But Who's Counting?

4 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days ago was the worst day of my life.

Love you.
Mean it.

Happiness Is...

When I was in grade school, (I want to say first or second grade) we had this performance thingy. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. When all the parents come to the gym and sit in metal folding chairs, holing video cameras to capture every goddamn boring moment of the show. In grade school, you did about three of these a year. Anyway, the one I'm referencing here was entitled, "Happiness Is..." It was all about what made us happy. (We were on the cutting edge of education at my school) We even sang this stupid corny song that went something like, "Happiness is two scoops of ice cream, having a birthday, telling the time..." (Imagine a bunch of children, in their screechy voices singing that. It's amazing more elementary school teachers don't commit suicide...) Those were good examples for grade school. Hell, ice cream and birthdays are still pretty awesome nowadays. Telling the time isn't so cool anymore.

Flash-forward about a decade or so. The Timpview High School Drama Department is driving back to Provo after a great weekend at the Shakespearean Festival in Cedar City, Utah. I am sitting next to my good friend, Jacob Ludlow. Somehow we start talking about happiness and we start naming things in the same format as that grade school performance. We would say things like, "Happiness is the smell of puppies." "Happiness is straight superior one's." "Happiness is my dad's spaghetti sauce." It wasn't long until those around us, all of whom were our friends heard us and started throwing in their suggestions. Pretty soon we had the whole bus coming up with ideas of what happiness is. It was one of the most fun bus trips I have ever taken in my life. When we arrive in Provo and got off the bus, we all felt awesome about life.

I don't know why I was thinking about that today. It was one of those thoughts that just appear. And it made me smile. So in honor of those awesome past memories, here is my list of what happiness is. Enjoy.

Happiness is baby quail.
Happiness is babies laughing.
Happiness is BSing a paper and getting an A.
Happiness is a great movie.
Happiness is a book that you fall in love with.
Happiness is that feeling of constantly falling in love.
Happiness is a cup of tea with an old friend.
Happiness is laughing so hard you think you're going to vomit.
Happiness is finding money in your pocket you didn't know was there.
Happiness is waking up early & realizing you don't have to get up yet & going back to sleep.
Happiness is getting your car washed.
Happiness is that feeling when you can finally go to the bathroom after holding it forever.
Happiness is new Moleskin notebooks.
Happiness is delicious irony.
Happiness is finding out someone you respect holds the same views you do.
Happiness is watching your favorite sports team destroy the competition.
Happiness is surprise presents.
Happiness is when you find out someone knows something about you not because you remind them but because they have been listening.
Happiness is inside jokes.
Happiness is when a stranger is the only person to get your random pop culture reference and you two share a moment of humor.
Happiness is freshly baked bread.
Happiness is dutch oven cooking.
Happiness is camping.
Happiness is warm summer nights.
Happiness is cuddling in bed with someone you love.
Happiness is having books read to you.
Happiness is finding your old toys.
Happiness is helping strangers.
Happiness is new shoes.
Happiness is family parties.
Happiness is that one friend who knows you better than anyone else.
Happiness is that one person who you know will always be on your side.
Happiness is hearing your phone ring with a specific tone you've set for your crush.
Happiness is winking at a stranger.
Happiness is road trips.
Happiness is Cedar City, Utah.
Happiness is dogs who are always excited to see you.
Happiness is warm towels.
Happiness is new episodes of your favorite show.
Happiness is opening night of an anticipated movie.
Happiness is goofy friends.
Happiness is having the kind of friends with whom you just pick up where you left off no matter how much time has passed.
Happiness is that person who has changed your life.
Happiness is that stranger you look forward to seeing every day.
Happiness is little curiosities.
Happiness is surprise cards in the mail from your mom that make you laugh.
Happiness is getting mail that's not bills or advertisements.
Happiness is toy stores.
Happiness is reading outside.
Happiness is getting that perfect picture.
Happiness is camping.
Happiness is hearing stories about your grandparents' lives.
Happiness is knowing there are people out there who care.

