Stripped

Last night, I ventured to Atlanta for an evening of food and drink (as in, one drink, enjoyed for the sole purpose of trying a friend’s suggestion) with friends from high school.  High school.  My fingers and toes are not plentiful enough to account for the years that have passed since the days I navigated my way through, and mostly around, the high school drama stage.  I was fortunate to create some beautiful relationships back then, though, and I appreciated the opportunity to reconnect and bring those relationships forward.

We met in Buckhead, the popular, uptown district which offers an incredibly eclectic array of dining and entertainment options.  Misti and Greg were high school sweethearts who married soon after graduation.  Dave is a recently divorced executive chef who, during high school, hung out with the members of the local music community.  Being a member of a rock-n-roll band, I moved through a lot of the same circles Dave did.  All four of us were friends two decades ago, and we have moved in and out of each other’s lives sporadically over the intervening years.  Our mutual desires to reconnect contrived to bring about this Atlanta get-together.

I have revealed over the course of this blog that I maintain some insane work hours.  Since opening my own practice, I have rarely attempted to have a normal "social life."  I do not mind this, which baffles many of my friends and family.  Despite being an outgoing and fairly social person, I greatly enjoy time alone and identify with the loner persona.  All of this results in a very careful and highly selective process for choosing who I spend time with.  I do enjoy sharing the company of good friends, and I do enjoy going out and being entertained by the antics of others.  Heck, I enjoy entertaining others with my antics!  Hence, I was sitting in a Thai restaurant enjoying the delightful (and wonderfully spicy) Kang Keaw Wan, a green curry dish with bamboo shoots, mixed vegetables and a coconut milk base.

Greg and Misti are divorced now but have a good relationship and are the parents of two teenaged daughters.  Greg shared a drink with us and visited briefly before continuing to another dinner date a few blocks away.  After that, Dave and I, of course, received the semi-dramatic update on the demise of Misti’s marriage to Greg.  Misti also shared interesting tales of her travels to Ireland and Hawaii.  Dave thrilled us with stories of his adventures in the Netherlands and the Carribean.  As I listened and we laughed and exclaimed, I realized that few of my family court or criminal court stories were very interesting.  However, I possessed a much more interesting story, if only I dared to share.

So I shared.  "She must be hot," stated Dave, matter-of-factly.  "She lives in Spain?!" Misti asked in disbelief.  "Yes, she’s hot." I affirmed, receiving a "whatever" look from Misti.  I replied to the look: "She is hot, and she’s smart as hell, funny, and creative.  So, you think that’s too far away?" I asked.  "I mean, how far away is too far away?" I continued.  From there, the conversation became a moderately philosophical and largely humorous debate on love, relationships, cyber-sex, cyber-love, cyber-hell, psychos, dating websites, and the seemingly changing role geographic distance plays in relationships.  We solved no important issues, and we derived no definitive answers to life’s important questions.  We did agree that the importance of proximity, in regards to relationships, is directly proportional to the goals of the people involved.  For instance, if one desires a "hook-up" only, then reaching out to someone who lives 4 or 5 or even 12 hours drive away is not that big of a deal, provided they decide to meet for a night or weekend of "fun."  In most cases, though, the "hook-up" goal is thwarted by such difference.  Geographic proximity may not be as important in cases involving people who desire a deeper, more meaningful cerebral and emotional connection and who may have hopes of a long-lasting relationship.  This is especially true if they eventually meet occasionally and one or both are willing, if it gets to that point, to relocate.  Dave told me I should go to Spain.  Misti told me I should be careful.  Misti knows me well enough to know when I have let my heart get involved.

After dinner, we exited the restaurant and met Rick, another friend from high school.  Although dozens of high school friends and acquaintances live in Atlanta, this was no coincidence.  Rick knew we were meeting but did not think he could make it.  When his evening plans concluded, he rushed from Little Five Points to Buckhead in hopes of at least a quick greet.  Of course, we could not let it be that quick and cold, so we entered another establishment, where I enjoyed white chocolate cheesecake with an oreo crust.  Rick is a world traveler and spends his work days in third world countries providing accounting direction to the establishment of schools and hospitals.  His stories are more interesting than most of mine, too.

