The Perfect Analogy

Baseball.

You can compare it to anything, and it makes perfect sense.
It can be life, love, or war simultaneously - or it can just be the perfect, pure game you played as a young'en that your daddy taught you to adore.

Today, we shall examine the classic Running-the-Bases as levels of intimacy. Debate exists over what each base actually represents (with 1st generally being a kiss):

1ST base is kissing.
2ND base is heavy petting (although with my version a double includes getting thrown out by the catcher via backslap for putting a hand near my midsection)
3RD base spreads just as much disease as...
Home Run - no explanation necessary. It's such a big deal it's only intended for married people, and if you ask me, NOTHING is worth that crap!!!!

I've even heard a different NUMBER of bases -

At work one day (when I was employed by The White Devil), Meegs (my favorite teammate from when I was privileged to play with the Raleigh Venom) and I were discussing this subject related to gayness. I said something along the lines of lesbians only having three bases, she said "Nuh uh man, we have like, twelve." It was funny of course, only because I'd been exposed to the complexity of seeing emotional involvement between my teammates (I love you, I hate you, we're friends with benefits, we're best friends, etc., within a month of meeting...)

(Just to interject, I'm watching Rachael Ray (yes, Rachael Ray) because I usually do and was sick and tired of hearing about freaking Paul Pierce, and as luck would have it, she's having a baseball-theme episode! Of course including hot dogs and slaw. It's a sign - wow I'm actually starting to like her a lot more hearing her rave about my favorite sport using the same points I do)

I'm really into chastity, okay? Sue me. Not that I don't feel like not every once in a while, but 11 months out of 12, the rare thought of intercourse is shrouded in those tempting fantasies about getting married, and if you know me at all you know I equate marriage with a form of death (not the ultimate, damning death of raising children). Ergo, I am extremely conservative. I've never been a joiner.

So, my RTB analogy goes like this:

First Base = An intelligent, flirty conversation rife with eye contact.
Second Base = Holding Hands
Third Base = To quote Crash Davis, "long, slow, deep, soft wet kisses that last three days."
Home Run = I dunno. Not sex. That's like MLB on steroids. (notice my clever simile? just proves my point). Probably, since I'm a "grown-up" now, I'd have to say the birth of a real relationship.

Therefore, I am a virgin!

If's, And's, and Man-I-Wish-I-Was-That-Good's

If Momma hadn't grown up in an ultra-conservative household where she was told that landscape architecture was "a good avocation, but not a good occupation" for a woman, she wouldn't have gone into the traditionally female field of nursing. If my mom hadn’t been working as a nurse at the hospital in Clermont and taking care of a friend of my dad’s who'd been in a car wreck, they wouldn’t have gotten together. If they hadn’t gotten married, I wouldn’t have the hella-cool last name of “Slaughter”. If I hadn’t been born a Slaughter, chances are I wouldn’t have been brought up as a die-hard Gator. If I hadn’t been born a Gator, it wouldn’t have been my life’s goal to attend UF. If I hadn’t attended UF, I wouldn’t have expanded my mind with highly stimulating courses like Anatomy. If I hadn’t taken Anatomy my sophomore year, I never would’ve heard about the women’s rugby team at UF. If I hadn’t played rugby for UF, I wouldn’t have gone to the 2000 Mardi Gras tournament in New Orleans. If our coach hadn’t dropped the ball and had actually officially signed us up to play at the tournament, I never would’ve picked up with the North Carolina girls. If I’d never met the UNC rugby girls, I never would’ve lived in Chapel Hill. If it weren’t for living in Chapel Hill, I never would’ve heard of “Love, Actually”. If I hadn’t bought the “Love, Actually” DVD for my sister and watched the bonus interview with the director, I wouldn’t have noticed “Both Sides Now” being played during the scene where Emma Thompson realizes her husband has been having a mental affair with his secretary. If I’d never discovered “Both Sides Now”, I probably wouldn’t have been as humbled as a songwriter as I was when I found out Joni Mitchell wrote this song when she was 21 years old!

