Left to my own devices

Ashley & I drove to St. Louis on Friday April 3rd, to attend a book talk that evening. It was being put on by The Novel Neighbor (a pretty awesome independent bookstore in Webster Groves), and was held at the Keating Center for the Performing Arts. The book being discussed was  Who Needs Friends ? Or, to cite its full title: Who Needs Friends? An Unscientific Examination of Male Friendship Across America . The author, Andrew McCarthy, was there on-stage to discuss his book for about an hour, and then he signed autographs and took pictures (ahem). And yes, those of you of a certain age may recognize the name and the appearance as THE Andrew McCarthy, an actor who is probably most well known for his work on popular 1980s movies such as St. Elmo's Fire, Pretty in Pink , and Weekend at Bernie's . It was an interesting talk. As you might surmise, the book is about male friendships. and McCarthy has stated that it was kicked-off by his then-21-year-old son asking him if he had ...

It's been almost thirteen months since I last saw a movie at a theater. What was once a weekly ritual has, over the course a year, become an almost distant memory. The Covid-19 pandemic has wreaked havoc on everyone's lives, to both a greater and lesser extent. I'm pretty fortunate to be able to wax nostalgic about the lack of movie-going and, to be fair, theaters have been opened for some time now. However, even as theaters re-opened, I didn't feel comfortable going back. I have some underlying health issues that could result in a potentially serious time of it, should I be infected with the coronavirus. But now, Ashley & I are fully-vaccinated. So are several of our friends. We're going to see a movie tonight, at a theater, for the first time in over a year. I'm a little overwhelmed at the thought.

W e moved from the house -- mom, dad and I -- in Spring of 1986, so this would have been around Christmas of 1983, 1984, or 1985, no later than that. I was standing on the front porch of our home on Draper St., the first home I'd ever known, with a couple of friends. I think one of them was Lyle? Maybe? I don't know. There were a couple of friends present. They'd come over earlier, and we'd just finished playing for the day. We were on the porch, doing that midwestern small talk before saying goodbye, and somehow, perhaps because it was in the offing, the subject of Christmas came up.

"Hello, how are you? Have you been alright Through all those lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely nights?" - Telephone Line ,  ELO T here was a time when I used to love talking on the phone. This was before the ubiquity of the Internet, before cell phones, texting, video calls, etc. It was also before I had a job, and much of the work I've ended up doing over the years has fallen under the designation of customer service, where I would interact with folks either in-person or over the phone. That can wear down one's capacity for certain types of contact methods during off-hours. This was before all of that. This was when I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed young person.

      O ne of the topics at Thanksgiving was the lost art of letter writing. Once a commonplace necessity of communication, it is now wistfully recalled by those old enough to remember when it was abundant. It can certainly be argued that it had its time, and technology has usurped it, opening avenues of imparting dialogue and information to those we care about in ways that surpass the quaint, clunky method of writing something in our own hand on pieces of paper, folding them up, putting them in an envelope, paying for postage and mailing them off, only to take perhaps several days to reach their destination. And yet...

"I love the past, 'cause I hate suspense." - Diane Young, by Vampire Weekend The interesting thing about being alive is that we know what's come before, but not what will be. Well, that isn't the only interesting thing, obviously, but it's an aspect of existence that fascinates me. Put another way, we know the past, but never the future. And, there will always be a future -- something epochal would have to occur for that to change. I've been ruminating on the aforementioned reality somewhat often during this pandemic. Additionally, I've considered the importance of the shared experiences we have, both en masse and amongst our smaller, more tightly-knit sub-groups (friends, family, that sort of thing). It is a significant factor to know our history, but there's nothing quite like going through a major event at the same time as those we know, those fellow humans who mean something special to us.

"Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker  Wherever you're going, I'm going your way"                                ---- Moon River, Mancini/Mercer The scariest part of life is not knowing the future. I am convinced of this, and it's one of the reasons we tend to look back on things more fondly than is sometimes deserved. I'll remember the good aspects of a job, for instance, and then have to shake-off the rose-colored glasses for a moment and remind myself how miserable I was during that time. Of course, experiences aren't always straight-up good or bad -- there's things to appreciate amidst the parts we wish hadn't existed. But, not knowing what comes next can often preclude a sense of calm from certain situations. I've been thinking about the aforementioned line-of-thought during these precarious times of sheltering-in-place during the global COVID-19 pandemic. Life has altered to such a...

