love letters from my 34th summer

It may come as a surprise to you that I, unmarried and single, am giving you advice about marriage. But you are my closest friend, and though I can’t be there to witness your nuptials, I would be remiss if I didn’t chime in with some encouragements and warnings. The fact I have never been married should probably cause you to take the following advice with a grain of salt; but it is a fact, I must insist, that makes me no less right. Without further preamble let me begin.

1.) Ignore everyone’s advice (except for the person that wrote what you are now reading, but including any self-help-newlywed-books-for-couples-to-read-together that people will give you as a wedding present because they are too cheap to buy you a rice cooker and too lazy/thick too write the definitive marriage guide which of course you now are reading).

If you were trying to get thicker, fuller blooms on your rose bush you might ask the nice British lady across the street with the lush flower garden for a little advice on water and soil, but we are talking about marriage, man. Look around you. Nobody has it completely right. For thousands of years men and women have been trying the best they can to coexist without driving wooden stakes through their sleeping partner. And do you think that pasty, smiling couple wearing matching chambray shirts on the dust jacket of your wedding present, fresh off the ”couples retreat 2007” tour, has stumbled on the magic potion? What about the lady with forty-five cats who keeps telling you to never go to bed angry and always keep things interesting? Nope. Her cats are inbred, and so is her advice.

I’m telling you to handle this how you have handled everything else in your 32 years on this earth. Wing it. You are a smart guy, or I wouldn’t let you be my best friend. Figure it out. Try. Fail. But keep trying. Keep talking to each other. Don’t be so busy thinking and obsessing about ”it,” the marriage, that you forget to have one. Otherwise five years from now you’ll be rushing home from work on a Friday because that’s your planned Make-Your-Own-Ice-Cream-Sundae-Night, and you and I won’t be friends anymore

2.) Argue Often and with Gusto, but in Private.

Apathy kills more marriages than Larry King. And nothing gets the blood moving like good old-fashioned argument. Give and take is healthy. Disagreement means you are both thinking, and both involved. Revel in your difference. Remember, if two people always agree then one of them isn’t needed.

Am I saying you should scream at each other, walk out of restaurants, throw bowling trophies (never come to a marriage without mysterious trophies-even if you have to buy them at a yard sale), or behave like the cast of Real World 2? No, of course not. Good, sound and calm arguments preclude all of the above. Good arguments prevent bottled up explosions and sulking.

When I used to wait tables, I was blown away by the amount of sulking men in the world. Is this just an American thing? Has Oprah emasculated us that much? Usually, I would wait till the woman was in the bathroom, before smacking the man open-palmed across the face. Then I would buy a shot of tequila and make the now red-faced sulker drink out of a dirty shot glass.

“You’re a man,” I would whisper right before she returned. ”Act like it. Don’t make me follow you home and smack your face again.”

I made really good tips on those occasions, and nobody ever complained about the service. Later the men would return to thank me for saving their marriage/relationship/job and promise to name all their children after me (Jamie is versatile in that regard.) So don’t sulk. Argue, then move on.

3.) Try not to die.

Many a music career has been bolstered by a timely death. Most writers wish they could cash royalty checks from beyond the grave. But death really harms both comedy careers and marriages alike. Dying tends to make any healthy marriage suddenly stale and one-sided.

To put it in plainer terms, my friend, it’s time to start taking better care of yourself. You now have someone else to think about. So quit trying to kill yourself with Bacon and Bacon Hot Pockets. Seriously, don’t die, or I will smack your face.

4.) Keep Picking Your Nose, But Stop Wiping It on the Bathroom Wall

Maintaining your sense of individuality while maintaining a healthy marriage can be difficult. As couples get older often they are not viewed anymore as two separate people, but suddenly they become one person (Bradgelina for example). This is one of the most scary aspects of marriage to me.

There are certain things you do that make you uniquely you. Don’t change these things. Be proud of them. There are other things you do that also are unique, but you may need to change them. Part of being a human being is growing, learning, and evolving. I think marriage is a wonderful excuse to stop being child, but don’t grow up so much you become unrecognizable.

I think it’s healthy for a married couple to pursue interests exclusive of each other. In other words, get away from each other some. Have some time for you. And don’t change…except for all that annoying stuff. Change all that.

5.) Laugh Till Milk Comes Out Your Nose

People say all the time, “I married him because he made me laugh,” or “I am looking for somebody with a good sense of humor.” I want to know where all these funny, laughing people are? People get married, have a couple of mortgage payments and all the sudden, life isn’t funny anymore. It’s very serious actually. And all that laughter is gone. What happened? Please keep being your laughing, silly selves. It will make me happy to see you guys growing old together, still belly laughing, still grinning, still spitting your drinks out at restaurants.

6.) “Love means always having to say you’re sorry.”

Hah! Get used to saying it. The proper response from now on is either “Sorry” or silence. But I have no idea when to use which. That’s why I am single. Oh yeah. Don’t go to bed angry, and always keep it interesting.

I wish you both all the best. I send you both all my love and friendship. I promise I’ll be there for your guys…just not when it’s important like your wedding day. I am so happy for you, and am smiling like an idiot even now as I write this. Congrats and all the very best.

‘True Love’

True love. Is it normal
is it serious, is it practical?
What does the world get from two people
who exist in a world of their own?

Placed on the same pedestal for no good reason,
drawn randomly from millions but convinced
it had to happen this way - in reward for what?
For nothing.
The light descends from nowhere.
Why on these two and not on others?
Doesn’t this outrage justice? Yes it does.
Doesn’t it disrupt our painstakingly erected principles,
and cast the moral from the peak? Yes on both accounts.

