55: Satisfaction

Sweaty and deliciously filthy, we finally lay still in the grass. “Oh my god,” she cooed, taking a long breath, “I haven’t been worked that hard in ages.” She smiled and closed her eyes, and I could almost see a golden orange glow lifting softly from her body like glorious steam.

Yardwork: sexiest chore EVER!
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XLV. Tell a story in exactly fifty-five words. Go see G-Man.

Desperation

Floating
Streaming
Gloating
Screaming
Trying
Failing
Denying
Betraying

A pale evening glimmer falls in shades of pink and orange as I lie agonizing. It is beautiful; an Aurora Borealis to contrast the slow bleed of my emotions. Pain like this is only earned, never truly inflicted. It is a soul-ache caused by some deep failure to nurture oneself. It shows a sickness of the heart that can only be cured with a revelatory love, the kind that scandals are made of. There is no rock or hard place, only decisions, and all this slow demise will seem a sad and ignorant episode in just a few turns. Or so I can hope. Or maybe I can just decide?

God help me: I need light, and I need to be touched by a soft and gentle and adoring hand. Then there will be love. And peace.

3:15 2012 Excerpt

There was no other way, the doctor said, that head just had to come off. After looking at the evidence, I couldn't disagree. My behaviour had become erratic, it was true, and some of my actions were simply inexcusable. When pressed, I admitted that yes, I'd been at my shenanigans longer than had been made public, and also that I'd promised to change before, but failed to make such changes permanent.

She shook her head as she repeated the diagnostics, and we both became sad, but I couldn't disagree with her. This really did seem the only cure for my condition. Slowly, I stepped upon the platform and knelt into the apparatus, my neck feeling oddly comfortable in the tight slot. I heard the doctor's command through the black hood, and as the blade fell, I felt a sensation that could only be the sweet redemption everyone had been talking about. The release was marvelous, and my last action was to smile in relief.

I can only hope my face still bore that smile when my wife was given my head in the ceremonial basket later that day. Maybe, just maybe, she'd forgive me now, for I'd taken the only steps that would absolutely, without any doubt, guarantee I'd never be able to hurt her again.

Finally, she could be happy.

(Edited slightly)

55: Fifty Shades of HEY!

Once that single copy was left in the ladies’ room, things started getting weird. It started slowly, as they each began dressing differently. Soon, they were walking around the office a little more deliberately; they all had some fierce twinkle in their eyes. It got serious the day my boss called me into her office.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XLIV. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Youth

In the distance
Water breaks on rocks
And fills a pool
To flow beneath pine boughs and branches
And alongside a gypsum path
To end in the ever-flowing Rouge.

I sit on a bench of stone
Hewn as if for a temple garden
Meant for the worshipers of Athena.
For all I know, this stone slab is just that ancient
And may once have been hauled from a quarry
On the backs of conquered slaves.

Beneath my feet, a path
On which have walked many great minds.
I am surrounded by architecture and forest,
An amalgam of beauty which has inspired
Wonder and beauty

And which now serves as a hearty reminder that I
Like a conquered slave
Am in the daily practice
Of carrying on my back stones cut from quarry
To be hewn into wondrous and beautiful wealth
For my Masters.

And like falling water,
I let my dreams flow away,
And take comfort in their passage
Beneath pine boughs and branches
And beside gypsum paths
On which walk the young and passionate
Who, perhaps, take some inspiration
From the sound of my own youth
As it breaks on the rocks behind them.

55: Viral

Two weeks on the island together and we’d nearly forgotten: the sun and the sand, the bikinis and the drinks have a way of wiping the mind of its troubles. After getting back home to a blizzard and picking up the kids, it was almost like it’d never happened, until our hotel video went VIRAL!
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XLIII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Pitiful Souls

This morning I had an encounter with a wounded animal. A fawn, to be exact, spots and big ears and all.

It all started while driving to work. I'd left early, and I was looking forward to being extra productive. The traffic was starting to slow along a road where the speed limit is already 25 mph. Each car in the small, gathered clump of traffic was swerving away from the curb in somewhat the same manner as when a biker is on the road, except these swerves were more deliberate, around a tighter circle, and faster, with less of the courtesy and care that usually comes with avoiding something moving on the side of the road.

