happy smurf day

this year will mark the fiftieth anniversary of the smurfs. smurfs, of course, are those loveable sexless creatures whose message is one of understanding, camaraderie, and love. i have a special place in my heart for these blue sentient beings due in part to hours spent watching their exploits on television and also various childhood dreams about smurfette. their lore is deep and their vocabulary flexible. i’ve even used “smurf” as a verb several times this past year, mostly in the following context: “that is fucking re-smurf-ulous. stop being such a smurf.”

upstream

i think about free will frequently. thinking about this leads me to think about the incomprehensible randomness of the technically finite-state machine of the universe. i mean, just a hair’s edge one way or the other at one time can lead to the difference between ketel one and five o’clock vodkas. this leads me to think about that big wheel people spin on the price is right, since it’s impossible to watch that show sober. there are so many applications to the close-but-don’t-exceed methodology. while blackjack is the most notable follower, i’d like to propose certain aspects of every day life also follow this rule. take consumption, for example. the game is to drink as much as one can without tipping over. at work, the goal is to take as many paperclips from the bin as possible without being noticed. the tipping point is also the balance point. and that is the most beautiful thing anything can be: a delicate balance.

fax machine anthems

the real difference between the good old days and today is not the times themselves. it is us as the observer. we were more easily impressed back then. by definition we were less experienced, so things seemed fresher. in the late eighties i knew nothing of drugs and sex and was content with snap bracelets and schoolyard tomfoolery. a decade later i spent my time being impressed by alcohol and girls who could chug tequila, but i knew nothing of freedom. now that i am free i sometimes long for the good old days when i wasn’t. but only because i remember being happier in my ignorance. of course, there are always the other times when one craves licking absinthe off of a hooker’s navel. and then i thank lord xenu i’m an american.

no jacket required

“no jacket required” was yesterday’s theme. luckily i had purchased that phil collins album at a record shop in doylestown recently and i listened to “susudio” on the hi-fi at home. it was also a spot of luck that i didn’t bring a jacket to work or i’d have tied it around my waist like it was nineteen eighty nine. i still do that when no one is looking. but nineteen degrees centigrade leaving the gym in january was as close to heaven as i can imagine. it will probably be a once-in-a-lifetime experience that i look back upon in my senility with fond remembrance. yes, the day i dead-lifted three hundred pounds and lost my virginity to the spinning instructor was a warm one. in january!

the last weeks

i have returned from my tour of the eastern caribbean. actually, i returned a week ago. i decided that during last week both ripping down all signs of the holidays and laying on the ground face-up were more important than writing. i was also fighting off some sort of disease i most likely picked up on some island somewhere. it made me feel tired and crave rum. i did make it to a party for the new year at a nice house in shadyside. three stories high, this place had a college-like first floor with pool, beirut, and shuffleboard tables, as well as a wooden bar. the second floor was clean and furnished, with another kitchen like it was a separate apartment. the third floor consisted of a long multipurpose room and a catwalk that overlooked the second floor. it was impressive. i spent most of the night drinking champagne from the bottle and playing beirut. it appears i still have the skills i acquired in college. the blurriness of the late evening attests to that.

the vacation was relaxing and tame. i caught up on my reading and sudoku puzzles. i stared at the ocean for hours listening to michael mcdonald and the mary jane girls. i visited some islands and learned about the general history of tourism. i also saw the hospital where anna nicole smith’s son died. i wished a native happy holidays. i laid on a beach in a bay where i could collect my thoughts. i listened to jazz at night in a faux-ivory room. i found the elusive balance between winning and losing in the casino. i can’t help but think that this may be the last family vacation i attend.