Look at the happy couple.
Couldn’t they at least try to hide it,
fake a little depression for their friends’ sake?
Listen to them laughing - its an insult.
The language they use - deceptively clear.
And their little celebrations, rituals,
the elaborate mutual routines -
it’s obviously a plot behind the human race’s back!

It’s hard even to guess how far things might go
if people start to follow their example.
What could religion and poetry count on?
What would be remembered? What renounced?
Who’d want to stay within bounds?

True love. Is it really necessary?
Tact and common sense tell us to pass over it in silence,
like a scandal in Life’s highest circles.
Perfectly good children are born without its help.
It couldn’t populate the planet in a million years,
it comes along so rarely.

Let the people who never find true love
keep saying that there’s no such thing.

Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.

-- Wislawa Szymborska

This past week, while Alf was visiting, I ran into two friends I haven’t seen some time, Jersey Jake and Smoking Dave. It was refreshing to see both of them. Both are amazing storytellers, which goes a long way in my book; and both like to use obscure, smart references when telling a story. Jake hiked the Appalachian Trail this year and somehow, someway Smoking Dave has now found himself on the wrong side of the law. He became a police officer in the sleepy town of Montreat, North Carolina a couple of months ago. He may be the only decent human being/police officer I know.

But still, I have been home for over a year and have hung out with these guys less than three times total. And they are some good friends. But seeing them gave me pause. Why don’t I “keep up?” Why am I such a bad friend?

I am a strange bird, no doubt. Usually when I travel or live in a different place, after I leave that place, I break all ties cleanly. Why do I do this? Am I that lazy? Is that normal? I guess it is normal, but I know lots of people who stay in touch with a myriad of people. But it’s not like people are killing themselves to stay in touch with me. They do a little bit better than I, but overall most of my friends are lazy, no-good sacks like me.

I talk to one person (and to him rarely) from high school. The only friend I still have from college is Mike. I don’t keep in contact with anybody I have met in my other travels or the other places I have lived in America, despite the fact I’m sure I promised them I would. Most of my friends in Asheville, save two, are people I have known only since I have moved back home from China. It’s much easier to make new friends than to go back and try to keep up with old ones.

I’m a social butterfly. People love me, they really do. So making friends has never been a problem. Keeping them, evidently, is another story. One reason I think I have trouble keeping friends is that I am not trustworthy, so you can’t tell me secrets. While other friends will come running when there is trouble, I’ve managed to consistently let people down. And frankly, my whole wisecracking-about-anything-that-anyone-says shtick gets annoying after awhile. Also, I may hit on your girlfriend if you aren’t in room. (more…)

For Big Dave

Mike, his dad–Dave, and I all huddled around the front of his red, 94′ Cavalier. The old alternator was off. That was quite easy. Dave had supervised the work while leaning on his black cane, and Mike and I had managed to unscrew the right screws, unattach the correct tables and extract the cold, dead alternator from its place under the hood.

The mood was light; took us maybe five minutes to do this. Together the three of us had little knowledge on the workings of cars, engines, internal combustion and other more obscure vehicle parlance. But still, we had done this much rather easily. We scoffed the life of mechanics, and shook our heads in unison at the large ransoms they charged for such simple work. Mike’s car had died. We three would not need to pay an outsider to bring it back to life, even if any of us had the money to do so…and we didn’t. Nope, we would do just fine on our own.

Then we began to install the new alternator. I held the serpentine belt tightly while Mike and his father attempted to manuever the alternator into its correct place. Immediately we realized we had a problem. The belt was so tight that whenever the alternator was in place, the serpentine belt would not slide over the side over of the alternator’s proper grooved channel where it could be made to turn.

Suddenly, sweat began to drip. We took the alternator from its resting place, put the belt around the alternator, but no, the alternator would not go back into its nest in the engine. The tautness of the belt was our enemy. We struggled against our foe for two more hours, looking for a lever to untighten the belt. We climbed under the car and looked up into the unfamiliar world of car stuff. When it was my turn to crawl under the car, I did so with relish and large unwarranted confidence. That confidence lasted until I slid my back against the sharp gravel and looked up into the engine. (more…)

Journal entry Jan’ 04

Basketball goal in the mountains of Qiong Zhong, Hainan

Mr. Quan says I have a soft touch. He says that is the reason why I can flourish in China. I don’t completely know what he means. He probably means I am really laid back and don’t have a spine. That’s fair enough, I guess. The longer I stay in China, the more I look for the undercurrent–what people are actually saying. And Mr. Quan, while a really nice man, could probably tell me my hair was on fire, and I was standing in a pool of lighter fluid with a gentle smile on his face.

One of the added bonuses to living in China is all the other foreigners I meet. I had a birthday party last month that was attended by people representing twelve different countries–well thirteen if you count Canada as a country (I see Canada for what it is–future parking).

Those of us in China from other countries do have a bond. That doesn’t mean that I embrace everybody I meet who isn’t Chinese, in fact, sometimes I can be rather aloof–mainly because I love Hainan, and we don’t need those crazy Norwegians slinging their slap-dash cell phone towers all over the island and cluttering the streets with cheap Hoo-Doo Voodoo Nokias, but I digress. I like most of the foreigners I meet. They, like me, are having an adventure, and we do enjoy discussing it.

Here in Hainan, it’s different from the rest of China. First, most of the foreigners here that are my age are girls. That’s right, I’ve dated more foreigners since I have been in China than Chinese. Secondly, there aren’t many young, single guys my age. So when I meet a dude from the West who is my age, it’s a good change of pace since most of the time, I feel like I could cut the estrogen in the air with a knife. (more…)