HAWKING WARES

Despite that I'm blessed with the use of my arms and legs, and Stephen Hawking is not, he, nonetheless, is blessed with a bazillion active brain cells, which gracefully he shares with us.

However, had Dr Hawking spent much time in Bangkok before he wrote The Big Bang Theory, I feel convinced its title would've been The Big Bangkok Theory, as the senses thrown at one every moment of the day are like unexpected planets: sight, sound, scent, sight, taste - and all at once and all from a myriad of sources.

Today began with a Sunday morning peace - a crisp, blue, peace - and is ending in a calm, moonlit peace... cool., by the woods. In between all that, here's what happened:
1. I read a few morning papers, drank some coffee, smoked a few cigarettes.
2. I snuck out for a morning drive to see a house I thought might be a good buy - it is, there are contracts on it already. While there, I saw a friend, Bill, who lives near the house. We wandered around the yard together for a minute, catching up, talking about maple trees, neighbors, dogs, and stone foundations. The house is built of hand-made brick.
3. I re-arrived at the starting place of my day, began to get excited about the Titans game, sold my tickets because there's just too much to do right now, then I convinced my girlfriend Chandelle to come see the house I'd gone to see.
4. She likes it too, even though we think it's sold.
5 I watched the game. Vince is amazing.
6. I communicated with a teenager later, unrelated to everything else here I've mentioned; communicating with a teenager is always a risk.
7. I got a call from someone who wants to see my house, always fun, and a risk. They're coming over tomorrow.
8. So I bought some flowers.
9. My house is nice, even without flowers.
10. The Titans are cool, now...
11. It's getting cold outside, so I'm going in.
12, 13, 14: I hope they like my house (I do); I will sleep well tonight; I hope the teenager's doing well, because I love her.

Starbucks Demo Update

Starbucks Demographic Profile Update:



LOCATION: DEMOGRAPHIC DESCRIPTION

21st Avenue: age 18-24, slouched, a few tats, some books on the floor, lots of dark hair

West End (drive thru): SUVs, mostly white ones, all in the way

West End (near Borders): young professionals, coupla Vandy faculty members, some color, and trotting medical units in heels

Green Hills Mall: teenagers w/ cells texting w/ zero - I mean zero - attention spans; Mall employees on a break; about it...

Green Hills (original one): semi-chaotic-upscale-cluster-f___; high school girls in expensive cars; salesmen in Dockers selling stuff too early in the morning; Jack White; some political folks

The Bellemeade: Land Rovers, blonde hair, women who apparently are fasting (mostly they have blonde hair, too), hip baristas, and fresh college grads who need jobs

Bellevue: guys with graying crew-cuts who (may) need a life; some women who are almost good looking; sales units; a coupla wanna-be carpool soccer moms unknowingly at wrong Starbucks; some Christians

Highway 100 - a few deer-in-headlights neighbors who still can't believe there's a Starbucks here; a coupla young dudes in black who are thrilled no one else knows there's a Starbucks here; and, for now, me...

LIKE... APPLE PIE?

As I write the TV's on in the background. There are people on there talking about the President of the USA - about whether or not he was born in the United States. I figure this is due to his being of African descent, as well as of American descent. My bet is it's the African part that bothers the folks who think - want to think - he's not "American."

I wonder if we know what "American" is? Is it the Spanish? After all, in grade school they told us they "discovered America." Or is the Norse, who, later, the teachers confessed, may have come here before the Spanish. Or is the English, who settled the colonies with more gusto than most, took "us" over, ran things, then got shot at a bunch and backed down?

Or is America (which is a couple of continents, actually, not this country) really the natives who were here "first?" You know, those people who already lived here when "we" got "discovered?" They got dubbed "Indians" because somebody who landed here from Europe was confused about their appearance, like... confused with folks from India.

Now lots of folks call them Native Americans because they don't know what else to call them, or what's left of them. The federal government later - much later - apologized to what's left of them after we cleaned them out of their homes and land, a few hundred years back. And then the federal government "let them" build casinos, as if that's a favor, a good thing.

Of course, I digress.

So what is "American?" What does that word mean?

