A Blog of Influence.

"Who are your musical influences?"

Why does everyone ask that question? I was looking through the music mags that Smiley left on her visit, and it seemed like everybody asked that. Oh sure they glossed it up behind some intro paragraph about another "rain soaked" venue date or some studio banter gone bad between band mates, but somewhere in the interview the writer always asks the obligatory question.

"Who are your musical influences."

Most bands have had a pocket card with pat answers to this question since the label A&R rep first taught them to walk the walk.

"Jose and the Pussycats?"

"No…it's ok to be funny, but you want to look cool doing it. The Archie's are fine…"

Actually no they're not, but I'm not an A&R guy. I'm just a blogger; A&Rs gobble guys like me for lunch. It's how they get good press. No, usually the answer to the influence question is pretty fake. It's 1 "big" name like the Beatles, Stones, etc. followed my smaller label bands in grooming. The big band is usually an artist from the generation that gave this group their sound. Now, with all the alt bands going disco happy I'm waiting for the KC and the Sunshine band nod.

Speaking of which, I was watching Tombstone this weekend. I kinda wanted to see a young KC as Doc. The old KC would have just been sad and unbelievable, but a young KC?

"I'm your bogeyman Johnny Ringo…"

And see, that's what's on the rest of the band's list of influences. Weird indi bands like Johnny Ringo and the Boogeymen; it shows how "trendy" they are. I think the band names are usually made up. Nobody cares. Oh the post game groupie may say she loves Johnny Ringo too even though she's never heard of him, but that has nothing to do with why she gets in the back door.

That did get me thinking about musical influences. I mean I don't play a traditional instrument; I play the iTunes, and let me tell ya, I rock. My iTunes is full of artists that I play that shape my world. But like I said, they're not the influence, they're the instrument.

Who are my influences?

Gia in 7th grade. I learned to play Journey "Departure" because of her. That was her favorite band. Oh I never liked her enough to make them my favorite, but I did learn a few licks from the experience.

Marlee, in college, she showed me that you could like Loreena McKennitt, and still be cool, while more recent influences include Jane, who let me see the "Chove en Santiago"; something I'd never considered before.

My biggest influence? The obligatory artist that everybody knows? That's MyEx, of course. Whether I liked all her music, my likes and dislikes were shaped by her presence. I remember a trip we made in the car from Wisconsin. We'd been driving all day, and planned on driving through the night. She'd just taken the wheel, and she was kinda grumpy about the whole experience.

"What are we listening too." If language were a match, the first flick fell on the word "What" while the agitation friction spark caught fire on the dragging "listening."

"The Cure, why?" I asked, trying o blow out the flame with innocence.

"Oh." was all she said. That's all she needed to say. I changed the CD. From there out, I rarely listened to the Cure when she was around. Likewise, I'm sure her Motley Crüe repertoire dwindled in my presence. In fact I'm sure the first night in her new house, the walls dripped with Nikki Sixx goo. Well, not literally, but you get my point.

See when you promise "for better or worse," the priest is actually talking about your music collection.

"For better or worse, for Nirvana or Hell Yeah, in Big & Rich and Poor Seamus…Till death metal you do part…"

That's right, because your significant other will significantly influence your musical taste. I was talking to one friend who told me that her ex kept trying to make her like playing Cheap Trick. It never happened. You know why? Because you can't force influences. Oh, you can create bad influences, but making somebody like something is like walking a five year old through a candy store to get to the spinach factory: you're gonna lose them somewhere before you get what you want.

So what happens? We learn to like and dislike things based on their influence. I got good at knowing MyEx's taste. If there were a band that I liked, but knew would irritate her, I'd switch the station. It was just easier than facing the music. She influenced me. She shared things that I might not have liked otherwise. That's part of what marriage is about.

Now it's done, and over the past year I've played bands that I know she wouldn't like with people she wouldn't approve of. That's fine. I'm not doing it for her, or to spite her. I'm doing it because my influences have changed. I'm doing it because it happens to us all. Even Johnny Ringo and the Boogeymen, by their sophomore CD, have to admit, "You know what? I really like Taylor Swift."

