Left to my own devices

It was the mid-1990s. I walked into the record store (aptly-named Record Service), and took stock of where I was. It was situated in an old building on Green St., in campustown. The immediate thought I have when remembering it is 'brown.' I remember the walls as being brown, the shelves were brown, it was just... brown. It felt cozy. There was a sign on one of the walls for a place upstairs called Figaro's. It specialized in classical music. My heart fluttered slightly, as I was partial to classical music, and so seeing that there was some place devoted to it seemed pretty awesome. But, I didn't go there, as I wanted to primarily focus attention on what was on offer at the main record store. It was my first time in that shop. I was familiar with classical music. I was not, it turned out, familiar with what a lot of what Record Service had to offer. There was so much to take in. A few items I remember that stood out were: the greatest hits collection (the best of...

         Yesterday was the closing night of the 32nd St. Louis International Film Festival, and there I watched the new film, All of Us Strangers . It was written and directed by Andrew Haigh, who adapted it from the Japanese novel Strangers , by Taichi Yamada. I've seen two of Haigh's previous movies -- Lean on Pete , and Weekend -- the latter a good, solid film, and the former being my favorite movie of 2018 (when it was widely released here in the United States).     

I recently read an article that references a study done about love. Specifically, the study's co-authors quizzed their subjects about various scenarios where they were asked to guess how a majority of people would respond to those scenarios. At the end, the co-authors of the article narrowed everything down to four things that would likely make most people feel loved. Those four things are follows... When someone shows compassion toward them during difficult times When a child snuggles up to them When their pets are happy to see them When someone tells them "I love you" There's nothing terribly earth-shattering contained therein. No doubt most of us enjoy having someone say they love us (unless it's in a Fatal Attraction kind of way), and who isn't happy to be treated well, and have their pets glad to see them? So, yeah, these four things make sense, and nearly amount to a dog-bites-man story. Of course, this got me thinking. Something that crossed my mind w...

* NOTE: There are some minor SPOILERS for Eternals that follow. _____________ Rick Blaine and Ilsa Lund. Westley and Buttercup. Rose Dewitt Bukater and Jack Dawson. Elio and Oliver. Elisa Esposito and... Amphibian Man? For over a century, movies have featured some of the greatest love stories ever told. Sometimes, they're the core of a film, other times they're a side-plot. Regardless, when done right, a romance in a movie can be sweeping in its ability to lift -- or even deflate -- our emotions. I'd like to add another set of names of to the aforementioned couples: Thena and Gilgamesh.

"You can't be in love with someone if they don't love you back." My friend Jake said those words to me one night in the late '90s. I was at his house and we were, for whatever reason, waxing poetic about love and relationships. Actually, I do know the reason. I was besotted with a guy at the time, and mentioned, in brief passing, that I was in love with him. Jake caught the turn of phrase and felt the need to correct it. He knew the person in question, and knew that the feelings I held were not reciprocated. Jake didn't explain his comment too deeply (he wasn't really one for such conversations in the first place), but I'll always remember his remark because it stopped me in my tracks. For a time, I'd bristle at the memory of those words but, as the years have gone on, I've come to realize he may have been right. There is, after all, a difference between loving someone, and being in love with them. And love, in and of itself, has many meanings.

"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.

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...

"It is when he thinks he's past love It is then he meets his last love" I once knew a man who went through relationships like they were going out of style When yet another connection with someone had broken down, he'd say something along the lines of how he was really too busy to be with someone, anyway, so it was probably for the best they were splitting-up. And, yes, he was a very busy man, of that there was no doubt. What I always asked myself -- but never the friend directly -- was, "Why do you keep entering new relationships, then? If you know you're too busy for them, then why do you engage in these Sisyphean undertakings? You're not only hurting yourself." Alas, that friend was not unique. There are plenty of people who sometimes seem to be on emotional auto-pilot, never thinking much about what it is they want or need when it comes to romantic involvement. Of course, there are the opposite folk, the people who will sometimes...

While many of us remember our first kiss, or falling in love for the first time, how many times have we been convinced of witnessing the depiction of those same emotions on the silver screen? Granted, it may not be something a lot of folks think about, but for me, romance in the movies can have the power to incredibly stir the soul, make me flinch awkwardly in my seat, or just flat-out laugh. After recently viewing the wonderful new movie Lady Bird , and being completely swept-up in the fledgling  romance of the title character and her classmate Danny, it reminded me of how I'm a sucker for a well-done movie romance. In order for me to be convinced of the  adoration onscreen, pretty much everything has to be right -- the script, the acting, the score, the direction, editing, etc. It all has to set the right mood and believability. That isn't always an easy task. Most films run between 90 and 120 minutes. That isn't a terribly long time to introduce us to characters,...

The dream recurs on at least a semi-monthly basis, always a mixture of familiarity with alarming disorientation. From the very first time the dream occurred, I felt at home within the small New England church. And, for whatever reason, I immediately understood where I was. Starting in an abrupt stupor, I was immediately seated roughly two-thirds from the altar, in about the tenth pew toward the back. The rustic church was made mostly of wood, some of it stained, other parts (such as the beams and rafters) painted a gleaming white. There was stone, too. You could tell it was before a service was to begin. People were milling about, generally making their way into the structure. Somehow, I knew the location, but not why I suddenly found myself there. This caused some considerable consternation, as you might imagine it would. The church looked to be like what I imagine those centuries-old old Protestant churches are like in New England, hence the sense of knowing where I was, o...

