Look at me // Who am I supposed to be?

You know that feeling you get when you pick up a book you have left for a time and you find yourself unfamiliar with the characters and plot? Like I am trying to make sense of things that I swear I used to understand and again find purpose. Lately I feel frail about the direction(s) my life is taking. It seems like the more clear and paved out things sometimes become, the darker the journey gets. Like I set up this island unto myself and place these psychological electrified fences all around (hmmm...), bumping against one or the other at every moment. It feels like I am stuck in this huge Catch-22 in my mind right now where (thought I have many small passions, which are usually unnoticed) I feel like no one would dare put themselves into a relationship with me because I don't have a one great passion driving me (like a job or great talent). But I do have one great passion, and that passion is Love.

I've become much too skillful at drilling holes into myself, another favourite electrified fence of mine. It's like I cannot keep a balance, I'm either emotionally draining myself out randomly and keeping nothing sacred within or I'm a complete recluse. 100 mph or in R. Like I don't know the rules. I see things that I feel will make the people I care about happy all around me, but sometimes when I give them, I create the opposite effect. I don't ask anything in return, I enjoy doing things in the key of how my friends make me feel each day. I don't value money the same as some, I carry this fortune in my wallet as sort of the english of what my heart feels:

Most days when I feel my proverbial flashlight has gone out in the wilderness, I turn to those things and places that give me strength and safety. Today I went to the Dixieland Flea Market (I bought 2 Joni Mitchell records for me and $1 gifts for the fellas), I went to Meijer and walked around in the produce areas and at night I went to see Star Wars for the last time, I decided, in the cinema. I felt better, but that also was a challenge to keep in balance. The best way I can say it is at Meijer today, walking through the "miles of aisles" (Joni Mitchell live album pun... heh) I came to the picture frame section. I like that aisle. All these gorgeous frames, my favourite was this dazzling 6 picture miniature frame. I wanted to get it but then it struck me as to how it would sit in my room, empty. I wish I had that person to share these places with, and to accompany them in their special places. To help fill in my holes, and to fill in theirs. To fill a picture frame.

Pah Rum-pum-pum

See I told you. Only 5 more months... ha.

Actually even with part of my heart resting on Dec. 25th, the rest along with my body was in hardy celebration of friendship and the spirit of summer, "Up North" as us Michiganders tag this sort of cabin, camping-esque safari. Spanning the days Friday through Sunday, this remarkably well planned (as notorious as we are for spontaneity and procrastination) adventure up to Tom's cabin (carried by the moniker "Uncle Tom's Cabin") began with modest beginnings; b-fast at "The Diggity", where the "pseudo-humor" between us all nearly drowned out all thoughts within the 4 walls. I had my beloved pancakes and soon thereafter we set sail and began the 4 hour tour into the great north. Two things I did so add to the "If I were Commander + Chief" list: 4.) A state ban, if not a National ban, on carsickness brought on by reading and 5.) every trip going beyond 4 hours must accompany Justin Cook and his house/techno greatest hits. How we all laughed. Actually it was sort of scary going up, for the 3 Captains of our Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria's making our pilgrimage up state (mhehhh.... that didn't really work) happen to be our hands down most madcap drivers. So a final one hour leg of the journey down a 2 lane road ends up in a 3-auto game of death-defying leapfrog, over hills and around semi-blind curves. Definitely not for the faint of heart, of whom I speak for, my automatic fear of being in an oncoming traffic lane for any reason shone through (see: "drunk driver running/rolling Justin off of freeway by driving in fast lane in opposite direction one night"). It was a nice trip up though anyway, capped by none other than future "Uncle Tom's Cabin" M.V.P. James Schultz sprinting from his vehicle, proclaiming "Ever'body start drinking right now" (basically as one long/loud word) and guzzling his handle of rum. Here we go.

