Mid-Week Ramble
Emerson is back in the land of the Broke-Eared Boys. I saw it coming. Knew three days beforehand. I suppose a parent does. He is a good sport about it and is particularly fond of the game Make Daddy Kiss My Ass without Losing his Temper While I Pretend to Hate My Medicine. Thus far he is three doses to the good. I knew the Boy was a winner. The antibiotic has to stay cold, so I shudder to think what boarding the plane for DC on Friday will entail:
Airline Guy: What’s this cold chalky stuff?
Ryan: Antibiotics. The Boy has a broken ear.
AG: Anti what?
R: Biotics, Sir. They fix broken ears.
AG: Is this a bomb, Mr. Ryan?
R: I don’t think so…Shall I taste it to be sure?
AG: I think that would be appropriate (motions other AGs to stand back).
R: (Tipping back the bottle, taking a hefty sip, sputtering, making a face like I just kissed a dick) Oh, Jesus Christ, That’s horrible!!! (Looking at Emerson) Ugggh!!!
Emerson: (Calm) I tole you so.
AG: You may board, Mr. Ryan
The stuff tastes bad enough that it is sure to cure Em’s ears.
Note to Self: Remember sunscreen for DC. Anitbiotics + Sun = Blistered Boy.
Work has been a bear this week. New responsibilities coupled with multiple systems failures and glitches and recoupled with an innate lack of organizational skills that would stagger the average witness. But today, M. pretended to be a Pekinese with allergies and my workload seemed somehow lessened. It is the little things, I guess.
On a serious note: It is a difficult thing for a man of some years to not know what he wants to be when he grows up. I have allowed myself to become far too attuned to my limitations. I believe it is an absolute necessity for a man to be aware of his limitations. It staves off arrogance and can lead to an open-mindedness of sorts that requests all manner of new knowledge. But I think I have managed to cultivate this “noble attribute” into little more than an excuse to be static (and then to whine about it). I do not teach school because I am not a big enough man to adapt to a system of organized failure that I loathe. I do not teach college because I cannot abide the required arrogance—and because I am not quite sharp enough (see recognition of limitations). See, I know a little bit about a great many things, but not a great amount about any one thing. My opinions are well-formed/considered and I am a decent conversationalist. Conversation is great for a barfly, but useless for one uninterested in punditry. In short—it don’t pay the bills. I do think I would be a good bar owner and bartender. I ponder that from time to time. But, man there is a lot involved in getting there (see limitations = excuses = stasis).
I wonder if my lack of focus (or better, my penchant for multiple focus) has anything to do with my… well, my lack of focus. I think maybe. On any given day, I can be picking at the scab of a career choice and consciously watch my energy shift to song lyrics, a book passage, or my favorite movie endings. Sometimes, bemoaning that I did not go into Entertainment Law, I slow-blink and see Chance the Gardner walking on water in Being There, or Charlie Chaplin’s beautiful, heart-wrenching smile at the end of City Lights, or a throat-tightening film montage in Cinema Paradiso, or two paths simultaneously chosen in Jim Jarmusch’s Down By Law, or Dustin Hoffman’s terrified emptiness in The Graduate, or the Chief running into the night of Cuckoo’s Nest… My world invariably morphs into the wonder of escapism. And, as such, I am free from the worry of non-decision. I exist in the form of fiction.
Methinks the man has unresolved issues.
But unlike the earlier days, these non-worries, these decisive indecisions do not occupy my labeled folders of dated self-pity as they once did. They’ve become more of a hybrid curiosity. Still tinged with self-pity, of course, but tempered now with age. What I lack in perspective, I now approach with a hint, a suggestion of perspective.
Since a recent Saturday visit to the zoo, Emerson does a dead-on imitation of a meerkat. “Look at me,” he says. “I’m dat little guy!” And try as I might, I am unable to strip myself of the smile his imitation brings. But later, dwelling on what to do next, I think how I cannot wait to watch The Natural with him. “Oh, Baby, I’ll say. “Is this not the hokiest, most wonderful ending?”
I wonder if he will see me as sentimental or melodramatic.
For I am both.
Airline Guy: What’s this cold chalky stuff?
Ryan: Antibiotics. The Boy has a broken ear.
AG: Anti what?
R: Biotics, Sir. They fix broken ears.
