About That Trip . . . .

So, I'm back from Paradise.

The trip to see Xena was a whirlwind of rushing, packing, waiting, texting, flying, smiling, kissing, laughing, eating, touching, drinking, seeing, loving, relaxing, thinking, planning, driving, crying . . . . . . and peace.

Blessed, blessed peace.

Dear friends, you know how long I've sought that.

So - More about Xena, myself and the trip.

In the last 28 years, I had seen her once. About 9 years ago she showed up at one of my plays, and we spent a bit less than an hour talking about our lives. She had just moved to Miami, and I was married and expecting my 4th child. She went back to Florida, and that was it. I never saw her in the store around the Holidays, as is often the case with other old friends. She was just gone.

Flash forward to Friday morning . . . .

As I'm walking down the Jetway, knowing she will be waiting at the other end, my heart is pounding and the butterflies in my stomach are doing the Riverdance. Was this all in my head? Would there be sparks? Passion? Awkwardness? Would our friendship be intact after physical contact? A million possibilities shouted at me in my head, threatening to drown out the increasing ribaldry the butterflies were producing at the moment. Would I disappoint her? Did I look like hell from the flight? Was my breath fresh? on and on these thoughts were swirling and swirling in my head until I was almost dizzy with them . . . and there she was.

There was no awkward hello, no shy smiles or mindless pleasantries . . . we quite simply fell into each other's arms and engaged in what can only be described as an airport kiss of epic proportions. The buzz of the busy airport and the crowd melted away and we were in this little cocoon of our own making. Everything else just ceased to exist for me. If you've ever seen one of those films where the long separated lovers embrace at the airport or train station or whatever, then you know the scene. It may have lasted 30 or 40 seconds, it may have lasted 20 minutes, I have no idea, I was completely and fully lost in her.

We managed to pull ourselves apart and went hand in hand to retrieve my bag. From there it was breakfast in South Beach with excellent Bloody Marys. After breakfast we took off our shoes and walked along the beach just on the edge of the surf. The rain forced us to cut our stroll short so we went shopping for wine and chocolate, which we then took to our room.

A word about our room.

Thank you HOTWIRE.

Wow. Just a stunning, stunning hotel. For less per night than what our breakfast cost.

I won't bore you (or titillate you) with the details, but the weekend was as perfect as could be hoped. Yes, it rained all weekend - but we didn't plan on leaving the room much anyway. . .

There was a late night room service meal on the balcony, there was a gifted mango fresh off the tree as breakfast in bed, consumed with champagne, there were mojitos by the pool, a perfect dinner at a stellar restaurant, another breakfast in bed with croissants, and coffee, there was a drive to Key Biscayne, and a beautiful couple of hours just watching it rain on the bay while parked on the shore, an incredible Cuban restaurant, . . and then the airport again.

We spent about forty minutes facing each other on a bench, once again oblivious to the world around us as we said our goodbye . . . yes, there was tears . . but it was a nice bookend for the weekend, a bit of symmetry if you will.

Sigh

She will be here in two weeks . . . .

And We Have a Winner . . .

THIS is teh awesome.

This is so full of win, it has officially won the internet.

Game over.

Suck it Twilight fans . . . you don't fuck with the Slayer.

If its Summer, it Must be Time to Read . . . . . ..

Doing any summer reading?

What's that? No time?

Well, yes . . I get that. As an adult, the concept of summer reading is just that - a concept. I suppose if I were say, in the teaching profession, I could wake up each day and attack the pile of yet- to be read books clogging my bookshelf, nightstand, dresser, etc . . But for me, summer is the same as any other time of the year, just with higher electric bills (the castle doesn't cool itself you know), so sadly there is no "summer reading" for me. Who are these people I often wonder, who have all summer to sit on the beach, paperbacks in hand, sipping Pimm's Cups and reading the lighter, less taxing fare that invariably make up the summer reading lists?