When I came close enough, I could see it was a fawn. It was frantically trying to get up, but it was against the curb, and its hind legs weren't doing what they were supposed to. It was then I realized just how careless and callous a human would have to be to drive past this wounded, clearly terrified, baby animal, especially in such a deliberate manner.

Full disclosure: I considered doing the same thing myself. As I've said, I was running early, a rarity for me. And probably like everyone else, I didn't really know what I could do. Based on what I could see, there was nothing I could do to actually save the animal. My next thought was, if I chose to do anything at all, I'd better get it off the road. This fawn was a wild animal, and though I didn't fear that I'd get hurt, I was sure I'd get dirty. I don't dress up for work, but I wouldn't even pick up my own dogs wearing the shirt I chose this morning unless there was some emergency to handle. I'm not vain, but I dress nicely for work about as often as I'm early, and I didn't really want to ruin either.

All this went through my head in a second or less, nearly enough time to keep driving and go right past. I'm not a heartless man by any stretch, but I've done this before in comparable situations, as recently as this past weekend (though I'm sure that racoon was dead, and someone had already stopped to 'help' it). Today, it was most likely my initial thought about the other drivers who'd gone past that motivated me to actually stop my car next to where the poor creature was struggling on the road.

Just a warning, the story doesn't end well. I followed through on my good intentions and moved the fawn off and away from the road. Sure enough, my hands and forearms were filthy, not only with dirt, but the fawn's hair and sweat. Like my own canine confidantes, deer apparently shed when they're nervous.

The fawn still couldn't stand. Its futile struggles to get up only made it more of a danger to drivers should it be left there and end up back where I'd found it, where I'm sure it wouldn't be so skillfully avoided as before. I hadn't helped; though it didn't seem to be in pain, it was obviously scared, especially when I came near, touched, and carried it, so after setting it down on the ground, it fought even more to get up.

I've had first aid training, and though I was under no illusion that I knew what to do in this particular situation, I looked its body over for signs of injury. I felt its bones, an easy task with this small and lanky animal. Even though its hind legs weren't working, I felt no breaks or sharp turns in the legs or hips, or anywhere along its back. None of the joints were bent at an odd angle. I touch its head, but more because I was trying to soothe it than diagnose its injury. I thought to take its picture, but for some reason that seemed cruel.

It bleated weakly, softly, not necessarily because it was weak or wounded, but because it was young. Deer bleat, like sheep, did you know that? I'd heard it was true, but sometimes, though you may not question them, things like that don't make much sense until you experience them. I've actually heard a doe bleating loudly in a northern Michigan forest a dozen or more Novembers ago, probably having been shot by a bad hunter (good hunters try to minimize or eliminate their prey's suffering, and aim to kill instantly with their first shot). That sound was one of frantic terror; the doe knew she was going to die, and probably knew she was being tracked. It was haunting. This morning, the sound the fawn made was one of a simpler feeling: confusion. It clearly had no idea what was going on.

Looking between the fawn and the road and imagining the worst, I made my next goal to move it to the other side of a wooden fence surrounding the adjacent property. Assuming the animal could eventually stand and walk away, I thought it unlikely it would try to jump the fence to go back across the road. I picked it up--it weighed less than my dog, not more than 50 or so pounds--and tried to lower it onto the ground while standing on the road side of the fence, but I'd only lowered it a couple feet when it jerked its body and fell. Looking back now, if the fawn's injuries had been some kind of broken bones, I would have only made this worse. It's scary how easily the best of intentions to solve or soothe a situation can make it worse, or even push it over the line beyond recovery. Fortunately, that wasn't the case today. As I climbed the fence to straighten out its back legs, which had become crossed, again in the hope that it would somehow recover if left alone, another car had stopped, and a woman exited. She came over and climbed the fence, too.

I was glad for this woman's presence. Though neither of us really knew what to do, nor were either of us comfortable with the idea of leaving the wounded fawn alone. I was already invested, whatever the outcome, but she still had the choice. It is because of her that I started to seriously consider that I couldn't handle this, that I'd have to call some civic authority. The woman told me she'd recently watched her horse suffer in the same way, struggling to get to its feet, but unable to because its hind legs wouldn't work. This memory was obviously painful to her. The woman left, and I decided then I had to make some kind of phone call.