When we left, I walked to my car with Misti and Dave, and we discussed getting together again in April.  "April may find me in Spain."  I replied.  They laughed, understanding that distance is only one of the obstacles involved.  Every relationship provides challenges, opportunities to grow and share, teach and learn.  I drove the 2 hours home in unexpected silence, glad that I crawled out of my cave and nurtured some old relationships, looking ever forward to the other one standing on the threshold.

A distant spirit cries, beckons,
and dances across time
like dreams
of truth
She is there
waiting for the train I ride,
standing
in our youth

Ages of the songs unsung
scatter continents and souls
like before
and to come
Her voice unsheathed,
she is the wind, the breath,
she is From

To that day I ride, am forever born
and made to stand
like judgment
covenant bound
She is laughter,
standing while the spirits dance
crying, strong
and found

From the end of time and back
and before
we move and love
and are
We are one
consumed within and without
the forever burning
star

She unfurls clouds from distant skies
and sends me reeling
across the thin wire
and I yearn
She can fight
and she can love out loud
she spits fire
and I want to burn

Into the lands of timelessness
Purpose, march and be
our love
our journal
She is out there
and I am moving, wise
understanding truth
We are eternal.

In this modern age, so many have cultivated relationships out of thin air, literally.  Blogs and comments, emails, and dating websites have given extended life to the childhood imaginary friend.  Sometimes, the extent and depth of the communications create a sense of true knowledge of one another.  Sometimes, additional information verifies or at least confirms such knowledge.  These new-era relationships remind me of penpals.  When I was twelve, I had a penpal in Costa Rica.  I never met him, but we corresponded for two years.  I did not contemplate love at such an age, but I remember crying when his mother died.  I remember sending him books and toys, using money I typically spent on things for myself.  I remember longing for his letters and thinking of things I could do for him.  In the spirit of "loving one another," I believe I did.  Flash forward.

In law, in order to succeed on a cause of action, one must prove each element of that cause of action.  For instance, to succeed in a negligence action, one must prove (1) that the defendant owed a duty to the plaintiff, (2) that the defendant breached such duty, and (3) that the plaintiff suffered injury or damages thereby.  In life, I find myself pondering if love can exist "virtually."  The emotion is familiar but perhaps recast in a light and reality that is new.  In attempting to understand this emotion, I wonder, what are the elements of love?

If I love someone, perhaps I (1) desire to communicate with them honestly and regularly, (2) feel the same way towards them even when they are having a bad day, are angry, are being argumentative, or are not easy to deal with, (3) desire to listen to them without the need to control the conversation, (4) desire for them happiness, even if it has nothing to do with me, (5) am uplifted, encouraged and supported by their presence in my life, (6) desire only to uplift, encourage and support them, (7) miss them when they are out of touch, (8) respect their ideas, thoughts, and plans without feeling the need to change them, (9) will lend my time, my help or more even when it’s inconvenient for me, and (10) desire to have them as a consistent presence in my life always.  I certainly may have failed to list other elements of love, but I believe these things are the foundation of a love relationship.  Notice that "sharing the same interests" is not an element.  I share similar interests with many I do not love, and some I love have little in common with me.  Likewise, physical attraction is not a required element of love.  I love many to whom I am not physically attracted, of course.  These additional characteristics can serve as supporting evidence, though, and can serve to further define the emotion.  For instance, if the 10 elements listed are present and if I also share similar interests with the person and am physically attracted to the person, then perhaps the relationship has a healthy chance of becoming romantic.

Of course, in the world of laws, successful proof of each element of the cause of action is only one facet of the case.  The defendant may have certain defenses that can serve to eliminate liability or limit it.  Based upon my consideration of the evidence, love can exist in this long distance, words-only format.  Does it matter that the geographic distance between the two makes a walk-in-the-park-date a thousand dollar event? Does it matter that the two have never met?  Are these successful defenses to love?

