Almost Thoughts and The Story of My Life

Most of the time when I try to write something, I get a line or two in and come screeching to a halt - my train of thought having run off the tracks.  I wouldn't say that I have ADD, so much as I try to cover too much track for a single train, (or maybe a defectively slow train), so the train speeds dangerously to try and meet the demand.  When it works, it's great.  Most often, though, there is a wreck.

Typically, the poems are lost to the ages, never having made the transition out of my brain.  Since I have a blog here, I'm going to start posting some of these potential poems.  Hopefully, it inspires me to pick them back up later and fix / add to them.

Then, I'll be famous.

The Heart Hive

and love swarms
comin’ in fuzzy and warm
whenever I see the form
of the one I’m sworn to
-JB 6/28/11

Me / Myself / A Scarecrow

my face on a carton
always watching
your cup of sadness
half-full

i was an optimist
eating life’s spaghetti
without a fork
in the yellow brick road
most traveled

and all around were faces
bound into pages
always chasing, erasing
most of what remained
of an uncatalogued existence
bordering on subsistence
-JB 6/28/11

On a side note, Scarecrows aren't really scary enough (especially not to birds). They just look like people - big whoop! If you really want to do something scary, build a Clowncrow. Clowns scare everybody.

Farmers can thank me with generous portions of the harvest they save.

Non-Buyer's Remorse and The Great Newspaper Upstairs

I have often described my sense of humor as the absence of a sense of humor; in the same way as a darkened room can only be described in terms of the absence of light. At the same time, I like to think of myself as a witty funnyman - underrated, even.  After all, I amuse myself thoroughly.

My status updates on Facebook from a year ago still make me laugh when I scroll back and look at them.  It is these status updates, however, that have flipped my world upside down (more on this later).

Mostly I make obnoxious observations, puns that aren’t funny so much as observational and juxtaposed against reality.  I also tend towards self-deprecating jokes because I generally don’t mind being the victim.  Here again I tend to think that I’m hilarious, having told people before that the only problem with a self-deprecating sense of humor is that I am pretty funny.

Well The Great Newspaper Upstairs can stop the presses because the veil has been removed from in front mine eyes.  (How did it happen king?) Yes, everybody wants to know, don't they? (Most people.)

I’ll tell you:

There I was, minding my own business and lost in a sea of self-worth – believing I was an undiscovered comedic genius - when all of the sudden I stumbled across a Demetri Martin stand-up video on Netflix.

As he delivered his first joke, I laughed.  Laughter quickly turned into mirth, in that I realized his sense of humor was more or less equivalent to mine – and he was famous!  Finally, some proof to support my delusions of grandeur.

It was a happy moment indeed.

As time went on, however, I noticed some obvious differences.  First of all, he is talented.  He plays the piano and the guitar.  Even more impressively, he can draw on charts with both hands – at the same time!  Secondly, I have to assume that he is at least moderately funnier than me (because he works at it).  To sum, he is the talented, funnier version of me.

As his routine ended, I was conflicted.  Do I follow my initial plan of action by linking myself to him as an announcement of my discovery to the world, hoping that the inevitable comparisons come out favorably; or do I keep silence, knowing that people would recognize the same differences that I did and announce me a fool?  There was humiliation risk, certainly.  I had to think on it.

In hindsight, thinking on it was a foolish decision.

Many instances upon a time, I have found something at the store that I really liked, but couldn't decide whether or not to fork the money over in order to buy it.  I left the store to ponder my purchase, only to come back the next day to find that the desired item had sold out.  The same principles of non-buyer’s remorse were in play with this decision, only I didn’t know it at the time, which is quite tragic.

In the end, I think that I can compare myself to Demetri and feel comfortable dismissing any naysayers.  No comparison is perfect, but many of my status updates could easily fit into his routine.  Besides, even if he is funnier… he has all day to come up with his material.  I will not make that case, however, because it would only serve to sadden me further (though I suppose I am making that case indirectly right now).

The thing is - I like standup.  I watch a lot of it.  But the more I consider his standup - I didn’t find "the talented, funnier version of me" to be all that funny.

And that isn't amusing in the slightest.

Life-crafting

Both eyes wide open

Watching as the world unfolds

A baby learning
JB 06/24/11
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Shelly is watching the movie ‘Babies’ on Netflix.  We watched this when it was in the theatre, and I didn’t much care for it.  I had expected more narration and purpose, but really it's simply a movie where the differences in lifestyle are allowed to speak for themselves and contrast with the similarities of the development each child undergoes.  Watching it now, I think that is the better choice.  It’s still not a movie that I would recommend to others on a regular basis, but it succeeds in painting a picture.

