Poetry?

Given time and distance enough you can look back on yourself as a different person. Yesterday I looked back on a guy who studied poetry in college for 4 years. Strange, eh? Sounds a bit like a waste of time to me, but who am I to judge?

An interesting side-effect of moving is that I've had a chance to dig through boxes of memorabilia (read as "crap"), trying to decide what to keep and what to toss. Last night I came across a folder containing the poems that I wrote in college. I read through them and discovered something: I used to be a pretty decent poet. Did it do me any good to write poems for 4 years? I'll let you know in another 10.

I've decided to give some of these poems a second chance on this blog. Expose them once more to a potential audience of the whole world and an actual readership of...well about 3. Let me know what you think.

I'll start off with one that I believe is the truest that I've written. The names, places, objects, and events have all been changed to protect the innocent.

Compensating

It all comes down to the fact that I'm not great at anything.

Sneaking out behind the high school to have a smoke with Jim,
green-faced and weak-stomached, sucking in the cool.

Racing cars that we liked to think were fast down
Interstate 15 at 2 A.M.

Green-eyed blondes in short black skirts who say they are
my weakness,
but they have never seen my shoe collection.

Blue-eyed girls, brown-eyed girls, blue-eyed girls
and those other girls too.

The strut, that stupid swagger that chases me around
and trips me now and then.

A black leather jacket.

A quiet argument with my grey-haired dad
in his tie and spectacles and half-frown
and soft hands
and maybe just slightly wet eyes
and words.

And a half-assed begging apology.

Life is Good

So, I'm sitting here at work, and I'm smiling. Yeah, I'm kinda strange. I'm OK with that. I'm sitting here smiling, because Mirabel just called and said that she saw the baby on the Dr.'s TV. Mirabel's adorable, my pregnant wife is adorable, and I'm sure that thing on the TV that probably looked nothing like a baby is adorable as well. Life is good.

From Blog

Roni Bridals

For the most part I love it when a bride comes to her bridals knowing exactly what and where she wants. The pictures usually have a more personal, meaningful touch that way. Once in a while, however, I also love it when a bride comes in and says, "whatever you want, Nic." Such was the case with Roni. I was especially glad this time, because there was an old truck in a field just a couple of blocks away from my house that I'd been eying for quite a while. The truck turned out just as beautiful as I imagined it would. Roni looked even better. I love the red in her dress. Definitely something different.

From Blog

From Blog

From Blog

From Blog

Crazy Pali Family

Nate Pali was one of my best friends in high school. He's moved to Provo since then, and since I'm afraid of Provo, I don't see him very often. It was great to get together with him and is whole family. It's amazing to me how much all of them have changed. Not only have they changed, they all have kids. It's a little freakin strange to me.

This first shot was taken by the lovely and talented Mirabel who was working as my assistant:

From Blog

From Blog

From Blog

From Blog

From Blog

"little stinkers"

Ok not really but the girls shirts say 'little stinker' on them

Organization/Confusion

From Blog

I read once that your IQ is a measure of how well you organize information in your head. I immediately dismissed that fact, reasoning that I was a fairly intelligent person, but was the least organized person that I knew. Although I have become arguably less intelligent over the years, I haven't become any less organized. I haven't become any more organized either, and that is what this rant is about.

My garage is a mess. My desk is a mess. My other desk is a mess. My other, other desk is a mess. But, I do know where everything is. If you need a screwdriver, there's one on the top left corner of the filing cabinet. If you need a screw, there's one in the second slot up and third from the left in the organizer (I use the term loosely) in the center draw of my desk. If you need my second period's last essay, they're near the top right corner of my work desk, right underneath last Friday's newspaper and a portable hard drive, but on top of the "Studio Photography" magazine from two months ago. It may look like a mess, but everything seems to be right where it should be according to me.

Am I happy about this? No. I want to be organized. I want everything to have it's own specific place where I can find it every single time that I need it. I've wanted this for a couple of years now. Wanting doesn't seem to be enough. Any suggestions?

PS. If you'd like to post a comment, click on the little icon at the bottom of this post that says "0 comments."
PPS. This picture was taken by the lovely and talented Mirabel at age 2. She's going to make me a millionaire some day.