So these are thoughts I had at the beach. In the last 24, well 19 hours, I have been given much change to ponder. Let us start this at the movies…
Paul. I went to see Paul which turned out to be a delightful film but mostly because of the chemistry and talents of Simon Pegg, and Nick Frost. There were a couple things that irritated me, but I forgave them sort of. Lot’s of references to all things geeky, and way too many gay jokes that made it childish, and a measure of bashing of the Intelligent Design model. (They missed a really good opportunity here to connect faith and fact here but instead firmly drove a wedge into the issue.) I’ll probably see it again, but probably on Netflix, or if someone goes with me this time.
The trailers rocked! My run down;
Your Royal Highness- Must See! Natalie Portman is hot!
Thor –Must see! Natalie Portman is hot!
I stood in the middle of my street late last night staring into the glow of the moon. As you all know it is at is closest approach in years. To me it was noticeable, but I have to wonder, how often most of the world looks up to even have a reference to its fluctuations. I had the telescope out but only for a couple minutes. I really didn’t want to have anything standing between the two of us. The most beautiful part of jumping out of an airplane is when you are under the gentle cradling of a fully deployed canopy is looking at the curve of the earth and there is nothing between you and the horizon. That was just the mood I was in last night. I looked upon the face of Selene and caressed her cheek, and closed my eyes.
There is this thing I do with the moon, which I haven’t done in a long time. It will probably get me killed because I usually end up doing it in the middle of the street in the middle of the night. I close my eyes and try to void my mind. All I try to sense is the moonlight piercing my eyelids and will the moon to use it’s gravitation to pull me to it. I have mentioned before that I feel like I have had some small measure of success with this practice but just when it feels like it is working something grounds me to Terra Firma. Normally a vehicle honking.
So at the beach this afternoon the first realization I had was that I need a better chair. I had my trusty camp chair and that is great for sitting around in parking lots after golf, or at work, or where ever but it lacks any convenience at the shore. I had a full-length, fully-adjustable chaise for the longest time and I in a more Bohemian age would use it as a cot. I really need to get one now and I am thinking it is actually something I have to do for my new part-timer. I can not realistically portray a proud member of the Timiquan nation if I am pasty white. Which is why today has found me sitting there in a Speedo. I went to Guana State Park. It is primitive, but not as desolate as I could hope for but desolate enough for me to go there with a reasonable chance of being able to throw on a pair of jams if there is a passer by. I read 20,00 Leagues under the Sea, saw dolphins and took a smallish nap.
So here is a fashion mystery I wish someone would explain. Since the weather has been nice, I ride my bicycle along 1st Street pretty often. 1st Street being the street next to the beach access so naturally bathers are frequenting the bars, and restaurants along the way, I noticed a young woman in a bikini top and small shorts. Not unusual except she had a pair of handcuffs, a manacle each, close around her belt loops in front of her shorts. I tried not to stare, but I am was not that strong. I did ride faster. Today, same thing. Young woman in a bikini but this time bolt manacles were attached to a single belt loop.
Why? What is the statement? Please forgive me if it seems I am judgmental. As a matter of fact, I am in the camp of the far other direction.
I am officially sick of St. Patrick’s Day. In much the same way I am sick of Thanksgiving and Valentines Day. All the mucky muck that goes along with it just seems to me to be a mockery of something that at one time was something good and noble. With a name like Jon Ryan you have to figure, and this was pointed out to me already, that I should be all into this day. I’m not. I don’t even claim to be Irish anymore. As far a s relatives have figured out the Ryan’s, my fathers side have been here since the mid 1700’s and the family of my mother were native to the land. I am as American as you can get. So don’t ask me to get excited over one more day to deal with the shitfaced wrapping themselves in the colors of green, white, and orange.
Now I sit writing this journal. One that will be posted to my blog and linked from Facebook and Deviant art. Much of this will be copied into other applications where appropriate. I am sick of my 365 project. It has driven home two things. 1) I am sick of doing everything alone. 2) I am highly repetitive.
Could I get any boringer? Have I finally gotten over myself? No need to answer that.