In closing argument, I present that one’s willingness to experience an emotion, with all the risks and benefits that come with it, is a personal choice.  Matters of the heart are not easily analyzed in a vacuum and are not always explained to the satisfaction of those not a party to the action.  The specific defenses of distance and lack of face-to-face time do not eliminate the possibility of love, although they clearly diminish other possibilities.  Absent abuse, neglect, and other clear violations of the relationship covenant, who has a right to question another’s feelings?  Love is patient.  Love is kind.  Love does not envy or boast.  Love is not prideful. Love is honest.  Love is selfless.  Love is.

My bottle, alas, is empty these days. I almost have completed the interview, but time is more precious than money, fuel, and about everything else I can think of these days, and therefore, like the rest of those things, I have little time.

I was thinking tonight of my practice and how to turn the battle into an amicable partnership. For now, the practice kicks my ass. The good thing is that every time I pick myself off the floor, I am better prepared to take the damn thing down. The legal matters and trials are going well, and I have been fortunate enough to win much more than I lose. That’s a good thing for the clients, but it’s really good for me, because I already am getting whipped. I love a challenge, though.

So, last week I was smothered, scattered, and I took the horizontal break. Then I stood, stretched. Now I shower. Stay tuned.

"Anyone here?" He asks tentatively as the top of his head finally emerges from the paper stacks. Climbing upward further, he at last is able to see that his desk is made of cherry wood and doesn’t need dusting. "Hell, it shouldn’t," he thinks. "It’s been covered in paper for two weeks."

Hi ya’ll! Howya been? I appreciate the words of encouragement and the visits. I think I have finally caught up with work and recuperated from other busy-ness enough to get some really important stuff accomplished. So, of course, I am here to do that, albeit taking the easy way out with more poetry.

This Functional Life

Several sawed-off shotguns
wasting in the woodshed and suits
with dusty shoulders from hanging too long
in the closets of rusty soldiers
Maybe in church on Sunday
where real seems sometimes surreal but yet so real
that thanks should be given for bloodshed
and all the spankings behind the woodshed
because more than our shoulders are dusty

Must he
hide behind the squint and swagger
when all that is needed is a smile to sweet the bitter
swallowed with a childhood chased with annual migrations
and carpetbaggers from God-knows-where
who appear in bedrooms and kitchens
calling themselves family

Choking
from the sweetness of her love until
tears fall because of daily realizations and recognition
of mortality, of loss
because nothing lasts forever outside this room

Sitting on a sunset
smiles become vivid recollections and even pictures
will not remain – memories can’t last forever
like stale toast
Stuck
popped up in Pompeii and frozen to yesterday

~jericho~

Across the Alley

She said she loves the moments when she can forget
to be her and instead remember,
sometimes too much, sweet dreams and vistas
that other times appear
in a magazine or on television
or in someone else’s eyes.
But those moments when she loses
track of time and self, they are more than all that
because they are real
even through a window-view,
and leaning out the window is its own poison
just like suffocation.

And he said he loves the moments when he can share
his heart and soul
with another who returns them
better than they were,
with another who breathes more than air - she breathes
the soft flesh of dreams both to be and not
and is not afraid of suffocation -
and he is ready to give her his breath anyway.

They say this across the alley,
smiling across the way through windows facing
each other. Their hearts seem pinned to clothespins
sliding on the line from one to the other, like notes
or clean clothes. They sometimes see the traffic
passing by, or a little girl pushing her doll in a stroller,
or a boy riding a bike, or the mailman, but mostly at these times
they see one another,
still sometimes they see the door,
beneath its awning always lit.

