phased and confused

"A distinct period or stage in a process of change or forming part of some thing's development." That's how some online dictionary defined "phase." I looked it up because the word and I have been dancing around a lot lately and I wanted to see what it really meant before I waxed on about it at length in a post.

Phase seems to be the easiest way to explain away the failed processes which humanity has endured and evolved from without having to answer for them. When humanity fails, media loves to record it. This is done for posterity's sake, so that they might learn and remember. It's an odd thing to do, but everyone does it. We all have a box of embarrassing photos, tapes or other materials that show us in various "phases" which we should have destroy but didn't. It's almost as if we think that we will look back on the time when we sported a mullet and parachute pants and suddenly feel better about it. To somehow look back on those "phases" and be able to make peace, or forgive, ourselves.

Regardless of how well we hide our most embarrassing moments, someone will always find them before the slated time of AFTER our death, and then, much to our dismay they press us about it. We were hoping that death would save us from having to answer those hard questions, but no one is so blessed. They always pass over the good material that would make us look like the coolest human on the planet and head straight for the big pile of shame. The more embarrassing the material, the quicker we are to call it a phase. When the material is remembered fondly, we call it nostalgia.

Even if there is no material present to inspire it, someone might casually bring up embarrassing moments and cross-examine you until you've given up your shameful past. "Oh that! That was just a phase," you'll cry. Hoping that with that, everything will be alright and nothing more will need be said. We might get ribbed or razzed a bit, but calling it a phase saves us from having to give details.

We never recall great achievements or successes and claim them as "phases." It could be because no one smugly asks us about a great haircut we had ten years ago. No one asks us about the classic albums they find in our storage shed. There is no upside to keeping memorabilia unless it's worth money.

I'm evolving. Not evolving in the flippers-to-fingers kind of way, but in the, "My favorite ice cream is now Mint Chocolate Chip. It used to be Jamoaca Almond Fudge, but I grew out of it," kind of way. [This is true, by the way.]

As I come to understand phases better, I have come to see obvious patterns in their development. For one, they're prone to outside influences: Trends, pop culture, what's cool or "in," hysteria, moodiness, and passions.

A friend of mine from back in the days of drugs, sluts and other stories of hope, got serious about a girl who was real heavy into Jesus. Three months later he was a new man - clean, serious, saved and that's all she wrote! He wasn't even looking for any answers but suddenly he found a whole bunch of them.

Others can lead you astray in your weaker moments. People start to idolize superstars, pop culture icons, religious zealots, wolf pack leaders, and other notorious individuals. For example: All the Madonna clones who appeared in 1984. All the Kurt Cobain clones who showed up in 1991. All the Elvis impersonators who have been roaming the earth since 1977. You could also include in this group: All the drag queens of the world. Every goth chick who has ever swabbed her lips, nails and hair with death-black paint hoping to catch Johnny Depp's eye. Every city slicker wearing a pair of Wranglers and a Stetson. Every Rennie/Pirate who has donned a pair of tights, a pentacle necklace and screamed, "Hazaah!" for no reason whatsoever. And every Neo-Nazi who has ever sported a swastika and some jackboots, just to name a few.

These people were, at one point, into something different and then got in a mood that became a phase. As is often the case, most people hope that these particular unpopular phases don't last long. I feel otherwise. I prefer people to be expressive about an inner desire and they should embrace it and not so be easily swayed to change. I feel this way about everyone except for the Rennie/Pirate people. Those people need to get it together and grow the fuck up, or move to Honduras.

I'm sure there are millions and millions of reasons for phase shifting and I won't waste a whole day listing them all, but I would like to talk about mine. It's been some time since my last blog and I think it's time for some personal updates. It's hard to admit change, so bear with me.

First - Gone are the gym rat days. Say hello to walking. I walk/jog every day. 3 miles minimum. But unlike the days walking at the gym, the mileage is now accumulated in a heavily wooded park behind the perch. One lap around the park is one mile and there's a nice little gravel path to follow. It's still a bit chilly in the mornings but it's a nice walk. I even jog at times but my legs aren't as cool with that as I am. For some reason my shins just won't stop hurting so walking is really my only option. I would still swim if I could find time in the day, but after the walk, the blog and other various labors, I don't have the time to offer up to a two hour swim session each day. I miss it a lot.

My hair is short again. It isn't the butchered short 'do which I received in Montreal during the bike trip, but it is pretty close. I'm lazier about my appearance these days and styling hair has lost it's value to me. It's right below clipping toe nails. It's still sexy looking though.

I have gills. It's a new tattoo just behind each ear. Three little gills that I am very proud of. Cyranno De Bergerac still eludes me, but I'm working on it. Perhaps this summer.

Gone are chocolate chip cookies and in is anything lemon, and peanut butter cookies.

Gone also is the desire to live at the Perch and now there is a huge desire to return to the Midwest. The need for mountains has passed on for now, and the desire for familiar family soil has taken its place.

Also gone....My desire to be a comedian. At all. It's over. I'm not enjoying the lifestyle anymore. In its place is a huge desire to just write and work shitty jobs until either the writing pays off or I die. Comedy has become a dark place for me which I can no longer see the joy in. The work is empty and the rewards are few. I wish I could be more uplifting here, but hey, at least I want to keep writing.

Jazz is also another casualty. Nowadays, the music of champions is Ipod DJing. I just trust the Ipod to play one of the sexy songs from my 1600 song list. Each song is attached to a phase of mine.

Not that this makes a difference, but I'm in a Chuck Taylor phase as well. Shoes rarely mean much to me. I still own my boots, but now the Chucks are the shoe du jour. Royal blues ones. I can't live without them. Odd eh?

The last one is odd. I came to the city to be more social, but I have found that I am less and less social than I have ever been. I just don't answer the phone or seek out the company of others. I'm happy with the solace of my movies, motorcycle and my mind. [and the affections of a little red headed girl named Farris]

This is all subject to change. Hey, it could just be a phase.