The process of using surface tension to skip a stone across a tensionless mirror requires the length, and elasticity of a poet, the muscle memory of a baseball pitcher, and a hint of rocket scientist laced with the confidence of a fool.
All put together, it is a composite of choice, a missile selected and cast from the hand of the author, has the intention of course to break all speed barriers ballistics be damned, to out do and out skip all prior throws. The higher the count of graceful collisions with air bursts as a reflex rebound from the surface of the water, the more significant and warrior like- the cast.
Bragging rights if it’s a contest amongst boys and girls, survival if represented as a metaphor by which to survive and play- in life.
In my case, it was getting through my freshman and sophomore years of high school.
Let’s see… Freshman year:
No melt down, but a beat down finally went down. My pound of flesh was had and taken advantage of. No romance this year, as explorations down that road were muted by awkwardness and thwarted by shyness.
I was still looking for the perfect jeans, hoping that they fit, and if they did- well I would too. I wanted that tight, and bulky look, and would wash my jeans constantly to get that stone washed fade that seemed to be the amulet to the eye- for hippies and jocks alike. The perfect blue. Faded, with highlights of embossed white at all creases, seams, and punctuated rivets.
You know how it goes when you cook something you have never offered up before? Some people are chemists, and follow all the directions step by step. In my case it was more like alchemy when it came to the social soup I dipped into. First of all, I wasn’t a hippie, I had athletic aspirations, played football, basketball, and wrestled for two years until I decided that wearing an earring was worth more to the nobleness of my soul, than the hard mat on which my shoulders rested far too often due to lack of intensity and personal commitment.
So I had my jock friends. At the same time I was enchanted with the pseudo intellectual, go to the concert get wasted and bring the ladies home to my crib- crowd. That was definitely a different mentality, and these homies used less to get laid more. Jeans, hair, and an off brand look- that usually sealed the deal.
I watched all that, but was never that. Too shy I guess.
In between the two major groups, were subsets of plankton and pilot fish just nestled into obscurity, lingering yet lathery close to the big fish, but too small to be captured in the net.
They were the writers, musicians, the intellectuals, the political activists to be, the dreamers, non-conformists, the road not taken unrecognizable people, they were invisible to to most of this schools’ population that primarily consisted of professorial and higher educated offspring. These were truly the big fish to be, salmon so to speak, that are only fished for when mature.
I wasn’t one of them either.
2 thoughts on “Skipping Stones to Lovejoy”
Subject: Things you know and do
OK, now I’ve had time to read Lovejoy – before and after. And look at your blog. Part of me doesn’t know what to say, speechless in a good way, more like pre-verbal. I am so totally in the dark about the creation and maintenance of blogs, that I find only the simplest of words to put together for you. CircuitSurfers is very pleasing visually and,more importantly probably, atmospherically. The ambiance is not the crushing milquetoast of pastel,nor the shrill brightness of clown colors. Current,engaging, and lively without being pushy or needy; smart without being pompous or arrogant. Like the fruits and vegetables colors everyone didn’t know they were missing.
I think my niece Arielle – in Portland – has that some feel only in design talk on her and her husband’s site Compressed Pattern. It impresses me so that you can create something like this.
It was cool to read about the mid seventies in Portland. As I alluded to before – I read it as a middle aged adult with hand over mouth, hoping everything turns out ok for the wandering man child. But also as a vaguely remembered young adult who cared but was too busy “living” to be afraid of the unknown. Which is pretty cool.
I have to say, as a preachy busy body, I hope the fresh little fishes you caught in the lake with your uncle (death-defying, who knew?) were fried in butter and cornmeal – not cornstarch.
Can’t remember how I found this article about you – I think I was wondering whatever happened to you. Before I engaged in Facebook (which I’m also lame at using).
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