~jericho~

Jackie Greene has been on my radar since his 2006 release American Myth. Early in his career, he was saddled with the unfortunate expectation of "the next Bob Dylan." Those who know me know that I am very much a Dylan fan. However, labeling some 23 year-old who happens to reveal that he has written a few good songs, who musically resides in that folk-rock-country-blues universe that houses so many others and which Dylan helped create, and who plays harmonica as the next Dylan? Come on. Buy a thesaurus. He does look a little like Dylan, circa Highway 61 Revisited, though….

I recommend his new release, and you can listen to most of it (free) here. I even more strongly recommend checking out "Just as Well" and "Never Satisfied" from American Myth.

View the video for "So Hard to Find My Way" here.

Though it isn’t one of my favorite songs by Greene, "Mexican Girl" contains a guitar solo that shows the artist can work the ax. Watch it.

Now, listen to something good.

Her name is Kim and she lives in Ohio. Attached for about twenty years to her honey, she works in the medical field and is the mommy of two. She uses Noxema and at least once has used it to punk her honey. She’s a rock-n-roller. She learned to drive the hard way, and we’re not just talking about 3-on-the-column, mind you. Of course, no matter what she’s doing, in the end it is all for them.

I have read your blog for almost as long as I’ve had a blog, and I’ve enjoyed seeing things through your eyes. You make me laugh, cause interesting images to flash across my mind, and move me. Of course, I was happy to see you sign up for the hot seat, so whatcha say?

1. A month ago, I read this and wanted to come see you take the field. Then, I read this and this and am wondering: How’s softball? I suppose I should check the weather records for Ohio and see if it is experiencing an unusual amount of rain this year. Besides your current exploits on the ballfield, what physical activities (get outta that gutter, you), if any, did you enjoy the most before kids, career, etc.? Which one(s) did you participate in the most?

2. I could post a number of links that reflect the depth of your motherhood, but one statement says it all: "A long time ago Jamie use to say to me ‘You’re such a mom’ and I’d take offense to it. Like ‘How dare you say that to me!’ Looking back? That’s probably the best compliment I’ve ever received." I read that here, where you also acknowledge "Had it not been for them I never would have known the greatest love of all."

I have a client, Sue, who took great pride among her circle of friends in the fact that she and her daughter were "best friends." Of course, her fifteen year old daughter smokes the same brand of cigs, has the same taste in boys, and the same sense of style as her mom. Because of pertinent legal issues and all, I am having to counsel mom on some finer points of parenting, and I am no expert. However, I firmly believe that a parents job is to be a parent. It is a tough job, but if you are even moderately successful, you have a better chance at being friends with your children when it really matters: when they are adults.

What is your stongest asset when it comes to parenting? Your weakest? We all, in some ways either large or small, become our parents. What is the best thing you took from them? The worst?

3. Almost every woman I have ever known has had some issue with their body weight. In fact, I would say every woman, but I am not 100% sure about that. You took control of the situation and had a gastric bypass. First of all, I am not sure what you looked like before, although I must say you rock the 80’s prom dresses…. I do know that you are quite the babe now. I learned a lot from your posts. For instance, I had no idea that you cannot eat and drink at the same time. Wow.

Congratulations on your progress and maintenance. I, for one, am impressed with that, and even more impressed by your attitude through it all. Oh, and I wanna see the scar! Anyway… at one point you wrote, "Do you think we have the right to tell those we love that they’ve gained weight? I mean, when a husband and wife get married it’s ‘For better or worse, in sickness and in health..blah blah blah…’ Isn’t that part of for better or worse? Or are they expected to stay the same as the day they walked down the aisle?"

