I was seeing this girl once. She was way too young for me. Significantly too good looking for me. Big time in to causes, and fighting to make her way up in the world from quite literally nothing. Absolutely, positively, committed to using whatever means she had to change the world for the better. She was the impetus behind this blog, which she has never read.
New Year's Eve is as much about endings as it is about beginnings. Tonight, quite unexpectedly brought an ending. Tomorrow, whatever happens, is a beginning. The beginning of what? Who knows.
As for me, a man (and fellow fisherman) I knew in passing once told me, "Fishing is soul repair." For my first official act of 2014, I'm going fishing.
It's Christmas. I ate, I drank, I ate and drank, gifts were exchanged, movies involving Red Ryder BB guns were screened. My dad fell in the bedroom. A few days ago he fell getting out of the shower. My mother is concerned about how much longer she will be able to take care of him here at home.
I'm terrified.
Usually, I'm very much an "allow things to unfold" person. I find that when things are beyond one's control leaving them to their own devices is pretty much the only reasonable course of action that doesn't drive a person insane. However, it is incredibly difficult to come to terms with the notion, that relationship aside, there is another human being in my home that is dying. There is no chance of improvement, only stabilization, and even that is mostly wishful thinking. My father, someone who was once as motivated, driven, eloquent and dynamic a person as there ever was is dying, and there isn't a damn thing to be done about it.
At least we were together for a while today and shared some moments of joy and laughter.
For those "in the know" yours truly is a paintball enthusiast. Paintball is my third expensive hobby(chronologically, not price-wise). The first two being fishing, and [occasionally] chasing pretty girls. Now that I think about it, all three have their own niche and serve their own unique purpose.
Fishing is intensely personal...
It is about the individual. Even when fishing with a friend, or group of friends, everyone has their own favorite lure, their own approach, they may tie different knots, favor different methods, the list goes on and on. It can be enjoyed by two or more people, but only requires one. Given an area as confined as a boat, once a fisherman(or woman) is really locked in to the rhythm, the "vibe" if you will, of the day, the water, and the fish, the bow and stern may as well be a mile apart. The experience isn't necessarily cold, or detached, but it is very much internal. Success in bringing fish to hand is its own reward, but not the only one. Singularity of purpose, and clarity of thought, solitude from the constant din of the outside world all contribute to the overall success or failure of a trip.
Dating is intimate...
The interplay between a man a woman(to keep it simple). The goal is actually quite similar to what one might experience fishing, a singular moment, insulated from the hustle and bustle of everything outside. Only this time it's a table for two inside the bubble. You [obviously] have yourself, and then there is your partner, both (hopefully) striving to let each other in and have a series of mutually beneficial experiences, together. You, and that one person, going in the same direction, even if only for a little while. Success could lead to the bedroom, a walk in the park holding hands, even a marriage and a family. A moment, or moments, in time spent pursuing something deeper than oneself, whether that be emotionally, physically, or both. Shared with an individual. Given the right individual, and the proper time, the result is predictably sublime.
Paintball is...
...the odd activity out. It is not quiet, clean, or proper. It is dirty, loud, raucous, occasionally ugly, usually impolite, and always unapologetic about itself. Everything about it is raw. What makes it interesting, and puts it in consort with the other activities listed is that there is a group involved, and every individual is having roughly the same experience. Fishing is a one man thing. Even with several people. Intimacy in a relationship is a two person thing, sharing something extremely significant with one person. Paintball is the pack of wolves, or the pride of lions. In doing so it serves (in one way or another) all three goals though. There is an intensely person aspect, one man, focused on one singular job, weighing out methodology and ideology, waiting for that singular moment to strike. Athletes refer to it as being "in the zone" even in a team environment they are experiencing everything differently than everybody else, nothing can go wrong. They are moving in slow motion, one step ahead of their opponent. This is the singular aspect of paintball. Using all of your faculties physically, mentally, and emotionally to be one step ahead of the other guy. Success is, (in a rather hyperbolic sense) survival. Anything else is failure. It is, necessarily, the first step we take on our journey. However, it lends itself to intimacy as well. You must share a certain amount of like mindedness with your fellow players. The individual can win a gun fight, and sometimes a game, but he becomes even more dangerous given a partner. Two players who know and understand each other's tendencies, abilities, and short-comings are infinitely more dangerous than one man alone hoping for his compatriots to hold up their end of the game. There is an uncommon level of trust that must be put in to one's partner. Given time, the two are sharing the same sort of singular moments that one might associate with a relationship. Success is measured in shared moments, where both participants combine to achieve more than either could individually. On the highest level though, paintball becomes a group activity. A well put together team. Like minded, singular in purpose, well acquainted, well drilled, well equipped. Dangerous. Five people on that field experiencing the same thing. The high of victory, the low of defeat. The drive, and will to succeed and win that keeps them coming back no matter the cost, no matter how devastating the loss or how thrilling the victory. They all want more. For themselves, for the people they are closest to, for the entire entity.
