i’ll take potpourri for 200, alex

narrative aside for this one, folks. capitalization and grammar, too. most likely cohesive thought, as well. enjoy.

i spend a lot of time alone. it’s a conscious choice. i like, even prefer, my own company. over the years, my myers-briggs scores have taken a steady slide out of the staunch “e” territory into a more “i” realm, because i need more and more time away from people to recharge my batteries drained by the time i spend with them. this personal trait plus the whole turning 40 next month thing means i spend a good deal of time in my head lately to consider myself, the world, and all the ways i fit in it — and don’t (mostly). and so, here is a grab bag of random completely, self-centered observations i (and others) have made recently:

• i could probably eat popcorn every day. especially the delicious, buttery air popped stuff my friend makes
• i constantly crave cantaloupe and cucumber. probably because the aforementioned popcorn makes me thirsty.
• i’m addicted to water. if i don’t have a bottle of it near me or in my hands, i get twitchy.
• i like to sleep outdoors in public.
• i sleep better with someone else in the room. even better with someone next to me.
• i like to curl up and take platonic naps with other people but generally want no part of cuddling after sex. don’t touch me. i’m tired and sticky and sick of you. it’s time for sleeping now.
• i think maybe the above secretly makes me a man.
• i still think “friends” is funny.
• closet george michael fan. only, like george now, not really in the closet.
• i take the words “all you can eat crab legs” as a personal challenge. and one i am yet to lose.
• words most likely to come out of my mouth in response to something: “i know, right?!”
• sushi and salad are my favorite foods. but not together.
• i would give up meat again, but man, i make the best freakin’ burgers on the planet.
• manhattans in the winter, martinis/gin and tonics in the summer. beer all the time.
• i’m addicted to [good] gay porn and tumblr. one of them can make me laugh for hours on end. i’ll let you guess which one. and i’ve got links, if you want ’em.
• i love songs that are more than one song in a song. examples include:
  • layla
  • bohemian rhapsody
  • a day in the life
  • band on the run (three songs for the price of one!)
• i love iced tea, but i have to sweeten it myself.
• nothing’s better than clean sheets.
• all my towels are white. it makes me feel like i’m at a hotel.
• i’d secretly love to give everything away and hit the road and live out of a suitcase.
• in another life, i could probably be barefoot and pregnant and very happy. just not this life.
• i have to watch “dune,” “heavy metal,” and “wrath of khan” any time they’re on tv.
• don’t fucking talk to me when i’m swimming. i don’t care if we’re friends and we came to the pool together. it’s time for swimming, not talking. serious business.
• i hate all things willy wonka. effing creepy.
• i don’t get the big deal about “the princess bride.” cute enough movie, but cult favorite? why?
• “seinfeld” really isn’t funny anymore. most of it probably never was.
• i’m not really that good at riding a bike.
• the older i get, the less i like bread.
• nobody ever expects the religious side of me…and then i quote chapter and verse. it’s probably the functioning brain and open mind and all the swearing and drinking and the fact that i like sex and people think those things and religion don’t go together. they’ve just never met an episcopalian before.
• remember when bravo used to be a television station that thinking people could watch? yeah, me too. i miss that.
• i love disc golf. i miss disc golf. with margaritas and no pants. in the rain. you know who you are. i’m looking at you.
• i will never not find farts funny.
• sometimes i just miss digging a big hole in the sand and then sitting in the sea water it collects like a private pool at the beach.
• i can’t seem to follow more than one tv show at a time anymore.
• one of my favorite memories of my dad is staying up late one night with him watching “conan the barbarian” when i was about 10.
• one of my favorite movies to watch with my mom is “close encounters of the third kind.” she always let me stay up to watch it when they showed it on ABC once a year when i was a kid. weird, huh?
• every time i hear the ice cream truck, i have to resist running out there to buy a popsicle. especially the red, white and blue rocket pops.
• i recently realized that i was born in appalachia. i come by it honestly.
• i thought i had a wart once, but i cut it out of my hand with a knife, and it didn’t grow back, so probably not. gross, i know.
• i don’t like drinking coffee, but i love coffee-flavored things.
• i tried my dog’s jerky treats recently, and it turns out they’re pretty good.
• i love going to movies.
• if we each all get our own blue heaven when we die, i will spend all eternity at a baseball game with my friends. eating hot dogs and peanuts and drinking beer. that is where and when i am happiest.
• my favorite flower is the iris, but i never buy them anymore.
• i hate feeling rushed.
• i hate feeling scheduled.
• i do what i want.
• the family comes as part of this package. deal with it.
• i think my current default setting for most things is “whatever.” unless, of course, you’re messing with my boys or my family, in which case, it’s most likely on.
• i like cereal, i just wish it was more filling.

the language of rice

i made your food tonight. i can’t call it your cooking because, well, you didn’t cook it. your cooking is something special, and so that title can’t be given to just anything on the stove. when you make it, it’s cooking. when i make it, it’s just food.