That's fine, because we all do. Ok, no, we all don't, but maybe you do. I don't know who your influences are. Whoever they are, make sure they're positive. Remember, even if you like Hanna Montana, that's the soundtrack of your life. That's what rocks your world. That's what bounces you out of bed and wiggles you in the shower to sing down another day. Nobody can shape that unless you let them.

"Who are your influences?"

Rob Talks Porn: Blog Hits Skyrocket.

So, I'm posting late. What's new about that? I am sorry. Nope, that's not new. We all have our weaknesses, timeliness is one of mine. Ask MyEx, she's still waiting for me at the last supper with a palm full of nails. I'm late. I'm sorry. This time I have a note from Mom.

Ok, not so much a note from mom as a ticket stub from the cinema, but still it's really kinda close to the same thing. Because today I found out something that Mom never taught me, but that was just as important as the things she did. I saw something in the theater that changed my life. I saw Zack and Miri Make a Porno, and now I've learned what I want in life.

I want someone who would make a porno with me.

For those of you who saw the movie (the previous reference, I really don't care if you've seen a porn unless you're going to email it to me), you know what I'm talking about. If you didn't see the movie, then I won't ruin the surprise, but as one friend who saw it before me said, "Think double Dutch rudder."

No, that's not what I'm looking for either, but well...I guess you just need to see the film to understand. I have a problem when it comes to explaining things without a good reference.

The movie is about believing in yourself, and believing in others enough to see their dream. My dream is to make a porno. Ok, not exactly, make a porno--more of a metaphoric porno flick. I mean, lets face it, Naked Rob in HD? I think there'd be more bleary eyes than in a Love Story marathon.

"Love is never having to see Rob naked again…"

Yeah, HD would suddenly stand for "Holy Dingos!"

I’m not really sure what that means, but trust me, it isn't good. It is better than "Scooby Dooby Doo" though, or Scrappy Doo for that matter. Well any doo...

And laughing. Yeah, laughing during a Rob porn is a limp noodle no-no too. I'd rather people didn't laugh either. Call it an esteem flaw. And if you do, that's great, cuz I think that esteem flaws are part of my point here, and I was having a hard time finding my way to one of those elusive points too.

Esteem is important. I once dated a woman with a really low self-esteem. I mean if I asked her to make a porno, she would never have done it, because she didn't see herself as pretty or worthy. She didn't believe that others could want to see her naked.

Having seen some of the stuff popping up on the internet, I'm gonna tell ya, she was actually a cut above. Still, she didn't believe that, and eventually it led to her believing we didn't belong together. She thought that she wasn't good enough. In the end she was right, because she willed it to be true. She was also the first woman I loved, and the first one to break my heart.

See, try all you want, you can't change somebody's self image. It takes time, and they have to be willing to look in a real mirror. Its amazing how many sexy women won't look. They see themselves through a perverted lens that only accents the aggravating.

MyEx was the opposite. Oh, I don't necessarily mean about the sexy part--follow me, I'm back to the porn. She wouldn't make a porno with me. She believed she was too good for it. Maybe she was, but at the same time, she didn't believe in my ability to make us into the perfect movie with all the heat and action, light and sparks, and still fill in the day to day pleasures of a life more normal. She didn't believe in me--not when it counted.

See, esteem is one of those crazy things. I believe that God blesses us with a firm balance of confidence and humility. It's important to acknowledge our strengths as well as our weaknesses. I mean I can work my way around the bedroom with the best of them--ok, the Ok-est of the rest of them. But once you start including a balance beam and a pommel horse, I get a little lost.

"Ok, according to the IKEA directions, I'm supposed to lie like this, while you spread th--OWWW!"

Look away for a moment. Yeah probably a little longer. That scene isn't my best angle. Look at Jesus, that will help. No really, look at him. Not only was he God, but he was man, carpenter, and miracle worker. Yet his greatest achievement came from his role as a savior, and not from some house he nailed, or leper he healed.

Sure, he could have stopped at what he was good at, or even tried something new…

"I've been tossing around the whole cross idea, and I've decided to have the latte instead…"

But he didn't. He was confident to the end.

I want to be confident in porn. I want somebody in my life who I can lift up, and somebody who lifts me up in return. That requires esteem. You'd be surprised how many people collapse under the weight of poor self esteem.