Yesterday...
The culmination of the above rambling. Yesterday, I spent some time playing paintball with the tournament team I am a member of. Practice is not always pleasant. In fact, paintball is not always pleasant. To be entirely truthful, I was not looking forward to yesterday's practice. Not even a little. Something about it though, was sublime. Every man a tiger. Every play just right. From the first time I turned my gun and touched the trigger, it was euphoria. The feeling was indescribable, and without against resorting to hyperbole, touched me on all three of the levels discussed above. The result was absolutely electric. The embodiment of the reason I play the game at all. The feeling started on the personal level, and grew from there. I felt perfect, even just stretching, and getting ready. We began with one on one's. I couldn't lose. Everything about the field clicked, the day was just right, the amount of light, the alignment of the bunkers. To me, the energy was almost palpable. By the time we got to group drills I was overflowing with energy, brimming with confidence, playing with reckless abandon, regardless of the outcome. The feeling was incredible, and it seemed to catch on with others as well, passing from person to person. As a group, we had never seemed better to me. Every person striving to reach a new level, riding the wave to new heights. All of us understanding, feeling and reacting in ways that we hadn't before. Far from perfection, the environment was progression. Individuals stepping forward from where they had been before, moving into new roles, new realms of consciousness about what they were doing. All striving for personal singularity of purpose, all sharing in a common goal.
All driven to succeed. Atlanta Drive.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Post C.
Wherein, I post my deepest darkest feelings, and fears.
Just kidding, we're going for a bullet riddled speed round...
It's cold here. Way too damn cold for Georgia at Thanksgiving.
The people I work with represent a well educated, diverse collection of complete dunces.
I was wrong yesterday, the score of the Packers/Vikings game was 26-26. Still a tie. Gross.
The number of times I have wondered aloud, "Where do these people come from?" is either an indictment of society, or of my own inability to accept that society might be so incomprehensibly, well...dumb.
Another note from the game, Announcer 1 says to Announcer 2, "The team needs to push up field with some alacrity." Good use of alacrity. Announcer 2 seemed genuinely taken aback that such refined language might be used during a sport broadcast.
I haven't fished enough this year.
Maybe next year.
That's a good way to waste a life time.
Never use good, common sense when you can rely on someone else to spoon-feed you the answer.
That last one was a joke; for the love of God, Buddha, Cthulu, who, or whatever else you may regard as a power higher than your own, use good common sense, and critical thinking to work through your problems.
Yes, I'm aware that the prospect of thinking may be frightening to some.
You are now conscious of your own breathing.
For a good time, walk around whistling well known tunes, and leaving off the ending.
All around the cobbler's bench, the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought was all in fun. POP! Goes the
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Day 2: Football and Beer
Day two of my blogging adventure.
Yes, I still hate your blog. Here's a song about it...
Fear not, even a few beers into my day/evening, I'm still not convinced about my own either. At one point, I even considered that (I Hate Your Blog) as a title for this blog, "Adrift" just struck my fancy better. Another strong "might have been" was, 'The Weekend Warrior' which I intended to be more of a paintball-centric thing. Alas, as with most things, the more I learned about paintball, the more I found I didn't know, and let's be honest here, there are enough self proclaimed experts to last the internet a lifetime. This doesn't mean that there will never be paintball based material here, there will probably be plenty, practice recaps, opinions about events, and adventures, and all of the fun stuff that comes along with traveling and competing and a team sport. Most of that type material is pretty standard though, only the sport really changes, the team dynamic, and subsequent experiences are pretty standard.
