which napoleon dynamite character are You?

You are Deb and you could drink whole milk if you
wanted.


Which Napoleon Dynamite character are you?
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just the smallest of geek-outs

Right now, as we speak I'm embarking on just a minor geek-out. I'm exploring the Star Wars Databank to learn a little bit more about the Jedi Order, the Jedi weapon the Light Saber, Anakin Solo (yes! really! the son of Han Solo and Laeia, grandson of Anakin Skywalker!) and whatever else catches my fancy. Last night I watched Episode I: The Phantom Menace and tonight it was Episode II: The Attack of the Clones, and tomorrow night if my schedule can fit it I'm going to see Episode III: The Revenge of the Sith with my pal Jerry. If my schedule can fit it equals I will wake up at 5:00 in the AM if I have to, to make it fit. I am sooooo excited!

Things are okay. I'm trying to plan a road trip east for this summer, I'm trying to plan my life for the next 2 years, I'm trying to figure everything out all at once because not one stupid thing in my life is settled, not one damn thing makes any sense, everything is kind of all up in the air or a complete mess, really.

the force is strong in you, my child. but you must not give in to the dark side.

Grow up...

There she is, on the balcony with the aggressive punk music turned up full blast and pumping through the speakers out to her. Hunched over, angry, rebellious shoulders, fidgeting in her seat, and alternately pacing back and forth. This time she's not really smoking the cigarette in her hand. It just sits between her fingers as the tobacco and paper burn sending the sweet smoke to her nose. She didn't really want to smoke, she just wanted to have it in her hand. It's that familiar comfort, that brief "fuck you, dad, if you're not going to love me than neither am I" that she hasn't felt in over 10 years. Her face takes on the downward-looking, in-facing scowl and anyone looking at her would know she's not seeing much past her nose. This heartache is so old and familiar and even though she's grown past this childish reaction here she is anyway, and it was so easy to fall back here. Other new heartaches didn't bring her back here, she dealt with those maturely and learned and grew from them. But dad's abject refusal to learn and grow, to see how he could change the future and erase the power of the past pain for his whole family is so staggering... The same wounds and frustrations yield the same immature coping mechanisms.

And so they lied. They pretended they were okay because they didn't want to hurt their parents' feelings. The parents were children themselves. They pushed themselves to appear happy and well adjusted and go out with their friends and be normal... Normal kids who could not hold a job, who fell into smoking dope every day, who just could not figure out what the hell it meant to grow up. To cope with life, what the hell does that mean? And so what if they occasionally felt like their grasp on sanity was tenuous, at best? Would it have helped if they'd laid it at their parents feet, held them responsible? Told them to grow up and be parents? Looking back, she thinks probably not. So what if nothing scared them more than tomorrow, of the impending failures, of ending up just like their parents? Five years apart but the same path. She is the oldest, she made it through to become a functioning adult and pretty successful at some things. It was by God's grace that she was able to overcome the past, and now it's her brother's turn but he doesn't know how to ask for God's grace so how will he overcome? Does she have enough to spare him the pain he's feeling now, to help him find his way?

She comes inside the apartment, turns the music down. Goes into the kitchen to find the cream bleach and abrasive sponge to clean the sinks. And then to the bathroom to scrub the bathtub, toilet, sink. And she remembers the time she stayed up until 3:00am cleaning bathrooms and almost made herself sick from the noxious fumes. Partly because the violent argument with dad had happened sitting at the kitchen table at dinner and she'd stormed off without eating a bite. And so now she wonders if she'll ever grow up.

talk to you...wait...see you later

my first "date" with big daddy

pretty sure you couldn't really call it a date but what the hell, I'm going to anyway. I got the nicest hug and kiss on the cheek as a greeting when I arrived at the pub we'd agreed on, and he was at the booth/table I'd told him I liked, and he smelled good. And he was as excited/awkward as I was. We went 1 for 1 on knocking stuff over and trying to stay cool about it. (When I first walked in I kicked a rock on the floor and almost did a face plant. When he got up to go the mens' room he almost flung the menus halfway across the joint. and so on and so on.) He's so cute. My hair looked so perfect. My skin was glowing. His teeth are so perfect and white. He's taller and bigger than me. Our conversation flowed just beautifully - think of a river with enough rocks to make those nice ripples and rapids people take photos of, but no artificial dams or locks. We talked about Everything, and joked so much. I smiled and laughed so much my cheek muscles feel strained today. He's the kind of person I could talk to for my entire life and not get bored. I'm not saying anything here, I'm just saying.

hugs just like I knew they'd be. kisses on the cheeks surprised me, pleasantly. he was so excited to be looking across at me instead of shooting off an email or picking up the phone, and he said so 3 or 4 times. he was just so excited. this person makes me so happy I can't even express it. At around 12:30 he drove me home. got out of the car to come around and hug me goodbye (another kiss on the cheek too...) Just before I opened the door to my building he yelled out "What was my present?" because he just had a birthday and I bought him a gift. Oh yeah! Sorry. So I walked back around to his side of the car, opened up my knapsack and pulled it out, it was "Personae: Short Poems of Ezra Pound". He was emphatically appreciative, and it made me feel so good. And it won me one last hug & kiss, which was maybe the sweetest moment ever. (That makes 3 each for those of you counting!)

and still so potentially tragic

around every corner,
at the next stop I make,
any detour I may take,
if I stop for a coffee break,
could you be there?
places you would never be,
I know of hope
there's not a trace
yet I still feel disappointed
when I don't find your face.

always I'm wondering,
and I carry you with with me
we're never together
we'll never be, not ever?
And I can't decide
if my heart is empty
wanting you to fulfill my every dream
or if my heart is full
of the potent longing
that seems to fuel me...
all my steps,
it energizes me
from my depths
to write the poetry
and do my ab crunches
and work on my triceps
and read the books
that make me better
to not watch any more TV
(except 24, The Hour, and
documentaries on the CBC)

so potentially tragic
so kinetically wanting
so chemically reacting
to the "me" you inspire
I wouldn't trade this desire
and I dig this ache
that makes life so vivid...
that makes every earthly heartache
and every heartbreak under the sun so beautiful
and colours the world
around me so violently.

I take a deep breath
but it's never enough.
I need so much more
than I ever did before.