Actually it was really a tale of opposites, at least from my perspective I would say. After unpacking, re-listening to my new favourite "adorable profane soundbyte" (dethroning previous champion Nellie McKay for her delish F-bomb in her song 'Clonie', I swear I wrote about it in this someplace), Melissa's cutely vulgar voice mail thanking me for presenting her with a first listen between us of an album, and shagging ass to get foodstuffs at the market, it was on like Chinatown. Between throwing 'Montana to Rice' 's off of the dock and floating around cursing at each other from rafts, summer never tasted sweeter. Isaacs tore his addidas sandal, breaking, temporarily, 'the fellowship of the exact same effing 10 year old sandals' coincidence between us all, only to somewhat patch them up with elec tape, bringing it all back home once more. Then we played Dr. Mario indoors.

And then played it some more.

This is where the tale of opposites part comes to life, for with all the hijinks outside, it was as if Rajala's basement had been cut + pasted in the cabin. It was funny, and it gave us all the down time to construct more 'dork-speak-inside-joke-alienating-from-the-rest-of-society' wordplay, such was the Schultz (earning his MVP stripes) for his role in taking a somewhat humorous Isaacs flex in a pic (where actually the theme had been to flex all along, only everyone basically forgot) into the surfer accented "Totally tuff Tom" legend, as was the same with the running joke of taking the somewhat obscure (only is there such a thing as obscure with this cast of villains?) from Jaws "Ahh Cage goes in the water.... shark's in the water" and basically making "Cage" the operative variable, implanting as cosmic and intangible a replacement as possible. "Pythagorean Theorem goes in the water, bulldozer goes in the water, Beethoven's 5th Symphony goes in the water, The War of 1812 goes in the water..." into infinitum (probably reaching its climax on the night of the final day, where it led to an Isaacs "Shoeless Joe Jackson goes in the water" with a Schultz reply "Pantless Joe Jackson goes in the water" and my cap of "Jawless Joe Jackson goes in the water" and Rajala's girlfriend excusing herself from the room in sheer nerd-induced irritation.

I went fishing on a lake for the first time in my life. It was very strange to me, everyone was so very knowledgeable and strategic, I basically didn't know my head from 3rd base. I eventually did master the fine arts of casting off and slowly reeling and tearing worms into half to bait the hook, but otherwise no bites on the line. I entertained myself with watching, from over the side, the tall seaweed that almost reached the surface of the water. I liked to imagine that there was this huge underwater forrest just below where the fish lived in this sort of aquatic Atlantis.

The last night was really calm but wild. It was like Isaacs, Higgy + Misty, and Ellston and originally, Cook set to go with these ladies from the next cabin over going to this bar and the others staying back, watching this unbelievable blood moon rise from the water, and then Cook, as documented perfectly by Schultz coming apart. Schultz had apparently been flirting with a lady for the whole day and they were set to go to the bar together and whatever, but just before leaving, Cook passes out. Not really passes out, but (minus the continued breathing and hearbeat) dies. And as Schultz yells at him from above like Micky from one of the Rocky movies to get up and fight, he stays down for the count, leaving Schultz to hold Cook's missing shoe and ponder "The shoe of a fallen Prince".

Sunday morning came, with a piping bowl of peaches & cream oatmeal, a summer breeze through the screen door and smiles about not even the things that happened just there, but of the chapters that we have all written together in the storied past, and of this continued evolution between us all; the language and adventures we add to the collective scrapbook is remarkable.

A listless poem of love sincere // Desire, despair // Overlapping melodies

I think I'm going to officially start the 'What I would do if I were President' list right here right now. It starts with:

1.) Fix the madcap light at the corner of Airport and M-59 in our fair Waterford.
2. ) Mornings are hereby illegal.

And the most recent brainchild of Isaacs + myself while watching (or maybe the better verb being 'surviving' Fantastic 4 with the fellers)
3.) "If I were Pres, I would stipulate that every movie/film end with the triumphant (and original, song and all) Endor celebration with Lando, Han and the rest from 'Return of the Jedi'."

