Incite Full

It’s hard to put into words what love actually is. Not hugs and kisses, but to describe the indescribable. To express exactly what it is to a person who would otherwise not know. In some respects, it’s easier to explain it to a child in terms of how they feel about their mother or father. But that’s the “easy” type of love, the kind of love that everyone has for someone, whether it be parent or friend.

Today I saw it for the first time in a long time.

Gabe and Danielle got married today, and it was a great ceremony and reception. The music was great and the readings and prayer for the service were about as perfect as such a thing could be. What struck me about it all came near the end of the service, before “The kiss,” when we were to all silently take in one of the readings. Everyone on stage was fidgeting, uncomfortable with the silence. Some were swaying, others were darting their eyes to their friends or around the church.

But Gabe and Danielle, Mr. and Mrs. Hohrieter, were simply standing there looking at each other. It was one of those looks where a cracked smile said more than either of them could say verbally. Standing there holding hands, I felt like I was let in on some secret they have.

And it was incredible. Obviously I knew they cared about one another. They are perfect together, after all, but seeing that let me in on what a relationship can and should be like. I wrote on a not that I was jealous of them (in a joking tone) but the more and more I think of it, I am. Not a scornful jealous, but a happy for them feeling i’ve not really felt before. It’d be easy to be a tad bitter and scornful what with my recent relationship woes, but I can’t be. First of all being Danielle’s friend, but second of all I should hope we’re all as lucky as those two.

Congratulations D and Gabe, you guys have a long, exciting life ahead of you. And plenty of relatives to babysit free of charge.

I also went to the Phillies vs Dodgers game Friday night. I went with Jordan and his friends from The Shack, a Philadelphia sports bar with much love for all things Eagle, Phlyer, Phillie and 76er. The group is an eclectic bunch, from guys looking like Matisyahu and Scott Stapp, and girls on gluten free diets to those who can talk trash and moon other drivers. That being said, man they are a lot of fun. The game was going well until towards the end and alcohol had set in for the Dodger fans.

I swear I’ve never been pelted with more food items and beverages in my entire life than I was last night. After the Dodger fans went ahead and won the game, insults were thrown even further than the hotdogs with which these douchebags were armed. Now I didn’t really have a problem with it and partially expected it coming in. But they should have at least been men about it all. The girls in our troupe (said mooner and gluten-free femmes) were the target of most of the thrown items, and one guy, apparently, took a swing at one of the girls. I wish I had seen it, but unfortunately I wasn’t around at that point.

Imagine a grown man swinging at a girl over a baseball game. Stay classy, Los Angeles. And as much as I know it’s not indicative of all fans, it shows you that there are fans and people out there going Robert Deniro over this shit like they are playing in the actual game. My favorite is the asshole who’s talking shit from the left bleacher, only to run away when we saw him in the parking lot. The best way to describe it: The bleachers at Dodgers stadium are most like the internet; Anonymity plus opinion equals incredibly stupid behavior.

Making matters worse was the “security” in the park. They were too busy hassling a bunch of phillie fans for their tickets and ensuring they were sitting in the right spot instead of kicking out said douchebags hurling shit at us. Can’t remember the official who came and talked to us, but he looked like Squeak from Basketball. This guy was more interested in being our friend than actually fixing the problem, a quality I find loathsome in human beings.

I’m not perfect, but I’m not afraid to disappoint people once and a while either. There are about 4-6 girls in my past life you can confirm this with. But honestly, the expression “Don’t piss on my and tell me it’s raining” is apt here. Tell me you can’t do shit about it, don’t tell me “We can’t watch everyone,” because either way you’re failing at your job, but one way I don’t expect change. And pro-tip: If I get upset and swear, calling something “fucking ridiculous,” threatening to kick me out is a baller move. Apparently swearing is higher on the pantheon of crimes at dodger stadium than throwing a plate of nachos. At least put jalapeños on it, spice up my life.

The point of my rant is that I’m not even a Phillie fan. They are fun to watch, and i don’t mind cheering for them from time to time (but they still beat the brewers and we can’t have that happening). But I am even more of an anti-Los Angeles fan than I can describe, but I’ll try. LA Fans, go back to your freeway congested, smog filled, band-wagon jumping, waitering because you can’t act, more plastic than a matel factory, bottled water drinking, bad driving, over-populated, 7-dollar-beer selling, slicked-back or shaved head, blond or dyed blond, groupie gathering, twenty-dollar micro salad, paparazzi infested latrine that feels less and less like home than it does a pit stop on my journey through life.

Kind of wish I didn’t hit my 1000 word limit in anger, but I’ll take it. Gearing up for nanowrimo.

The worst part about a blog is having nothing to say.

I mean, I have thoughts everyday that are shareable. Today’s would probably be my idea for scratch and sniff food magazines. Sure, reading them is enough to tempt my tastebuds and make the corners of my mouth water (like when you smell Frank’s Hot Sauce), but smell is such a strong factor in, well everything. I remember hearing studies about smell being linked to memory, and I think it’s true. I wish I had more information, but there are certain smells that bring me back to a certain time in my life. One occurred after a car accident, and the dry, powder covering the airbags filled my coughing lungs with such a terrible odor.