I moved my car off the main road and onto a dirt street along the other side of the property. I called home and had my daughter look up the phone number, then got in contact with the police. They'd already had calls, but I knew the address of the property, and so provided it. I tried to see if someone was home, but less than a minute after ringing the bell, a police motorcycle had arrived. I showed him where the fawn lay, still struggling, still confused. I should have known what was coming. In truth, I would have been surprised if the cop had said anything but, "I'm going to have to shoot it." But that's what he said.

I accepted this, not knowing any other alternative. I crouched to touch the fawn one last time, in some effort to express regret. It was still afraid of me; my touch did not soothe it. I made whatever spiritual expression I could, but there was no recognition, no inter-species barriers were broken between us. I turned to walk away as a police car pulled up, and I knew the first cop was unholstering his weapon. I heard the shot and looked back just in time to see the upper half of the fawn's body that could still stand fall.

I was neither shaken nor numbed, and this confused me. I felt, and still feel, sadness, but this was tempered by the short reach toward a better solution where none existed. Most assuredly, I was as dirty as I feared I'd be, but not enough that I needed to go home to change, and it no longer concerned me anyway. Back in my car, I continued driving to work, but I did not continue my radio program, and I could not continue to eat my mobile breakfast. Something had changed, but I couldn't tell what. My only thought was that I, and the woman who'd stopped to help, would really be the only two people in the world who would mourn this, if that's the right word for how you feel about a wild animal you can't help save. We'd encountered it, I'd carried it, and just like that, in one policeman's shot, it was over.

55: Irreconcilable Differences

At some point, it becomes more about doing than waiting. Unmet needs have a way of sinking into the cracks between people, and freezing in the cold, and breaking the two even farther apart. Eventually, this becomes inevitable.

That’s what she said to me, anyway (or something like it), before she walked out the door.

* * * * *

FFF-55 vol. XLII. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

55: Rakoff Collage

What I learned from television is that, like it or not, frenemies would show me the way to the promised land. Mistakes were made, however, and upon my return to the scene of the crime, I noticed the fine print: before and after family business, what remains is just testosterone, and a half empty fraud.

* * * * *

FFF55 Vol. XLI. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man. A bit of nonsense constructed from thirteen titles associated with or by the late David Rakoff.

Farewell, David Rakoff

David Rakoff has died. He was 47. He had cancer.

This story, "What You Lookin' At?" (Act 3), was my introduction to David Rakoff. In it, David talks about a trip he takes to go climb a mountain. It's not really the content of the story, but the way he tells it so timidly, with such vulnerability, that instantly drew me into this man. Because most of the monologue is spent describing events other than those involving the actual mountain, this story is a self-exploration that anyone who's ever felt inadequate can identify with. It's beautifully written, and told quietly and intimately, as if he and the listener are the only two in the room. Eventually, he talks about being on the summit, having made it in spite of his own self image. He says, "the only one casting strange glances of disapproval my way is me," and marvels at the thought of himself as a man who climbs mountains. I identified with these sentiments so heartily I almost had to stop the car the first time I heard it, and still need a bit of privacy whenever I listen now.

When This American Life (TAL) put on a stage show ("What I Learned From Television") in Chicago in 2007, I happened to be in town. I saw David Sedaris and became enamored with Dan Savage. I admit this is when I truly fell for Sarah Vowell, despite my pre-existing fandom and all her stories I'd heard before. David Rakoff was in the lineup and had performed at other shows on the tour, but wasn't there that night, which was disappointing.

When TAL did their first broadcast event in 2009, "Return to the Scene of the Crime", my wife and I were there. For TAL's second and more recent broadcast event, just a couple months ago, I procrastinated and missed it, and not having kept up with David Rakoff, didn't know he was sick, and didn't realize this might be my last chance to see him perform. When I listened to the radio version, "Invisible Made Visible", David tells a story about losing the use of an arm due to his cancer treatment, and once again brought tears to my eyes with his expression of self-doubt, being threatened by self-defeat, and then ultimately standing to dance on the stage despite his dangling limb. The part of me that identified with David most, that embarrassed child afraid to show himself to the world, was glad to have been at home the night of the show, sure that I'd have burst into a moment of inconsolability while sitting in a theater full of people.