You may have heard folks say that smells are a good time machine, often whisking us back to various moments in our lives, even with just a whiff of an old scent remembered. While our olfactory senses are certainly good for recalling memories and planting us back to where they began, I would argue that another good method for accomplishing this is music. Songs can be a powerful madeleine, recalling a setting, or a place in time, that we either have fond or disagreeable memories of. I experienced such an occurrence recently when Sting's song When We Dance came on the radio. Released in 1994 as the new song from his 'best of' compilation, the track did moderately well here in the U.S. (peaking at # 38 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart), but it was an immediate favorite of mine.

E xpectation vs. reality can be a harsh thing. Perhaps nowhere is this more true than in our interpersonal relationships. So often we strive for a connection with someone, only to discover that they do not desire the same. We want an affirmation from others about who we are as human beings, yet do not receive such interaction when it is most wanted. And, of course, we want a storybook closure to our relationships with others, an ending that all too often is never written the way we'd like, or expect, it to be. We'll see a movie where someone likes someone else and, in order to let them know, will write them a love song. Maybe there'll be a scene where, in a crowded night club, person A will get on stage, strum their guitar (it's always a guitar, isn't it?) and coo their homegrown lyrics to person B in the audience. Person B, the object of the affection, will tear-up, fall in love there on the spot and eventually the two will go off together in a blur of roma...

Earlier in the week I wrote the first of two planned blog posts about my thoughts on the movie The Fault in Our Stars . Based on the book by John Green, the film tells the story of two teenagers, Hazel Grace Lancaster and Augustus (Gus) Waters who meet cute and fall in love. The notable angle to this story is that both teens have cancer. Hazel is currently in a holding-pattern with thyroid cancer that has spread to her lungs, while Gus is in remission from a cancer that cost him part of one leg. My first post about the movie dealt with how it made me think about life and death in general. The second post, the one you're reading right here and now, is to mainly provide some thoughts I had about the relationship between Gus and Hazel. It was a wonderful affair, to be sure, but not without some questionable elements. Yes, this is Hollywood, but one still expects a certain level of realism.

"We Miss You." Just those three little words from, of all places, the History Channel, really got to me. Apparently, long ago, I'd signed-up with them online, or purchased something from them, or who knows what? At any rate, it's been eons since I last visited their page (of that, I am sure), and so they sent an e-mail to me yesterday with those three words being the first part of the subject line. I'm a people person. It's a cliche, however, very true in my case. I tend to do better when in the company of good people whose presence I enjoy. Rightly or wrongly, my days can be made better or worse by those whom I converse with, what we discuss, how they react to me, and the vibe they're putting off. Whether it be a close friend distant friend, relative or loved one, I appreciate it when I hear from you, or, better yet, get to spend time with you.

Last night was pretty rough, emotionally. It was the culmination of a week's worth of feeling down. Events were triggered by - of all things - a movie, continued to snowball because of interactions with friends, and then came to a head after once more confronting internal conflicts regarding my late father. I ended up arriving at my mother's house unannounced, and crying for a bit (something I haven't done in probably two decades, at least). It is clear that the root of many of my issues is a series of letdowns, from various people. Sometimes, the blame for this can be laid squarely on the shoulders of others. Often, however, I need to look inward. That is to say, I need to re-evaluate my expectations.

It's a sad fact that our grief over someone's death is often more about ourselves than about the person who has died. True, we mourn the loss of a loved one, be they family or friend, and the despair is partly due to the actual person losing their life. But the gap left in our own lives by the loss is what really drives our desolation. It has often been noted that funerals are for the living, not for the dead. I ruminated upon thoughts of life, death, sorrow and what we mourn for as I was watching the recent Downton Abbey Christmas special last night on PBS. Be warned that what comes next contains spoilers for that story, so, if you haven't yet watched it -- and plan on doing so -- you may want to stop reading now.

It would seem to be a fundamental aspect of human nature that we do not communicate positive thoughts and emotions very easily, nor often. Anger? Yes. Frustration, annoyance, displeasure? Yes, yes, yes. Love? Um... not so much. Affection, appreciation? Ditto. Even in the absence of conveying negativity, we tend to let positivity fall to the wayside. Would you agree? Why is this, do you think? Have you ever watched a movie? Silly question, of course you have. How about a romantic comedy? Once again, of course.... (even the straight men out there). If anything drives home the lack of clear, deep, open and honest communication in our society, it's a romantic comedy. People in such movies will make proclamations to one another about how they really feel. It's wonderful. It's touching. It makes you a little misty-eyed.

T'other day at lunch, I was sitting there, eating my chicken strip basket from Dairy Queen and thinking about the first time I felt romantic love for someone, as you do. His name was Kyle. I'm sure I've mentioned him here before. The feelings I developed for him prompted me to eventually face being gay, and to eventually come out of the closet. The lunchtime thoughts pertained mostly to what a significant effect Kyle had on my life, and if he ever thought about me, or if it's more like, 'Matt who?' for him. The realization then struck that the 20th anniversary of my coming out is in 6 months.

Dreams and life. Life and dreams. They intertwine to create a mood sometimes and, this weekend, the mood was not the best. This isn't the first time I've written about the after effects of a dream, and it likely won't be the last. Apologies if it becomes tedious, but I ask you to please indulge me.