See, like I said, it's a balance. It's confidence and humility. They're what move us through life. A man filled with his own gas will puff up and rock in place before eventually exploding, while a woman who doesn't own her own heroinism will vanish in a vacuum of her own negativity. Neither will ever move anyone else, and will generally suck the life from those closest to them.

But someone who accepts the balance can progress. Not only in their, lives but in their walk with a companion. See we all want to star in our own porno. Some of us are looking for a group thing, others are happy with solo projects. Me, I'm looking for a one-on-one with somebody who understands me and knows how to help me reach the next scene while I move her in her own production. Together we inspire each other to be our best. Oh sure it can't all be sweat and heat, but it can be two people loving each other enough to say, "I'll do."

Does that make sense? Of course not. I'm just babbling. It's what I'm good at. That and finding a way to blog about porn.

Lessons.

Have you ever felt like you're on the verge of a revelation? Not as in Biblical dragons, whores, and flesh eating locusts, you can log into World of Warcraft anytime you want to find that. No I'm talking about a "life is trying to tell you something" revelation. Usually, for me anyway, it's something I should have learned somewhere else. Like all the lessons I was supposed to learn in my divorce; there I'm a little back logged.

To work through that lesson book, I might as well try cataloging the Smithsonian in a weekend. There's just so much stuff!

What if I don't learn it?

Do I have to repeat it?

What's really a lesson?

One of the lessons, is learning what is a lesson. Some things aren't lessons at all, they're just things you want to mean something: they're red thongs on the bed post. Herring? Red herring? Why would that be on the bed post? That's just stupid. No wonder she left…

Anyway, yeah during the divorce I learned a lot about people, some new things about MyEx and even a thing or two about me.

"Don't you ever flush?"

I don't really think that that was what caused my divorce, but it was interesting to see the little house idiosyncrasies that I blamed on her, that were all mine. Oh, there were truckloads of idiocies that disappeared when she left too, so don't think I learned that much about me. But I'm not here to blame her--that's what the divorce was for. At least that's what I've learned so far.

This blog is about life's lap drops. Dances? No, life never does that to me. Oh that it would, but no, it's more like droppings, trust me. It's the things I should have learned. The things that cross into other areas of life leaving new piles of…joy. Although some are happier than others. I think that's my latest revelation. Some are opportunities.

Those of you who read me on D360 know that I've posed a question about next years vacation. Those of you who don't read me there have no idea what I'm talking about. That would make this a normal daily blog, but I'm trying make a point, so let me elaborate.

Swim through the confusion with me. All things will be as clear as the six year old swim water at the Y soon enough. Cleansing Rob's mind was one of those lessons I was supposed to learn…

The last 2 years I've done nothing with my vacation. Oh, yeah, I've sat around the house. I don't really count that as much. I always feel like I spend it trying to catch up. For next year I've decided to make it something to catch up from. Next year I'm going to a music festival.

Which one? I have no idea. Not yet. I have asked for suggestions, so if somebody has one, post it. I'm going to take the top 4 ideas, and turn them into the vacation pool at work. Whichever week I get off, is the show I go see. I'll let fate and God fight it out with drumstick light sabers. All I know is that, one way or another, I'm going to a land of milk and music. What? My dad reads my blog. I ONLY drink milk. I'm a good boy.

I'm also a music fan so I thought this would be perfect.

"Cheers!"

One of the things I should have learned from divorce is that nothing is perfect. You plan for the worst, and take what pile you get. I'm still working on that one. That's why I'm planning to write a music blog from wherever I go! Cuz I'm not accepting the pile, and I'm not missing out.

That's right, I'm gonna write about the bands and everything, because maybe someday somebody will trip over my blog-rock and go, "Hey! I like his stuff!" Most people veer away now. They're daunted by the word "Divorce" cuz it looks contagious. Somebody sees "music" they just might go, "Hey! I like his stuff!" No matter what they think of my divorce.

I'm also thinking that maybe the next time the D360 gods throw a Divorce festival, they'll invite me cuz, "Hey! We like his stuff." That's right! I could blog about divorce and take pictures and….hey, wait a minute…

So, I haven't learned to be quick either. That's fine. I'm learning to have fun, even if it's at my own expense, because seriously, nothing is perfect. Not everything works. If you don't embrace the things that do work and chase after them with both arms open, then you'll miss out on so many chances.