Gradual changes at Grover's Corners really. Last weekend, Waterford held it's annual 'Lakefest', more recognizable under it's alternate title 'Let's put on bathing suits, get sauced, blast (illegal) fireworks off of boats and get loud". And flirt too. After not finding a b-room, thus changing into my trunks in my car (be calm, ladies) and setting sail, it was almost all bets off with guys and girls; spinning game, stealing naughty glances and quite literally spanking each other. I struck my "stranger in a strange land" pose in the back until we weighed anchor at this small patch of an island. There two bulldogs swam up to us, Isaacs and I swept 3 games of chicken vs. our friends Brubaker and Gailand and managed to plunge the boat nose first into someone's wake to the extent that the pontoon's motor came out of the water and people were diving into the waters to retrieve the alcohol overboard.

I'm sure, as you have doubtfully reached this point before switching this to yahoo! or something, that you have spent many restless nights waiting for more strange words from my noggin/heart (sarcasm), it has only been that with one of our meager 4 person pool of workers out on the vacation, I've been a working class dog the last few days. Never has the CLICHÉ "Maybe I should bring my sleeping bag here and save the trouble" (btw, a clichéd retail phrase maybe only bested by the "If it was a snake, it would've bit me!" & the "Have a good one!", the latter of which is worryingly working its way into daily speech....) been more applicable. It has however provided a few lighthearted moments, as it always seems to when needed. I am more convinced by the day that I need to create a webpage dedicated to/titled "The Tao of Chuck" my beloved elder Pharmacist who seems to be an infinite supply of quick witted/barely inappropriate humor, as was the case when a particular Sonny & Cher song earned the lightning quick and then it was gone "Sonny Bono.... the only time the sap went into the tree." Also the Pharmacy seems to reinforce, just at the right time, my hidden care of maternal love. Really more than my (NOT FETISHED) smile towards pregnant women (something about creating life, that's as far as I'll go about putting myself on the couch and going Freud on it), but also when a Mom walks a young child up to the counter and guides them through moral things like saying "Hello" and smiling and (after a colorbook is presented) "Thank you" and "Bye Bye!". I really like that.

It's that 'most wonderful time of the year'... sort of. I go through this phase of about a week and a half of literal 'Christmas in July', and it's always on my mind, and you have to pry Vince Guaraldi's melancholy/lovely 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' soundtrack out of my stereo with a crowbar. I've made all apologies to anybody co-pilot in my car (what does it mean really? Maybe I should go back to the couch I just walked away from last paragraph, any Psych. majors out there?), mostly everyone just giggles at me. Whatever, I'm happy. Tonight was just the happiest day this summer.

Hey, Summer Sun, your love's divine // Never before I've met your kind // (and now you're mine)

Nothing much better when the summer sun is shining than to let the Nat. Pastime wash over you. And with Detroit basically the sports capital of this star-spangled nation the last 1-2 years (holding it down with the NBA Finals the last two, Golf's U.S. Open, Super Bowl XL in Jan.) and this weekend brought the eye of the country (for better or worse) onto Motown for the baseball All Star Game. Though some were not as fortunate (with emphasis on 'fortune') as others in getting in to see the actual game, for about a week leading up to it they have had a sort of traveling circus of baseball at Cobo Hall. Isaacs, Brubaker and I strolled in Saturday and it was fabulous. Isaacs may have said it best when we stepped through the wide doors: "It's like that feeling you get when you're a kid and your parents put the car in park in the Toys 'R Us parking lot". Just everything baseball as far as the eye can go. They had memorabilia expos, a virtual batting cage (where, with the aid of actual vid. of a pro pitcher projected on a screen with a hole where the ball propelled from a pitching machine behind flies through, you could have the daylights scared out of you for 5 pitches. Though nothing like the unexpected heater the all-time H.S. leader in softball Pitching wins Brubaker threw... nay... fireballed to me the next day in a softball game, I was making ready with the will & testament after that believe you me), home plate sprinting contest (the Isaacs/Bentley 4.44" tie that will forever live in infamy), commentating booth where you can call famous plays from MLB history and you keep the tape, and more. And we got this pic (L-R; meself, looking especially insane, Jessica, Isaacs). It was a gay old time.

