I will probably stick with it over blogger? Who knows.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Ich Bin Ein Amerikaner
"Jaeger bomb? What is this? I have not heard of this drink. Teach me what it is and I will make it for you." He was loud and enthusiastic and the smile on his face made him seem genuinely happy to see them in his pub. If he had lived in Berlin his whole life, which would not have surprised her, he was the right age to have been one of the youths who, effective immediately, marched chanting "WE ARE THE PEOPLE! WE ARE ONE PEOPLE!" He could have been one of the first to take hammer and pickaxe to concrete. At the very least he could have looked out his window to witness history.
She wondered how do you explain to such a man that in her country, when you do a shot of Jaegermeister and Red Bull and then shout "Jaeger Bomb!" while pointing in the air at nothing in particular, any other American (they can be a complete stranger) will high five you as though what you just did was the most awesome thing in the world?
But she told him, maybe leaving out the part about acting like a jackass, and he was excited about the new drink.
"I like it," he declared. "I will put this on the menu. But since you are Americans and you have taught me this drink, I think it needs an American name. I think it will be the Obama Bomb."
She wondered how do you explain to such a man that in her country, when you do a shot of Jaegermeister and Red Bull and then shout "Jaeger Bomb!" while pointing in the air at nothing in particular, any other American (they can be a complete stranger) will high five you as though what you just did was the most awesome thing in the world?
But she told him, maybe leaving out the part about acting like a jackass, and he was excited about the new drink.
"I like it," he declared. "I will put this on the menu. But since you are Americans and you have taught me this drink, I think it needs an American name. I think it will be the Obama Bomb."
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Part of a larger narrative
When he was unlocking the streetside door, they both knew what was going to happen. He hadn't admitted it yet to himself, hadn't allowed that part of himself to admit it, the part that concerned itself with consequences. Opening the door and ushering her in like a complete gentleman, he thought about what he was about to do and what it meant. It meant he was far from being a gentleman. He was a scoundrel. A cheater. He shook away the thought. His girlfriend would never know what he was about to do, that he would make sure of.
She had already taken the first step when he took her by the shoulder, spinning her around. He drew her body next to his and he could feel her yielding; aware and wanting. He wanted it too, more than anything right then. They kissed with a passion and an urgency he had rarely known. His hands caressed her ribs and her cheek, pulling her to him, possessing. He kept his eyes open as they kissed, taking in the entire scene, partly aghast, partly reveling in what he was doing. In the idea that he was getting away with this. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted up towards him, her lips expectant, she had given in and was his for the taking.
He broke the kiss, beset by a wave of guilt, then ran his hands across her breasts and hurried up the stairs, pulling her up the stairs and pushing his regrets out of mind. At the door to his apartment he paused to find the correct key, and perhaps she sensed some hesitation. She took initiative, heatedly slinking her frame against him. They were against the door, in a deep kiss, their bodies so close that there was no room to think, no room for regret.
Once the door was closed behind them there was a flurry of clothes as shirts and pants were thrown off and cast aside, tossed away with a sense of urgency that they both felt. She pulled him by the hand into the bedroom, but he was the one who pushed her onto the bed, falling on top of her and kissing her with a suaveness that surprised him. Taking the back of her hair in hand, he broke away and peered into her eyes.
"This is wrong. We should stop." She ignored his half-hearted whispered plea, kissing his neck, his chest, feeling his growing desire through his underwear. He shuddered in response, and forgetting his hesitation, he pushed himself up, ripped away the cloth standing between them. He felt that she was ready, that he was ready, and so he eased his body down onto hers, and he crossed the final line that he had drawn in his mind. The line that, before unlocking the outer door, he told himself not to cross, the line that he had redrawn again and again all night. A one way street that he had tuned down willfully.
There was passion in what they did. Passion and desire and urgency. There was satisfaction, the sweaty finale of heated longing. And in what he did there was a certain amount of smugness and pride.
The pride disturbed him, he realized, as he lay next to her afterwards, watching her naked back rise and fall with her sleepy, satisfied breathing. There was a sense of getting away with something, of finally possessing a secret worth keeping, and a more primal feeling of satisfying a woman in bed, and of being desired. That part of him that felt regret he could silence by blaming the drinks, but he knew that was excusing away his guilt.
It was disturbing and exhilarating all at once. It made him sick and at the same time he felt more satisfied with himself than he had ever been in his life. He went to sleep.
She had already taken the first step when he took her by the shoulder, spinning her around. He drew her body next to his and he could feel her yielding; aware and wanting. He wanted it too, more than anything right then. They kissed with a passion and an urgency he had rarely known. His hands caressed her ribs and her cheek, pulling her to him, possessing. He kept his eyes open as they kissed, taking in the entire scene, partly aghast, partly reveling in what he was doing. In the idea that he was getting away with this. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted up towards him, her lips expectant, she had given in and was his for the taking.
