Well it appears that the river kayaking journal has not been magically transcribed by grammarian dwarves as I had dreamnt last night. I guess the ol' saying "if you want something done right you gotta do it yourself" applies here. But what if I don't want something done right? Does that imply that others can go ahead and take care of the work? Because although my personal history may reveal otherwise, I am not much of a perfectionist. Perfection reeks of stale coffee and dustbunnies, of too much time spent on the unimportant details. Suddenly I find myself holding back the urge to break into a rousing rendition of "Tradition" from Fiddler on the Roof, only instead of singing "tradition" in my mind I sing, "perfection!"
There is a traditional Jew inside of me that I let out of its shmata and allow to feast on matzo balls and kefilte fish on occasion. There is a great moment in the film, "A Mighty Wind" where Ed Begley Jr., who plays a Swedish music producer, starts using a bunch of Yiddish phrases in his sentences. It's brilliant. Ed Begley Jr. is awesome. A great comic mind. In fact the entire cast of "A Mighty Wind" is filled with comic geniuses. And if the film doesn't hold up to the classics, "Best in Show" and "Waiting For Guffman" it's only because the bar had been raised too high. Compared to most comic films, AMW is in the stratosphere.
This past weekend I went river kayaking at Cache Creek with 11 others, all humans, 3 of whom I'd known previously. I did keep a journal of the adventures, the details of which will be revealed here in the land of musings and warblings shortly. The last of the 3 days have not been written yet, as an injury to my lower hip/upper thigh has caused my blood to leave my brain and pool near the buttocks. Since most of my writing does originate from that region, this would seem a lame excuse; one would imagine that now is the PERFECT time to get some writing done. To this theory I have no plausible retort, other than to remind you that I tend to work best with an equal blood flow to each cheek and as it exists now, most of the juice is gathered in the right cheek. And one must also recognize that large portions of the day are dedicated to icing the damaged region, thus numbing the creative inspiration.
Feeling sufficiently vindicated of my responsibility to finish my kayaking journal, I can blissfully attend to my garden, which hopefully has not wilted in my absence. If it has, I have no one else to blame but you. You are a demanding audience and expect the best, but I am but a mere mortal and my priorities must be placed on enriching my soul. You will not be left out of the expression of my certain enlightenment.
¶ 7:28 PM
Saturday, July 26, 2003
OK, the Lollygaggers are my softball team and when I say "my" softball team, a part of me, a large part mind you, really thinks of it as my team. I am the pitcher, I set the pace and the rhythm of the game and I like to think that I set an example of passionate understatedness to my fellow teammates. I'm not really sure what that means, but it feels right. We lost tonight and that is OK. We played sloppy defense and didn't have the most timely hitting, but the truth of the matter is -- the better team won. Also, the more boring team won. They exhibited no personality, no charisma, no charm. I don't even know what their team name is. I tried several strategies of slowing them down. Not giving them fatballs to hit on the first pitch. Walking their best hitter. The spitball. The shitball. Nothing worked. Of course, there was my sparkling defense which got us out of each inning. I suppose a few of the other teammates made some defensive gems. I think specifically of Colin's near-collision with John in right-center field. That would make the highlight reel.
****NOTE: IF YOU ARE WISHING TO HAVE MORE MUSINGS TO READ FOR THE NEXT COUPLE DAYS, STOP HERE AND CONTINUE ON TOMORROW. AS FAR AS MONDAY GOES, I'LL BE HOME IN THE EVENING AND WILL UNDOUBTEDLY HAVE MORE WITTY TIDBITS TO SHARE.*****
It was also great to have Keely play on the team too. Although relegated to the bench and then the catcher's spot, Keely's focus was always on the game. I think she wished she hit better, though the solid single in the 7th inning should have lessened the groundouts of the previous atbats. But most of all, she got to be my teammate. I am surprised that I didn't get a single pat on the butt; I think it was because she didn't want to distract me from my duties as pitcher.
I'm off to Cache Creek for 3 days of river rafting. All I ask is that I don't tip my kayak and that I don't get a severe sunburn. Oh, and that I don't lose my sunglasses. They're prescription. I hope all of you, dear readers, will have nice weekends and remember to smile at people.
It's the first day without complete sun and undeniable warmth in weeks and I don't know what to do with myself. No tennis class, no client to prepare for. No food in the fridge and only dried peaches in the cupboard. Well, there are other choices, such as dried pasta, rice, buillion cubes, vanilla extract....but nothing to snack on and for some reason this fact of foodlessness is keeping me from vacuuming the apartment. There is a direct connection between the two and I'm sure some of you know what I'm talking about and are nodding in agreement at this very moment. Perhaps you sympathize with my plight and wish to bring me a box of wheat thins or some homemade zucchini bread.
On a sadder note, I learned that my 6 month-old nephew, Andrew, has epilepsy. I probably should learn more about epilepsy --figure out what type he has-- assuming there are many forms of epilepsy. I worry that my sister will not deal with the extra care she's going to have to give very well. The thought that he needs to be exposed to better music, specifically the music in my personal collection, so that his seizures will rhythmically cancel each other out, occurs to me. Maybe if I play the taiko drums for Andrew it will relax him and allow the spirit to catch him.
¶ 5:26 PM
This is the first entry in what will more than likely be a life-changing collection of phrases, random consonants and vowels, witticisms, (pre)ponderences, analogies and assorted musings. If you find you are not moved, that your heart has not been tickled, that some sort of bodily response does not occur during or immediately after reading these innanities, then I would recommend you double your psychoanalysis appointments.
¶ 5:05 PM
