maddening me

Where is my red, dark, dark, red, dark paint? My fat, bristles-awry, paintbrush? My canvas?

The red goes on sloppy and fast. I deliberate about what, about whom, enraged me. The thoughts cause me to work faster, with more exaggeration. More convulsively.

The large paint strokes scream. The red furrows like my brow. The clumps of paint are confusions.

The process is relieving. Relaxing, in a ravenous, gulping&spewing of air kind of way.

Finished, I feel relieved. And I am no longer mad. The feelings are out there. The rage is gone. And I forget why I was mad in the first place. Exhausted. Drained. With such a fruitful and futile confrontation.

when does life need a soundtrack?

I sat in a window seat to one side of the plane’s wing. The earphones to my ipod were nestled snugly in the center crater of my ears. And I sat comfortably but stolid as Madonna’s ‘Erotica’ pumped into my auditory canal. The plane was about to take off, and I had this (wonder of an) album playing as my departure soundtrack.
Rome was amazing. More than I could have imagined. And I am not yet sure what I can contribute its allure to. … the people that I traveled with, the quaint nature of the neighborhood restaurants, or the city’s intense history and extensive column displays (see photo). Or all of the above? ...And it wasn’t clear at the time but now, looking back, I know that there isn't a song in the world that could express or enhance the excitement, the enjoyment jitters, or the extra hops involuntarily added to my steps, as I breathed in Rome.
While still taxiing around the airport runway, an AirFrance stewardess kindly but sternly asked me to please ‘éteignez votre artifice électronique’. Grudgingly, I turned off Erotica. I was angry. I had to sit in silence!?! I had to do absolutely nothing until we were at 20,000 feet? That could end up being, like, 5 whole minutes!
Out of sheer boredom, I glanced out of the window. As the plane lightly bounced off Italian ground, I stared out of the window. And as we got higher and higher, I couldn't take me eyes off the view from out of the window. The emotions I felt as I looked down upon the world on which we live was beyond beautiful. I had tingles in my spine. I had an extra beat to my heart. I had excitement flowing through my blood.
Erotica would have doused my inner fire.
…Not necessarily because Erotica was cool for only 2 months in 1992 but rather because no album in the world could have heightened my emotional foray with earth’s simplistic beauty.
Now don’t get me wrong, I do think that some parts of life benefit from a soundtrack. But there are others that are beautiful enough on their own to warrant your brain's full attention.
Are there any parts of your life that can play soundtrack-free?

superfluous possessive's

I do not claim to be a grammatical master. Nor do I think that I am the mac-daddy at placing punctuation marks in their proper context. However, I do know a little about the use of apostrophe's and I am bothered by their misuse. I recently found out (thank you d.a.d.) that the use of apostrophe's does not, for the most part, follow a consensus rule across time, geography, or demographic's. But regardless of what the world as a whole thinks, I am here today to convince you that possessive's and contraction's should use apostrophe's while plural's should not.
Sometimes I read. I read to enjoy. I read to understand. And I understand thanks to the guide of symbol's – quotation's, comma's, apostrophe's, etc – that the author employ's to tell his/her story. Through this code, I am able to come as close as possible to the true meaning of the written work. When a writer misuse's a symbol – for instance, an apostrophe – I find myself stumbling over the true meaning of what is being stated.
Let me give you some examples of good and bad uses of apostrophe's:
I am currently reading a book by Tim O’Brien; this author uses apostrophe's like a rock star. On page 10 of ‘The Things They Carried’, he writes: “…and crawl in headfirst with a flashlight and Lieutenant Cross’s .45 caliber pistol.” Obviously, the .45 belongs to Cross. And I know this because of the possessive use of an apostrophe.
Now, let’s look at the photo above. The cookie-packaging editor's correctly made Nana’s possessive. But what about No’s? Does something belong to No? Is No’s short for ‘No is’? I am confused!!! My only reasoning for the superfluous apostrophe is that the editor's at Nanas were on a sugar high from all the non-refined sugars they consumed and became seriously apostrophe-happy. Maybe they thought that their consumer's would think they were eating nitrous oxide (nos) if they left an apostrophe out. Or that they forgot the e in nose. Who know's?
I do realize I am going out on a limb here…because maybe this apostrophe should be there for some unknown reason that I can’t find through a google search. But even if it is, its misuse has confused the hell out of me. So please, practice modesty with your apostrophe use. And in doing so, you won't have to read anal blog posts such as this.

tire to slab slam

As I enjoyed an asiago cheese bagel outside an outdoor strip mall café over the weekend, I observed as drivers maneuvered into and out of their parking spaces. In this newly paved parking lot adjacent to the pavilioned tables at which I dined, I noticed, somewhat disturbingly, that for many people, pulling into a parking space is quite the spastic, jolting, and exhilarating experience. For one man in particular (left photo, above), parking his black expanse of a car culminates in a very jolting crash landing. As I bit into my bagel and startlingly into my lower lip, I witnessed this gray haired driver whip his car into his chosen parking spot at a 45 degree angle. He slammed into the concrete slab at the head of the spot clocking 10, possibly 15 mph on his speedometer. Wow! I said to my dining companion. That’s all I could say at that moment. Wow.
I reasoned that this man was old and couldn’t remember where to find his brake pedal. Or maybe he considers the concrete slabs as a way to conserve his brake pads? Either way, it turns out that many other people practice the same stopping ritual. Out of 17 cars in the parking lot, at least 5 had one wheel or both smothering the concrete (right photo, above). That’s 30% of drivers, boys and girls.
Now, this probably doesn’t seem like a big deal to most people. But what if one of these concrete slabs was stolen one day (by aliens, teenagers, or small elves, for example)? Customers that were used to having the luxury of a concrete brake pad would assume that it was still there when they went to park. We can all see how this could be bad. Goodbye café diners. Goodbye storefront. Goodbye tables and chairs.
So, please think twice next time you accelerate into a parking space. …I just wouldn’t want anyone to die before they got a chance to finish their asiago cheese bagel.