Listen closely and I'll let you in on a secret - someone has a birthday today.
Not just any someone, but a wonderfully delightful someone I adore.
A someone who taught me quite a bit about pieces of the world I never knew existed. A someone who let me see a part of the country I never dreamed I could see. A someone who let me know that having an opinion about art didn't mean that I was pretentious. A someone who saw things in my own world through new eyes, and discussed that in a way that sometimes challenged me, sometimes supported my own beliefs, and sometimes shared her differing opinions instead of nodding and smiling.
You see, there's this girl who I used to fly to visit. She's got style and a vibe that's not East Coast, not West Coast, and more than a blending of the two. She's charming and bright, and I love her.
If you see her today, wish her a very happy birthday.
She deserves happy days, because she helps make mine that way.
There are words, and there are silences, and there are smiles that don't need to be explained. I'm grateful for all of those things.
And I'm grateful that I share them with her.
On her very special day, I'm happy to hold her hand and laugh with her.
I'm pretty sure she is, too.
Happy Birthday, Gina.
You are. And you know.
And that's perfect.
4-28-14
<3
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Back When I Was Someone Else
Usenet.
Remember when this was relevant? Remember when you had to go find the correct group for your interest or else you were flamed out of the wrong one you posted in? Those were the days, huh? Seriously, it was so much better than the current state of online interaction. Back then, you talked about anime in general with one group, specific anime with another (and many of those folks ONLY talked abut that particular anime), and you could even talk about cosplay and modeling in those respective groups. Want to talk about your specific model of car? Go find it. It wasn't just ONE BIG ROOM (as it has been described to me) like Facebook, it was a giant convention with all the different rooms available for discussions with people you just might come to know over time.
It was a very different world back then.
You built communities based on the culture of the group, and every group had a different feel. The best ones were well-moderated and policed by group members, those few off-topic posts were gently nudged as being inappropriate, and there was always the FAQ cop, ready to throw a link out to ANY offending member. It was brilliant.
Rec.art.anime.models was one of my haunts, and it was a good place to hang out and swap info, opinions, thoughts, new projects, etc. There were other groups I ran in, and each one consumed much of my time online. Conversations were held in semi-real-time, with a response coming either a few seconds (if you were both actively refreshing the feed) or a few days (life actually got in the way back then). Today, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter have taken all the waiting away, and with it our understanding of patience. Posting a binary to the group (a picture, say) was pretty straightforward (UUEncode, anyone?), but today a picture is just an MMS away. We built communities then, not just friend lists.
There was a lot more to getting to know someone than just lurking on their FB page or scrolling through their other social media links. You had to strike up a conversation, sometimes you could discover that someone you interacted with every day lived right around the corner, or halfway around the world. There was no sending of friend requests, you had to interact with them, and there was no public acknowledgement that you were friends with them, other than your inclusion in the same news group. As I write this, I am considering how large my friends list on FB is, and exactly how few of them I actually interact with just because of the sheer number of them. It's not that I wouldn't interact with them all (hell, either they or I sent a friend request, right?), it's that there aren't enough hours in the damned year to. Back in the day, you popped into a newsgroup and checked the latest posts. You might do this for several dozen groups, but in slow ones, there might only be 4 or 5 new headers. In busy ones, there might be upwards of 1000, but rarely were there more than a handful that were of interest to you. Threads seemed easier to manage, too.
But time marches on, and Usenet is gone. Modern social media beckons with instant response, self-gratification, and the allure of being famous in your circles. I use it to distribute this blog, and I'm okay with that, but the idea of patience is history. Everything today is so much faster, and the thought of waiting to hear someone else's opinion (tomorrow) seems almost implausible.
I'll revisit this sooner or later. I'll run through the Google Archive of Usenet groups and find some old stuff ("Chaos Returned" or perhaps "Fish219" if you care). Maybe I'll even check Facebook and see if anyone I use to know is there.
I'll let you know. Stay tuned.
Remember when this was relevant? Remember when you had to go find the correct group for your interest or else you were flamed out of the wrong one you posted in? Those were the days, huh? Seriously, it was so much better than the current state of online interaction. Back then, you talked about anime in general with one group, specific anime with another (and many of those folks ONLY talked abut that particular anime), and you could even talk about cosplay and modeling in those respective groups. Want to talk about your specific model of car? Go find it. It wasn't just ONE BIG ROOM (as it has been described to me) like Facebook, it was a giant convention with all the different rooms available for discussions with people you just might come to know over time.