Good questions. Tough questions. Questions that are on that list with "religion" and "politics." As for me, I detest the way some people (seems to be mostly men) treat their significant others when it comes to weight. A friend of mine is overheard frequently saying things to his wife that are so demeaning that I cringe. I try to think of how to talk to him about it, but each time I try to approach the issue, he shuts it down. Maybe calling him a "friend" is going a little too far… The truth is, I have been there. No, I have never spoken those types of things, but I have thought them. "Honey, dessert is not a good idea. Please. My goodness, stop." I have thought it, so am I any better? I don’t expect 115 lbs forever. If the "ideal weight" is 115, I’m wanting anywhere between 110 and 140. That’s just me, and I definitely think one should know what one wants. The non-physical attributes are far more important to me, but I know what I am physically attracted to and that matters a lot to me. Back to the question. I am quite certain that the gainer knows the deal and does not need to be reminded that they’ve gained. I also am certain that commenting negatively leads to not-so-positive results. Perhaps a "Hey, let’s take up tennis" or a "Let’s take a walk around the block" or even a "I know I said I was in the mood for a good cheeseburger, honey, but how about something healthier - you know I need to watch the cholesterol" would bring better results. To me, it seems that sidestepping the issue and making healthier suggestions that both parties can participate in is better than targeting the one who has gained weight.

Assuming that your significant other does want to say something about the weight issue, what is the best way for him to handle it? Lots of guys want to know.

4. I liked this post, in which you write, "…I’ll say the best way to avoid such situations is by simply communicating. Works both ways-men if ya want something you need to ask for it and women, we use our voices for many things-taking care of one’s emotional well being should be one of them." All too often it seems, people wait… and wait… and wait, almost as if (and let’s be honest here, this is not almost as if, it’s what’s truly going on) they are testing the other to see if they will get it, do it, say it, whatever. Then, frustration and anger, bitterness and resentment set in. Hey, c.o.m.m.u.n.i.c.a.t.e. It stops most trouble dead in its tracks. However, how does this affect the issues in Number 3, above? Is it really ok to communicate everything you want?

5. Here I learned that you lack a great short-term memory. Good thing you’re documenting everything for posterity, and for us. After all, I enjoy stories, especially digging through, pulling out, and analyzing the greater meanings hidden in the minutiae of life. I liked your statement, "If it wasn’t for the street lights coming on and my dogs itching to get moving I could have sat there on the park bench with that old timer and listened to stories of days gone by. They have the best stories. I just wish more people would stop and listen."

I enjoy "listening" to you. Maybe it’s because twenty-three of the 100 things about you could be on my list. Maybe I am aiming to be number 90, part 2. (kidding) I do enjoy your blog, and thanks for being interviewed. The last question(s): You can only tell your children one more story, what is it? Same for your honey. And, what "story," of all you’ve been told, has meant the most to you?

Interview Rules:

Offer to interview others, if you want!

Kate Michele is next.

I am no Amy Winehouse fan, but my opinion is largely a reflection of my own bias and not of her talent. I occasionally put on Macy Gray, Dusty Springfield, and Donna Summer. I often listen to Sarah Vaughn and Etta James. Now, I must say that I am listening to Aimee Anne Duffy quite a bit. Her debut release (not including her real debut release - an ep in Welsh), Rockferry was released March 3 of this year and is approaching one million in sales.

Duffy is 24, has a more-mature-and-sexier-than-Hilary-Duff look, embraces the old school Motown sound and does her own thing with it. I especially like Warwick Avenue and recommend that you go here for the official video, as embedding has been disabled. The official video is simple and moving.

Then, for a real treat, play this. If you are bored with the studio chatter, advance to the 1:23 mark and catch a load of Syrup & Honey. Trust me.

Finally, her first single, Mercy, is more upbeat but still displays her great range and raw emotion.

I am interested in your opinions of Duffy’s music. Also, please feel free to recommend artists you think I’d enjoy. Meanwhile, listen to something good.

This week has found me working late every night. Tonight brings no changes. During these late nights, I occasionally take a break, walk around the square, maybe venture further into the old neighborhoods a block or two away. This is what you’d see if you happened to pass by, although what the hell are you doing out so late on a Wednesday?

After much thought, I have decided to resurrect the interview segment that I enjoyed so much. That is, if there are any takers. If you are unsure what I mean, check the sidebar and review some of the past interviews. If you are interested in being interviewed, let me know. I would like Friday to be the interview day and would ask that the subject post his or her responses by the following Thursday.