I'm done doing that.

Strapping Young Post.

Lift yourself up by the bootstraps.

Have you ever tried that? I have. Let me tell ya, first off, most boot straps aren't really big enough to accommodate heavy lifting, second off just how can I do this without levitation skills? I mean it's not like I have these straps stitched into my butt. Although a novel concept, but let's face it (so to speak) they would only make my jeans lumpy. I like my hairy butt, and it doesn't have boot straps. I suppose I could braid handholds, but those would only be for some lucky lady. I don't touch my butt that much.

Still, sometimes the concept represented by boot straps is almost as difficult as screwing your pants on, one leg at a time. You don't screw them on? Huh. But wouldn't it be fun to try? One or both legs, doesn't mater. It seems to get some dogs off. I'm sorry, I digress.

Where was I? butt straps? Ah, yes. See lifting yourself up is very difficult. Ask anybody who's gone through a divorce, they'll tell you that it's the next hardest thing to rolling out of bed in the morning--at least at first.

I must admit. That was one thing I liked about being married. I liked being able to latch onto somebody else's butt straps, and get help standing up. It was easier, and much more fun to hook my fingers into.

"Hey! I told you no!"

"Sorry."

See, actually MyEx is a good person, but motivation wasn't always her strong suit. Did it hurt us? Well it probably didn't help, but neither did the Soprano's series finale. Who can say how important that was, we missed the last 2 minutes. In retrospect, the one thing I've learned about divorce is that "In retrospect" doesn't mean a damn thing. It's no more useful than boot straps. And yet both are supposed to support the weight of the life ongoing.

In retrospect, MyEx wasn't a great motivator.

Still that isn't to say that she was never there. It's just that it was like sex in the dark: I had to find her first.

"Marco."

"Polo"

"WREEOOWWR!"

"Wrong fuzzy thing. Try again."

Yeah, she never had boot or butt straps there either. That's ok, at least there, half the fun is climbing back up. Not in life. If you're climbing, then you're down already.

When you're alone, being down sucks more, cuz then it's just you and the worthless freakin' boot straps and boot straps aren't real. They're expressive extensions. Boot flair if you will. They're simply there for show. So are most friends. You can lean on them, but divorce requires a lot of help. After a while, you're cast out as an emotional vampire.

"I've come to suck your will to live."

"Quick pull out your butt straps, it's our only hope!"

"AAAAHHH! I'm melting…"

"Take that! You and your wretched winged butt monkeys of worry!"

Yeah sorry I didn't write that, that's from a little known Frank Baum/Braum Stoker collaboration. There, they dealt with drugs and depression. Think Twilight meets Midnight Cowboy on the bridge to Terabithia, before bungie jumping with Trolls and Gruff Goats. Good family fun.

See when you're alone you have to use everything at your disposal because nobody else is going to lift you up. Yeah, this isn't an "Awww, Rob" moment, it's just true. It's survival. You know divorce, you've been there. There are things you do that make up for your boot strap's weakness. Some of us climb into books, others build themselves up in physical activity, while other weirdoes just float away in music. We're all different but we all have our straps that we cling onto.

Sometimes we're lucky. Sometimes there's an extra hand, and somebody attached to it. Somebody who says, "here take mine." but usually no. Usually we do what we can. The other thing to remember about handholds is that some are real, some are glad hands. Never grab the latter; you'll only fall.

It's not depressing, it's survival. Me? I get lost in my mini adventures. I have fun finding straps like rock climbing hand holds. I like hand holds. I'm ok with finding straps.

The important thing is to roll out of bed, and take each day as the adventure it is. The day somebody else is there, cherish it. The day your boot straps hold, call it a blessing. It's one boot step into tomorrow. And really that's what we're all striving for.

Who's the Wrongest Of Them All

Here's a quick quiz for the avid reader:

What does Rob hate worst than admitting he's wrong?

Answer: Admitting somebody else is right in the process.

Yeah, I'm practically a Fonzie biker-boot heel drag here, cuz I can't even type the words.

