Becoming Bane

This past weekend I finally saw the Dark Knight Rises!  And it...was...EPIC!  But that's not what this post is about.  This post is about something that I've been neglecting for seven months now: going to the gym.  You may be asking yourself, "Wait, what does Batman have to do with exercise?"  The answer is, nothing really.  It's just that in seeing how committed the actor playing the part of Bane must have been (Tom Hardy did some serious bulking up for the role) got me thinking about how lazy I've been.  I stopped going to the gym at the end of December and just kind of fell out of the habit.  I haven't worked out a day since, that is, up until Sunday.

On Sunday I decided it was time to get back in the swing of things.  I not only made my first trip back to the gym, but I also made a significant purchase that will go a long way in ensuring that I keep up the exercise.

I purchased this Marcy Standard Width Bench from Dick's Sporting Goods.  Now as you can imagine, this little guy wasn't exactly cheap, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.  Maybe because I spent so much on it I'll actually have to use it so that I don't feel like I wasted my money.  

This seems like a good step towards getting back into shape.  In college I was in pretty good physical condition and I miss the way that feels.  Sunday was certainly a swift kick in the nards.  The amount of weight I can lift has decreased dramatically, I got winded after just my second lap in the pool, and today I'm feeling a bit sore.  It's all a little discouraging.  But I won't give up.  This is only the beginning.  It will get easier with time.  Hopefully with my new purchase and a little resolve I'll be able to actually look the part of the beefed-up super villain Bane...or, ya know, maybe a little less puny.  

The (Cult) "Classics"

I love movies.  I love how they take you somewhere else, how they take your mind off of your life for a few hours.  Growing up, my family didn't have much money so that meant (for the most part) going to the movies was out of the question.  The movies I saw as a kid were old VHS's that my mother had picked out and most of them weren't what you'd consider mainstream.  My mom had a thing for musicals and I'm ashamed to say that I've seen quite a few (Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, The Sound of Music, 1776, etc.) and still know the words to a number of their more catchy tunes.  As I've gotten older, I've tried to make a point to see some of the classics I missed out on as a kid.  I always catch flack from my friends when they hear some of the movies on my "never saw it" list.  The following is a small excerpt from that list (some of which I would very much like to see, and others not so much):

1. The Godfather
2. Schindler's List
3. Pulp Fiction
4. E.T. The Extraterrestrial
5. Fight Club
6. The Exorcist
7. The Big Lebowski
8. Wayne's World
9. The Usual Suspects
10. The Boondock Saints

Memories: The Great Escape

The following is an account of the escape of my little sister's pet guinea pig.  I wrote it as if it were a letter.  I have no idea how old either of us was at the time.  I was originally going to try and turn this into a poem, but I couldn't get it to work; damn thing just wouldn't cooperate.  I didn't want the story to go to waste, so here we are.  Side-note: this story makes me think of a phone call I got from my sister year's later, informing me that my mother had passed away.  

Olivia,

Do you remember the pet guinea pig you had when we were kids that chewed a hole through the cardboard box we kept her in, just behind a pile of her green pellets of food?  I don’t remember the sound she made when the dog bit her, or if the dog actually bit her.  I don’t remember there being blood.  But I do remember holding her in my arms as she shivered in a dish towel, and how even the coarse hair felt cold.  I remember crying uncontrollably, having to be the one to tell you she was dead.  I remember you, stone silent as the turning of a page, still pondering the great escape.  I guess that’s how it goes for some people; time just seems to wash all of the messy details away, leaving behind the polished wound.  And tonight I’m sitting wishing I were you, chewing the cap of a pen pressed hard against a piece of clean, white paper, digging at the page, trying to remember her name.

GIRLS

GIRLS.  That is all.

:-)

On Tap: United States of Beer

Hello again.  I thought I'd start off this segment of On Tap with a little map I found during a recent stroll through the internet.  The map basically breaks down the best breweries by state, as voted on by you, the people.  I had to shrink the picture to fit it on the blog, so in order to be able to read the column on the left you'll have to go to the actual website.  I want to try a beer from all 50 states!

