19 11 2012

She calls me “Naun” because she can’t pronounce “Shaun” yet.

The first time I heard her say it was during a car ride to some place or the other. Will was driving. I was in the passenger seat. Avery was in his car seat behind his father and Aurora was in her car seat behind me.

“That’s YOU, you know?” Will said to me after Aurora had shouted my new name from the back seat.

About a week later, during a phone call, Will told me that Aurora had taken to saying “I love you.”

“Wait until she says ‘I love you, Naun.’ because your heart will melt,” he said.

This past Friday found the four of us back in the car heading to this place or the other. Will was driving. I was in the passenger seat. Avery was in his car seat behind his father and Aurora was in her car seat behind me.

“NAUN!” shouted from the backseat. I turn to look over my shoulder just in time to hear the follow-up “I love you.”

The Wild Cherry to my Coca-Cola.

19 11 2012

Slurpees after the Amanda Palmer show. It has kind of become our “thing” ever since the end of summer when we lended a helping hand during the closing of Diskovery.

Mine was Coca-Cola. Always Coca-Cola ever since my best friend and I used to ride our bikes to the neighborhood 7-Eleven during the summer of 7th grade.

Shaun: Do you think it would taste gross if I threw in some Wild Cherry to the Coca-Cola?

Will: Why would it? It’s Cherry Coke.

Shaun: True. Even if the proportions are off, I can’t see it being all that bad.

(Later in the car)

Shaun: You’re right. This is really good.

Will: I think your life was like that Coca-Cola Slurpee before you met me. Good but kind of mellow and safe. I’m the Wild Cherry that’s been added to your Coca-Cola.

Shaun: You’re my cherry stem.

Will: You can tie me in a knot with your tongue.

Shaun: I have no problem being your Audrey Horne. “I’m Audrey Horne and I get what I want!”

I Was Made to Love You.

23 08 2012

“I’m only supposed to love him…”

Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Season Five. Episode Fifteen. “I Was Made to Love You.” The story revolved around an android named April who was created for the sole purpose of loving her boyfriend/creator, Warren Mears.

I recently received a love letter (one in a series) that concludes with “… loving you is what I am meant to do.”

While I do not believe in god (or at least society’s warped version of a god), I do believe in concepts like fate. How could I not? It was a chance meeting on a mobile social app. I believe the universe intends for certain people to fit perfectly together. Certain people were just meant to love eachother.

Towards the end of her battery life, April comments to Buffy that she fears the coming darkness because Warren might not be able to find her in the dark. It makes one realize that when you are meant to love someone that is meant to love you, you will always find eachother… no matter how dark it gets.


29 03 2012
Daphne and Apollo

Daphne and Apollo

The Roman poet, Ovid, once spoke of transformation. Fifteen books comprised his narrative poem, Metamorphoses. In retrospect, to say that Ovid spoke of transformation would be an obscene understatement.
Ovid seemed firm in his belief that love was a constant catalyst in transformation. It was the recurring theme in Metamorphoses, rearing its head as either a personal love for another or oneself or taking physical manifestation in the form of Cupid (Eros for those of the Greek persuasion).
Often leaving its subjects humiliated and confused by irrationality, the end result of love in Ovid’s poem was transformation. Apollo’s objects of affection, Daphne and Hyacinth, became a laurel tree and a flower, respectively. The water nymph, Salmacis, found herself so overpowered by lust for the handsome youth, Hermaphroditus, that they morphed into one beautiful, androgynous being.
During a recent weekend visit from Will and his children, Avery and Aurora, we ventured to the Buffalo Museum of Science with one of my dearest friends, Leslie, and her 5-year-old daughter, Violet.

Avery and Violet

Avery and Violet

The kids took to eachother like they were the best of friends, holding hands and laughing and playing and running throughout the exhibits like children ought to do. I sent a photo from our museum visit to Leslie. It was of Avery and Violet exploring a play area, hand-in-hand. Her reply was: “Who would’ve thought this possible about a decade ago, my friend?” That reply echoed in my head as if the nymph herself were pining away in my brain. A night out with Laura Palmer at The Bang-Bang Bar would have come across as tame compared to a night out with Leslie and I a decade ago.  

That reply. Those words. They weren’t fifteen books that comprised a narrative poem but they became my own, personal, Metamorphoses. The words that perfectly brought to light my own transformation to a place that I never expected to be. A place that I am happy to be. A place where saying that Cupid had no part in getting me here would be as much of an obscene understatement as saying that Ovid only spoke of transformation.