I have a theory about those lists. You know the ones, packed with suggestions to read at the beach. These list are usually populated by detective stories, sappy "quirky girl meets awkward boy" stories - (destined to be a film starring Zooey Daschanel, no doubt), and mystery thrillers. I think they are the publishing industry's version of Secretaries Day. A purely invented, self serving event who's only purpose is to increase sales during an otherwise slow time.

Let's think about it, shall we? With the exception of students and teachers and characters in a John Irving novel - who really has the summer off? Students aren't likely to get their 3 month respite from the halls of academia only to immediately pick up a novel, which leaves teachers. Ok - I'll grant you that most teachers I know probably do spend much more time reading in the summer than during the school year, but do the list exist solely to assist them in leisurely reading choices? No I say!

These list are put there to lure the rest of us bibliophiles into buying yet more books that we don't have time to read. An invention of the marketing department to sell more books. Ergo - the summer reading season is a fake holiday, just like Secretaries day, Grandparents day, and all of the other Hallmark holidays.

Why else would I buy a detective novel? It isn't really my genre of choice, ahh but it came off the list at NPR, so it must be right for Summer, right? So every year I buy into the hype and rush to Barnes and Noble in late May to "stock up". I have shelves and shelves full of pastel colored book jackets to attest to my gullibility.

So this year, I resolve not to fall victim to this marketing hype! Join with me, will you? Let's refuse to blindly follow the siren call of these clever publishing Moguls!

Well . . . OK - I do have a four hour flight coming up next week . . I'll need some light reading for that flight. . . . The Four Corners of the Sky looks good for that . . . then there's the trip back home . . one book probably won't last both flights . . . Maybe The School of Essential Ingredients, . .I mean . . it is a novel about a cooking school for Pete's sake! . . . . Then I'll be in San Antonio for a day or two while Xena is at a conference . . . I guess I could read by the pool while I wait for her to get out. . . . . Oh! maybe Stone's Fall for that one. . . . . Oh, and I'm going to spend a weekend at the Bay house . . . . and after reading that excerpt from the Jane Hamilton novel, I really want to see how it turns out. . .

Sigh.


Why doesn't IKEA have a summer bookshelf sale? Now there's a marketing idea I can get behind.

Happy reading guys . . . . .

Happy Bloomsday! Some day Brave Sir Robin will join in the fun in Dublin*, but for today - this awesomeness will have to suffice.



*Of course someday I need to clear my head, stop being afraid and just finish reading the damn book, but that's another post . . .

Two One Ticket to Paradise

Yesterday, Brave Sir Robin purchased round trip tickets to a certain warm and balmy location. Well, the astute among you, (which would be all of my readers, btw), may have figured out who I'm going to visit. My plane takes off in exactly 9 days and 19 hours. Hmmmmph. Patience has never exactly been a virtue of mine. . . . .

Any thoughts as to how I should pass the time?

Too bad it wasn't a one way ticket . . . .

A New Dawn . . . .

Peace. \ˈpēs\

1: a state of tranquility or quiet: as a: freedom from disturbance
2: freedom from disquieting or oppressive thoughts or emotions
3: harmony in personal relations


Contented. \kən-ˈten-təd\

1: feeling or showing satisfaction with one's possessions, status, or situation

Bliss\ˈblis\

1 : complete happiness


Brave Sir Robin
1. All of the above

Today in Appropriate Song Lyrics

Isn't it wonderful how a certain song can trigger a memory, or a thought? There are many for me that evoke a particular place and time, or sometimes - a person. Perhaps you remember the first time you heard that song, and who you were with. I can't listen to Hit Me With your Best Shot without remembering a beautiful sunny December 26, 1980, riding with the top down in Robbie Corly's triumph, drinking beer and listening to the 8 track, fresh from the store that morning.

Sometimes, I have no particular memory of the song itself, but it's lyrics caress my thoughts into remembering a certain person. For as long as I can remember, Same Old Lang Syne has been one of those songs. Perhaps the reason I love this song so much is because I can't hear it without thinking of one particular, very special person.