Years ago, I took a chance and emailed David to express my thanks for...well, everything of his I'd ever been exposed to. Although he'd never been portrayed in any capacity as anything but a quiet, humble man, I never expected a response. I'm not one for fan letters, and I'm always sure anything I ever have to say to anyone I admire will be taken with a grain of salt and responded to with a polite but impatient smile. David not only replied, but expressed great surprise and appreciation that I'd written him. For the life of me, I cannot find the email (God knows I didn't delete it), and this upsets me greatly, but it makes me infinitely happy that I could fill at least one small moment of this man's life, which he shared with me so readily and selflessly, with happiness.

Thank you so, so much, David Rakoff. Rest in peace, you will be greatly missed.

Update: Here is Ira Glass's tweet/TAL blog post on David's passing: http://www.thisamericanlife.org/blog/2012/08/our-friend-david-rakoff

The Next Level

I want to be smarter.

I want to be able to not only do basic stock homework problems in multivariable calculus, but visualize the surfaces, the areas and volumes, the vectors and vector fields, and how they interact all at once. I want to understand and retain literature well enough to appreciate and behold the emotional and artistic history it represents. I want to be able to write and speak just the right word for exactly the feeling or thought or action or object I am thinking of. I want to be able to learn about the Mars lander, Curiosity, and truly wonder at its scientific and human potential. I want to be able to read Hugo and Flaubert in French, Chaucer in Middle English, Kafka in German, and ancient texts in Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic. I want to understand brush strokes and color and perspective, and be able to make scenes and memory and thought come to life on canvas. I want to understand writings about the mathematical properties of classical music. I want to rise above the timid and limited and windowed understanding of every bit of knowledge I've ever been exposed to, and knit it all together in new and truly enlightened ways, and see the world the way the Masters view it, from their mountaintop. I want to really experience this world and this universe and this life.

This is what I wish. Were I to one day find my magic goldfish, I would not ask for money, power, property, influence, or lovers. These are all things anyone can have with enough hard work. I wouldn't ask for perfect, eternal health, or super powers, or special abilities. These are things nobody will ever have, and I believe there are good reasons that are placed beyond our comprehension on purpose. No--I would ask for understanding: time for and exposure to those endeavors that make humanity wonderful, the capacity to understand and retain the knowledge, and the mental dexterity to assimilate and apply it to something greater than myself. Were I to be bold on that day, I would also ask for some small measure of creativity, with which I would hope to make the world more livable for those around me. I would want to share this great gift in such a way as to bring hope and health to the diseased and disenfranchised.

Haiku: Talent

Oh, things I could do
(If only you would let me)
To give you pleasure!

55: Brothers

I watched his body fall, and he, helpless, flailed uselessly into the canyon. For the first several meters, his eyes begged mine for a reason, but we both understood why this was happening. I could still smell the burning fat and flesh, feel the deep shame of rejection...

From behind, someone called to me: “Cain?”
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XL. Tell a story in exactly fifty-five words. Go see G-Man.

Love Letter

The love letter fell from her fingers onto an open newspaper. She bent forward in her chair and heaved a deep, broken sob, her entire world shrinking into this one, singular moment. Ink wet with tears, the signature on the letter ran together with the author’s printed name on the newsprint beneath, among the obituaries.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XXXIX? Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man. Inspired by, and loosely dedicated to, Kevin, whomever he may be. "Now there's no love as true as the love that dies untold." --Robbie Robertson/Rick Danko/The Band, It Makes No Difference. 

Samsung Galaxy Player 5.0 Review (Audiophilia III)

As previously written, I recently bought myself a new media player: the Samsung Galaxy Player 5.0, model YP-G70. Overall, I'm pretty happy with this device. Before buying it, I saw it had hundreds of user ratings above 4.5 out of 5, so I read the 1's and 2's to see what the naysayers were complaining about. Most of those are in regard to a bug that quickly causes the device to either shut down or freak out, which hasn't happened on mine and seems to have been quickly corrected by users after a return and replacement at the retailer.