It was a very different world back then.
You built communities based on the culture of the group, and every group had a different feel. The best ones were well-moderated and policed by group members, those few off-topic posts were gently nudged as being inappropriate, and there was always the FAQ cop, ready to throw a link out to ANY offending member. It was brilliant.
Rec.art.anime.models was one of my haunts, and it was a good place to hang out and swap info, opinions, thoughts, new projects, etc. There were other groups I ran in, and each one consumed much of my time online. Conversations were held in semi-real-time, with a response coming either a few seconds (if you were both actively refreshing the feed) or a few days (life actually got in the way back then). Today, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter have taken all the waiting away, and with it our understanding of patience. Posting a binary to the group (a picture, say) was pretty straightforward (UUEncode, anyone?), but today a picture is just an MMS away. We built communities then, not just friend lists.
There was a lot more to getting to know someone than just lurking on their FB page or scrolling through their other social media links. You had to strike up a conversation, sometimes you could discover that someone you interacted with every day lived right around the corner, or halfway around the world. There was no sending of friend requests, you had to interact with them, and there was no public acknowledgement that you were friends with them, other than your inclusion in the same news group. As I write this, I am considering how large my friends list on FB is, and exactly how few of them I actually interact with just because of the sheer number of them. It's not that I wouldn't interact with them all (hell, either they or I sent a friend request, right?), it's that there aren't enough hours in the damned year to. Back in the day, you popped into a newsgroup and checked the latest posts. You might do this for several dozen groups, but in slow ones, there might only be 4 or 5 new headers. In busy ones, there might be upwards of 1000, but rarely were there more than a handful that were of interest to you. Threads seemed easier to manage, too.
But time marches on, and Usenet is gone. Modern social media beckons with instant response, self-gratification, and the allure of being famous in your circles. I use it to distribute this blog, and I'm okay with that, but the idea of patience is history. Everything today is so much faster, and the thought of waiting to hear someone else's opinion (tomorrow) seems almost implausible.
I'll revisit this sooner or later. I'll run through the Google Archive of Usenet groups and find some old stuff ("Chaos Returned" or perhaps "Fish219" if you care). Maybe I'll even check Facebook and see if anyone I use to know is there.
I'll let you know. Stay tuned.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Everybody's Friend
There is a strange phenomenon that occurs when you drive an old motorcycle. Everyone is your friend. There was a time, or so I've heard, when being caught on a Japanese motorcycle very well might end with your ride being trashed. Those days, as far as I can tell, are long gone. Nowadays, every other motorcyclist will look at your machine and say something along the lines of "I used to have a 750" or "my <fill in the relative or friend here> used to have one of those..."
Everyone.
It's really wonderful to have strangers approach you and want to talk about old times that you never shared. Stories are told about the time that this stranger or that rode hos or her 440LTD, KZ650, or old Honda CB whatever up Mount Washington a little too early in the season, or the time that so-and-so met everyone at the campground without a tent, or perhaps the time when he was in the middle of nowhere, got lost, and had to camp out in a field until daylight. There are always so many stories. Rarely do you hear about being stranded on the side of the road (after all, we're not talking British Twins here). Everyone will tell you about their own experience when they rode, or rode with someone, having an old Japanese bike.
I'd forgotten that part of it. I first experienced it with a 1975 Goldwing, and when I was reminded of it, I smiled wide and had one more reason to look forward to a long riding season. I'm excited about all the people who will grace me with a story. After all, you meet the nicest people on a Honda.
See you on the road.
Everyone.
It's really wonderful to have strangers approach you and want to talk about old times that you never shared. Stories are told about the time that this stranger or that rode hos or her 440LTD, KZ650, or old Honda CB whatever up Mount Washington a little too early in the season, or the time that so-and-so met everyone at the campground without a tent, or perhaps the time when he was in the middle of nowhere, got lost, and had to camp out in a field until daylight. There are always so many stories. Rarely do you hear about being stranded on the side of the road (after all, we're not talking British Twins here). Everyone will tell you about their own experience when they rode, or rode with someone, having an old Japanese bike.
