"Just a Sad Song with Nothing to Say"

I’ve been trying for the past week or so to come up with interesting fodder for a new blog. The problem is nothing interesting has really happened as of late. I had planned on a big write up on my Carpinteria trip; however, there were only a few good moments that actually require the time to both write and read. So, because my life is so unarguably mundane as of right now, I offer you the very few snippets of slim humor and minor intrigue that have crossed my path since we last were together…

There are certain moments in life that are so perfect it seems absolutely absurd that anything could possibly go wrong. The problem with these moments is they are just that. I encountered one of these fleeting instants on the morning of our first full day in “Carp” (as the locals call it).

There is a nature preserve situated in the middle of the beach and where my family and I stayed. To get the preserve’s walkways I had to hop a small wooden fence. I did so and began my morning run. The air was crisp and wet. I ran through the preserve, down to the beach, and along the shoreline. On the way back, I was thoroughly enjoying life. My heartbeat was up, I was feeling good about the run and my current weight loss, and I could not believe how beautiful the ocean was that morning. Everything was right in my world; I couldn’t help but smile.

As I neared the fence I had climbed earlier, I could see my brother waiting for me on the porch of the house we were staying in. I ran a little faster because I was excited to tell him all about the beach and how the water was ideal for the kayaking we had planned to do. I got to the wooden fence, placed my left foot on the top post, pushed my body up with my other leg, and my perfect moment was over.

As I pushed up with my right leg, my left foot, being slippery with salt water and dirt, slid out and my body lunged so far forward that I did a full front flip over the fence. Desperate to save my head from fracture, I grabbed at the chain link that lined the bottom of the wooden fence. My body kept going, of course, and I yanked the chain link out from the ground. I landed on my back, tried to get up fast, tripped, and fell back down, still clinging to the chain link. I looked up and saw my brother doubled over on the porch. For a second I thought he was convulsing, but soon realized he was laughing hysterically at my misfortune. Apparently the world prefers humor to beauty.

Here is a small part of a conversation my mom and aunt had concerning my two cousins. Back-story: my cousins, both teenagers, had left to explore Carpinteria earlier that evening.

AUNT: Okay, where are they? It’s dark. They have a dog. And they don’t know where they are.

MOM: Oh, be quiet. Back in the old days kids used to walk around with BB guns.

AUNT: But they don’t have a BB gun!

I purchased a beach cruiser from an old man in Apple Valley a few days ago. On craigslist.com the description read that the beach cruiser had been purchased by an old man (not the old man who sold it to me), refurbished, and then left in a shed because the old man who refurbished the bike was too old to ride it. The old man who sold it to me supposedly thought it necessary to add to the bike’s description, “I don’t know why he decided not to ride it. I know a lot of people older than him (he’s 88) who can still ride a bike.”

Also, the old man who sold me the bike was wearing rainbow suspenders. It made me think of a few questions: At what point does a belt not do the job? At what point does a man’s pants only fit him above the belly button? Is it a slow progression or is there an actual day in someone’s life in which he is required to pull his pants up to a certain point so everyone else knows he is, from this moment forward, on his way out? Why are all old people exquisite storytellers? And I don’t mean this in the sense that they all have great stories to tell. I mean it in the sense that every elderly individual I have ever encountered just knows how to speak in a way that makes me want to listen. It could be the most boring subject in the world but I hang on every word because the way they talk is so fluid and filled with smooth little one liners and transitions that I am too young to understand how to employ.

If you want to see this old man, he is on Youtube. He builds these little three-wheeled electric bicycles and is riding them in some videos on the website. Type “John Gunney” into the search box and the videos should come up. They’re not particularly interesting at all, but it is funny to watch the old man ride his electric trike down the street. The background music is entertaining, as well.

I saw a recent photo of Roger Ebert and my heart sank. He is completely unable to speak, his eyes are wide and bulge out of their sockets, and his mouth hangs open all the time. I believe he had a stroke. It was very sad to see. He is still in high spirits though. He uses a computer to speak for him (like Stephen Hawking) and it is with an English accent. His facial expressions are priceless as the computer speaks. I’m happy he is still able to write his reviews. Just sad to see his current state.

Finally, school starts soon. My goals over the summer were to read a good deal of books, come up with an idea for my MA thesis, and lose weight. As of right now, I have started three books and have yet to finish any of them. I had one idea for my thesis; however, it was shot down very quickly by a reputable source. And I was down to 189 pounds before I left for Carpinteria. Lately I have had no desire to run though and my weight has shot back up to 193. “The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry.” I don’t even know if that is the right response to my unachieved goals. But to be quite honest, I don’t give a damn either.