What is happiness to you?

Love you.
Mean it.

My Logophilia

The other day I was discussing tattoo ideas with a friend. I have always wanted a tattoo for as long as I can remember. However, there has never been any image that has strongly resonated with me to the point I'd permanently put in on my body. I'm not an image/symbol type of person. The only symbol that I've felt close to is the symbol for the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense from the Hellboy comics.

I started reading those comics during my horrible transition form Cedar City to Provo. Those comics struck a chord with me. I had the symbol made into a sticker for my car. But other than that, no real image has ever been significant to me.

However, I do admit I am a logophile. A logophile is a lover of words. I love how every word has a precise definition & meaning and how you can convey your feelings or ideas with exactness by using one word over the other. There are millions of words in the English language and using the rules of grammar, we can communicate with others. There are some of us who are able to use the same words & rules and string them together to create beauty. Using the right words in the right order can make someone laugh or cry or think or just stand in awe. I love it.

So I wanted to share with you some of my favorite words & their meanings. I know not all of you are logophiles like me but I hope you enjoy this rich accumulation of awesome words.

pejorative: expressing contempt or disapproval.

unwittingly: not done on purpose; unintentional.

inadequate: not adequate; lacking the quality or quantity required; insufficient for a purpose.

genuine: truly what something is said to be; authentic; (of a person, emotion, or action) sincere.

lie: an intentionally false statement; used with reference to a situation involving deception or founded on a mistaken impression.

liar: a person who tells lies.

uncomfortable: causing or feeling slight pain or physical discomfort; causing or feeling unease or awkwardness

disparage: regard or represent as being of little worth.

inalienable: unable to be taken away from or given away by the possessor.

megalomaniac: a person who is obsessed with their own power; a person who suffers delusions of their own power or importance.

requiem: a Mass for the repose of the souls of the dead; an act or token of remembrance.

vain: having or showing an excessively high opinion of one's appearance, abilities, or worth; producing no result; useless; having no meaning or likelihood of fulfillment.

insinuate: suggest or hint (something bad or reprehensible) in an indirect and unpleasant way.

gregarious: (of a person) fond of company; sociable.

deism: belief in the existence of a supreme being, specifically of a creator whodoes not intervene in the universe.

pretentious: attempting to impress by affecting greater importance, talent, culture, etc., than is actually possessed.

rogue: a person whose behavior one disapproves of but who is nonetheless likable or attractive.

ideology: the ideas and manner of thinking characteristic of a group, socialclass, or individual.

hyperbole: exaggerated statements or claims not meant to be taken literally.

collude: come to a secret understanding for a harmful purpose; conspire.

assiduous: showing great care and perseverance.

fastidious: very attentive to and concerned about accuracy and detail; very concerned about matters of cleanliness.

yuppie: a well-paid young middle-class professional who works in a city job and has a luxurious lifestyle.

hipster: a person who follows the latest trends and fashions.

sabbatical: a period of paid leave granted to a college teacher for study or travel, traditionally every seventh year.

hiatus: a pause or gap in a sequence, series, or process.

propaganda: chiefly derogatory information, esp. of a biased or misleading nature, used to promote or publicize a particular political cause or point of view

disillusion: disappointment resulting from the discovery that something is not as good as one believed it to be.

innocuous: not harmful or offensive.

capricious: given to sudden and unaccountable changes of mood or behavior.

tempestuous: characterized by strong and turbulent or conflicting emotion.

rapture: a feeling of intense pleasure or joy; thetransporting of believers to heaven at the second coming of Christ.

savvy: know or understand; shrewd and knowledgeable in the realities of life.

depraved: morally corrupt.

misogynist: a man who hates women.

misanthrope: a person who dislikes humankind and avoids human society.

Love you.
Mean it.

There I Go Using That Word Again.

Hey,
It's me again.
Of course, who else would it be?

I spent last week in Cedar City. I needed to get away for a bit so I went home. And yes, I do consider Cedar City my home.