So we’ll see how it goes!  Meanwhile, have a great weekend.

I prefer more the songwriter than the performer. I gravitate more toward the deeper meaning than the easy dance step. That said, I enjoy me some ol’ school. I love the Commodores, James Gang, Brownsville Station, the Ohio Players… even AC/DC, Madonna, Justin Timberlake… Anyway. My enjoyment of music does have boundaries, but it is a vast, barely-chartered wilderness within that fence. Today, I give you Matt Wertz, a Missouri-born Nashville resident with a nice sound for these breezy, late spring days. Mr. Wertz has a little of Jack Johnson in his sound. Check out 5:19 and Counting to 100. You can hear more at his MySpace page. His songs have been featured on shows like "Brothers and Sisters", "Kyle XY" and "Wildfire." His music is more "pop" than I generally listen to, but gravitas is so 2004.

The best medicine is dictated by the diagnosis. The diagnosis by the symptoms presented, and the acumen applied. In general terms, some have put forth laughter as the best medicine. Laughter is an excellent choice for temporary relief, of course. Without laughter, we mortals may cease to uncover the joys of heaven, but I sit now, reckoning. The touch of another - caring, loving, concerned, tender, firm. Another best medicine, for sure. I need that now. Everything is proceeding along quite well - vocationally, finacially, emotionally. Someone who understands the value of being held, snuggling close, feeling skin on skin - where are you?

They needed each other’s assistance, like a company who, crossing a mountain stream, are compelled to cling close together, lest the current should be too powerful for any who are not thus supported. Sir Walter Scott

In their friendship they were like two of a litter that can never play together without leaving traces of tooth and claw, wounding each other in the most sensitive places. Colette

Leaving is like tearing off skin. Larry McMurtry

Eleven. Seven. Four years separating them. You’d never know it. They are teachers of one another. Best friends. Buddies. Alternatingly, they share titles: good guy, bad guy, cop, robber, hero, villain. They are comrades. Allies. Enemies. Playmates. Chums. Brothers.

As their parent, I sometimes succumb to the force of imminent doom. Perceived doom, perhaps, but as their parent, that’s all it takes. Fourteen months from now, Mr. Eleven will prepare to move to the junior high school, middle school here. For the first time, Mr. Seven will go through his school days without his rock. Oh sure, when Mr. Eleven entered first grade, Mr. Seven stayed home. There are other rocks there. Security. No pressure. Just a need to occupy the time until Eleven got home. Things change. It’s a lesson that tends violently to be learned at times. Seven’s heart is vulnerable. I hurt vicariously.

What tramples this analytical soul to a worn-bare dogpath is what is sure to accompany Eleven’s academic progression: a new comrade; perceived maturity that distorts the importance of Seven and shoulders him aside; new interests; girls. Understand that I am not a pessimist. I love, though. Some may argue that there is no difference. Come, walk with me. There is beauty in the challenge.

As their parent, I accept as my duty the role of teacher, referee, counselor, provider. I am thrilled with the job as much as I am overwhelmed by it. The impending change in my sons’ dynamic is just another step in my education, my on-the-job training. I have been here before, back when I was the trellis for another. I suppose I can be forgiven because I was a child, merely an older brother with angst of my own; but I moved hard and fast into my new, older, "cooler" world and left my brother behind. I did not look back until, seven years later, he was beyond reach. He faced incarceration but got out of that by entering the service. The gravity of the perceived rejection delineates our relationship to this day. I hope I am a better teacher for it.

I wrote of roots. I live to provide water. I want my sons to recognize in one another the nourishment of life. I want nothing to be thicker than the blood they share. I want them to understand that their meaning, their bond, never needs to be sacrificed on the pyre of their independence. I want the wisdom to bring them to this place. I seek it. It is my job. I long to be the third pea in the pod. It is the golden parachute that follows the job of parenthood. One day we will sit in the pod and laugh at the shenanigans they concocted when they were eleven and seven.