Monday, May 28, 2012
10 THINGS I HATE / LOVE
•I enjoy chick flicks. Yes, I do. Like 10 Things I Hate About You. I really dig that movie and I wish I didn't, but every time I see it or think about it I find myself smiling at the great dialogue and unabashed belief that true love will eventually get through the thickest, most-stubborn skulls.
•I speak girl. Fluently. I know what they're saying when they're not saying anything; I know the nuances of that complex language. Which, in turns, leads to the next bullet point:
•I'm a boy. I hate that I'm a member of the stupider sex, but I'm glad I'm not smart enough to be a girl. That shit is hard. Just thinking about it makes my head explode.
•I cry. Sometimes over dorky stuff, like a sentimental glance or a sappy song. Yes, I'm a goob. Would that I could be that bad-ass rondavis and never let anything seem to bother me (except for idiots). But that guy's a jerk.
•I'm not white. Being half-Japanese sometimes makes me feel like a half-breed, a mutt — not uber-cool like full-blooded nisei. But I love having Asian blood coursing through my veins. It makes me feel like I'm almost mesmerizing and just a little bit mysterious.
•I'm 51 years old. Shit. Fifty-one. Being 31 would be much cooler right about now — but then again, I thought I knew everything when I was 31, and it turns out I didn't know jack. Now, of course, I know I know everything, so it's pretty much all worked out.
•I miss bacon. My cholesterol is down, my weight is down, my doctor says I've got the body of a 30-year-old man, and a lot of that has to do with cutting red meat from my diet. So, bully. But goddamn, I miss bacon. I could eat a pound of it right now.
•I love my cat. GAWD, he's a pain in the ass and he sheds all over my black shirt and he insists on whining about being hungry when I've just finished feeding him. And he shows me his BB-pellet ass when I want his attention. But he's stuck with me, so I guess I can understand his surly attitude.
•I am stuck with this face. It's never going to set hearts fluttering, but there's real character in it now, something that was missing when I was a much-stupider boy. At least I look intelligent now.
•I am a writer. There. I said it. I'm a writer. Writing is the hardest thing I've ever done — and now it's coming from a different place in my heart, so it's like pulling eye teeth, especially with a silent muse. But I'm staggering forward, one keystroke at a time, and some of the stuff that's coming out of my fingers isn't bad. Give me another six months and I might even think some of it is good.
I could add an 11th point — I'm smart — but I don't hate that fact. And besides, no one wants to read a Top 11 list.