Friday, February 27, 2015

Of Ice Ghosts & Unlocked Passageways

I felt like a Popsicle: A subfreezing rocket of wind hammered my forehead every with every step I took during the Siberian Express snowstorm a few days ago. I turned a corner into the protection of some buildings and thought, 'Whew, so relieved'. But then, 'Relieved? It's still four degrees Fahrenheit!' Hey, I'm cold-hardy, but wow is this tiresome. And when you are a weather-spoiled Seattleite, you get to feeling like, right, this shit is just not even called for.

Attempting to escape the shrieking attempted murder of a -15F Abominable Ice Ghost.
Fruitless search for image credit. Please claim.

New York City feels like home to me in an old, deep way. I will write at some point about what that means and why it was necessary to come live here. But starting now, I'm hunting, collecting & cataloging this city rather than passively soaking it in. Because? Because I'm heading back to Seattle. One more glorious NYC spring, one more scorching NYC summer, then home at the end of August.

Getting knocked senseless by lethal Arctic weather definitely spurred this decision, its timing (to some extent), & made it easier than it would have been, but. But, there's this whole other thing. About that, if you're so inclined, after the jump. 

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Love v Fandom

Hey, happy Super Bowl XLIX. We’re playing the Patriots today at 6, and I’m really trying, at the behest of my fellow Seattleite co-worker, my Washington fan & a few others, to get excited about this. Or, as excited as I should be or would be if…IF. So much stuff, but the brain injury issue firstly (chronologically - this was the launchpad of my disenchantment - and primarily). 

Also, a lot of the other stuff that isn’t the actual game has become somewhat tiresome for me - surely with my light on after that first thing. I'm sitting upon a heap of bothers now, and I may go over the list here sometime (soon? although you could guess most of it). But I want to go on record before this game is even played, let alone before the fat lady sings, that although I’ll always love sports as much as I was wired before birth to love them, and all that’s important to me about them, I’m finding myself drawing back from American Football. 

As this happens, I’m realizing I have to just let it happen. I won't be anything outside authentic. Today, as lately, I'm pressing upward on my fan’s spirit & energy, making it feel kinda forced and somewhat artificial. I’m not keeping that up after today. Football is like food: ain’t quitting it. I can’t do that & I wouldn’t do that. And I would fight to the death for the right of an adult American, having being given all possible things to consider, to make decisions about his career. But I’m not feelin’ it so much anymore. I’m still here, just faded, maybe a ghost meandering around in the shadows somewhere. The sports love is (and will remain) where it's always been, it's the fandom is fizzling.

I will enjoy this Super Bowl. My fucking team is in it and they are at their historic peak. They are amazeballs, incredible and occasionally seemingly miraculous. And when it’s over, I’ll be tipsy, full & ready for bed. And happy (Go Hawks!) if not with a victory, then with that my guys were in it and with how they brought it, because they will bring it.

And then I’ll go to bed, and when I wake up, I’m hoping my spirit will be on good a growth spurt for this pruning.