words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Wednesday, June 16, 2004
I had already learned to hide my feelings, growing up in a family that didn't express much. But football made me better at it. The fear of people knowing why i was actually playing, the fear of them knowing that I actually hated it, kept me quiet. Once in high school, I never told anyone. How could I tell them what i was doing? Who would believe that I was doing so much just to please my dad? I think this may have been my biggest mistake. Had I trusted someone enough to tell them what was going on, they might have talked me out of it, but more importantly, they would have helped me deal with it. I wouldn't have felt like such an alien. But, like my mother, I just tried to ignore the pain I had. I dealt with football when it came around, and tried to ignore the anxiety in my stomach during the school day. I usually hoped we lost towards the end of the season, so we wouldn't have to play any extra games. But it never really worked.
I got better at football, just by doing it. I really did try to be good, but I had a fundamental block. I tortured myself over that, too. I wanted to like it, like the other guys did. I wanted to do well at it, like i knew I should have. I wanted to do my best, and I knew that for some reason, I wasn't able to. I tried so hard to get over my dislike, but I never could. But since I was so strong, my coaches had extra incentive to try and make me good. During spring practice (only lasts two weeks without pads), I was often put against the upcoming seniors, because nobody else was as strong as they were. I hated that feeling, losing all ability to hide, knowing i was going to have to accept a major role for the next three years.
A new coach came in after my freshman year. Ron Lancaster. i can hardly even look at the name, I detested him so much. Lancaster was good. The administration brought him in because our football team wasn't good, and we should have been. My high school was consistently the best in the state, winning around 10 state championships every year. But we hadn't won football since 1986 or something. Lancaster came in and changed everything, created an incredible system of money and support for the football players. The money spent on us, the locker rooms, the giant tvs and filming equipment to watch the games we had played, to watch games of our opponents to see how they played. All the coaches had radio communications on the field and at least one in the box office to better see the game. Lancaster was a fanatic, and he had money to spend. He overtook our lives with practice, with game-viewing, with booster-club dinners. Sunday afternoon, for at least three hours, we would watch the game from Friday night. Every game I played from them on, I watched repeatedly, to obsession, watching every play, going over the strengths and the weaknesses of our technique.
Before my junior year, and right after I got my driver's license, my dad made another deal with me. If I started on the varsity team that season, i would have his Chevy 454S truck. It was a black truck, and almost frighteningly fast for a truck. I did want it, but I mostly just wanted a car. I started on the team, and got the truck, a mixed blessing. Having a great car, having to play through most every game. Fortunately, after about four or five games, my coach gave my spot to a senior, and I still got to keep the truck. My dad attended every game of course, and many of the practices I had, those last two years. He was the homemaker while my mother worked, and with my brother off to college, he stopped cooking much and, well, i'm not sure what he did when he wasn't at my practices. I played shotput those last two years, too, and loved the sport. i would always come home and tell my dad about how it had gone, and was very excited about it. I never did as well as I probably should have, considering my strength- i'm just not coordinated or quick enough. but i loved shotput. My dad didn't care much. Although he found time to be at so much of my football life, he attended maybe two of my meets during my junior and senior years.
1:01 PM
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