i miss you. terribly. i have little conversations with you all the time when i am alone. i know you do the same with me there in your studio. it’s been this way for us for years now. i think we would both go mad without our crazy little talks to each other when we’re not there. i tell you about my day. about what i’m thinking. about what i’m working on and what somebody said and what’s on my mind. i tell you about school, friends, family. i wish it were possible for me to still take a jog over to your apartment unannounced, flop my sweaty body down on your huge, comfy, sagging couch, take off my shoes, stretch out, and spend the evening sharing a pot of tea or a bottle of wine (or both) with your long form stretched out to meet my petite one and the soles of our feet meeting in the middle. relaxing into that comforting point of contact, reveling in the power of familiar touch, while we talk and talk and talk about everything and nothing for hours. bask in the intimacy of the fact that neither of us cares how we look or how the house looks or anything except what is on that couch and whether or not there are any more wheat thins in the box we’ve been demolishing, too lazy to get up to find anything better to eat for dinner. i wish we could ignore the ocean between us. i wish we didn’t have to wait for summer for more time together.

i miss you. terribly. i hate what is happening in your life, with your friends, your work. i hate the pain you feel being kept from your family and your country. i hate the rage and conflict. i hate the constant bad news. i hate how your government violates and manipulates you. i hate the lies they tell about you. i hate how they twist your words and intentions.  i hate the consequences you face for being you and and for doing what you do. i hate that i pushed you there, that i helped send you to it. i hate that you feel helpless. i hate that i feel helpless. i do not hate that you are safe and loved and empowered by your work enough to possibly effect some meaningful change. i am proud of you daily. you are my hero. you always were. the strength and power you radiate now awe me. you are tall and strong and and beautiful and unstoppable, and i try not to stand there looking at you with my mouth hanging open like a slackjawed fool.

i miss you. terribly. i putter along over the stove, picturing all the kitchens we’ve shared together. they are the basis for our relationship. food is sex you can see. food is sex you can talk about. not that we need a substitute sex to talk about. i see your hands working in place of mine. i hear your voice and laughter in my head. i thought about you as i cooked tonight. i talked to you and imagined you there with me. i marveled at how the recipes are starting to become second nature to me. i love that my house smells like you. i love food that tastes like your food. i enjoyed my cheap white box wine and played my music as i chopped and rinsed and sauteed and put everything into the stew pot without measuring — just they way you’d want it. i got a little distracted and even accidentally flung some of the herbs and rice out of their pots onto the oil-splattered stove top so that it genuinely looks like you were here cooking. our methods are so different: me with my measuring cups and constant mop-up of every spill; you all eyeballs and mess and chaos. i figure, if i cook like you, it will taste like you.

i miss you. terribly. i was doing fine, and suddenly, i was in tears. out of the blue, i started crying while on my hands and knees on the floor as i leaned over the dog’s water bowl and reached into the back of the bottom cabinet looking for a lid to a pot. the emptiness of being so far from you. the feeling of how i was just with you weeks ago and it seemed like no time had passed, no ocean had materialized. the smell of your kitchen and the image of you playing it like an instrument as you deftly moved about it working your gifts and concocting all kinds of delicious wonders for me that you laid out as a feast on your little round table every day. the warmth and hospitality of your home — a home that was really yours and no one else’s where we closed the door and shut away the world and took time out to be just the two of us. the time out from everything. the feeling of love and support that only you can give me. the way you took the wheel and i let you. how you spoiled me and pampered me and let me enjoy your company as you cooked and i sat in the armchair taking it all in with a drink in my hand, basking in the comfort and ease of us. in awe that circumstances brought us together in a world where we never should have met from half an earth away, much less become each other’s friend, family, other half.  i am not whole without you. i store everything up for when we are finally together until sometimes i think i might explode with the waiting. i stayed there on the floor for what seemed an eternity, tears of frustration and longing streaming down my face onto the mat and the hardwood below me. bathrobe barely tied around me. hair sticking to my wet cheeks. bits of dog chow biting into my palms and knees as i worked to calm myself and catch my breath and bring my sudden, unexpected emotional outbreak under control. my utter surprise at it all and amazement at how it had been building for so long. how strange that the dam should break now.

it’s all a bit of a poor imitation without you, but i do the best i can. the stew was good enough. i used lots of tumeric and lime juice, like you taught me, but i think my herbs and dried limes were a little old. i need to go buy fresh. the rice, as usual, was a bit of a disaster by comparison. i just don’t speak the language. you know me, i’m pretty fluid with language. i’m quicker on the uptake than most. i understand what you’re saying to me even when it’s not in english. rice, on the other hand? well, that’s still your territory. i’m still learning that from you. it is why i need you. why i love you. you teach me the language of rice, and it’s always better when we cook together. i don’t like to eat alone. i don’t like to eat without you.