mY 5 favoritE complimentS froM studentS

James B., whose father was in jail for murder, said to me, "I want to get old and be crazy like you." 

Nicole said, "Mr. Kalb, I think you must be black."

A guy who might have been Robert L. came up to me on the senior walk and said, "I love you, man. Not in a gay way." 

Laura N. wrote me a note in which she said. "You made me a better person." 

Clare G. told the school librarian that I was "Jesus, Socrates and Monty Python rolled into one."

thosE dayS arE gonE

1980.  

When I probably weighed 160 pounds or so.  

And was 23 years old.

Can I buy a ticket back? 

riP

I think this is really it.  Admittedly, I've thought so a number of times before and it has not turned out to be so.  But I think we've reached the point of no return now.  I'm happy to say that it was without anger or bitterness--so far as I could tell--and that I don't have any expectation of internet reprisals (as there were in the past).  I think it's just over.  And I feel relieved.  The ending of 

one of the great loves of my life was also the end of my life in so many ways.  And cutting the final connection with her is a way of cutting out the man who was so incredibly naive and trusting and foolish.  I will love again--am in love now, actually, with a lovely woman--but I won't be fooled again by friend or stranger.  Rest, Child Thomas.  You have to the Dark Tower come, and it is a place of peace.

And synchronicity being what it is in my life, I read this in Proust's Sodom & Gomorrah:

 "I no longer loved Gilberte.  She was for me like a dead person whom one has long mourned, but then oblivion had set in, and, were she to be resurrected, she would no longer be able to insert herself into a life no longer made for her.  I had no desire to see her any more, nor the desire even to show her that I was not keen to see her, which every day when I loved her I promised myself I would display once I no longer loved her."

 

modestY blazeS

 One of the details that I noticed in the elaborate ceiling of St. James this morning was the word MODESTY, which was depicted on a scroll hovering above the head of an angel.  It was one of these (just inside the blue circle)

but I don't know which one since the resolution on the picture isn't good enough to go in close.  There were lots of other good-Christian-values-type words, but MODESTY stood out to me because of the lack of it I was seeing on display as the worshippers walked up to take communion.  

Now, don't get me wrong.  I love the display of long legs and fulsome cleavage as much as or more than any other guy.  And I did indeed enjoy the parade of legs and breasts that passed before my eyes as the bread and wine were handed round. It makes me happy to look at immodest, beautiful young women.  Even so, I had to wonder: (1) do these women actually consider their garb to be appropriate for this context? and (2) why doesn't anyone address this lack of dress? 

And it's not because I'm a good Christian--or even a Christian, for that matter.  I'm in church one Sunday a month because Jacqueline & Joe like to go to church, and they're with me one Sunday morning per month.  It has to do with propriety . . . and hypocrisy.  That angel and the scroll, you know?  Why can't people at least try to be what they proclaim themselves to be?  Is hypocrisy so deeply ingrained into our 21st century being that it now passes completely unnoticed?  

I imagined myself as the officiating priest and what I would have to say to the women . . . and it wasn't just the young ones, unfortunately . . . who were contextually inappropriate in their fashion choices.  

(Which immediately made me remember ex-wife number one describing me as "like an Old Testament prophet."  (I don't think it was meant as a compliment, but I took it as such and it still makes me happy to think on this thought.))  Of course I would have made reference to the Whore of Babylon.  Maybe a few Old Testament-y whores as well.

But that's just me, I guess.  And the cognitive dissonance generated in my skull is not going to interfere one whit with my appreciation of the exposed or highlighted tits, legs, or assesnext time I'm in church.  It just makes me wonder about the world.  (Not in a good way.)

gratuitouS seX

"There is no such thing as gratuitous sex. Gratuitous violence, yes....  Sex cannot and will not ever be gratuitous."

Detective John Munch (played by Richard Belzer)       

in 

Homicide Season 3, Episode 1, 

"Nearer My God to Thee" 

(written by Jorge Zamacona)