AG: Is this a bomb, Mr. Ryan?
R: I don’t think so…Shall I taste it to be sure?
AG: I think that would be appropriate (motions other AGs to stand back).
R: (Tipping back the bottle, taking a hefty sip, sputtering, making a face like I just kissed a dick) Oh, Jesus Christ, That’s horrible!!! (Looking at Emerson) Ugggh!!!
Emerson: (Calm) I tole you so.
AG: You may board, Mr. Ryan
The stuff tastes bad enough that it is sure to cure Em’s ears.
Note to Self: Remember sunscreen for DC. Anitbiotics + Sun = Blistered Boy.
Work has been a bear this week. New responsibilities coupled with multiple systems failures and glitches and recoupled with an innate lack of organizational skills that would stagger the average witness. But today, M. pretended to be a Pekinese with allergies and my workload seemed somehow lessened. It is the little things, I guess.
On a serious note: It is a difficult thing for a man of some years to not know what he wants to be when he grows up. I have allowed myself to become far too attuned to my limitations. I believe it is an absolute necessity for a man to be aware of his limitations. It staves off arrogance and can lead to an open-mindedness of sorts that requests all manner of new knowledge. But I think I have managed to cultivate this “noble attribute” into little more than an excuse to be static (and then to whine about it). I do not teach school because I am not a big enough man to adapt to a system of organized failure that I loathe. I do not teach college because I cannot abide the required arrogance—and because I am not quite sharp enough (see recognition of limitations). See, I know a little bit about a great many things, but not a great amount about any one thing. My opinions are well-formed/considered and I am a decent conversationalist. Conversation is great for a barfly, but useless for one uninterested in punditry. In short—it don’t pay the bills. I do think I would be a good bar owner and bartender. I ponder that from time to time. But, man there is a lot involved in getting there (see limitations = excuses = stasis).
I wonder if my lack of focus (or better, my penchant for multiple focus) has anything to do with my… well, my lack of focus. I think maybe. On any given day, I can be picking at the scab of a career choice and consciously watch my energy shift to song lyrics, a book passage, or my favorite movie endings. Sometimes, bemoaning that I did not go into Entertainment Law, I slow-blink and see Chance the Gardner walking on water in Being There, or Charlie Chaplin’s beautiful, heart-wrenching smile at the end of City Lights, or a throat-tightening film montage in Cinema Paradiso, or two paths simultaneously chosen in Jim Jarmusch’s Down By Law, or Dustin Hoffman’s terrified emptiness in The Graduate, or the Chief running into the night of Cuckoo’s Nest… My world invariably morphs into the wonder of escapism. And, as such, I am free from the worry of non-decision. I exist in the form of fiction.
Methinks the man has unresolved issues.
But unlike the earlier days, these non-worries, these decisive indecisions do not occupy my labeled folders of dated self-pity as they once did. They’ve become more of a hybrid curiosity. Still tinged with self-pity, of course, but tempered now with age. What I lack in perspective, I now approach with a hint, a suggestion of perspective.
Since a recent Saturday visit to the zoo, Emerson does a dead-on imitation of a meerkat. “Look at me,” he says. “I’m dat little guy!” And try as I might, I am unable to strip myself of the smile his imitation brings. But later, dwelling on what to do next, I think how I cannot wait to watch The Natural with him. “Oh, Baby, I’ll say. “Is this not the hokiest, most wonderful ending?”
I wonder if he will see me as sentimental or melodramatic.
For I am both.
posted by Ryan at 11:56 PM
4 Comments:
I think that "picking at the scab of a career choice" is a great way to put it. I have many of those scabs, but I think that many is probably better than one big one. Maybe not.
I haven't seen "Down by Law" in years. I always mean to netflix it but forget each time. Thanks for reminding me
I hope Em feels better.
Since you don't know what to be when you grow up, why don't you simply become a career consultant to tell others what they should be? You know, the bartender talking think could come in handy, the opinions, the jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none. And how hard can it be to get paid first, then listen to someone and tell them what you think they should be doing?
re: smooching a penis - That's an old Ryanism I had forgotten about. It cracked me up to read it again. You used to say that whenever somebody got a sour look on their face. "what's the matter with you!? You look like you just.."
A man has to know his limitations.
Post a Comment
<< Home