If you read the U.S. Constitution, then look around a little bit, like, at the grocery or maybe someplace not where you live, but at least down the street or in another state or something, you'll see "American" is a bunch of skin colors, a bunch of religious beliefs and, ironically, many with no religious beliefs. You'll see a bunch of sizes - more large ones than anywhere else in the world. You'll hear virtually anything said or read anything written because we're guaranteed those rights.

And you'll see and hear people who still believe "white people" own the place, preferably white "Christians," even though the original Americans were neither "white" or "Christian."

What's so funny and sick is these white people claim ownership of a land they, too, immigrated to. They weren't "first."

I think it's some descendants of these folk who think the president must not be American.

I wonder why, if people are so concerned with patriotism and authenticity in general, and Barack Obama's, specifically, they didn't dispute George W. Bush's credentials: his parents immigrated to Texas from Connecticut. "W" didn't join the Army and instead ran to Alabama. And he went to Yale, right?

And whatabout John McCain? He actually was born out of the country: Panama, on a military base. Some dispute that's "America" as described in the constitution, at least regarding the requirements to be president, which are few - but clear. Imagine if Barack Obama really was born in Panama?

Meanwhile these white people who don't believe the president is American can't "prove it" so they concocted a birth certificate from Kenya wrongly dated and with "Republic of Kenya" at the top of it, when, in 1961, Kenya wasn't a republic, not yet...

But we were. And are. Thank goodness...

I think I digressed again. Not sure. Regardless: guess what? Tuesday August 4 is President Barack H. Obama's birthday. He's 48. I think that's cool. And you know what else? I think he's as American as apple pie or sushi, you pick. And you know what else? I think he really was born in Hawaii, like his real birth certificate says. And you know what else? If he wasn't, I don't care, because I'm really glad he's president.

"Oh"

My friend and I left last Saturday, July 4, for western NY state and then to Canada, just barely. We flew into Buffalo, rented a car, and drove southwest along Lake Erie to a small community of homes dating from the mid 19th century.

We stayed there a few days, hung out, walked, visited the locals, and left. We stayed in a 150 year-old hotel with teeny rooms and few baths (We had one of them.)

There were signs that said: "No smoking. No incense. No candles." We like incense, yet deferred to the management. After all, the place was rickety. Old. A bit off-level, at a slight slant.

After a few days, we drove north to "the falls," i.e., Niagara Falls. Yes, we did. Oh... did we ever. Up that way, people say, "oh" a LOT. They say it like this: "Oh!" Yet they leave the sound wandering for a bit, like this: "Ohh!" Yet they don't say it with suddenness, as if surprised. It rolls out: "Ohh."

And they say, "holy moly." And, if surprised, mildly, they might say, "Oh no." Imagine the movie, "Fargo." The "o's" are very, very well enunciated, and long. Try this: "Oh my!"

Neither of us expected to be wowed much, except for the falls, and they are pretty dam wow. They're tall, 172 feet, and mighty. Walking up next to the top, where they spill over the edge, the energy's palpable. I had to lean back for a minute, then lean back in, just to feel familiar enough with the sound and sight of its fury, its rush, its might.

They are wet, too, as you might imagine. The spray shoots over a hundred feet above the top of the falls, and its mist is everywhere.

The only problem, as usual, is... there are so many people. They're from everywhere, no part of the world dominated. Gawky northern Europeans. Curious Asians. Seemingly preoccupied middle-Easterns, who came in large groups with kids. The Europeans seemed the most confused, turning around a lot, it seemed like, and asking the most questions.

We were the only southerners, I think. Pretty sure.

ACTING AS IF (as if...)

Okay so I'm sitting back on the porch beneath a Carolina blue sky - except I'm in Tennessee - and listening to a woodpecker furiously going at a Hickory tree. That's hard wood, fella, and that woodpecker will be at this a long, long time if he/she really wants to make an impression.

Beside me is a cup of coffee, a bottle of water, the cigarettes I quit smoking, and my cell phone. Nearby are tomato plants, a basil plant, and several feet away? My trusty dog, Barry. Just inside is a quiet house, waiting for the arrival of well over a dozen grrrrrls from the "Act Like A GRRRL" theater-camp, who will roost here this afternoon with movies, popcorn?, some billiards, and mucho satisfaction after last night's standing-ovation opening night of their performance, "Act Like A GRRRRRL."