And no sooner do we recover from this excitement than the James Schultz, with older brother to help, drives from Washington state to here (Michigan basically) in a straight shot and arrieves Sunday night where his deserved 'For he's a jolly good fellow' celebration awaited. It was nostalgia coming from the ears almost, it was very nice. Many stories of old and new floating about as we sprinkled branches and splashed paint thinner onto the bonfire. He is a funny chap (read about him for yourself here if you like: http://www.myspace.com/dangerousgame ).

I'm still a bit soggy as I type, for a break in action for a nighttime, firefly lit dip turned into a 2 hour pow-wow of the sibs. and sharing of stories about just how bizarre a thing it is to have the last name 'Bentley'. One of those things I think that almost gets swept under the rug as 'an avg. night' and 20 years from now is worth more money or power than the 10% of my brain can comprehend.

Listening to people talk about their jobs at a garden party, I imagined how it would be to respond to someone who said "I've been a junior investment banker now for 2 years, climbing the ladder, they make so much money!...oh, and what do you do?" with "(Stirs drink) Oh, I work in (the actual, in reality) Willy Wonka's chocolate factory."

Oh, what good is it to live, // with nothing left to give? // Forget but not forgive? // Not loving all you see?

I was plugged into this here machine sizzling my retinas/minding my own, when my Sis comes in and places my 'Roman Holiday' into the wrong place on the shelf and simply says "It was really sad." I sort of just sat there. My "intro-to-Audrey-love-is-real-shining-light-macaroni & cheese/popcorn-Saturday-night-up-at-the-apartment-alone-yet-alive" film sitting besides my beloved Amélie in my pantheon of most wonderful Love stories ever dreamt to the silver screen.

(Spoilers a-hoy!, & btw, Turner Classic Movie channel has decided to make July Audrey Hepburn month, with late this Wednesday (7/6) being 'Roman Holiday' night, if you haven't seen it or it has been far too long, you should throw in the popcorn and grab yer fella or lady!)
I remember picking up the cassette from Family Video that night. I remember seeing those scenes for the first time: the mischievous smile as she pulled her blanket over her face in the royal bedroom, her sleeping-pill induced honesty (steps into Joe Bradley's apartment and decreeing "Is this the closet?") giving away her sheltered upbringing, the haircut (the birth of 'the style'), the ice cream, the scooter chase, the dance in the moonlight, the words in the car....... I mean it just stops being film when she appears on screen. It's like if you ever watch a film and you get to the halfway point and (if you are like me) you can't help but to think/plea for just a few seconds the "... please don't let this fall apart..." thought/prayer.

And it doesn't. It comes to that thin line where fairy tale and reality meet and never strays from it. She shines so bright, you just feel the energy like a glorious song, like I almost want to get up and dance or something like there's music floating around. And the ending! Just to see how everything keeps them apart and her final words to him and him walking through the corridor alone, and you think for a moment that it's such sadness, but then you feel just how much better it is to love and have lost than to never have loved, and how you know that if you would ask either of them the question: "If you knew before this day that you would meet each other and all these wonderful things would happen, but then you would never see each other again, would you do the same?", they would not change a thing 14 out of 10 times.

That question: if there was one single magical day where you met that person, that true Love, and you spent the whole day just alive for each other, would you choose to skip over the day totally and not have the person in your heart only as memory? Or would you build a shrine in your heart for him or her; a garden of delight that never sees winter, where you tasted the sweetness of Love and the memory of this person and that time together shared never fades into darkness?


