In and On

Sometimes I sit "in" a chair, but other times I sit "on" a chair.

The connotation of the word in when used in the context of sitting is such an encompassing, comfortable, and personal word. To sit in a chair denotes a sense of familiarity. For example, "I sat in my favorite chair when I curled up and read Sherlock Holmes on a rainy day." To say on would possibly, and subsonsciously, give the reader or listener of the sentence a sense of unfamiliarity and coldness. A distance.

I do sit "on" a bench. The bench is often foreign and inexperienced. I sit on a bench because there isn't a sense of tranquility while sitting on a bench. There is nothing about a bench that sucks you in, draws you close. Most often I am on a bench only because I am waiting, usually impatiently, for something to take me somewhere more enjoyable. Although, I may enjoy a pretty scene or have a marvelous coversation while on a bench, I do not experience the same level of familiarity and comfort as I do while in a chair.

Now, sitting on a chair is similar to on a bench. When on a chair, I would not consider myself in a permanent state. It is usually a temporary buttock holder meant to serve as a tool, not a leisure device. I sit on a chair when I am asked to do a quick demonstration. I sit on a chair when I am giving guitar lessons. I sit on a chair when I am in an interview.

Now, we always sit in bed, don't we? Comfort? To the fullest.

"In" is a powerful little word. "I am in her arms. I am in his arms."It is such a personal, inviting word. To be in is to be accepted. To be in is to be near, warm, and close.

Glory Days

I ate hot dogs, threw around a baseball, sat by the pool, drank some ginger beers (Bundaberg: it's Australian and delicious!), watched fireworks, and saw the small town parade. I am not sure I could have had a more American time today. Classic fourth. I also bought myself a new domain name: www.jefflocke.net

It just forwards you to this blog, but hey, I might as well jump on the ".net" before some other Jeff Locke sheister forces me to settle with ".biz" or ".info" or something lame. I've already been stripped of the coveted ".com." Six bucks for that. Not too shabby. I should probably frequent my bloggio a lot more now, though, seeing that I have a more legitimate domain name now.

Girl Problems

All of a sudden, pissing on the floor is perfectly normal and acceptable.

On the sidewalk. On the tile. And worst of all, the carpet.

She sits there by the window all day waiting and watching, eating and drinking, and of course, pissing.

I woke up last night and stumbled down the pitch hallway for some water. Dampness underneath me. A nice pool of warm urine met my bare soles.

The other morning, as I was waking up, I felt a patch of wet bed sheeting and noticed that my lower back was also moist. She pissed in my bed! And she just left it there to stagnate! The nerve of this girl.

She comes crawling into my bed when I am fast asleep and leaves her mark before I even know she was in bed with me.

Maybe she has a bladder infection. Maybe she is embarassed. Maybe that's why she ignores me all day, and sits inside just looking out the window waiting to catch some kids ruining her garden, or just plain trespassing. She must relieve her embarassment by chasing down these kids like a crazy beast.

This is certain: my dog, Nicky, is pissing all over the place and it needs to stop. Senile old woman!

Phone out. Phone in.

Pull out your cell phone. Quickly glance at it. Put it back in your pocket.

Realize that you meant to check the time, but you merely pulled it out because it's your nervous twitch, your constant ritual. You didn't even process the time. You are no better off. You have learned nothing new. Not even the present hour and minute.

Modern rituals:

Phone out. Phone in. Phone out. Phone in.

Open the fridge. Stare blankly. Shuffle some condiments. Close the door.

Chew a finger nail. Rip. Flick.

Change the channel. Scroll. Change. Scroll.

Sign in. Sign out.

Nothing accomplished. Nothing learned.

Homeless Chile

Have any of you ever attempted to run away from home with the standard red and white polka-dotted sack full of crap that would never help you on the road. You know, transformers (barbie dolls), gushers fruit snacks, chalk, etc.

I did once. I must have been 7 or 8 . My parents probably told me I couldn't have ice cream or gum or something totally trivial. My 7 year old logic center in my head let me know that this was a problem large enough to head for the hills and never come back. If I remember correctly, my parents were sitting in the living room and I marched out, sack full of useless material (also placed on the end of a crappy stick) and let them know that I was leaving "forever." Haha. I think they just said "Okay, Jeff" and maybe some sarcastic, parenty faux goodbye. That just fueled the fire inside of me.

So, I went down the street and parked myself under a large tree. It wasn't long before I realized that the tree sucked, my transformer sucked after about 3 minutes of playing with it, the dirt I was sitting on had ants and sucked, the gushers sucked because they joined together to make one large, super gusher, and the vagabond life wasn't as great as I thought it would be.
Thirty minutes of homelessness elapsed and my parents won again. They knew me better than I knew myself! How could that be?! I made the walk of shame through the living room and my dad said something like "Welcome back, son. We missed you."

Anyway, my point is this: We take things way overboard most of the time. We hastily rush out, pack our bags full of useless crap, and realize that we suck when we are sitting on a pile of proverbial ants getting bit on the ass. The walk of shame is the most humbling thing. I can safely say that we take most problems and issues way beyond what is appropriate, gossip about them to death, judge judge judge like Judy, and react like little children who need to walk into a living room of full sarcastic parents who say "told you so!"

Google Maps is the Best. True That. Double True.

I remember when I used to pour Elmer's glue on my hands, rub it all over, and then let it dry. I would then peel it off like I was a snake shedding its skin. Actually, a lot of kids did that during elementary school, during a class project. The teacher would get pissed. In middle school, the glue-on-hands act became less frequent. The kids who still did it were pretty freaky, or dirty, or both. In high school, even more so. I haven't seen anybody do it in college. At least not yet. I guess that is because colleges don't give students cool class projects involving a lot of glue. I didn't mean to blog about glue. I just noticed a glue stick sitting on my desk and it sparked this stream of thought.

Anyway, Tim Bagdanov is getting married tomorrow. Dave Schlegal proposed not too long ago. Keaton is already married. Getting older and I can't even imagine getting married in the next 7-10 years. Not even close. I am stoked for my friends, though.

Google Maps is the most insane thing ever. The new "street view" option is scarily incredible.

I had a nice a weekend. All of the boys went camping up in the Ortegas on Friday night. It was nice to be around all of them, be ridiculous, hike, enjoy the beauty, take pictures, look at the sky, set up tents, smack bugs nonstop, eat meat and bread, drink only water, and get absolutely no sleep. It was super hot so Jamie slept on a table, Bube passed out on the dirt, Andy and I slept on Cello's truck bed, and the rest slept like gippers in the sweat tents. A good ol' American time, I'd say. Sheep made a campy mix with a lot of Bruce Springsteen to get us in the American mood.