Twenty-one just happens to be the age when I really started crunching out songs, but they sure as heck weren’t as insightful and universal as this one:

Joni Mitchell

Both Sides Now


Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way
But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
Its cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way
But now its just another show
You leave ‘em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away

I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
Its loves illusions I recall
I really don’t know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say I love you right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I’ve looked at life that way
But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed
Well something’s lost, but something’s gained
In living every day

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
Its life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all
I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
Its life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all


Holy crap. Should every up-and-coming female singer-songwriter measure herself against this standard? Yes. Is it fair? Yes. Because there’s already too much overly-specific garbage out there about getting hurt by some guy or unrequited love or some other such BS. And yes, those are the kinds of songs I wrote when I was 21. But if you settle for creating trite junk just to make yourself feel better, don't expect to ever be considered great. I just wasn’t as smart or as talented as Joni Mitchell! Why God, why!??!!??? Well, because there can only be, like, ten in a million great singer-songwriters every generation. We can all get better the more we do anything, but some of us have a little bit extra, kind of like an athlete who has an extra gear no one else seems to have. That isn't to say that there aren't people (e.g. friends and family) who will appreciate or even enjoy your pain-driven musical memoirs, in the same way that even a mediocre athlete has fans rooting him on. But if you're gonna do anything, why settle for being just okay?

What makes a great song? First of all, the melody. It has to be catchy and stick in the listener's head. The lyrics have to be poignant and relevant in at least some small way to anyone who hears it.

Have I written any great songs? I can name one, called "Optimism". However, it is instrumental. It's the purest thing to ever come out of me; I wrote it for this kid I thought I was in love with in college (maybe I was, who knows?). I still get this soaring sentiment whenever I play it. So no lyrics - it was never intended to have lyrics because what I felt couldn't be articulated and to attempt to do that would only water it down.

But I digress. If I'd never played rugby, I never would've met the Men of My Life (a song title from my first record, Several Realizations Ago) who inspired my preferred art form. If I'd never gotten into writing songs, I'd probably be in a mental institution.

What does all this mean? I have no freaking idea.

Singing on the Bike

This is the best. My favorite is singing "Comfortable" while riding in the rain. It just sort of fits. Lately I've been belting Fiona Apple. It makes for good endurance training because singing in her style of vocal acrobatics is pretty challenging during aerobic exercise.

Singing while riding a bicycle just adds to the "Gosh I feel six-years-old again!" feeling you get as you glide along with the wind in your hair. I highly recommend this activity.

He's Just Not That Into You

Have there ever been more liberating words uttered? One of the best Miranda story lines on Sex and the City was when she met Carrie and Berger for dinner and was stressing about some guy who hadn't called and asked Berger's advice. He said, "Maybe he's just not that into you." She loved it! She went around for the rest of the episode at ease and somewhat smug with her newfound information. Out on the streets of the city she couldn't help but overhear a conversation in which a girl was whining that a guy hadn't called, and Miranda went up to her and said, "Hey, maybe he's just not that into you." She walked off smiling, as if she'd passed on the secret to life, and the woman was confounded and blurted out, "Bitch!" Haha, sometimes the truth hurts.

I'd heard there was a little book about this a few years ago, and I'm not sure which came first, but either way - it's BRILLIANT! How much time can women save now, armed with this idea? Mixed signals? No phone calls? Looking over your shoulder at other girls when you're talking? (okay I can forgive this one because I can't help but notice if some tall drink of water enters the room) You have to consider how much more time you want to spend obsessing about someone who may not like you as much as you like him. To me, that's the ultimate anathema, and if it's the case, it's my goal to run as far away from that as possible. I love Garth's recommendation to Stacy on Wayne's World - "Get over it, go out with somebody else." In my experience, nothing helps getting over the last one like the next one. You can't think your way into right acting, but you can act your way into right thinking.

So freaking get over him already. He's over you (or was probably never even under you) and isn't wasting any brainwaves on it anymore (if he ever was), so move on. He's just not that into you! Maybe take solace in the fact that there's a number of dudes who are into you that you just aren't into. Poetic (though unfair) justice. Is unfair justice an oxymoron? Whatever. Time is the most precious thing we have, and to waste it on some loser is choosing not to truly live. So freaking get over him already.

Where Black Is the Color, and None Is the Number

This song blows me away every time:

A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall
Bob Dylan
from The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan (1963)


Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son ?
And where have you been my darlin' young one ?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son ?
And what did you see, my darlin' young one ?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand takers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son ?
And what did you hear, my darlin' young one ?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin'
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin'
I heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin'
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin'
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, who did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darlin' young one ?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burnin'
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded in hatred
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

And what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son ?
And what'll you do now my darlin' young one ?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I'll tell and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin'
But I'll know my songs well before I start singin'
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Two Loves

I always thought this was crap, something guys say to justify being dirty, cheating kids born to parents who aren't married. But looking back on my own experience, it could be true: the concept of being in love with more than one person at the same time.

