Poetry Masterwork

So I'm in a creative writing class right now and I just turned this in today as my "Poetry Masterwork." So this is the best I can do at this point. Let me know what you think.

On Arriving Home

A prevailing wind brings with it hints of pressed olives and sun-raised wheat—

the smells of Ithaca.

It fills the sails with speeded flight and caresses time-torn faces.

Of home it breathes, of solace it sings.

The gentle waves lap at the hull,

and push and glide the leaning shoulders to familiar shores.

These few eager travelers, orphaned by fate—

they all smile and thrill—

all but one.

This Odysseus finds a full home so empty,

halls lined with profane suitors

no baptism of blood can purify.

For this warrior has been bathed in flame;

Has borne a bronze crucible—bears it with him still—

battlefields in mind and memory of soul-cracking horror.

Now his haft-calloused hands

find it hard to embrace old companions,

muscle-memory gone, replaced by scars and sinew and salt.

The tired years pass and he now holds a squalling child, where dying men had lain,

And looks past the uneven ends of a stolen life,

on to the horizon, the call of which beckons still.

[Keep following, cuz they be rapin' 'errbody up in here.]

Perhaps I'm Bipolar

You know, I'm usually pretty private about my emotions. But I just got a wave of happy. Sometimes it happens. Lest this disintegrate into a cliche boring blog about how awesome my life is, I'll tell an allegory.

This reminds me of our ridiculous Schnauzer who possessed the biggest ego of any canine I've ever encountered.

Excluding purse-dwellers, most dogs get dirty. Schnapps did. We would plop him in the tub and spray him down--one hand on his back to stop him from shaking off, and the other pouring copious amounts of No Tears shampoo into his fur. He would look up at us with a wide-eyed stare of pure humiliation. I didn't think dogs were capable of emotion until seeing his look that seethed with what I can only describe as unadulterated indignation. Judging from his expression, you'd think we had dressed him up like Lady GaGa. But he would emerge from this experience a new dog. His scrawny frame all too visible, he looked like a glorified sewer rat.

*

But here is the kicker. This little guy would then run around the house in a maniacal fashion, rubbing his wet beard and ears on the carpet. After this little ritual, he would engage us in a "game" both parties only partly understood. He would run around and then stop in front of us, his butt in the air, his forepaws on the ground. This is when we would try and grab him and he would rear up and nip at our hands before sprinting top speed around the house again. His new freedom did not last long, however. Soon he would be scooped up by mom to be brushed. He hated that. Afterward, he looked all fluffy and not manly at all. No matter, the next day he was back to his matted manly self.

 *

The point is, no matter what weighs us down or dirties us, soon we'll be happily bounding to our next crappy moment. So enjoy it while it lasts.

*Artist's Rendition. NOT ACTUAL PICTURES.

[Keep following. I'll be back to normal soon enough and you can feed off my negativity like emo-vampires.]

The General Rules #3 - Smells

One may not instantly understand the importance of this topic, or even how it relates to dating, love, relationships, and other matters of the heart. But you will understand when I am finished.

Let's start with the obvious. Personal Hygiene. I've had the good fortune to travel to different countries across the world. I've had the good fortune to live abroad for extended periods. I've had the good fortune to learn about new cultures and ways of conducting myself. I've had the good fortune to learn about customs and practices different from my own. I've had the good fortune to walk down cobbled streets and peruse open-air markets during a Swiss spring.

But I have also had the sore misfortune of riding crowded public transportation during a humid German summer. I've tasted with my nose the odors of a hundred ethnicities, and breathed the sour spice of too many Italian armpits. This was only my misfortune because I had the good fortune of being born right here in 'Murrca--Land of the Free, Home of the Deodorant Stick.

Now that you know of my experience in this field, I may speak in an authoritative manner. It really isn't a huge problem here, but because I still encounter the rogue human who refuses to shower, and insists upon arresting the noses of those around him with a vapor cloud of BO, it needs to be said. Bathe yourself often. It doesn't take long. The days of Papal prohibited Ablutions are over. It is 2011, give it a try.

After scrubbing various orifices, apply deodorant. Even if you "don't plan on sweating" or "don't think you need it." You do. Everyone does. Everyone smells. Any deodorant or anti-perspirant will work. Except AXE. Axe body sprays are like the annoying new guy at work, we all tolerate him because we have to. We give him the benefit of the doubt because he is not familiar with the unwritten worker's code. But secretly we all want to get the new guy fired. I've never witnessed anyone call out an Axe-wearer for smelling like a trash can coated with grandpa's aftershave, so I guess I'll be that guy. YOU SMELL LIKE A TRASH CAN COATED WITH GRANDPA'S AFTERSHAVE.

Moving on to Cologne, and ladies, to your perfume. In the book How to be a Gentleman, we find this statement that speaks for itself. So there is no need for me to go on and on about how horrible it is when guys or girls wear too much scent and how too many guys insist upon dumping gallons and gallons and gallons of Acqua Di Gio on their already AXE-coated tanning bed-brown skin, so much so that it becomes the only thing that an entire crowd of people can smell for the next three weeks. I won't need to talk about that because this quote is so good.

"A gentleman considers cologne intimate apparel. It should not cause comment, positive or negative, among other people in the room. Instead, it should be saved as a pleasant surprise for people with whom he makes close physical contact. A gentleman understands that cologne is, after all, an accessory. It is not to be used as a substitute for deodorant... When used to excess, cologne is annoying and raises questions about what smells are being covered up. Anytime a person can identify the brand of scent that a man is wearing, he is wearing too much."