We had some good times together, he and I. It was the nineties, when the world was young(er). I had come out of the closet only a couple of years previously, and had started going to the local gay bar/dance club about a-year-and-a-half after that. I was gradually becoming more comfortable in my own skin. Dad, and my beloved maternal grandmother, Gummy, were yet to become sick and die from cancer. I was going to the local community college. Life was, if not great, good.

Someone on Twitter shared an article about amatonormativity recently. I read it, and found it interesting. The article posits that our society places too much of an emphasis on the supposed virtues of romance, monogamy, and generally romantic and sexual coupling, to the detriment of the healthy and deeper development of platonic friendships. Indeed, it would seem to put a stigma on being single and alone (or "self-partnered," as the Harry Potter grown-up-kids prefer to call themselves ).  From the article: "Amatonormativity is, essentially, "the assumption that a central, exclusive, amorous relationship is normal for humans, in that it is a universally shared goal, and that such a relationship is normative, in the sense that it should be aimed at in preference to other relationship types," according to Elizabeth Brake." This is one of those scenarios where I don't necessarily disagree with the premise, but have doubts about what comes af...

The sexuality of one's friends isn't something I think about often. Well, why would you? The interests and commonalities we share with our platonic companions is enough to sate any curiosity we may have about them. We share our lives with them, talk about our days, perhaps recall moments that were shared together, and maybe discuss our plans for the future. The gender of their attraction isn't necessarily of paramount importance.

Sometimes someone says something and it doesn't appear to make a lot of sense. It's not that they're speaking gibberish. We aren't suddenly worried about their cognitive function. More like a non sequitur. That, or you simply think what they said was a tad odd. This happened recently and, as I was on a walk later thinking about it, the thought occurred to tap into some empathy.They could, potentially, not have known what to give voice to in the moment, and therefore said whatever came to mind. Some people may not know how to handle silence.

I'd heard of the suicide, of course. Nearly everyone locally, who paid attention to the news, or was on social media, had heard of the death. I didn't know the man who died, though knew several people who did. Folks seemed in a state of shock. He'd had his demons, yes, but, as is so often the case, very few suspected that suicide would be the ultimate outcome of his mental and emotional travails. He was young, somewhere in his twenties, I think. Yet another life gone too soon. It was maybe a month or so later when I was contacted privately, online, via social media messenger, from the young man abroad. We'd never met and, honestly, I don't remember how we came to connect online. He was cute, certainly, and foreign. He'd spent some time in my town awhile back, then moved back home. We said the occasional 'Hello' to one another on social media, but that had been about the extent of our communication. Then one day, there was the message from him...

The late, great film critic Roger Ebert once noted (and I'm paraphrasing because I can't find the exact quote at the moment) that one of the benefits of relationships is that the other person acts as a sort of mirror to our lives. He was mostly referring to romantic couplings, though I think this can be expanded to encompass parents, friends and other platonic relationships. Indeed, sharing experiences with people helps create a collective memory, or sorts. These shared memories can help us bond, both in the moment and later on down the road, as the memories are recalled, hopefully fondly. What happens, however, when age and time begin to ravage the memory banks of our compatriots? Or, perhaps, ourselves? In reality, memory is often variable, and no two people will have exactly the same recollection of events. And yet, when one of those involved in the same situation begins to have no remembrance of it at all, then that is truly saddening. It is depressing for them, and...

In last night's dream, the friend came over and we watched TV. At one point, when we were getting hungry, he enthusiastically volunteered to go pick something up. We agreed on a place, sent in our order, and he bounced off the couch and left, soon to return with a bag of our food. We snacked on the couch, watching various things on Netflix and what not, late into the evening. At times, I worried that he was staying too long, that his family would be expecting him. This concern rose to a verbal question, and he was quick to dismiss it. "Don't worry," he said, "I've told them I'll be with you today." The business world likes to say that time is a precious resource, but that is an applicable statement to every facet of our lives, perhaps most importantly to our personal lives. I was touched that he was spending his time that day focusing on our friendship. Of course, the time came to an end and, around midnight, he went home. I was thinking...

