From the Control Center of the City

Even the album cover tells us it's the soundtrack for an icy day.

Album for Writing Today: Kid A by Radiohead
Mood: Contemplative, but generally upbeat

When I was in first grade, my teacher Mrs. Adams used to allow us to spread out when we weren't in the middle of a lesson and were just working on a project. I had no concept of it then, but she must have had a pretty liberal philosophy towards learning environments because she used to let us work at our desks, at others' desks, underneath desks, on a beanbag chair, whatever. I liked working under my desk the best. Little Robert and his active imagination used to pretend that he was at the control center of a ship journeying far into space. The desk had four thin, steel legs and I used to take my Trapper Keeper and other folders and spread them across the open spaces until I was alone in my warm little control center--free to hope, free to imagine, free to be. Lots of kids imagined all the things they'd be. I never had anything specific in mind--other than the hope that one day I'd be.....awesome.

Today I am twenty-nine and a half and a week. A sheet of ice has blanketed Oklahoma City, including the midtown area I reside in. I tried driving earlier today, but to no avail. I kept attempting to stop at stop signs only to have my car slide down one slope or another or occasionally into the intersection. Barely any precipitation had fallen but it--combined with the cold temperatures--has found a way to paralyze a city that is fragile when it comes to this sort of thing. All my friends are IMing me to tell me they're being sent home early from work. I knew this "working from home bit" would have its drawbacks eventually. But its alright. It seems that about once a year there's a storm or weather incident that keeps my sweet ass indoors for a day or two. And now I'm typing this to all of you--smack dab in the middle of my control center at the center of the city. I am suddenly hyperaware of all my blessings. I have a comfortable, warm place. I have food, I have the internet, I have great music, DVDs. And I have my thoughts and looming decisions about people and things that I've been able to avoid or been too distracted to confront.

But alas, frozen inside I am free to continue to process the things and people I've decided have no place in my life anymore. The good news is that those people won't miss me because if I thought they'd miss me they wouldn't be those people. It really is more about my own self-discipline and embracing the idea of the continual forward movement of life as I approach the age of thirty. This all isn't for discussion now. I really have random accounts, observations, and musings from about Friday to today.

Friday was like most Fridays for me these days. Good, but not great. Drinks and some friends and an early evening of little consequence. I had one more scotch than usual and a few Modelo Especials. I was buzzed but I wouldn't say drunk. That night, I had weird nightmares. I know we always dream and that some of those are bound to be nightmares, but rarely am I woken up by them. I had a weird series of dreams that involved killer zombies (and not the slow funny ones from Shaun of the Dead, but the fast scary as shit ones from 28 Days Later), terrorist kidnappers, and a strange scenario where myself and some strangers had to try to build a raft out of a tree on an island in the middle of a lake--not an ocean mind you--a lake. I can't remember if we were trying to get away from the zombies or the terrorists or one of my exes (that would explain some things) who was leading a strange army of both zombies and terrorists. Either way, it was a slightly stranger than normal series of dreams that repeatedly woke me up in the middle of the night. Finally, I went downstairs and popped in one of the DVDs I received for Christmas--Alfred Hitchcock's Academy Award-winning masterpiece, Rebecca. However, I didn't want to watch the whole thing because I knew I'd just fall asleep, so I watched the special feature documentaries that came on the special edition. What did I learn? That Rebecca is still a pretty bad-ass movie to this day. A few ibuprofen, a glass of water, a prayer about sleeping without nightmares and I was off to sleepytime once again.

On Saturday, I posted some random status on Facebook (how very modern of me) about the ridiculous nature of the aforementioned nightmares. My friend Amy sent the following message to me. Apparently someone has a book on interpreting dreams:

Amy: dreaming about zombies means that you feel emotionally detached, or dead inside. If the zombies were people you knew, it could also reflect your emotion toward them, or a particular situation. Oars signify the control you have over your own emotions, but the fact that you were rowing a man made-raft means that you don't feel like you have a very good emotional foundation. Rowing in general indicates a difficult journey and that you are doing things the hard way. Depending on the context, and it could mean that you are using your confidence in your abilities to get through tough times, or it could represent your spiritual journey.

My first response: Thanks for the pep talk, Coach. The zombies weren't anyone I know and I never actually rowed I don't think. I think I was building a raft to get away and then the dream ended. Scotch. Mexican beer. I think that's it. It's nothing that getting laid probably couldn't solve.

Amy: ...emotional foundation... rowing was the only redeeming quality about that dream.

Me: It was a nightmare. Not too worried about finding redeeming qualities in nightmares.

After giving her analysis and my responses further thought, I think we're both right. I think Amy's right in that while my life has great freedom and comfort, there may be a part of me that is dead inside because of a lack of something emotionally compelling. And I'm right because I definitely need to get laid more.