The show was amazing. Girls and young ladies from age 12 to 18 presented their talent, their energy, and their soul before an audience of friends, peers, parents, artists, and the curious. All of the material is original: they wrote it, sang it, read it, spoke it, danced it. There were tears and there was laughter and many, many rounds of applause. To see and feel the energy of this troupe - who only had four weeks to create this masterpiece - was to have a brief, personal invitation into the feminine mystique; except this show? These grrrrls? They let us in the mystique so that it was mysterious no more. What a nice thing to do for us: people at large, being let in. Not often does this happen, be it male or female.

Can you a see a troupe of boys/men bonding in four weeks, writing new music and poetry and verse, and then performing it, vulnerable, for all of us to see and hear?

WAIT... Maybe we can... My friend Andrew and my friend Ross? We're thinking: why not "Act Like A Boy?" Not "Act Like A Man." We got told that, too, for years, only to miss the kid stuff, as in, being one. Now, decades later, we want to. Be one. We're seriously considering it.

Only, it dawns on me, if Vali Forrister, founder of Act Like A GRRRRRL, will allow it - there are copyrights and such - then maybe we can do this. Except this leads to another question: will we, as men/boys, have to ask Vali, a grrrrrl/woman, permission?

Interesting...

I HAVE A FRIEND                                                                                 

I have a friend who reminds me of my own thoughts, usually days or weeks after I've expressed them. She reminds me because, a. I didn't follow up, or b. She wonders what happened to them, or saw them finished, or something, and comments.

This is good.

My friend has her own thoughts too, and often expresses them. I'm grateful for this because, a. They are things I had not thought of, and are fresh and are usually good to hear, and/or b. They're simply great ideas that might be worth following up, acting on, or, perhaps, subtle suggestions to you-know-who...

Why do I write this? Because, while I often write while sitting on my back porch, NOW I'm writing while sitting on a nice, comfortable piece of outdoor furniture while sitting on my back porch - with more to come. There are dark wood rocking chairs and a love-seat-outdoor-thing, all with deep, pale green cushions. They are way-comfortable, and now I find myself out here all the damn time.

My friend reminded me some time ago I wanted these things. I had not acted on it. Usually stuff takes acting upon, I got reminded...

However, I wonder if my friend knew what might happen: that instead of hiking a couple miles this morning, like I told myself I'd do - I am still here, sitting, on my dark wood and light green sofa-thing...

Or... I wonder if, when I receive the new piece of furniture for the other balcony (my neato house came with two balconies, included), which will be a sort-of-chaise-yet-day-bed-yet-outdoor-kinda-thing-you-can-sit-read-lay-sleep-on, I will ever leave the other balcony, even for the one I'm sitting on now?

I ordered the new furniture for the neato-other-balcony just today, which is sorta why I write... yet I seriously digress.

Or do I?

Sometimes I make suggestions my friend likes, such as the U.S.-Canadian border (that's enough info there), or grilled shrimp on a Saturday night.

OR, sometimes neither one of us think of one single thing, even if we mean to, and end up staring at the sky, or feeling the heat of a hot, humid day, like yesterday, and do absolutely nothing, not even think of something "on an accident."

Other times we think of or do really dumb things that are hilarious and we laugh like little squirts who haven't a worry in the world, like this: one day my friend started winking at me, as if she were doing some kinda Sarah Palin routine, until I started winking back.

There was never an explanation for this, no need. Too funny.

Then sometimes one of us - usually we take turns, thank goodness - stresses over not-a-damn-thing, like, as in: nada - and maybe semi-flip-out until we catch ourselves or one catches the other, which, at times, the other doesn't like but GETS sooner or later, and once again it's all good.

And last but certainly not least sometimes one of us can stress over something worthy of stress, yet the other reminds the other it'll pass, which it ALWAYS does, and the stress becomes less stressful until - poof! - it's gone.

Just like that.

Poof!

When this happens there's a pretty good chance one of us says this: "huh..."