It's apparently a trait of either Geminis or Aquariuses. However, I am a Scorpio, which supposedly means I'm a power-hungry sex addict and a fiercely loyal friend. Um yeah, I've been celibate for six years. I do dig power, but not as much as I used to. As for loyalty, I would gladly take a bullet for any one of my friends. You'd think that loyalty would translate into romantic relationships...

My loyalty in that department has never been tested because I've never had a relationship last longer than 5 weeks or so. Basically I just haven't met the right dude. It doesn't take very long to figure out if it's going to work or if I can tolerate that person at all, so I just nip it in the bud and move on. That way, no one wastes any more time than necessary. Time is the most precious thing we have and the most horrible thing to waste, in my opinion.

But I have to wonder - if I were in a committed relationship, would I be a cheater? Gosh I hope not, and I could certainly control my actions, but controlling my thoughts and roaming eyes is another thing entirely. Ugh, I'm such a guy. A total pig, actually.

I've been told that if you're truly in love with someone, attraction to another person isn't possible, that it doesn't even occur to you. Hmmm. This time last year, I thought I was madly in love with this kid (I think I was really just madly in love with the idea of him), but was still able to get the vomiting-butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling about someone else on whom I'd had a 3-4 year crush. I felt really strongly about both of them. I'd go around just torn up over one of them, and then see the other and melt like butter in the microwave.

I think I could be faithful though. If I like someone enough to overcome my overwhelming fear of commitment and can live with being associated with them (as opposed to being defined by them), it's possible. That just hasn't happened yet. "You just need to find the right person." I guess that's more comforting than, "When you stop looking you'll find someone." Listen here, old lady (because that's who ALWAYS regurgitates that stupid staying every single time) I've been actively not looking for quite some time now, and nary a decent suitor has come along.

Maybe I just like the idea of variety. If only I were from a polygamist, matriarchal African tribe where it's perfectly acceptable to have multiple husbands! I do see why God's plan involves monogamy (sigh), but it just seems so stinking boring! Am I a (gasp!) slut? Eh, I think my celibacy disqualifies me from that label. My opinion would probably be more acceptable from a man, but whatever. By the grace of God, I am what I am. Maybe He stitched me together to have the ability to "love" more than one man at the same time, and there's nothing wrong with it.

There's an old song from the 60's, sung by Mary Wells, called "Two Lovers":
"Well, I've got two lovers and I ain't ashamed/Two lovers, and I love them both the same" - it's pretty catchy!

I wrote a song last year, called "Split My Time", about being in love with two bluegrass musicians who live in different states:
"There is a banjo player in North Carolin', and a fiddle player down in Alabam'/I love them both in ways my heart just can't define/So I split my time between Raleigh and Birmingham". I thought it'd be SO COOL for them to have a play off for my heart, and go back and forth trying to out-do each other on their respective instruments. Uggghhhh. It's every Southern musician girl's fantasy!

So maybe it's not so wrong. Within the confines (and by that I mean confining - okay okay I'm immature and inexperienced) of marriage, it's one man and one woman (or whatever) who are faithful to each other no matter what and if I ever take the plunge I will absolutely, whole-heartedly honor that. But dang man! I'm still in my salad days and love being single so my eyes will be a'roamin'. I try to keep my hands to myself but sometimes that doesn't work out, but whatever. BUT! I am confident that if I settle down here any time soon, I am fully capable of being faithful and true and giving that person 100% of my attention. Yes, really. Anything is possible.

An Ode to the Psycho Hose Beast

I love Fiona Apple. And I don't mean to say that she's THE Psycho Hose Beast. But I've been listening to her on my pandora.com station chosen in her name, and it makes me appreciate that embarrassing trait that comes out in all of us carrying two X chromosomes in the most inconvenient of times. The Psycho Hose Beast in all of us (girls). "Please forgive me for my distance/Pain is evident in my existence/Please forgive me for my distance/Shame is manifest in my resistance To Your Love..." "Hunger hurts but I want him so bad/oh it kills/Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up/I got to fold cause these hands are too shaky to hold/Hunger hurts but starving works when it costs too much to love" "Fast as you can baby scratch me out free yourself fast as you can" "Now you have it tell me baby, what's the word?/Am I your gal or should I get out of town?/I just need to be reassured/Do you just deal it out or can you deal with all that I lay down?"