I'd forgotten that part of it. I first experienced it with a 1975 Goldwing, and when I was reminded of it, I smiled wide and had one more reason to look forward to a long riding season. I'm excited about all the people who will grace me with a story. After all, you meet the nicest people on a Honda.
See you on the road.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Here.Have These.
I kiss those lips with anticipated need
I taste your mouth with ache and greed
I hold you in my arms and breathe
I feel you in my heart.
And a Haiku or two...
You cannot cage me
The clear open sky above
Leaning round the bend
Winter fading fast
Springtime practices her lines
The curtain is raised
I taste your mouth with ache and greed
I hold you in my arms and breathe
I feel you in my heart.
And a Haiku or two...
You cannot cage me
The clear open sky above
Leaning round the bend
Winter fading fast
Springtime practices her lines
The curtain is raised
Monday, March 10, 2014
Open Road
Alphonse is up and running. I heart him. I spent some time with him over the past weekend, and I am thrilled at being back on the road without a cage. It's the most freeing experience a motor vehicle operator can have. If you've never driven a motorcycle, I recommend it fully.
The ability to be out on the road, in traffic, feeling the world and wind go by is a wonder. The road passing under your feet, the sound of the machine beneath you, and the integration of man and all those mechanical whizzings is such a delicious thing. The chain-driven cams make music unlike any car I've ever heard, and the tires on the pavement ring out a beautiful grinding and crunching that falls upon my ears like the soft falling of snowflakes on the crisp, cold ground. We spend too much time wrapped in comfort and silencing the world all around, I think. Cars shield us from the rest of what's going on. Close the windows, turn on the heat or AC and you are swathed in your own little pod of isolation. I wonder what it must be like to commute in a place that embraces motorcycles and other open-air vehicles? I wonder if there is more personal interaction in a place like that... less "Me and my own space".
I've also been reminded about how dangerous motorcycles are by several people. I get it. Yes, yes. But as a motorcyclist, it's MY responsibility to make sure I'm not in blind spots, nor hidden behind other vehicles, nor surprising other motorists. If EVERYONE had to take a motorcycle safety course, or even better, actually DRIVE a bike now and then, I think we'd ALL be better drivers. On a bike, you can't take anything for granted. Turn signals are just possible indicators of a driver's actions, not rules. Making eye contact is important, and being acknowledged by other drivers is imperative. Never assuming that someone sees you, or your vehicle, and actually paying attention when you are changing lanes or approaching an intersection will keep you alive on a bike. Granted, we are smaller and less visible, but we are also better equipped to get out of a bad situation in traffic. I'm ranting a little, but you get my point, I think. Share the road is an important, if often overlooked, rule of surviving.
A dear friend of mine helped me pick up my bike. He lost a leg in an accident and still rides to this day. He told me the story, every detail of it, and I am humbled by his positive outlook and his continued desire to keep riding. Just a few seconds changed his life forever, and the driver of the car that hit him has to deal with the fact that her judgement changed not only his life, but his family's forever. I hope to never have that happen to me, but if it does, I hope to display the same incredibly positive outlook as he does. He has my admiration and respect, and I hope he knows that (if he didn't, he does now).
My summer is looking a lot different this year. You'll share those rides with me as I show you the places I go, and I hope to hear about your adventures, too.
Come on! Pack a bag and let's get out there and ride. The open road awaits...
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Old Iron: Alphonse
I bought a bike.
It's not brand new because I wouldn't want that. It's old, it's seasoned, and it's mine.
Old motorcycles are blessed things, aching for just a little love and attention now and again. They buzz and rattle some, but are from a simpler time in life. They're honest. They speak to me in a voice only those who appreciate mechanical things can hear. When they run, you hear the internals working, and it's a pleasing sound that resonates in a subtle vibrato of geared music. Points instead of a solid-state ignition, no complicated fuel delivery, and the simplicity of a chain drive. There is a hum that meanders within the soul of those willing to listen.
My heart is leaping with anticipation of getting some miles under those tires. I can't wait to feel the wind in my face, see the road passing beneath my feet, and the sounds of the world all around. A convertible give you some of that experience, but it can't match the sheer freedom that a motorcycle provides. It is an experience that must be savored, not rushed. Feeling the machine working beneath you is, in some ways, similar to riding a horse, but without the animal trying to scrape you off on every tree just because it's fun. And minus the poop. Lawd, do horses poop.