I got to see Gus. He came to the party Sean was having. You remember Gus, right? I dated him after Greg, who was after Sage, who was after you. I faintly remember you two having a class together. Was it philosophy? I don't remember. Gus is smart, wicked smart. (I also faintly remember writing these exact words to you before.) We have the same kind of conversations that you and I used to have, although you two couldn't be more different. Gus is a legit bohemian. I'm dead serious. He's unemployed, spends his days writing, painting, drinking wine or whiskey out of a mason jar. There's something about that kind of lifestyle I can't help but find attractive. Do you know the poet Charles Bukowski? I've been reading a lot of his stuff lately. He once said, "A free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it--basically because you feel good, very good when you are near or with them." That's how I feel about Gus. He's a really good guy. He's one of the very, very few guys who "gets" me, who understands me. I really shouldn't have let me go. Religion & Russia were the causes of our end, though more the former than the latter. Looking back, religion has cost me more loves in my life than anything else. So it goes.

He looked good. Handsome. Healthy. His eyes are still blue. Really blue. Trustworthy blue. The best goddamn blue eyes God ever created.

I'm starting to forget the color of your eyes. I mean, yeah, I know they're brown. But what kind of brown? Coffee brown? Dark Chocolate brown? Mischievous brown? Sinister brown? I don't remember what I felt when I looked at them. I always felt safe when I was with you. Was that because of your eyes? I don't remember. I desperately want to but I can't.

I ended up going home with a guy who wasn't Gus. We'll call him Jack. I've gone home with him before. He's in the military. He keeps everyone at a distance nearly all the time, even me for the most part. He has let me in a bit but only when we're alone in bed.

Jack believes in God. He believes in God and in prayer and that God listens and answers prayers. Of all the people on this planet who have a good reason to not believe in God, Jack is right at the top. Yet he believes in Him. Fervently. He and I talked about God before we went to his apartment. I told him I do believe in a God, in a divine creator of everything but I don't think he gives a shit about any of us. We can pray all we want, he's not going to do anything. He's deistic. The only way anything changes in this world is if we go and do something about it ourselves. But Jack just laughs at my cynicism. He doesn't try to change my mind. He just believes and doesn't question.

My editor/friend, Andy, referred to Cedar City as my Mecca. I like the association, though Mecca isn't exactly the right word. Mecca is a holy place, a center of religious pilgrimage. Cedar City is more like my asylum, a place offering shelter & support to the mentally ill. That's me and that's Cedar City. It's my refuge, my sanctuary, my home.

There I go using that word again. Home. You're probably laughing at me, thinking I'm silly for calling Cedar City my home. You and I know I've spent 80% of my life in Provo. But that's not home for me anymore.

Home is Cedar City, Utah in a shitty three bedroom house rented by my Numero Uno. I had friends & lovers and no reason to be anything but myself. And I can never get that back.

I miss you.
I hope you're doing well.
Thanks for listening.

Love you.
Mean it.

One Last Hoorah

barefoot the entire night
I have shoes
but this night calls for freedom
and a short ruffled skirt
and a white flowy top
I feel infinite
and this night is mine, mine, mine.
a night that brings old jokes
and old lovers
and a suffocating reminder
of how my life used to be.
but I don't want to think about that.

Yet in walks a part of my past
disheveled brown hair
familiar half smile
and the bluest eyes
how could I forget those?
he greets me the way he always did,
a simple, sincere
"Miss Cannon."
and I'm reminded how good I once had it.

And I know this night
that is still mine
won't end in those eyes
in those arms
with the only guy who has ever
"got" me.

it will end in the indifferent arms
of a warm body
who smells like cigarettes & stale beer.


love you.
mean it.

Rear Window, Twelve Years Later

I was ten years old when I saw my first Hitchcock film.

It was a Sunday afternoon in late spring. Church was over and my family had just finished dinner. My dad was flipping through channels when he called me over.

"Come watch this movie with me."

It was Rear Window.