Xena, as she will be known here, was a high school sweetheart of Brave Sir Robin. She was in my life at that delicious time of discovery, naivety, and confusion known as being 16. Not quite lovers, but so much more than boyfriend and girlfriend. She was the first woman in my life that was my best friend at the same time that she was my girlfriend. What a difference from being just the girl you went to the movies with, then went over to a buddy's house to talk about anything but the girl. It was the beginning of my understanding that women are more than just accouterments, to be paraded about and enjoyed. She was confidant, friend, and participant in some of the most legendary make out sessions our band busses had ever seen.

As High School romances are want to do - ours slipped away. The reasons are lost in the murky fog of a 30 year old memory. It hardly matters why - but a connection had been made. It is telling to note that of all the women I've dated in my life, she was the first, (and in truth - the only) one who remained my very close Friend after we parted. She was not only the smartest person I knew (Valedictorian), she was funny - (more importantly, she thought I was funny), beautiful, musical, and quite simply, the kind of person that everyone loved. I knew she was special, and I never felt like I was quite up to her level. Although I was saddened to lose our intimacy - she was still my friend, and there was never a time that I wasn't thrilled to be in her presence.

Of course, as High School became college, and college became life, we lost contact. Yet every time Dan Fogelberg sang Same Old Lang Syne, it was her face I'd see, and I could always just imagine running into her at the grocery store around Christmas time. I never did.

About three weeks ago. we found each other on facebook. It's better than any song lyric I've ever heard. She is still the warm, beautiful person she always was, she still has her infectious giggle, and her wickedly sharp sense of humor.

Brave Sir Robin is excited, eager, and thrilled to face the new day. When was the last time you heard that from me? Xena is my friend, and I never dared to dream she would some day be in my life again. Those of you who have been with me for the last two and a half years aren't used to an optimistic, self assured Brave Sir Robin. The numbness of the last few years parted like a veil last night.

Prepare to be amazed.

Xena, I know you're reading this - so considering our marathon conversation last night. (Gentle Reader, Brave Sir Robin was on the phone until the sun rose) This song is for you.

Seriously, WTF????

I guess having your 15 year old daughter pose for soft core porn with her daddy isn't quite trashy enough for the Cyrus clan.

Meet her nine year old sister.

How young is too young for this type of sexualization? I don't know, but this creeps me the fuck out.

For fucks sake, that is a red carpet shoot with an 8 year old and nine year old.

Hey Billy-Ray, Dina Lohan thinks you need to reel it in a bit.

inappropriate much?

Yeah, It's Me Again

Another blog, BSR?

Really?

Yeah.

I walked away from a space that was safe and comforting to me, because it ceased to be so.

I thought maybe facebook was the answer, but for a variety of reasons, it's not.

Facebook is wonderful for finding old friends, and keeping up with those who are far away, but my blog space was different.

My family was never privy to my blog for one thing.

I don't feel that facebook is the appropriate place for some of the things I want to say. The beauty of my blog was that it attracted like minded people. Facebook is populated with people I see every day, people who are friends or neighbors, or my childrens teachers.

Facebook is a tool. A blog is my voice.

When I read last night that Tiller was murdered, I was filled with rage . . . and I had no outlet for that rage. I know I am welcome to post at other sites, and I am grateful for that opportunity, but I have a voice , and it seems wasteful not to use it.

I'm not sure how this site will evolve. I imagine it will be very similar to my last one.

(As for that - I think I will put the archive back up.)

I want this place to be a Salon - a place for like minded friends (and certainly phriends), to get together and discuss what's on our minds. I am open to all opinions, but I will draw the line at hateful speech. I want a space that is safe and comforting to all who wish to abide in it.

I am a proud, unabashed liberal.

Yes LIBERAL. I embrace that word. I am not ashamed of that word. I am also a feminist, and damn serious about it.

I welcome comments and emails, with one small caveat. . . . .

I am a single male, and I am lonely. I'm sure I will often discuss that fact in this space. If you have a significant other who will not be comfortable with you being a member of our little community, please don't join in.

I'm back.

I'm rested, tanned and ready.

Are you with me?