A more pleasant example can be found here. the part I’m referring to is as follows:

Marcel Proust, the French novelist, described a vivid memory brought to his mind by the smell and taste of a small piece of cake (a madeleine) dipped in tea. On Sundays as a child, his aunt used to give him a piece of madeleine dipped in her tea. Many years later, when he did the same thing, “immediately, the old gray house on the street . . . rose up like a stage set,” Proust recalled. “The entire town, with its people, and houses, gardens, church, and surroundings taking shape and solidity, sprang into being from my cup of tea.”

While Proust said it better than me, the idea remains the same. I think it’s why dentist offices have such a peculiar smell (the smell of dread), and food taste less appealing when we have a cold.

It’s endlessly frustrating trying to cook something when I’m sick. I can’t for the life of me motivate myself to make food when I’m not really going to taste it. Sure, cooking is very Zen-like in that the process and the act of cooking is far more refreshing and filling than the end product, but let’s not get carried away. I would never cook a steak or BBQ pulled pork if I had a cold,  and it’s probably why I think canned soups are terrible: the smell reminds me of being sick.

That’s hardly revolutionary. Our tongue can only sense 4 + umami “tastes,” so our identification is supplemented somewhere else, otherwise everything would taste like chicken. As an aside, when did chicken get the ubiquitous moniker for “bland?” Chicken is terrific, and if you are tired of it, try another bird like squab.Interestingly, if you type “why is chicken considered bland” into Google, it thinks you mean “blind”. I think rice has the ability to be bland much more easily than chicken, that is as long as it’s not simply boiled chicken.

The thing about smell is that it, to a certain extent, it’s run its course. We developed unique senses of smell to aide in hunting and gathering, and also to avoid spoiled meats and foods so that we might stay healthy. Aside from sniffing the milk carton once and a while, I am not sure I need my sense of smell. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy and relish it, I’m not advocating this is the correct choice in a bizzare game of “would you rather.” But it doesn’t really do much for me on a day to day basis that I don’t think I could live without.

I’ve met several people in my life who had no sense of smell. One lost it from chemotherapy, another simply was not born with the ability.  The former I met while putting dog food away at Target, and was bitching about the smell when he dropped the “I had brain cancer and can’t smell anymore” bomb on me. I felt like an ass. The point is he and my other friends seem to be doing quite fine. I’m sure someone will say “what about pheromones” and what not, but those are sensed differently than smells, and we’re not even sure if a human pheromone exists and/or how the alter human behavior.

But I digress, I’d love to get a copy of Bon Appetit with scrath and smell photos for things like desserts and those salatious thanksgiving issues would be simply to die for. I can almost taste the stuffing.

Until the advertisers got a hold of it…

I’m not sure if it’s the worry about my parents, stress at work, being incredibly busy as of late, or something completely different but weird things have been happening to me lately. I’ll go to sleep and dream very random, yet realistic dreams. The thing is, when I wake up, they are so real and undreamlike it is difficult for me to know if those things really happened or if they did not. I’ve been asking the people involved in my dreams if it’s really happened or not, and I’m getting some odd looks.

Now, I have been working on dream recall. It’s the first step to experience lucid dreaming, something which has been an interest of mine for a while, i’ve simply not applied myself to it. I’m working on recall and dream recognition in tandem, and if this is it working it’s actuall rather frightening to get used to at first. I really do feel like i’m losing part of my mind.

The dreams are about work, or friends, or both and they are very real conversations, perhaps bits and pieces of my waking life mingling and conversing with my unconscious. Not much unlike the Raw Shark Texts. Whatever it is, it has my stomach in knots during the day, and somewhat excited for my dreams at night. Not because they are great, but because it’s kind of weird not knowing what’s real and what is not. I guess I’m living my real own Tyler Durden. Could I wake up as someone else? Would that be such a bad thing?

As will happen when I’m writing, I got distracted by a hockey game and completely lost the train of thought… I’ll just end it here.

“If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.”

The past few weeks of my life have looked more like a beginners attempt at pogosticks than a finely tuned (german) automobile. Which is to say I’ve been goofing off and not taking much of anything seriously. As a kid I still have this luxury- no one depends on me aside from people at work and I’m fairly professional there. As professional as one can be wearing an ironic T-shirt, shorts, and shaving more times than socks I wear on a weekly basis. And I hate shaving.

My father, unfortunately, does not have that luxury. For 45 some odd years of his working life, he’s been in control of his future. He decided to work here or there, buy this or that, and take vacations to where and when he wanted. All that has changed, and it’s been a struggle for him.  Hell it’d be a struggle for anyone, but I think he’s taking it in stride very well- better than I believe I could.

But it’s hard watching the ones you love grow worried and think themselves into a corner. I wish I could say something to him to make it all better, to make him worry less. When I was applying to colleges early in my junior year of high school, he saw me slacking and, afraid I was throwing away my potential, took me aside and showed what could only be called tough love. And it worked, I got off my ass and got to school and did well from there on. My point is, I wish I could do something to have such a profound effect on the man’s life. He’s given me so much and I can’t give anything back except for a listening ear and what little wisdom I have in comparison to his.

Here’s hoping it’ll do the trick, and if not… at least take his mind off of things for a while.

I knew better than to ask the question; I asked anyways, didn’t I?