There's a special place in my heart for old iron, as you all know. But I will forever say that old machinery was built to be serviced rather than replaced, and that is something that I truly enjoy. In a disposable world, these things are sacred. You have to understand the mechanics of the machine, and be willing to dive in when something breaks.
I'm willing.
Are you?
It's not brand new because I wouldn't want that. It's old, it's seasoned, and it's mine.
Old motorcycles are blessed things, aching for just a little love and attention now and again. They buzz and rattle some, but are from a simpler time in life. They're honest. They speak to me in a voice only those who appreciate mechanical things can hear. When they run, you hear the internals working, and it's a pleasing sound that resonates in a subtle vibrato of geared music. Points instead of a solid-state ignition, no complicated fuel delivery, and the simplicity of a chain drive. There is a hum that meanders within the soul of those willing to listen.
My heart is leaping with anticipation of getting some miles under those tires. I can't wait to feel the wind in my face, see the road passing beneath my feet, and the sounds of the world all around. A convertible give you some of that experience, but it can't match the sheer freedom that a motorcycle provides. It is an experience that must be savored, not rushed. Feeling the machine working beneath you is, in some ways, similar to riding a horse, but without the animal trying to scrape you off on every tree just because it's fun. And minus the poop. Lawd, do horses poop.
There's a special place in my heart for old iron, as you all know. But I will forever say that old machinery was built to be serviced rather than replaced, and that is something that I truly enjoy. In a disposable world, these things are sacred. You have to understand the mechanics of the machine, and be willing to dive in when something breaks.
I'm willing.
Are you?
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Son, My Son...
21 Years ago today, my son came into this world after a very long wait, crying and carrying on like any other small, pink human.
He grew. Who knew kids did that?
Today, he transitions from the "Under-aged Drinking" world to "What, I'm legal". Remember those days, gang? You might be asking yourself what this means to me, his father.
Well, I'm banking on him being a beer snob. There is nothing redeeming about drinking shitty beer. One good beer is better than a dozen bad ones. Period.
I'm also banking on him using his damned head. Many of his peers have died at the hands of a drunken driver or because they had gotten into a car with a driver who had been drinking, so I'm hoping really hard that he won't. Ever. Sometimes it happens, but the gods smile on fools and we escape. Other times, we don't and we end up dead. I'd like to think that I won't have to attend my son's funeral anytime soon.
Sometime a long time ago, we had a discussion and he said something about drinking Scotch because that was a "Man's Drink". I still laugh about that because I am pretty sure he'll make the face. But that's okay, because like life, it takes a while to appreciate Scotch.
I'm hoping that he has the chance to savor the life he's building. Things are different today. This isn't the world I grew up in, and sometimes I forget that. But it is *HIS* life, and I hope that he has a long, fulfilling one, unfettered by the ghosts of parties past.
So, Cheers my son. I love you, and I'm hoping that you realize your potential one day.
I'll be cheering you on no matter what.I love you, and I'm proud of you.
Here Here!
21
He grew. Who knew kids did that?
Today, he transitions from the "Under-aged Drinking" world to "What, I'm legal". Remember those days, gang? You might be asking yourself what this means to me, his father.
Well, I'm banking on him being a beer snob. There is nothing redeeming about drinking shitty beer. One good beer is better than a dozen bad ones. Period.
I'm also banking on him using his damned head. Many of his peers have died at the hands of a drunken driver or because they had gotten into a car with a driver who had been drinking, so I'm hoping really hard that he won't. Ever. Sometimes it happens, but the gods smile on fools and we escape. Other times, we don't and we end up dead. I'd like to think that I won't have to attend my son's funeral anytime soon.
Sometime a long time ago, we had a discussion and he said something about drinking Scotch because that was a "Man's Drink". I still laugh about that because I am pretty sure he'll make the face. But that's okay, because like life, it takes a while to appreciate Scotch.
I'm hoping that he has the chance to savor the life he's building. Things are different today. This isn't the world I grew up in, and sometimes I forget that. But it is *HIS* life, and I hope that he has a long, fulfilling one, unfettered by the ghosts of parties past.
So, Cheers my son. I love you, and I'm hoping that you realize your potential one day.
I'll be cheering you on no matter what.I love you, and I'm proud of you.
Here Here!
21
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