Here are the things *I* have to complain about:

1. Don't spare the juice! For the life of me I don't know what Samsung believes is a decent amount of battery power. True, I do have my screen timeout set at max (10 minutes), but I want to see what it's doing even if I don't touch anything for a little while. If I played music all day at work or in the car, I'd have almost no battery left. This being my first such device, I will assume this is just a case of me having unreasonable expectations. However, it would be nice if Samsung let me choose to have the screen never time out when the device was being charged.

2. Where are the accessories? I can't really be angry about this: weeks before buying anything, I'd looked for some case, holder, car adaptor, flippy wallet thing, or any version of the dozens of other cool accessories available for the several Samsung phones that are out there, and found next to nothing. I was surprised to see, in the store when I bought the 5.0, a snap on case (made, coincidentally, by a company headquartered almost in my own zip code), but that turned out to be a fluke. Not even this local company makes anything else for the 5.0. The closest we as consumers get is to find a comparably-sized (Samsung) device and see if it'll work. I haven't had the time yet to go on this quest, and I'll be very stingy with my money when it comes time to buy anything. With the exception of grossly overpriced screen protectors, even the aftermarket choices are almost nonexistent, unless I want to pay $20+ for something made overseas that I haven't had a chance to test fit or feel. Seriously, Samsung, at least offer us a wrist strap or something. What I'd really like to see are accessories similar to those for the Galaxy Note smartphone, which is just a tad bigger than the 5.0.

3. Proprietary micro-USB connector. This outright pisses me off. If I'd known about this before I bought the 5.0, it might have been a deal breaker, or at least made me more careful how I handled the cable supplied with the device. While other micro-USB cables fit just fine, they don't do anything--can't charge or transfer data. It's almost like somebody suggested a proprietary connector in a board meeting, but somebody else (correctly) pointed out that stuff like that doesn't fly with consumers, so they all put their heads together and decided to make it look like a common micro-USB connector, but not work like one. Bastards.

4. Home screen won't rotate. This is sort of trivial, but missed details greatly agitate me. Considering the image I found to put at the top of this post, I'm sure this must be a case of me doing something wrong.

Aside from these things, which can all be worked around in one way or another, I've found everything I read about the 5.0 to be true. All in all, I really dig it. I have yet to become very comfortable with the Android OS, so I'm sure there are lots of cool things and probably a few uncool ones, too, yet to discover. The Google Play app market is easy to use and has plenty of (honestly, too many) choices in both free and paid-for apps, not only big products like popular games but tools to do weird, specialized tasks, as well as alternatives to standard apps in case you don't like the looks of what you already get. So long as the quality is (stays) good, and nothing bad happens like [deleted so as not to jynx myself], I look forward to dozens of months of enjoyment with my fancy new music media player. 

Now if I could only beat the AI in the free chess game I downloaded, life would be great.

A Reminder

Just a reminder: I'm not writing this for you or anyone else. It's for me. I know I drone on and on about the most boring things ever. Even when I speak, I can see people's eyes cloud up after about 30 seconds. I know I speak slowly and over-deliberately. I use parenthetical phrases. I interject and interrupt myself. I get lost in subtopics knowing full well my listener has no need of the context but imagining that for some reason they may want it. I back up and correct myself.

I understand how you could get bored listening, or, in this case, reading. Just move along. This blog is my little laboratory  notebook in which I keep track of my thoughts and wonderings. Occasionally I've written a thing or two that others seemed interested in. Twice, I've actually posted something because I'd wished it was out there when I needed some advice. Here is a third instance of that last phenomenon, with a mess of preceding thoughts in two parts. I've taken the liberty to separate out the boring parts from the stuff I mean to actually be helpful.

Also see my original Disclaimer. Have a nice day.

Audiophilia, Part II

My love affair with music has manifested itself materially through the evolution of my media players. As aforementioned, my earliest 'device' was a boombox hanging by wire from the heater vent of my '78 Buick Century. It was awesome not only because it played cassette tapes and the radio, but because I could take it in and out of the car. (I'll be the first to admit my standards were low back then.) Ever since, I've had lots of things that play music that I've been inordinately attached to because I must--must--be able to play certain songs at certain moments, or be ready to listen to this artist or that album whenever a particular mood strikes.