"I'm wrrr---wrowrere--I’m wright, no…"

I had to call MyEx.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Me."

"Yes?"

"I need a favor."

Silence.

"You there?"

"…yes…What do you want?"

"yeah, cool. It's easy, you'll like this, I promise."

"uh-huh.."

"That was a Mellencamp record title! But you knew that, huh?"

"Yeah. You've got three seconds before I 'paint the mother pink.' "

"Ha ha..Nice cultural reference! I always liked how you could do that. So how have you been?"

"Rob. What do you want?"

"I need your help."

"You've said."

"Uhm, well…"

15 minutes later I've explained that I need somebody to write two sentences about how sometimes I might occasionally not be as accurate as possible, and how others might…well you get the idea.

Once I explained it to her, an email arrived before I could exhale, "Thanks." It seems she has no problem expressing my accuracy issues as compared to others. I don't know why, I'm the one who cleaned the bathroom…ANYWAY, thank MyEx for this post's opening.

Go ahead. Oh, you want to know where to send that? Oh, I promised never to publish her private info. However, if you email me, I'll give you her home address, her work address, home phone, cell phone, times you can find her at either location and a Google Streets view of her house. Just because I want her to know how you feel. She'd appreciate it. It would make her feel right.

"Rob, you're an ass."

See? I'm all about making other peoples day. I'm not just about being right. Or pointing out other's inaccuracies.

So before I made the last little detour, I was making a point. Stop laughing! I swear I was! Oh yeah, somebody else was…having a lucky perspective moment.

It started last Wednesday in my writers' group. Somebody asked when was the Christmas party.

Christmas party?

Yeah, see, I've held one every year since I've led the group. It's a nice year end gathering where we can be social, and not critique anything more than who didn't bring enough fudge. Everybody has a great time, and it's a good time to just be silly.

Last year, because of the divorce, I let somebody else host it. I was missing half my furniture, and I didn't feel people would be comfortable in folding chairs. If they wanted that, we could meet at the VFW. Well, at least until they found out we were writers, and that a least one or two of our members are fairly liberal.

I know! I was shocked too!

So, anyway, The host was going through a divorce, and wanted to do "something" so I let her. Because lets face it, I was going through a divorce and could barely muster the enthusiasm to do anything.

Well I haven't seen our host since last year's party, so I didn't have her as a fall back. So if I was having a party this year, I'd have to throw it myself.

Oh…

Well that would mean a lot of cleaning and cooking time, not to mention the decorations. What the hell? That’s a lot of work for just one night of catering to word slingers.

"I'll think about it." that's what I told the evil interloper. I went home to wait the appropriate time so I could say, "I don't think we're going to do it this year." Like an idiot, I told a friend about the party. Do you know what they said?

They said, "Do it. It would be good for you."

Apparently my friend wasn't listening. If I wanted real advice I'd talk to myself. Still, she was insistent.

"Do it. It would be good for you."

I emailed back, "You do realize this isn't a Kevin Costner flick right? If I throw it, of course they'll come. I don't have the time to throw it. So I don't want them to come."

A new email arrived, "Since you're 'thinking about it…' Do it. It would be good for you."

Sigh…

So after I wrote this person off both my "seek advice" list and Christmas list, I went about the rest of my week. Sometime around Saturday, I accidentally thought about it. It snuck in like a cat looking for extra pets.

"Mew? Party?"

"Hey…no…what?"

I thought about it.

I'd already planned on doing Christmas decorations this year, how much more was a party?

Next thing I know I'm planning things out. Maybe I do have time. I couldn't have been wro--not quite accurate. GRRR. How did my friend find time to be un-wrong?

So I sent out the invite. Now everybody knows I'm throwing my Christmas party on the 12th.

I think I've found a way around the who's right and wrong thing though. Here's the trick. After I emailed the invite, I got an immediate reply, it was from last year's host.

"...feel free to hold it here again. It was a memorable evening for all of us, and we'd love to host again."

Uhm, ok. So I'm not hosting this year. My guests will appreciate that. Still, I look back on last year, and I feel good, and no, not because I dodged a bullet. I didn't.

So why do I feel good? Well first I can now say my friend was wrong cuz now I don't have to host it, and I--once again--am right.