Sitting there, I became engrossed in the film. My ten year old mind was hard at work absorbing the plot and characters. It was visually fascinating. The neighbors all had their little sub-stories to understand without the help of dialogue. All I could rely on was body language and subtleties.

As the plot progressed, my anxiety increased. It was the first time I could remember feeling true tension in a film. I was "on the edge of my seat," if you'll forgive the old cliche. I concentrated with the attentiveness of a practiced detective. As the stakes got higher, my anxiety increased. I kept looking at my dad for help, for reassurance that everything would be okay. Whenever I did, he'd raise his eyebrows and his eyes would get wide as if to say he didn't know what was going to happen either.

Vividly in my mind I can remember watching Grace Kelly looking around Thorwald's apartment and seeing Thorwald walking down the hall to his apartment. He would catch her and there was no way of warning her. I was in a panic. I wanted to yell or throw something or do anything to warn Grace Kelly. But like our protagonist, I was helpless.

After the movie had finished, I sat in awe. I never knew movies could be like this. I was used to Disney animated musicals with wisecracking woodland creatures, magic, and pretty princesses. But this, this was something different.

We went over to our neighbor, Kent & Sara Nelson's house to visit. Kent & Sara had been my surrogate grandparents for as long as I could remember. The entire visit, I would talk to my dad, to Kent, to anyone who would listen about this awesome movie. Of course, Rear Window was not new. It had been made 33 years before I was born. Hell, it had been made six years before my dad was born. But I could not believe how different it was. The way the movie was told, it was new, exciting, engaging. I had discovered the secret to great film and everyone needed to know.

Now, 12 years later, I watched Rear Window again. I had not watched it since that first time when I was ten. Since then I had seen hundreds if not thousands of movies. I knew what I liked and what was shit. I had seen more films by Hitchcock, my favorite being Psycho. But it was like nothing had changed. I was still spellbound, captivated, intrigued. I was again caught up in anxiety and sheer panic for Grace Kelly, even though I know how the movie ends. I fell in love with it all over again.

Rear Window is why I love movies. Movies can be great in two ways. One, it has a great story. It's tragic how often Hollywood forgets this. The basis of a great movie should always be a great story. If this isn't an option, there is always the second way: is visually intriguing. Case in point, Avatar. The story is nothing new. It's basically a combination of Pocahontas, Star Trek: Insurrection, and a micro version of any chick flick. But holy crap, when you saw that movie on the big screen in 3-D, it was stimulation overload. It looked awesome! But when you take both those elements, good story & visual intrigue, (add some great acting a la James Stewart, Grace Kelly, & Raymond Burr) and they sync and harmonize, you get a great movie. You get a better than great movie. You get a film that will last, that is memorable. You get a movie that reminds us why we love watching movies in the first place.

Hats off to you, Mr. Hitchcock.

Love you.
Mean it.

Jenny Mocha Chip

Today my dog, Jenny, was put down. She's ten years old. Or I guess she was.

We got her as a puppy. She was so cute. A 10 pound chocolate labrador. We named her Jenny Mocha Chip. The chip was from a little patch of darker fur where her tail started. Whenever you called her name, she'd cock her head to one side, like she was trying to figure out what we were saying. Whenever she was tired, she would hide underneath our legged couch were we couldn't reach her.

She was such a scaredy-cat. She hated the vacuum, the broom, large boxes, loud noises, etc. But she was loving and caring. She loved us. We nicknamed her our great protector. Anytime the doorbell would ring, she would bark like crazy. She'd keep up barking until the person was inside. Then they were bestest of friends.

She loved to have her bum scratched. So she would stick her head between your legs, walk through them and stop at the perfect place for you to scratch her bum. It always freaked people out when she did it for the first time.

It'll be weird to hear the doorbell ring without her barking. A lot of things will be weird without her I guess.

She's my third dog to leave this world. First was Lucy then Charly. So I guess Jenny will have company until we can join her. They'll get along great.

R.I.P Jenny. Love you, pup.

Love you.
Mean it.