The same applies to you ladies, if I can tell that you are wearing Vera Wang Princess from fifteen yards away, it's gross. The problem with scents nowadays is that they are expensive, so everyone feels the need to let everyone else know what they are wearing, so that everyone else will know how much money they have. When the truth is, too much of even the best scent can make you smell like the toothless carnie who runs the ferris wheel.

We live in an age of smell-excess. If you don't believe me just head in the general direction of your local mall, and about a mile off you will start to smell the rhino-nuclear explosion that is Bath & Body Works. That place is like the Chernobyl of the nasal community. So please, for my sake, for all our sakes, and for the sanctity of our noses, use moderation. Also, destroy your AXE.

[Keep following, your love IQ just went up 10 points]

Great Moments In My Life

Sometimes the stars align. Sometimes impossible things happen. Sometimes these things happen to me. I was reminded of these few times when one happened the other day. But first, a little commentary. It seems like more often than not, toast lands butter-side down, dogs have to sneeze right when your face is closest, toothbrushes seem magically attracted to the toilet, Lindsay Lohan doesn't overdose, and Justin Bieber's music keeps getting purchased--almost as if by some magical force. Along with natural disasters, I think these moments are God's little way of letting us know that we are not in control. I'm not saying God causes these things to happen, He just allows them to happen. (Because he definitely has nothing to do with Lindsay or The Biebs.) The most exciting thing about these moments for me is that I cannot wait to watch the replay in heaven. Or wherever I end up when I'm dead. It will be like youtube, but more personal. Maybe it will be called metube.

But onwards to my first greatest moment. Picture me. Six years old. White-blond hair. Cowboy boots. That is what I looked like the day it happened. I guess it was a day like any other. On this day we happened to be playing football in the street with the college kids who lived across from us. So there I was. On a team. Running around being generally useless, I'm sure. That is, until I went long. I clomped northbound on 200 East, arms outstretched. I wasn't even looking for the ball floating toward me in the air. I must have looked like a little cowboy zombie, running like that. And suddenly there was a football in my hands. In my little kid perspective I looked backward at the cheering students, and they seemed to be a hundred yards away. I had just caught a touchdown pass. I was a hero. I had done an impossible thing. It was the start of my amazing career as a pro-football player. The celebration lasted into the night.

In heaven the video will be short. Maybe ten seconds. It will be shot in that old-timey style that flickers and the people move too fast. It will show little me running for approximately 3.54 feet and catching a ball thrown right into my hands. Less glamorous. But hey, you gotta start somewhere.

Amazing moments in my life took a 10 year hiatus. I guess catching the pass of a lifetime filled my amazing quota for quite awhile. That is until one fateful night in the Bozeman Stake Center I was center court, holding a basketball. I gave the ball small toss with heavy backspin. The ball sprung backwards and I kicked at it. The heavens shook for my good that night. The ball soared through the air. Going, going, going. Time slowed. Emotions ran high. Swoosh. A perfect half-court shot.

The replay in heaven will be boring. It will show a bunch of awkward zitty teenagers kicking balls at basketball hoops for two hours. Shane and Chet and I all taking turns. And finally one will go in. The celebration lasts longer than is needful for the moment.

Fast forward 8 years. Monday December 20th 2010. I'm pushing carts at Costco. I'm waiting for a line of oblivious customers to get out of my way so I can stow my line of carts in the entrance. Suddenly a rogue cart comes careening into my peripheral vision. Pushed carelessly by some old dude, the cart is headed straight for a stray toddler. He stands like a deer in the headlights right next to my row. I don't have time to think, so I stick out my leg and kick the murderous cart towards the motionless lines of extra carts. The cart does an elegant spin and then lands right on the end of one of the rows. Perfectly stowed and interlocked. Disaster was averted. Not only did I save a miniature human from what surely would have been a most heinous death and/or dismemberment, but I stowed an extra cart without using my hands. I was super-human for half a second. This time no celebration was needed. I just smirked to myself and thought about how awesome I am. No thanks was necessary.

Yeah, right. Where was the mother?! She should have showered me with gifts and affection and different creams and lotions. But I didn't even get a, "OH thank you, you are so great, take this cash." Lame. There better be replays in heaven so I can show this mom what happened and get my dues.

[Keep following. There is more where that came from. Filler... fillerup... FILL 'ER UP PLEASE!]

I'm (Almost) Back.

This isn't a real post. Sorry to disappoint all of you who have been so patiently waiting. And I know you've been waiting. I looked at my Google analytics readout, and despite the notice I gave about not blogging for the whole month of November, I still only had 5 days during the month when no one visited my blog. I don't know whether to laugh at you losers that had nothing better to do than visit a stagnant blog or to thank you for being so dedicated. So I guess I'll do both: HAHA. Thanks so much!

To those of you who are wondering how NaNoWriMo went, I have an answer.  My expectations weren't not exceeded further than possibly allowable considering the dire circumstances under which the writer found himself inevitably placed. Moving on...

Finals are coming, and I'm beginning to find that "the soothing light at the end of [my] tunnel / is just a freight train comin' [my] way." Which is why this is only a slight, poorly written, hold-over post until I can scoop my brains from the pavement and get my bearings again once finals are over.

The good thing about this hiatus has been that I now have a few good ideas for new posts. Be excited.

[Keep following, there's always next time.]