But also because last year I wouldn't have dreamed of hosting. I would have canceled it first. This year, I actually started planning. I was going to do it. The fact that I handed the reins over doesn't matter. It's about moving forward, and I did that. I suppose I should thank my friend, but I don't even think I'll tell them. I'll just whistle quietly, or spit air, whatever you call it.

As for the party, I'm looking forward to it. I was looking forward to hosting it too, but this works out better--for everybody. Now all I need to do is work out my "plus one" situation. If I'm trying to look smart, right, and snappy, I know who I don't invite...

Psyche Evaluation.

"Have a seat."

I do. It's not often I get called into the office. It's a nice office. Much better than I would have expected. I was expecting frantic chaos: More Hyde and Jeckle, not Steelcase and maple palate.

"I bet you're wondering why I've brought you in here?"

Yeah…I am wondering. I haven't had a one-on-one with my psyche in a long time. Normally it's just a group gathering of collective personalities. I'm not used to being singled out. I shrug. "I just figured you'd tell me."

Psyche, leans over the desk staring at an open manila folder. "This should be obvious. I know we haven't had a sit down for a while, but it's time for your post-date evaluation."

"My what?"

He sighs and leans into his wingback, fingers latticed behind his head. "Rob, you went on a date one week ago. It's time we talked."

"Talked?"

"Yes, talked. It's time for your evaluation."

"My evaluation?"

"Yes, and why are you answering me with questions. Are you defensive?"

"Defensive?' I'm fidgeting a bit. I don't like these things. My arms are melding to the chair arms, pretend I look casual, but in my head I know I look like a guy waiting for the governors call 30 seconds before the warden flicks a switch.

Click! Foom!

Psyche lights a cigarette.

"you smoke?"

"only for effect." A Zippo I hadn't even noticed before slips back into Psyche's inner jacket. He puffs a shaft of pale gas that billows and rolls into itself before it reaching me. "nothing harmful, just blowing smoke. But let's talk about you. How would you rate your performance on your last date?"

"I dunno. Above average?"

"Really?" I swear his eyebrows rise and fall like double jump-ropes while the eyes beneath flutter. He stretches forward, tamps the butt in a wrought iron maiden ashtray, then draws back into the chair, grabbing the folder, his fingers flip through a mini ream, "Is that really what you think?" his eyes glance up as if to ask, "Is that your final answer?"

"Well yeah. I she seemed to have a good time. I was conversational, she left happy, what would be better?"

A silence crashes the room like a bull in a matador shop. When the air is thick with the arterial spray of accusation, Psyche says, "Let me tell you how we see things. We see this as a 'meets' date."

That's it! I'm on my feet leaning over his desk. "Meets? What? How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Relax," he brushes his fingers towards me without looking up from the folder. "Sit down, this is for your benefit. I'm here to help--to facilitate. We'd like to believe you'll be with us for a while. This is just you and I looking at ways to improve your performance. A meets is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Performance? Just what are we talking about here?"

"Calm down Rob. This is to help, Nobody's pointing fingers, and this is not to belittle you."

Yes it is, but I don't say it. I flop back into the chair. I don't have the charisma to carry off a "meets" date belly flop. I need to rock with an "exceeds," triple back flip or learn to enjoy quiet failure alone. I stare at my hand, but it only shivers; it's with my no matter how this shakes out.

"So how did you come to 'meets?' Is it something she said? Cuz I have some things to say about her too."

He pulls a notecard from a paperclip on the folder, "This?" the card looks blank to me. Psyche flips it in his fingers, it looks blank on that side too. "This is only her opinion, and we don't use it in these evaluations. You know that. Everybody's different Rob. You can only be you. Your evaluation is on how we saw your performance, not on how she saw it."

"Oh…" this could be worse than I thought. Suddenly I'm happy for a "meets."

"Where do you see your strengths?"

Uh-oh…a trick question. "Well, I did the best with the situation. I was funny, conversational, I could have been more romantic, but the event seemed casual, I didn't want to over play it."