Okay, now for some of my recent samplings.  First up we have Goose Island 312 Urban Wheat Ale.  Besides being a mouthful (name-wise) it was fairly underwhelming.  It had a slight floral taste and a much more significant bite than I was expecting, especially considering it's a wheat beer.  A very forgettable beer to say the least.

Next up, we have the Danish beer, Carlsberg.  Carlsberg is a lager in the truest sense of the word.  While it's taste is not all that different from just about any other lager, I did notice several slight improvements.  The bitterness of this lager didn't linger nearly as long as some other lagers I've tried and on the whole it was a fairly light and refreshing brew.  It's low alcohol content also makes it a beer you can enjoy without worrying about a loss of inhibition.

Well, unfortunately that's all I've got for this week.  I keep meaning to make a trip to Wegman's for a six-pack; maybe today will be the day I finally remember!

New Poem: The Prize

I've been working on this poem for several days now and it's finally at a point where I think it's readable.  The style is a little different than my normal stuff, and was inspired by a literary group/movement known as, the language poets.  In my reading of some of these poets, I quickly noticed that many of the poems seemed to attempt to combine visual art with poetry through the use of line breaks, punctuation, font size, etc.  Now I'm not ready to start throwing parenthesis all over the place, type everything in lowercase, or abandon punctuation altogether; that's just not who I am.  I do, however, like to experiment and I hope to continue to challenge myself creatively.

The actual subject of the poem was inspired by a beta fish I won when I was younger.  It lived the best 3 days of its life in an over-sized tank in my bedroom.


The Prize

Here at the fairgrounds,
A fishtail brushing across
The inside of a plastic bag
Makes me think
This game is rigged and it is
Impossible to win.

Sometimes I worry I am not living;
The life I want seems so much
On the edge of things that I can
Barely feel it,
The prize
Just out of reach.

With my hand,
I cast a ping pong ball into the pit
Of bowls and watch as it goes
Careening this way and that over their heavens
And lands in still water.

As I hold a bag up to my eyes, shut
Tightly with a twist-tie,
Soft gills flap back and forth, wet wings
Forcing a draught beneath the thin
Armor of scales,
As bellows feeding a chambered fire,
Surrounded by a world of water
And a corpus of cold
Blood.

Sometimes I worry I am not living;
The life I have seems bound and motionless
Under a stale sea that I fear
Will never satisfy.

And with my prize in hand I think,
Is this faint thing I feel
Under my skin
Really what I want or just
Another object of desire
Dancing on the rim of it?

Elegy

I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again: I think about death...a lot.  I know it's a bit morbid, but I can't help it and I won't apologize for it.  As human beings, we are the only living creatures that are believed to contemplate our own mortality and with the prospect of it always looming out there, it's kind of hard not to think about every once and awhile.  And though my contemplations can sometimes put me in a funk, they can also be kind of soothing, especially when I read the words of those who've come before me.  With that, I 
thought I'd share some of my favorite lines on the subject of death. Enjoy!

I feel time like a heartbeat, the seconds pumping in my breast like a reckoning. The numinous mysteries that once seemed so distant and unreal, threatening clarity in the presence of a truth entertained not in youth, but only in its passage. I feel these words as if their meaning were weight being lifted from me, knowing that you will read them and share my burden, as I have come to trust no other. That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you, is a comfort to me now as I feel the tethers loose and the prospects darken for the continuance of a journey that began not so long ago, and which began again with a faith shakened and strengthened by your convictions. If not for which I might never have been so strong now as I cross to face you and look at you incomplete, hoping that you will forgive me for not making the rest of the journey with you.   - Chris Carter, The X-Files

Do not stand at my grave and weep
by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft star-shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

from Thanatopsis

by William Cullen Bryant

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

The Secret
by Charles Bukowski

don't worry, nobody has the
beautiful lady, not really, and
nobody has the strange and
hidden power, nobody is
exceptional or wonderful or
magic, they only seem to be.
it's all a trick, an in, a con,
don't buy it, don't believe it.
the world is packed with
billions of people whose lives
and deaths are useless and
when one of these jumps up
and the light of history shines
upon them, forget it, it's not
what it seems, it's just
another act to fool the fools
again.

there are no strong men, there
are no beautiful women.
at least, you can die knowing
this
and you will have
the only possible
victory.