He broke the kiss, beset by a wave of guilt, then ran his hands across her breasts and hurried up the stairs, pulling her up the stairs and pushing his regrets out of mind. At the door to his apartment he paused to find the correct key, and perhaps she sensed some hesitation. She took initiative, heatedly slinking her frame against him. They were against the door, in a deep kiss, their bodies so close that there was no room to think, no room for regret.
Once the door was closed behind them there was a flurry of clothes as shirts and pants were thrown off and cast aside, tossed away with a sense of urgency that they both felt. She pulled him by the hand into the bedroom, but he was the one who pushed her onto the bed, falling on top of her and kissing her with a suaveness that surprised him. Taking the back of her hair in hand, he broke away and peered into her eyes.
"This is wrong. We should stop." She ignored his half-hearted whispered plea, kissing his neck, his chest, feeling his growing desire through his underwear. He shuddered in response, and forgetting his hesitation, he pushed himself up, ripped away the cloth standing between them. He felt that she was ready, that he was ready, and so he eased his body down onto hers, and he crossed the final line that he had drawn in his mind. The line that, before unlocking the outer door, he told himself not to cross, the line that he had redrawn again and again all night. A one way street that he had tuned down willfully.
There was passion in what they did. Passion and desire and urgency. There was satisfaction, the sweaty finale of heated longing. And in what he did there was a certain amount of smugness and pride.
The pride disturbed him, he realized, as he lay next to her afterwards, watching her naked back rise and fall with her sleepy, satisfied breathing. There was a sense of getting away with something, of finally possessing a secret worth keeping, and a more primal feeling of satisfying a woman in bed, and of being desired. That part of him that felt regret he could silence by blaming the drinks, but he knew that was excusing away his guilt.
It was disturbing and exhilarating all at once. It made him sick and at the same time he felt more satisfied with himself than he had ever been in his life. He went to sleep.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Regarding Crowds
It's not that I hate crowds; I hate rudeness and stupidity, which just
happen to be rampant in crowds.
happen to be rampant in crowds.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
I think I'm officially an old man
Today I noticed something which must be due to socioeconomic differences between the public schools in a midsize southern city (where I went to school) and a private elementary school in one of the most expensive large cities in America (down the street from where I live).
As I was walking home from lunch, recess was in session for a few classes, maybe an entire grade. A group of mostly boys stood in an area roughly the size of half a tennis court, standing close enough to one another that at first glance you might have thought hacky sack was making a comeback. But no, they had a soccer ball, and it looked like they had formed teams, and it looked like they had goals marked with cones, and they were dribbling and passing, so you might have wanted to say that they were playing soccer.
But the five yard long "field" was so crowded with children that when one kid was passed the ball, his defender was already so much in his face that he could only pass it along to the next player, who was standing right beside him, and because nobody ever ran anywhere, or even walked a short distance downfield, it ended up looking more like a giant living game of foosball.
Meanwhile, ten feet away was a basketball court, "full court" only in the sense that there were two nets on opposing sides of the court, where a boy and a girl alternated taking freethrow shots.
Never when I was in at recess did my classmates choose soccer over basketball, let alone in such great numbers. Gym class for me was all basketball, all the time. Once a year or so when the time for soccer came around, sure we all played. But we also played pickleball, badminton, and shuffleboard when the time for those came around. Basketball was what you DID when nobody was forcing you to play something else. Even if you weren't any good, like me. And if it was so crowded around the backboard that nobody could move, well, there were like five other backboards in the gym that you could use.
Kids nowadays, huh?
As I was walking home from lunch, recess was in session for a few classes, maybe an entire grade. A group of mostly boys stood in an area roughly the size of half a tennis court, standing close enough to one another that at first glance you might have thought hacky sack was making a comeback. But no, they had a soccer ball, and it looked like they had formed teams, and it looked like they had goals marked with cones, and they were dribbling and passing, so you might have wanted to say that they were playing soccer.
But the five yard long "field" was so crowded with children that when one kid was passed the ball, his defender was already so much in his face that he could only pass it along to the next player, who was standing right beside him, and because nobody ever ran anywhere, or even walked a short distance downfield, it ended up looking more like a giant living game of foosball.
Meanwhile, ten feet away was a basketball court, "full court" only in the sense that there were two nets on opposing sides of the court, where a boy and a girl alternated taking freethrow shots.
Never when I was in at recess did my classmates choose soccer over basketball, let alone in such great numbers. Gym class for me was all basketball, all the time. Once a year or so when the time for soccer came around, sure we all played. But we also played pickleball, badminton, and shuffleboard when the time for those came around. Basketball was what you DID when nobody was forcing you to play something else. Even if you weren't any good, like me. And if it was so crowded around the backboard that nobody could move, well, there were like five other backboards in the gym that you could use.
Kids nowadays, huh?
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
overheard last night
This couple has been arguing on the sidewalk since before I arrived at the corner and continued as I waited for several minutes, went upstairs, and showed my girlfriend our new apartment. As we walk downstairs and leave I overhear him straining not to yell in her teary face:
"I don't want you to (inaudible) because sometimes you make bad decisions!"
"I don't want you to (inaudible) because sometimes you make bad decisions!"
Monday, May 17, 2010
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