"Ok. I'll agree with you on most of that. You did adapt well, and yes, Rob, you are funny, and conversational. I gave you an exceeds there. And unlike the Denise debacle of 92, you didn't bury her in an avalanche of Rob babble. That was good. You also took interest in things she said. She talked about plays she liked and you remembered. Good…good"

He rolls some pages over the top of the folder, then closes the cover before putting it down. wrapping his hands before his chin, Psyche looks me in the eye, "let me ask you this: why no flowers? You remembered her favorite types, why didn't you pick any up?"

"Uh.." good question, "I was distracted. The perfect time was when I was bringing the car back from the shop."

"yes it was the perfect time," he nods, "What about the car door?"

"What about it?"

"You never opened it for her. You know better. You had at least 5 chances, and you didn't do that once. You did hold other doors though, so you weren't a complete doorstop, but that's why your only getting a "needs work" on chivalry."

He's right! How did I forget? I think back on that and all the little things I used to do. All the little ways I used to make my date feel special. It's like I forgot who I was. I was just another guy walking through a date. That's not me, I'm better.

My psyche continues to work down the list of things I did and things I didn't do. I nod and listen. When he's done, I affirm his sentiment.

"I sucked."

"No, you didn't suck. You were ok, but you've been better. We need to get you back there. It just takes practice."

"So that's why this didn't work out, huh?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. But I will say there will come a date when you need your A game, and you better be ready to give it. That's why we're here."

"So what now?"

"Get back out there and practice."

I push myself from the chair. I feel like I've been beaten up. I guess some things never change. I'm still my own biggest critic.

Next time I'll be better. I'll practice.

Night Lights.

Last night was Friday night. We all know what that means. It means Rob climbs out of his hole to see his shadow and grab a cup of coffee. It was a little slow at the coffee shop so I got wrapped up in a shadow conversation with the barista.

"I'd really love to see them."

"They're wonderful, if you can."

"I've told my boyfriend that in 2015 we're going to Norway to see them."

"planning that far ahead huh?"

"Yeah."

What are we talking about? Northern lights, of course. Whether it's the radioactive glow on the horizon, or the ghostly wisps dashing overhead. They're something to behold. Go ahead, behold them. Beauty is in the eyes that do.

Yeah, what do you want on a weekend? Quality jokes? Please. It's my day off. I don't give you good jokes on the work days why would I start now?

Good jokes are like the Northern lights They're gone before you even know what you saw, and you still need to be in the right place to see them at all. This clearly isn't the right place.

I wondered about the lights in terms of relationships too. Are relationships like the lights? Are they as fleeting as my jokes? Little gasps of light that we grasp for and can never reach-- Lights on the horizon that lure us on, but are as tangible as the leprechaun's 24k Tongue stud?

"Yer after me gold! ahyayayaya"

I'm not trying to sound pessimistic. I'm like Mac Davis. I believe in music. I believe in love. A also believe it's a little elusive, and sometimes we go chasing it into places where we don't belong. I have the scars to prove it. What is the best way to approach the loverechaun? Unique up on it?

What? Tell your kids that joke. They'll laugh. I promise. Of course you will have to explain the loverechan and his tongue stud. You can probably skip over his rubber doll though. No need to mention her. It doesn't help the joke.

Then again, it's kind of like loving a corpse: no mater what tricks you play, she's never going to scream for more. Just ask the loverechan, he'll tell ya.

My barista told me she's been dating this guy for 6 months. She's already looking at 2015. How? I've been on bike rides that seemed smooth until the bolt loosened on the front wheel sening me chomping gravel. Granted, I've never had a bike ride last six months, but bikes speed thing up. She's just walking through this. What is the love mile post? Where do we get the big "You are here!" pushpin?

I know, I know, "sometimes you just know." but where are those sometimes? They aren't on my map.

I saw the Northern Lights once. I hadn't mapped them out either. I was on the porch of my step-father's Minnesota cabin. The sky looked kind of like the ghosts that fly overhead at Disney's Haunted Mansion, only lit by a 15 watt bulb: very dim. Still it was cool. I'd never seen them and never had a great desire to be there, but once I was. Wow! Nothing compared.

I've gone back since, hoping to see them again. Never have. That's the thing about the Northern Lights. You can't really chase them. You just sort of stumble into them. My barista's gonna go look. I don't know why, she's already got a night light right here at home. I think that's what really matters. But that's just me. I search for shadows and coffee for fun.