in the weeds
Of a forgotten dry creek, in woods seldom travelled
The covered arch, resplendent in vine,
Now nothing but a tumble of charred timber
Caught in swirling rapids
So many connections, so many failures
The tools get put away, dust settles on the drafting board
Yet a meeting then stirs of something
Inspired me to begin anew
Much contemplation on the design
So with heart and soul I spare no expense
Foundations stones of enormity
Granite that is timeless and forever
Girders of tempered steel and iron, to withstand
The hurricanes and earthquakes that assail
Any relationship
Safety nets for the pedestrians off to the sides
In the naive belief never would a jumper
Use my bridge for self destruction
And finally out of it all, the banner ribbon is strung
A snip and open is this creation
That crosses over the chasms in my soul
I run and meet you with abandon in the middle
Of this impregnable, indomitable structure
And dance and love and open all to you
Then suddenly the music stops
And the dance is over
Blame against me, excuses put on me
“You made the record skip; your clumsy feet pulled the power cord"
"Oh why? Oh why did you stop the music?" is screamed
Ripping my soul
Simple small things, a reach to reset the needle
Hands can place back the plug
Nothing major or insurmountable when done together
Then as you walk to the rail
I see that which I had missed
Like Al-Qaeda, a fedayeen in the midst of jihad
You’re loaded with explosives galore
And the dance was just an excuse, a time delay
To get yourself into position
So over the rail, punching through safety nets
And leaving behind a package not of love
But full of destruction, you launch yourself
And sadly it detonates
Leaving all in crumbling ruin
The massive beams, what was thought to be
Unshakable foundations
The family that needs you loves you
And of course myself
And as I rise bleeding from ears, eyes and soul
I see that one girder lies crooked and precarious
Hanging over the chasm
Heat twisted, scarred and out of balance
And now I reach out a crushed hand
trying to steady the shaking remains
Now I stagger upon unsteady legs
And begin to walk across this chasm
That you threw yourself in, wringing destruction
As you willing left all behind
I stumble as the beam twist and turns
Yet cross it I must
For I have no desire to stay isolated anymore
And see a chance at peace upon the other side
May the fates still the winds
The grounds not tremble and dislodge this connection
For I truly want to escape this to move on and into
A better world where sound materials wait
Better designs beg for the builders
And come together with another
To build together a new span
To jointly build a new connection
So I tremble and creep
Out into the wide gaping rent in things
May my balance return
My legs be steady and Kismet
Finally brush me with a gentle hand
Teeter Totters
The veins and arteries bound and woven tight
Makes for a pulsing, throbbing, slippery tightrope
Over rusty razors and shattered glass glistening bright
I strive to balance, overcome the winds and cope
Make my way across this gaping divide
Trying to find a way to escape their calls
Wanting only peace and stillness inside
Clutching to overcome my failures and falls
I hear deep within my breast, a sudden feline roar
It voices a command, the collar and leash to slip
I unfold my forgotten wings, let go, on the winds do soar
Winds no longer buffet, my feet no longer have to grip
No blood and barbwire perch strung out for me to crawl
No more heavy stones and bronze bars to overcome
No more gilded cages, no more frozen containing walls
I glide towards my horizon, follow my own drum
Ink on the Soul
We all have our tattoos
Some show them visible
Some keep them hidden
External but covered
Something for their own reasons
Having special meaning and purpose
But we all have them never the less
The ones that don't show
Ink on the soul
Like any other tattoo
Some are bold outlines
Shades of many colors
Or just stark outlines of black and white
Things happen in our lives
Like a tattoo
They penetrate our being
Of varying depth penetration
They leave their marks forever
We can even do what we can to remove them
But like marks erased by laser
Or dermabrasion
It stills leaves a shading visible on the skin
Sometimes only seen in certain light
And like a tattoo it may not be
A reminder of bad times
This is what differentiates
A pattern etched
From a scar or brand
Left from adverse circumstances
It may be something joyous
Or simply life altering
Birth of a loved one
Special moments of intensity
These leave tribal markings
Some relatively painless
Other go to the bone
Stimulating and overloading nerves
For a moment exquisite torture
Then the feeling is gone
The design memorialized forever
Unlike what appears
On our skin for others to view
We don't always choose
What art decorates our soul
And sometimes we are oblivious
To the marks of our tribe
Until something reaches out to us
And we realize we have found
A member of our tribe
A subtle feeling
They too share our marks
Coals and Ash
Glowing coals
A momentary sweetness upon my lips
Inhale
The taste of clove
Burning leaves
Swirls within
The hollowness of my being
Once warm breath
Occupied this grotto
Gave heat and life
To cavern dark
Now again
It sits empty
As the fumes wind and curl
Around stalactites of pain
Stalagmites of self loathing
For mistakes made in the past
Wither
Burn
Ash falls away
.
.
Exhale
Remnants now peeling
Toxicity of feelings
Rendered and torn
Fly free upon the breeze
Mixing with dust
That falls away
From
An oral fixation
That now replaces
Lips that once brought pleasure
And lies in disguise
So
Cast away the remains
Until the need
Returns
To feel something in my depths
Return smoke again
To the cavern of my soul
As ghostly and ethereal
As
So called love
That was once breathed
Into such sacred space
When point in fact
It was a vacuum
Pulling out
What remains of love and hope
Were scattered in hidden corners
Of a heart many times crushed and broken
And light another
Stick of poison
A substitute for
All that I
Believed
Was real about you