Thursday, January 19, 2012

Waiting Game

Growing up, we would play games like Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit, and The Game of Life—at which I was mysteriously adept at becoming the lawyer—but I still think Kill Dr. Lucky was one of the best.
And cards. We would play cards too, like retirees killing time.
Now I'm playing one of those real-life games that is impossible to win and yet impossible to throw a tantrum, flip the board in the air and storm home.
Waiting.
The past few days I've stayed shuttered in the house with occasional excursions to teach some piano. It's cold; I've been under the weather; there's nothing to force me out into the world.
And while I've gotten a lot done at home—making some phat beats and hip-happening grooves—there's always the gmail inbox twinkling at me in the distance, begging me to check for anything important.
Whether it's a new piano student, a romantic interest, a potential performance gig, or just a new Facebook friend, the compounding of unrequited communication is an experiment in anti-matter containment, each new void expanding the black hole below.
And yet I can't stop. I keep throwing boomerangs off the cliff never to be seen again. Only some do I get to see washed up on the shore, their potential energy wasted, overcome by gravity and the infinite mist.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Jon Stories

There was this guy I grew up with who used to tell one-line stories with no punchline.

We all know the kind and have all told them; at one point, it became the thing to add "and then I found 5 dollars" at the end.

I used to find myself telling similarly pointless stories—can we even call them stories?—and quickly put an end to it once my friends started saying that instead of "Jon Stories" we should call them "Evan Strories."

I learned my lesson.

But sometimes these days, after a long day of sitting and contemplating, my capacity for speech feels rusted—the juices aren't flowing. Pointless stories are usually the first to come out.

But I'm so conditioned against it that I keep them in, looking around for something else. Nothing comes.

You have to let it all come out before you get to the good stuff. So is life.