As far as real music players go, I've owned three so far:

1. Motorola m500 
This little thing thrilled me. It was compact, cute, and tough. It was easy to use and smart: this MP3 player was probably the very first reason I ever had to appreciate USB, and at the time 5 megabytes was more than enough to hold every ripped, downloaded, and generated song/sound file I had. I used it for more than two years, even well after all my friends started buying iPods for large multiples of what I paid. I mourned its loss when it finally quit like a tired mule, and I'll always consider it one of the best purchases I've ever made.

2. Zune 8, (Microsoft, third generation)
After the demise of my m500, I was at a loss. I had no desire to buy an iPod, mostly because I had no desire to let iTunes hijack my computer or my music collection. Plus, what I was seeing is that my friends who bought the cool new iPods were mostly being abandoned by Apple as the cooler, newer iPods were released. I didn't want in on that, so I turned to my next best untrusted option: The Evil Empire, Microsoft.

I know I should have considered alternatives, but I was a bit taken with the sleek look of the Zune, and considering my budget, I knew I couldn't afford to make a bad choice for a good reason. Everything about the Zune was sexy. After I finally spent months saving like a teenager, I bought one: red--sexy, I told you!

It took me a couple weeks to get the hang of. It was nowhere near as easy as the m500, and I bought it at the height of the DRM movement, so not only did it not like the only two songs I'd ever bought online, it questioned my authority to load and play songs I'd ripped years ago from CDs I'd owned even longer. It also wanted me to become part of some social network I'd eventually have to pay for monthly access to. The final straws were that it wouldn't let me use part of its 8MB capacity for mass storage and the proprietary software it wanted to use to transfer music files.

Frankly, it pissed me off, but by this time I'd spent my money and was going to make the best of it. After all, rated strictly as a music player, it worked well, and the sexiness of it wasn't lost in the menus and the touchpad control. So long as all I had to do was charge it, I didn't have to mess around with the software much, and that was enough. Sadly, very shortly after the warranty ended, the screen backlight went out. I could still use it if I held it directly in bright sunlight, but really that was it. My already bruised sense of value purchased was shot to hell.

2.5 Cell Phones

Storing and playing music on basic cell phones is easy and... basic. The only one of these worth mentioning is the LG Cosmos Touch. Though marketed to teens, it's a cool little phone and was ideal for use both as a phone and (basic) music player. But I lost it, and had to go back to my Env3, which doesn't even have a standard-sized headphone jack. Boo.

3. Galaxy Player 5.0 (Samsung YP-G70)
This is my most recent acquisition and my real cherry-popping entry into the world of digital devices. In the years since I bought my old m500, the Western world has exploded with Android and iPhone, 3G/4G networks, and data packages that amount to the payments I'll end up making on my teenage son's braces. The term "MP3 player" has almost become obsolete, and considering everything current media players can do, it's absurd to refer to modern, even low-end, devices with the term.

I decided I needed a new music player months before I actually put down the payola. When I started the shopping process, I looked online of course, and got in my head that I could spend a third what I'd paid for previous devices and get more than twice the music player. When I actually walked into a store to try and play with the myriad of products available, I got even more confused. But I also fell in love.

First let me say I was shocked at the price range: I went shopping for a simple touch-screen MP3 player, some of which are out there for as little as $30 or $40. I was expecting something not much more complicated than my three year old GPS. Then I learned about touch screens and started messing around with the fancier devices. Considering these things are just smart phones that don't make calls, the higher price makes sense, and considering Android devices are direct competition for iPhones and high-end tablets (which are even beginning to include souped-up e-readers like the Kindle Fire), the drive to maximize functionality also makes sense.

When I started messing around with the Galaxy Players in the store, I was fairly amazed. (I realize that makes me a bona fide tech noob, but after a certain accumulation of ignorance, it becomes quaint, and therefore excusable...or so I tell myself.) So I decided to get one, eventually, not only because I'd gone way too long without being able to carry my music around with me (basic cell phone music playing in the interim notwithstanding), but because it was a perfect excuse to enjoy all the cool stuff my friends were doing with their phones without paying through the nose for data.