Okay MAYBE I know these songs a little too well. I actually played them and played them and played them and mysteriously both my Tidal and When the Pawn albums disappeared at the same time - I'm guessing God was taking matters in his own hand to get me to stop listening to them! She writes her songs beginning with the assumption that it's a known and accepted fact that she's crazy. More specifically, crazy when it comes to dealing with men. Most of us don't really possess that awareness (until after the deed is done and regret piles up), much less possess the ability to write about it with badass piano accompaniment and clever melodies!

But awareness is not enough! Even if you say, "I'm not gonna screw it up this time! I'm gonna be cool, like The Fonz!" you can't control yourself, really. It's like a crackhead acknowledging his addiction. It doesn't change the behavior. It's like Corey on Say Anything, who writes 68 songs about that douchebag Joe who took her virginity and then dumped her for some zero-personality blonde named Mimi. Oh yeah, and attempted suicide and then was interviewed about it on "Wake Up Seattle". She probably wasn't aware before it all went down that he'd screw her over or that she'd react so strongly (all the blood in her brain went to the emotional centers instead of the ones responsible for logic - love, ugh), but she was quite open after the fact about how she felt and this was probably perceived as Psycho Hose Beast behavior.

For some girls, this is a way of life. Drama addicts. I pity da po' fool who falls for this one. At least life is never boring for the dudes who can't stay away. For most of us though, this behavior is only (in my experience) going to happen when you're involved (or fixin to be) with an alpha male, with whom you really really don't want to screw it up with. Oh the irony! It's hilarious though. I look back on all the stupid things I've said and done to someone I really like and it's much more entertaining than TV.

But I stand by it. I prefer honesty. I used to be so good at playing the game, but I'm way more proud of the times I let myself be vulnerable (because that's significantly harder than screwing over guys for sport), even when it means I'm never viewed by that fellow through the same eyes. I tell myself I'm just too much woman for them. Ha. Ha. Ha.

I've made the blanket statement, "All beautiful women have a touch of crazy in them." This can be supported from a number of angles: 1) beautiful women are treated differently and get away with more crap - crazy crap - which wouldn't be tolerated by men if they weren't beautiful so the nutty behavior is reinforced over time, 2) It's beautiful to display raw emotion, because our hard wiring which allows that is a huge part of what separates us from men, and we are the "fairer sex", after all. 3) I've been told that I am beautiful (my mom has to tell me that) and I've observed this nuttiness in myself 2-3 times in my life. 4) Bob Dylan said (in "It's Not Dark Yet, But It's Getting There") that "behind every beautiful thing/there's been some kind of pain" - and we all know if he said it it's true.

It's not all bad though. Unpleasant, yes. Humiliating, yes. Destructive, irrational and scary, yes. But it's a small part of what makes a female a female. Santiago, in Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea, observes that people refer to the sea as a woman when they love her. When they view her as a enemy and rival, though, they refer to her as a man. Santiago "always thought of her as feminine and as something that gave or withheld great favors, and if she did wild or wicked things it was because she could not help them", being affected by the tides and all. Maybe it's odd that I'd quote a "chauvinist" author, but I love him too. He's probably the kind of man I'd be "nuts" about. "I'm crazy about him".

Baseball

It's April, so that means baseball season has begun! I had the greatest of Sunday afternoons yesterday, because it involved a nap on my couch with baseball going on the TV. Aaahhhhhhh. :)

Baseball is unlike any other sport because...

It's not a bench, it's a dugout
He's not the coach, he's the manager (or skipper)
It's not overtime, it's extra innings
It's not out-of-bounds, it's foul territory
He's not a referee, he's an umpire

Failure is an accepted part of the game - no other sport would consider 30% successful!
Every pitch holds the possibility that something could happen that no one has ever seen before.
Pitching well is way cooler than hitting well.
Greg Maddux is my favorite player - I'm soooo going to Cooperstown for his Hall of Fame induction ceremony. I miss his glasses.
BASEBALL IS NOT BORING! If you think so, you just don't get it.