Social media can be a mixed bag. On the one hand, it allows us nearly instant communication with friends and family as close as the same town and as far as countries that are thousands of miles away. Sadly, there is also the reality that not everyone we are connected with online are truly friends. Add to that the sensory overload that can occur with updates, notifications, etc. and social media can be both a blessing and a curse. It is the negative aspect of this dichotomy that has led me of late to unfollow certain people, though not without a wringing of the hands. Failed relationships, be they romantic or platonic, are never something one feels good about. Whenever an unfriending occurs on Facebook (whether I am the one unfriending someone or vice-versa), it never feels good. Perhaps this is why I have taken lately to simply unfollowing people? This allows for the illusion of an online 'friendship' to continue, all the while I can no longer see the unwanted informati...

I was somewhat taken aback recently when I learned that a single friend doesn't care very much for the company of couples. It is difficult not to take personal offense at this, being part of a couple, but then I took a step back and thought about the various types of people who I know and prefer to associate with socially. And the reasons why. It was an enlightening self-analysis.

"Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine." -Leonard Cohen  Do you ever miss someone? That's probably a fairly silly question, as most of us -- at some point or another -- tend to miss people we know. Sometimes the separation between us is death, or distance, or simply time. With death, we know we will never see the person again (unless you choose to believe in an afterlife and a sort of spiritual reunion). With distance, there can be the occasional get-together, but it is rarely satisfying on a permanent level. Separations by time (waiting for the work-day to pass) are much easier to bear. Of course, there is another reason to miss someone, to have their absence stand out in a peculiar fashion. That reason is the rift. This one hurts perhaps only less than death as a reason, though maybe even a bit more. There's something pervasively sad about a human relationship halted in its tracks due to em...

I attended two weddings this summer. The first was in Gatlinburg, Tennessee (though Ashley & spent most of our time in nearby Pigeon Forge). The second wedding was in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. The Tennessee event took place at a pavilion in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, while in Arkansas the reception was at the Crescent Hotel (which likes to bill itself as the World's Most Haunted Hotel). These were nice get-a-ways, and I have fond memories of the weekends. What occurs to me about the aforementioned weekends is that some of their importance rests upon their timing, and who was there, not just in the destinations, themselves. I quite liked Eureka Springs, and wouldn't mind going back at some point, though it will undoubtedly be a different experience. Neither Ashley's dad (who visited us while we were there) nor anyone from the wedding party will be present. The space will be the same, but the time will not. That can make all the difference.

It was October 1998, and some friends and I were on our way to Peoria to 'the boat' (aka gambling). The alpha friend was driving, I was riding shotgun, and we'd picked-up a couple of acquaintances in Bloomington-Normal, and were on our way. It was the early evening, and we were all looking forward to a night of fun and excitement. Unfortunately, we had a bit more excitement -- however brief -- than we'd bargained for. There is an interchange to navigate, northwest of Bloomington, to head toward Peoria. While by no means a difficult interchange, if you're not paying attention it is possible to almost miss it. This occurred on our '98 adventure and, to compensate, our driver swerved over to the exit lane, crossing in front of two vehicles (including a semi), and I remember shutting my eyes because, if I was going to die like that, I didn't want to see it.

Do you remember having a pen pal? I do. It seemed like such a unique concept at the time. This was back in the 1980s, when I was in elementary school. Not exactly sure of what year it was, but we were each given another child to write to. I think mine was in France (though he obviously knew enough English to correspond). There were perhaps only two letters exchanged between us, but that was enough. It felt exciting to wrote back & forth with someone so far away. I thought of that brief friend from France, whose face I never saw and whose name now escapes memory, as I wished a happy birthday to someone who lives in New York City a few days ago. You might think I met him on the occasion I traveled to NYC in 1995. You would be mistaken. We met (if you can call it that) online, via Facebook. In fact, I know several folks solely online. We've never met in-person, and some of us don't even live on the same continent. What used to be a special circumstance is now, due ...