To insure myself against another Zune debacle, I didn't use my own money, so it took me a while to get to walking into a store to buy anything. I spent this time reading reviews and going into more stores to touch and play. During this time, I learned the Galaxy Player 4.2 was coming out, and considered it instead, especially given its size. In the end, however, when I had my VISA gift cards in-hand, and spotted a package deal that included a case and charger, I took the shot and made the buy.

A note on the purchase: I had many options when buying. Unlike Apple's devices, Samsung's prices aren't fixed at every store and website. I chose to buy locally rather than online, and I chose to buy from a store that actually put their products out for customers to try out. Some of the players I looked at online were front runners, even more than the Samsung, but there was no way I was paying money for something until I could touch it and mess around with the menus.

Audiophilia, Part I

I am a music lover. I might even qualify as an audiophile if I understood the classical importance of the hardware necessary to optimize sound. It's a fact that I was born between the analog and digital ages, so my appreciation of music is an amalgam of my very early years sitting around while my mom listened to her favorite albums, my own childhood discovery and exploration of music, and the modern explosion of both availability and portability of musical formats.

As a result, I've been experimenting with ways to have my favorite music with me ever since I got my first cassette recorder. Like most folks my age, I made my first mix tapes by holding the recorder near radio speakers, trying to time the beginning and end of the song just right while keeping everything steady enough not to get those brushing sounds in the recording. Later I owned a dual cassette deck and that was a comparative wet dream. My first car was thirteen years older than me when I bought it, and didn't even have an FM receiver (or an eight-track tape player--I missed that era completely), so I rigged a harness for my boombox with a wire hanger and bought lots of D batteries. I was one of the first people I knew to own a cassette adaptor--both the wired kind that plugs into a headphone jack and the wireless kind that broadcasts a tiny FM signal to which you can tune your car radio--and one of the first things I did after buying my current vehicle was research and purchase an auxiliary input cable.

With the invention of digital music, my world became nearly complete. Remarkably, I never got into Napster or other file sharing methods, but I surely was ripping not only my own CDs to my computer, but those from every friend who would let me borrow them. The fact that libraries loan out music and other audio CDs for free is a testament to human kindness. And then of all magical things, my computer would let me create playlists of all those songs and burn them to a new CD. It's the ultimate mix-tape: all the songs, no ambient noise to ruin the song, and no signal degradation due to making copies of copies ad infinitum. (Seriously, if all the young'ns who grew up with this CD-burning mix-tape method knew the arduous steps such a task used to require, it would make all those when-I-was-your-age stories of "going uphill both ways barefoot in the snow" sound like a cakewalk.) I'm still very fond of this practice; I'll honestly never lose my attachment to physical media, regardless of how advanced we get in the digital age. (Plus, even if you could download liner notes, who would? And would the file include the smell of a freshly open jewel case, or the feel of carefully unfolding the paper for the very first time? I think not...)

Because of my constant desire to keep my favorite tunes nearby, I have watched with childish glee as music services such as Pandora and Spotify have become more mainstream and user friendly. I'm still using the free versions of both of these, with almost no desire (or need*) to upgrade to paid versions, and I have yet to try other, less popular (though certainly mainstream) services like iHeartRadio and Grooveshark. What I love about these services is that they are available almost anywhere (especially with Wi-Fi hotspots and smartphone apps) and that the artists get paid when we music consumers use them, which, after all, was the big deal when Lars took down Napster.

(Discussion on how the music-entertainment business treats/pays artists, especially since the explosion of digital distribution, will not ensue here; perhaps another time, since there's surely plenty to shout about.)

Snippet

I remember hearing the song for the first time. I was in the car, as usual, and I felt helpless in my inability to not only stop and savour every note and lyric, but to write the tiny bit of information I'd held in my brain from the DJ's remark before playing the track, knowing I was sure to have forgotten too much for the memory to be useful by the time I had a chance to write anything.

Haiku: Confidence

Confidence is so
Elusive when you always
Fall short of your goals.

Haiku: Postcard

I missed the deadline,
You can fail me for the week.
Nevertheless, here:

1.
Pretty postcards show
What fun things I've been doing
Because you ar'n't here.

2.
The last thing she sent:
A postcard from Hawaii.
Then she disappeared.

3.
"With all of my heart:"
The last words she wrote before
She left forever.