Speaking of sports, on to the title of today's post.
Football and beer. The football in this case is of the NFL variety. I may at some point opine on college football, and perhaps even European Football. I'm not wildly passionate about the former, and will never profess to be an aficionado of the latter, but they are certainly enjoyable in their own way. Today's football was the best sort, Green Bay Packers Football. You may think that there are other types that are better, Patriots Football, Steelers Football, [God forbid] Bears Football. In which cases you are wrong. Today's opponent was none other than the Minnesota Vikings. Double whammy, the best type of football(Packers), and the best type of game(a heated rivalry). I look forward to match-ups with the Vikings like few other contests. Games against the Bears always carry weight, but the Packers/Bears rivalry is too steeped in history, too deeply rooted to inspire the sort of vitriol and venom that the Vikings bring bubbling to the surface. I dislike the Bears, but I respect them, and their fans. I feel that for the most part, they are kindred spirits. The Vikings don't inspire the same feelings. By halftime, I had downed a 25 ounce bottle of Innis and Gunn's latest special edition cask aged beer. It was strong, but ultimately, merely average. The effect though, was undeniable. By the time I had treated myself to a bottle of Terrapin Brewey's excellent "Moohoo" Chocolate Milk Stout, I was reduced to a rabid fan, hiss, spitting, foaming at the mouth and yelling obscenities at my TV. The experience was electric, with my help, the team stormed back form a huge deficit, forced overtime, scored first in overtime, and the game ended...
...in a fucking tie. Apparently Samuel Smith's Nut Brown Ale was a poor choice for overtime.
Had it been a Packers vs Bears match-up a tie would've been acceptable. Two storied franchises, slugging it out in another classic game for the ages, neither team giving an inch when push came to shove. It would've been the kind of game where you hate for one team to lose because both have given enough to win. It wasn't that kind of game. The Vikings can never, EVER, give that sort of effort. Ever. They deserved to lose, they ALWAYS deserve to lose. The mere admission that today they were equal to my beloved Packers is downright hateful. Such is the nature of alcohol fueled, unbridled, hyper-biased, football fan-dom.
Packers 23, Vikings 23(FINAL)
A note on beer...
I used a popular social media outlet(rhymes with "space-nook"), to inform my alleged "friends" of what it was that I was drinking during today's contest. Some of them are in to beer, most probably wondered who the idiot deluging their screens with useless updates was. One of my associates(a whiskey drinker), apparently following one of the links I gave, noted that it was ridiculous that beer drinkers try and evaluate beer in the same way that other drinkers evaluate scotch, or wine. It's beer, how complex can it be? Having had some complex beers, it can be very complex, at least as complex as some of the whiskeys and wines I've sampled, and often moreso. The observation, however, still carries weight. Who gives a damn about the appearance, smell, taste, and mouthfeel of a beer? It's beer! Like most things, it should fall in to two simple categories, "I would drink this again," and, "I didn't care for this," just that easy.
Originally "Mirth" came to me as something of a "gamertag" or screen name to use because, one, I like the sound of it, and two, it's related somewhat to the activity. Despite the above definition, I've always felt that mirth also carried with it an air of being a somewhat more mischevious, or even devious brand of fun.
Adrift may be a bit melodramatic, but it describes accurately a large portion of my life. Not so much physically, but mentally. The term also carries a sense of duality that is both appealing, and disconcerting. Such as it is, it will do for now.
Now, let us address "why"...
We are here, or at least I am here for a simple outlet. A friend of mine, suggested a blog as a way to get out of my comfort zone. Normally, I scoff at such suggestions, but she was adamant, and the suggestion stuck with me. You are here for your own purposes, perhaps you are drifting as well, perhaps not. Perhaps you've found something interesting here, perhaps not. I've already decided that the content herein will exist for its own sake, which I suppose makes further extrapolation on "why" rather irrelevant. Such content will be varied, and based largely on anecdote. At times, I'm sure it will make sense, other times, it will doubtless be esoteric, pretentious and generally a load of crap. Such is life sometimes. Such, I suppose, is the nature of being adrift.
