Snow Storm

I cleaned the snow off of her car the way you eat the meat off of a buffalo wing. Neatly, cleanly, obsessively. I took great care not to miss anything that might obstruct her vision. Once the snow was cleared, I scraped away all of the chunks of ice that were stuck to the glass. I cleared the wiper blades, making sure that they were able to move. I removed all traces of ice so nothing could prevent the blades from making perfect contact with the windshield. She tested them. They moved flawlessly. It’s so gratifying when things work properly. All of the glass on her car was clean, and maximum visibility was ensured. There was still a great deal of snow coming down. I dusted off her headlights and tail lights. Then I made one more pass around the car, clearing that moment’s worth of accumulation. I admired my work for a brief moment. It was eight degrees Fahrenheit that night.

As I got in the car she squawked and reprimanded me for “taking so fucking long to clean off the windows!” We had a very low quality Type O Negative live bootleg playing in the dash at that time. The clipping and ambient sounds of the crowd often overcame the sound of the band. This is the hallmark of a poorly recorded bootleg. Her squawking and the bootleg’s hissing were so similar that they might have been mistaken for the same sound. I didn’t respond. I didn’t care. It was good to be in the car. It was warmer there.

She put the car in reverse and backed up. The wheels made a familiar crunching sound as they rolled over the ice and compacted snow. She stopped and threw the car into drive. Slowly we drove off, out of the movie parking lot.

Ridge Street

Smoke, ash, and rain. There were so many lights and there was such an overwhelming sense of urgency, though there was nothing that I could do. It was very cold. Many of the streets were blocked off. But pedestrians are like ants. You can’t effectively contain them. Curiosity always has its way. Billowing memories rose to the sky and rained ash on the lens of my Nikon, which I cleaned later with a cloth. That must be a bitter taste, my friend. There’s an asshole taking pictures of everything that you ever owned, all of it on fire. All of your possessions turned to ash, later to be wiped away with cloth and discarded without ceremony. At least you grabbed your coat. At least you had that. Despite the fire, it was wicked cold, and my hands trembled from it. It was hard to keep focus, hard to grasp. It was the week after Christmas.

An Ordinary Crucifixion – No. 1

My wife and I were driving around town one Saturday afternoon. We were stuck in traffic right in front of the Allegheny County Jail. It was a beautiful, warm autumn day. Sitting on a bench in front of the jail was a black man, hunched forward, sobbing without restraint into his hands. The bench was facing the road. Traffic was moving very slowly. Everybody got a good look. He was totally oblivious to those gazes. His grief consumed him completely. He had no will left to hide himself from the judgment of the passers-by. In that way he was above them. He was transcendent. He was real and authentic. His experience and emotions were naked. We were all safely insulated, separated from the event. We were cowards and hypocrites in our cars. It’s easy to judge when you’re safe and alone. He was completely vulnerable in front of an audience and he betrayed no self-consciousness. He was a god among men.

Electricity

Sometimes I forget about the bone tumors strung throughout my skeleton like a building rigged with explosives. Sometimes they remind me that they’re still there. My favorite one is in the center of my left femur. If I put too much stress on my legs over an extended period of time, I occasionally develop a stress fracture. It’s not immediately apparent, but it eventually makes its presence known. It’s cumulative. Heavy squats, deadlifts, and excessive running do qualify as too much stress, as it turns out, though I often forget about that too. This morning, my favorite bone tumor reminded me that he was still there while I was driving. Suddenly it felt like there was electricity flowing through the bone in the center of my thigh. I nearly drove off the road. Abrupt, blinding pain really makes you feel alive. Strangely, it recedes much more gradually than it arises. The rest of the day it throbbed and smoldered, off and on. What’s strange is that I haven’t worked legs since Thursday and today is Monday. Friday would have been a more appropriate day for the pain to arrive. Regardless, I’m supposed to work legs tomorrow night and I’m hoping that I will be able to. I probably should let it heal, but the feeling of guilt and laziness that will result from the skipped leg workout will hurt worse than the fracture.

Running

I run like shit. It’s one of the many things in life at which I’m not very good. I hate it, but I do it anyway. Even if done badly, running is a beautiful thing, because it’s so absolutely simple and singular. You don’t need any special equipment to run. Appropriate shoes are helpful, but beyond that nothing additional is required. I only run three days a week, and not very far. I just do it to do it because I know it’s good for me. If nothing else, it gets me outside. I definitely prefer the lifting, which I do four days a week. I get a bigger sense of accomplishment from that. Weight feels good. Running makes me feel like my lungs are on fire and my knees are about to come apart.