Fishing

My first cast hit the water with a lame plunk, hardly worthy of the effort I’d made. Dad just said, “Try again.” Eventually I caught something tiny, but judging by his excitement it may as well have been a whale.

I still see his smile when I fish now, with or without my own kids.
* * * * *
FFF-55, Vol. XXXVIII? Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man. Dedicated to my dad on what would be his 39th Father's Day. 

Haiku: Freestyle

A trifecta:

1.
Going where I please
Is the finest way to hike.
To hell with the map!

2.
Creativity:
Coloring outside the lines
Lets out the passion.

3.
Freestyling full speed,
Throwing all the rules aside.
Why? DISCOVERY.

Haiku: Drift

Sunlight falls, driving
The sparkling colours from the
Dewey leaves and grass.

Me and my lover
Standing on the dock above
The drifting duckweed.

We hold each other
As the world turns around us
Knowing well our ends.

"Just a chapter,"
I say to her wistful eyes,
"In your life story."

XJ Vision

I hereby propose a new English phrase:

XJ vision (eks-jey vizh-uhn) n. The propensity for owners of Jeep Cherokee (AMC/Chrysler designation "XJ") vehicles to see other Jeep Cherokees at a greater frequency than owners of other vehicle types, especially at great distances, areas of high car density such as parking lots and traffic jams, and while absentmindedly watching cross- or opposing traffic at a red light. Not to be confused with the Jeep wave.

* Other Chrysler Jeep designations (this list is by no means comprehensive and could contain errors):
  ZJ Jeep Grand Cherokee ZJ (93-98) or
  WJ Jeep Grand Cherokee (99+)
  CJ Wrangler
  KJ Liberty

All in favor say aye.

Haiku: Fire

Seeming sanity
Fools my peers, but floats above
A bed of embers.

Those deep-seated thoughts
That drive my burning fury
are purifying.

"Can't do it again,"
She said as she struck the match
And set me aflame.

Encounter

I was late, as usual. I wasn’t paying attention as I pulled into the lot and nearly hit a woman, clearly just as late and stressed as me. However agitated she was, I only made it worse, and she sure let me have it.

That was eighteen years ago. She’s still gorgeous when she’s angry.

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. [XXXVII?]. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. G-Man is still recovering; let's all wish him well.

Haiku: Landscape

Red and yellow leaves
Signal a return to school:
Landscape of children.

Snow falls and covers
Everything. Landscape of white,
Perfect for snowmen.

New buds break open
To decorate the landscape.
Spring awakens us.

Wind sweeps through treetops
And brings a pleasant green warmth
Across the landscape.

I ♥ Firefly

Links to full episodes on YouTube. No telling how long these links will last (as you'll see, one has already been taken down).
*Disclaimer: Do not watch these (or listen to them while working, like I do) until you own a legitimage bought-and-paid-for DVD box set. Make sure Fox knows we still love this series by supporting it with your dollar bills (or pounds, yen, rupees, euros, et cetera)!

Episode 1: Pilot
Episode 2: The Train Job
Episode 3: Bushwhacked
Episode 4: Shindig
Episode 5: Safe
Episode 6: Our Mrs. Reynolds
Episode 7: Jaynestown
Episode 8: Out of Gas
Episode 9: Ariel
Episode 10: War Stories
Episode 11: Trash
Episode 12: The Message (in three parts)
Episode 13: Heart of Gold
Episode 14: Objects in Space

Ode to G-Man

When I finally got around to it again, I was so proud of myself. But when I went to post my work, I realized I’d missed a whole lot of important news. Apparently, the G-Man is out for repairs!

Get well soon, Galen. We miss you! Here’s to hoping for many more kick ass weekends!

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. [omg who cares]. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

The last couple weeks, Galen (AKA G-Man), the host of the weekly Friday Flash Fiction 55 blogapalooza, fell ill and has been hospitalized. I don't know this man, but I know his mind, his face, his sense of humor, his passions--I've all but shaken his hand through his writing, and I'm glad of it. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way--dozens of others participate far more often than I do in the weekly fictionfest. I'm sending a little extra good feeling up toward the middle knuckle area of my left handed map.