Sometimes I find myself trying to logically think through the ideal parenting style, as if there is a specific methodology that will assist me in raising the perfect child (when we have one).  It’s a failing of mine to overanalyze. On the bright side, I might still be painting apartments for a boss on work release from prison if I didn’t fret over such details.  Still, while there is value in being prepared and thoughtful before deciding to have a child, there are times (like now) when I recognize the truth that my idea of a perfect upbringing would be a handicap.

Watching this movie, you see clearly how stark the contrast is between brightly colored books, toys, or baby yoga; and being outside, playing in the dirt, or being leashed to the couch while your parents are out working.

We humans, though mere mortals, are yet capable of withstanding a wide array of circumstances, from extreme depravity to extreme excess.  We are equally capable of overcoming nearly any parental disorder, from neglect to the unique brand overzealous life-crafting that myself and my society are prone to.  It really solidifies in my mind the resilience of the human form and I sort of feel like the only things that matter are trying, paying attention, and giving your children a wealth of different experiences so that they are comfortable in a variety of settings.  The rest of it they'll manage themselves, never knowing the difference.

An echo coming back, reverberating softer now

I'm in a mood to write this evening, which usually means that my mind will flit from topic to topic and fail to bear fruit.  We'll see what I come up with, but for now I am lifting this post from my Facebook notes, titled 'October came like an echo.' 

Nostalgia hit me, so distant, like longing for a memory of a feeling and not the feeling itself. I remember being little, that much I recall.  I know I jumped in leaf piles because someone told me it would be fun, and I know that it wasn’t.  I remember climbing a tree and collecting a bowl of buckeyes for show and tell, and the epic foot-race against my best friend Derrick.  I remember bike rides so risky that I was actually hit by a car twice, though fights with Derrick caused far more injury.  I remember the tree swing that would always break and the big-tire sand box that I could jump over in a single leap.  I don’t know why the sound and smell of crunching leaves reminds me of 1507 Cincinnati Street, and I don’t know Derrick anymore – but I do still dream of bonfires with my family, and the backyard we sold. - JB 10/20/10

I think of Derrick often, actually.  He was my first best friend, and stayed one long after his mother moved out of his grandparents house next door.  We wandered the neighborhood with a freedom I don't expect I will ever permit to my own children, though I think it left us a real(er) childhood than many.


One of the comments on Facebook said that this writing made them sad for the loss of childhood and relationships never fully developed.  Not surprisingly, that poster gets me.  She is my mother.

Sadness booms softly

This has marked the first week in nearly three years that I have not counted myself as a Grant Thornton employee, and sadness has been heard booming since Monday.

As an explanation to the as-yet-uninitiated, contrary to common practice I contend that booming is best when understated.  A man who believes in his boom doesn't need to sell it with volume or other dramatic elements.  A confident man simply announces to the world that something went boom.  If people determine to doubt reality, what does that matter to him?

Booming softly, therefore, is a grand business full of flair in its understated simplicity.

Don't get me wrong, I do not regret my decision to leave the land of mobius and dynamism.  I chose the life less dynamic, and my comfort with that decision has only grown with time.  I did not, however, make the decision lightly, and it wasn't easy despite that it was a foregone conclusion (being with my wife comes before, well, anything else).  The simple fact of the matter is that one cannot have everything.  In choosing to leave Grant Thornton, I left behind a job and people I enjoyed, and I will likely never again work in a company of it's nature.

Public accounting has its perks.  Advancement and responsibility come quickly, training is prevalent, you get exposure to high levels of management, and you work with people who are very much of your age and general background.  It's also a decent investment in your career because companies value the experience.

In the end, though, unless you are a "lifer", (and there are some), it eventually becomes a case of "The Royal Nonesuch."  The hours and the stress are too high for the pay.  Everybody has one foot out the door but they lie about it because they don't want to be the only person who "gets had" by staying too long.

My new job is exciting... and challenging... and ends at roughly 5:00pm everyday.  I work for a large company in an industry I respect, there are perks, and I will continue to learn and grow.  Sadness definitely boomed softly when I saw that my email was jblack4, but the quirkiness of having a number in my email address is rather irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

Relaxing at home may not be as dynamic as solving the world one financial statement audit at a time, but it's the life I choose.  I am happy to spend time with my wife and to have time for thinking deeply, even if such thinking is simply wistful memories of spending too much time in conference rooms with friends.