The Cheap Seats

There is nothing more boring or forgettable in elementary school than reading aloud out of a text book. We all remember the activity - a student is randomly chosen to recite a paragraph or two, every other kid silently praying they wouldn't be next.   These read-alouds were a good opportunity to daydream. The trick I learned was to multi-task - daydream while simultaneously maintaining a general idea of where in the text someone else was in case I was picked next. Or, if I was smart that day, volunteer to read right away, thereby getting a pass to ignore the text altogether after my turn was over.   None of this is to suggest that I was a troublemaker as a kid. Quite the opposite. I was a pleaser - misbehavior was usually something I strongly avoided. And I enjoyed school, as well as most of the academic work teachers doled out to us.   Except science.   Odd, but I don't remember learning anything about science before 5th grade. I have no doubt it was part o

" You have an iPod?" the 7th grade boy asked me, as if even the thought of such a thing were as impossible as life on Pluto.   "Yes," I replied, "and I breathe air and ingest food too." He smiled sheepishly at the point I was trying to make but I could tell that his conscious mind would not allow him to accept the truth I was spoon-feeding him. Instead, he was content to remain comfortably oblivious. After all, his version of reality was easier to swallow. In his (and countless other kids') world view:   Teachers are NOT real people.   And as a kid, I completely agreed with this same belief. In fact, all through elementary school I thought teachers lived in their classrooms, keeping a cot and a hot plate somewhere hidden in a desk drawer. They lived only to serve us, right? Absolutely.   I did have one surreal episode, however, that obliterated this false belief even as I desperately tried to rebuild it afterward. Third grade had just

By the time a person reaches my age, he or she should have a pretty good idea of what they like and what they don't like. Most likely, there have been enough significant experiences and Significant Others to semi-accurately fill four categories: Yes , No , Maybe and Never Again . Some of the lines between these four columns may blur from time to time - but hey - gray is a color too. My turn-ons have definitely evolved over time. Funny thing, turn-ons. They may seem shocking to the outside world but are a completely normal and integrated part of our own lives. Sure, maybe slightly odd at first  - but they just felt right - and quickly became not only what we do but part of who we are . Turn-offs work much the same way. I believe from an early age (maybe birth?) we are wired to intensely dislike certain things. Other turn-offs evolve over time and through experiences that leave us saying, "Yuck." My turn-offs have tended to fall under the experiential category

Brevity has always been a struggle for me. I have mistakenly believed that in order to "be heard" repetition is better than conciseness. And for a word-lover, brevity is counter-productive. So I ramble on . . .  Not today. Today I am going to be short and to the point. Say what I gotta say, then walk away. This won't be habit-forming, of course. Old dogs and such.  But this fine morning is different. This cool, quiet A.M calls for the Slam, Bam, Thank You Ma'am approach to writing. The reason for my change of pace is simple. I have a Four-Alarm Hangover. The details are entirely unimportant, but suffice it to say that I had fun. No lampshade and embarrassing pictures on Facebook sort of fun. Just sharing laughs, swapping memories and catching up with a good friend that I don't see often enough.  He would be the first to say that I rarely drink. The primary reason I don't is to avoid just the kind of exquisite suffering I am currently end