Saturday was a pretty useless day. My friends were off doing their things and I got bored and eventually fell to my default boredom activity by visiting Guestroom Records. It used to be when I was bored I'd smoke. Now I work out four times a week and buy records. Financially, it may end up even no matter what anyone says. But at least I'll have an ass of steel eventually. I bought two records--Alligator by The National and a vintage copy of Power, Corruption & Lies by New Order. Both are albums I already have on CD, but I'm a sucker for converting my favorites to vinyl if I can. They sound amazing, just like the vinyl copy of Kid A I'm listening to right now. My loft was built to house the warm, soothing tones of vinyl sound. Gig......gity.

Saturday night, my other default boredom activity is selected and I go to join Mel and Sara at the Rooster. Much to my surprise and initial chagrin, Sara brought another one of her female friends with her. So I sit down at the booth and proceed to spend the next few hours...wait, I have to change records...

Album: Songs in A&E by Spiritualized

So I sit down at the booth and proceed to spend the next few hours shooting the shit about movies and music and all kinds of other shit and it was great. Nothing irks me more than to admit that I can sit at a table with three women and converse so easily. It's part of what is great about me and part of what is most flawed about me. However, I made a point to drink plenty, burp occasionally, and to speak in a low voice with a confident, slightly dickish tone. It is important in a situation like this that all these women are at least aware of the fact that I am willing to fuck any one of them, chug a beer as part of a contest, shoot a round of pool, and/or pick a fight with any guy in the place. Mind you I never said any of this to them. But there was a definite understanding. I am Rob. And I am a man. Even if I do know THAT much about pop culture.

Sunday morning comes just in time for Clint to text and make a grand statement about the need for a huge breakfast after a night of heavy drinking. Right there with ya. Ingrid's German Restaurant may have the best Sunday breakfast buffet in the city and I justified eating quite a bit by telling myself that this meal was for both breakfast and lunch since it was after 10 AM. No man NEEDS as much pork as I consumed. But he sure is a better person if he has it. Science. What can you do?

I then returned home and proceeded to watch my beloved Everton FC take on the arch-rival and hated Liverpool FC in the Merseyside Derby (think OU-Texas). Don't know what I'm talking about? It's alright. That's what Wikipedia is for. So I don't have to be responsible for knowing and/or teaching anything. Everton battled to a 1-1 draw which was a pretty fair result considering how much posession Liverpool had for most of the 90 minutes. I am giggling about how many of you still don't even know what sport I'm talking about. Don't worry, I wouldn't have known it myself about five years ago. Just know that Everton are as important to me as my Dallas Stars or even my hard luck Oklahoma Sooners or those sorry-ass Dallas Cowboys who I'm THIS close to abandoning. Too bad the Cowboys are like that girlfriend who is a total whore but is so hot and great in the sack that you're under some strange spell and you can't get rid of her no matter how hard you try--but I digress...

Sunday evening I spent back at the Rooster because Mel was working. I brought the extremely great Can't Hardly Wait as part of a new tradition of nostalgia-inducing movies of the '90's for Sunday bar-watching I'm trying to start. Last week, we watched Clueless. The Rooster is great because I can bring a movie to watch on a slow day and I can bring a CD that the bar's owner, Steve, will put into the jukebox. We do have a pretty badass jukebox. After that, it was still early so we watched Beetlejuice. Man, I had forgotten how great an actor Michael Keaton is. He's alive, right? Speaking of which, where the fuck is Winona Ryder these days? Oh, and you should all watch it again if only to see how shockingly thin and attractive Alec Baldwin used to be before he essentially Mickey Rouke'd himself these last couple decades.

And today, I worked, had lunch, worked some more. Pretty standard. And of course I watched the weather since it's pretty much a sport in Oklahoma. I tried to drive to the YMCA at lunch, but my car skidded half a dozen times and I thought better of it--especially since I know me well enough to know that if I had a car accident on the way to working out, I'd give up working out on principle alone. You all know how I am about the principle of things. I want you all to know how much we should appreciate the US Postal Service. Through rain, sleet, snow, whatever, the mailman risked his ass to deliver my February copy of Playboy. Once again Autumn and Brent, thank you. You obviously understand the concept of the need to give love away as much as possible--especially in one of its most graphic formats. I also want to thank all of you who voted in my first poll a couple weeks back. There is nothing that warms my heart more than knowing that 50% of the respondents love me because they've been to at least second base with me and it was "awesome". Maybe my childhood dreams aren't so far away after all.

Now I'll conclude tonight's writing and make some dinner. Happy now, Abby? I wrote. Maybe I'll write some more tomorrow since so many of us are stuck at our control centers. Or maybe Abby, I'll search the internet to find a copy of that local fitness commercial I saw you in on Saturday and post it. You sure do look comfortable wrapped around that pole... Either way, I'll find some time to take stock in all that needs taking stock, evaluate that which should be evaluated. And I'll remember fondly that kid with so much hope burrowed beneath his first grade desk and all that wonder and imagination. And I'll remember that he's still me.