Another reporter: Which of the cities visited did Your Highness enjoy the most?
Princess Ann: Each, in its own way, was unforgettable. It would be difficult to........ Rome. By all means, Rome. I will cherish my visit here in memory as long as I live.

When morning comes to Morgantown // The merchants roll their awnings down // The milktrucks make their morning rounds // In morning, Morgantown

Really it's only been a few months since I fell in love with my name. Every other week I make my way over to the Standard Federal to cash the paycheck and decide how I'm not going to spend it and part of that is to fill out the Savings/Certificate Deposit slip. Well only within the last few weeks have I really been getting my signature on lockdown. Here is an aborted attempt to put money into the account that can serve as an example:

I would break it down like this: I've always had the problem of crumpling the 'J' to start off the whole jamboree. I see now how important it is to start the name (first and last) with a rousing, sweeping display. Have the first thing the person thinks when they see that 'J' be "who is this asshole?" Once I got that 'J' and the 'B' (still I think that could use a bit more work, almost to the point of having it resemble something to the scale of the orig. John Hancock on the Declaration of Independence) into form, I had to work on the meat of the proverbial sandwich. The 'u' and 's' that you always forget about but you can always set your watch to, and then the newest trick, the 'dot over the 'i' coming over the slash for the 't', before the 'n' closes the deal. With hard work and dedication I think the last name can live up to this high standard (wow, could this be the reason why relationships pass me by, a hidden psychological barrier surrounding a deficiency in making my last name as flamboyant as my first, thus a fear in passing it (last name) on to another? I'll think about this in the bathe) But where everything hinges upon that 'B', still in development stages despite it being my last name for 22 years, it should revolve around the 'e' hugging gently against it's breast, 'n' hiding under the shade of a 't' that tucks its cross through the hoop of the 'l' and getting a running start with the hoop of the 'e', going full speed into the ridiculous, outlandish, madcap 'y'. What's in a name indeed.

Besides making it look like I sit around and write my name on any and every surface my eye catches all day (and, hypothetically, would that be such a crime of narcissism??!? I mean it's not like I do or anything but I'm just saying you know, not at all......not at all......) I finished 'The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe' and I don't think I can wrangle enough positive adjectives to praise it's imagination and wonders. It is definitely a book (and hopefully the remaining 6 in the series follow in this/connect the dots as well) that can be the first book you read to your child at bedtime. It has perfect length chapters for a 20 min read each, it is just wonderful 'children/adult/any person with a pulse' fantasy with amazing character/characters and it's even hard when you are not reading to children to not suddenly start reading it aloud and make the voices of the lion and the Scottish (by my design) Giant and the other animals of the Land of Narnia.

I've thought some more about children and the future etc (maybe I should preface this with the thought that it probably isn't as good a thing to be thinking of this as much as I do because of the fact that I am 22 and have no better 1/2 to speak of) and I'm coming to an understanding with myself that I may not have children of my own. I mean I would like them, very much so, but I'm trying to scrape it off of the 'in stone' list that I didn't think I had. I don't think it's a good thing to go in blazing about "I want someone to have kids with and if you don't want kids then you are not the person for me" because it isn't fair. It's not a decision for one person to make and besides it goes against what I've always believed about thinking how foolish it is to have barriers, in regards to relationships, that don't have anything to do with the person them self (ie. distance, their family, their job etc). It always bothered me when I heard about how Audrey Hepburn didn't get together with someone she loved because the man had a vasectomy, because there are many children out there without parents that you could reach out to and/or adopt (for this I can't totally fault her, she basically put UNICEF on the map, so we can let that slide, but the analogy remains), but there is only one person out there that is the other half of your heart (don't think I let the thought of that sounding like a comparison to those 'best friends' separate heart necklaces escape me, it's just that I think it's truth). Thanks to my good friend Charisse, I've entered into the Big Brothers/Big Sisters mentoring program, and after an orientation, I hope to make a difference in a child's life like so many people made have made one in my young life.