December 7th, 2001

The view from up here

Old scars.

This morning, I slipped and caught myself by to points; with a stubbed toe and a bruised forearm. The bruise on my forearm is not far from an old scar...

One time, at Cornell, I was going to dinner with Milo and Brenna. I was feeling spiffy, so I had my dress shoes on (it was maybe the beginning of my mod period, once I had the trenchcoat and fedora) and I was tapping a light softshoe on the way out. But one stair was wet, and my shoe lost its traction, flying out from under me. My reflexes kicked in and I caught myself first with my left forearm. It was naked because the sleeves on my coat are too short (it's like a 44 reg and I need a 48 long or something) and when I stretch my arms too much, the sleeves can't really follow. So we had the edge of a stair pressing up against almost my full weight with nothing but bone and muscle and skin to hold it. Well, the skin split like a ripe tomato, but the muscle and bone held, I suppose because my other foot found, mere seconds later, the landing below.

So I hung suspended by two points, balanced perfectly, until my reflexes relinquished their control and I let myself sit down, hard, on my butt. My initial shock had faded (thus releasing my reflexes), and as I sat down on the stair to regroup, I laughed. I laughed at what a wonderful machine the human body is, and at all the glorious foolproof failsafe mechanisms it has built in. I laughed because I realized how gracefully I fell, even though it was a fall, and an unintentional one. I laughed because of the fine line that seperates walking, a controlled fall, from an uncontrolled one. I laughed because my arm was not broken.

This morning, I went to take a shower, but I had already gotten in before I realized I forgot my towel. I ran out to get it, but on the way back, my wet foot lost its traction...
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It's a good day...

Let's get... metaphysical.

I was reminded, this morning, of an anecdote from high school. Clementines.

As I said in top5, December is a time for memory. Last night I had a dream I was hanging out with one of my friends from middle school. His mother had left a business card with his phone number/e-mail on it. I haven't e-mailed him yet (I just replied to one from early October yesterday, so I'm a little behind). But I was thinking about people, and who they were, and who they are now.

I read the news story about fruit flies and clementines and all I could think of was, "It wasn't an orange, it was a clementine!"

I sometimes wish I was better friends with the people I went to high school with. Tamara's partly at fault here, too. I can't wait for my reunion, even though I still haven't completed college whilst many of my classmates are off touring Europe or Asia on million dollar scholarships and attending prestigious business and med schools (I went to a geek school).

Rob Molloy, if you're out there, please don't die of a drug overdose before you're thirty. We need more people who are so deft at dodging thrown clementines but not the punishments doled out when said clementine hits a teacher. Or was it Condal who only dodged? I forget who the assailant was, but I will never forget one word: contusion.

Huh, I put on my dress shoes while I had my deep (not exactly dark blue, more deep) blue jeans and a t-shirt on, to go get some boxes from my mom's car. I really like the look of black leather on my feet.

I wondered tonight for the first time how I would look in cowboy boots. Black patent leather ones. With my blue jeans on, and a t-shirt. With just a scratch of facial hair, and the hair atop my head slightly tousled. Like Johnny Cougar, maybe?

Just goes to show, you can take the boy out of the country, but not the country out of the boy. That and I've had the Bottle Rockets' "Indianapolis" stuck in my head all day. And "Manhattan Countryside."

"I'll puke if that jukebox plays John Cougar one more time."

Hee.

This made me laugh out loud. Cummingtonite? uNFuNFuNFium? Courtesy mad_scientist.

"Is this hell, or Indianapolis?"
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