normal

I have lapsed back into video games this week. First it was the original Halo. I played through on "Legendary" as far as I could get. Then went out to rent Halo 2 but came home with Castlevania instead. I seem to remember a whip and cave bats from the original Castlevania for the 8-bit, but not much more than that. The new one has neither whips nor bats but is fairly entertaining.

I also rented "You, Me, and Everyone We Know". I am currently half way through. It feels like a very honest story. I like that, even if moments of it are slightly disturbing (maybe unsettling would be a more accurate description).

I am leaving Grinnell in 16 days.

I am getting married in 39.

Today I had pizza and milk for breakfast. My life will never be the same.

dreams are almost constant these days

I have been seeing the future since I was eleven. It is not as scary as you might think. I first noticed it with my brother; he was nine at the time. Coming out of a bowling alley with him and my dad I saw him lose his footing on some gravel and could hear one of his ankle bones break, then he was sitting on a medical table with a cast up to his knee, and then playing soccer for the high school team six years later. Back at the bowling alley he yelled out “shotgun” and sprinted for the van, I chased after him catching up just as he slipped rounding the corner of the van. I could hear the bone snap.

Ever since that moment I have never been anxious of anything.

The first time I saw someone’s death before it happened it didn’t seem any different than knowing my dad was going to come in the front door, instead of the back, when he got home from work today. By this point I had realized that everything was exactly as it should be; that everything that happens was meant to happen.

I have seen hundreds of thousands of moments in people’s lives since I was eleven. Some of them were done in love, others in hate, but for the most part they were just done.

Three days ago I was waiting to cross Third St. where it intersects Main and I took note of the man next to me. I saw him crossing Third Street, kissing his wife as he entered his house, and eating dinner with his family. The food smelled wonderful. The light turned green and I stepped out to cross. I glanced right, but the man was gone.

Turning around I saw the man walking back the other direction. I still saw him, I saw his wife, and I saw him eating dinner, but now I saw him crossing Park Street, instead of Third, to get over to Summer. They had never changed before. In fourteen years they had never changed.

I have never been so scared in my entire life. I have not moved a muscle in my body since. It has been three days.

mother . . . this is a . . .

Closing the theatre tonight I walked across the street laden with four plates of food, thanks to the Kesslers who work for me at the theatre (this surprise made what had turned out to be a very decent Thanksgiving into a good one). I was exhausted. Between Wednesday and today I had worked a total of 26 hours and was looking at another 16 the next day. Realizing I had left my car parked on the street, and wanting to avoid a parking ticket, I set the food down on the countertop, turned the heat up 10 degrees to 65, and left to move my car. Pulling up out back I locked my car and approached the back door patting my pockets for the keys. Hmmmm. Not in my pant or coat pockets. I know I had them because I used them to get in the front door with the food. . . . Nope, definitely left them in the house, must have set them down on the counter with the food.




Not even trying the back door I walked around the block (yes it is still under 20 degrees and very windy) based on the sole fact that I do not remember hearing the door click shut behind me (and with the blanket tucked under the door to stop drafts it does happen on occasion). Reaching the front door I grasp the handle and pull firmly. Nothing. I repeat this pull approximately 11 time rapidly, each time a little harder with a growing growl deep in my throat. After essentially pulling off the front door handle (I’ll have Fred take it out of my deposit), I trudged back around the block to the back door. What had been an insignificant chance that I had not locked the back door was now all I had. Only gave the back door two hard tugs as it moved even less. I pause to consider my options:

Calling Fred to open the door for me
Sleeping in my car
Sleeping in the theatre
Sleeping on a friends couch
Never sleeping or being warm again in my entire life

Considering the fact that it was currently 1:03 AM, approximately 20 degrees and dropping, and that the Kesslers were still cleaning the theatre and I didn’t feel like explaining to them that their now “demon” food had gotten me to lock my keys inside my now warm house, I skipped to option 4.

Having no luck at Evan and Cassandra’s apartment I proceeded to check the only open bar downtown to see if I could find Adam. I attracted a number of strange stares but considering the fact that I was still in my shirt and tie and fuming about the fact that my heat was to be enjoyed by no one that night, and that I would still have to pay for it, I can understand why. Not finding him there I headed back down the block toward my apartment.

At this point my mind lapses back into figuring out how to get into my apartment. This was the highest I had turned the heat all winter and after exhausting my other immediate options I wanted to get back in. With the front and back doors out of commission that only leaves the elevator and the elevator shaft. The elevator could only be reached by Jimbo, who owns and operates the bar in the basement of my building, and as he was closed for Thanksgiving and also did not have a phone that I knew of, that option was also out leaving me with the elevator shaft on the roof of my building.

I started by stacking two pallets up against the side of the building two down from mine. Using them as a ladder I was able to grab the edge of the roof and pull myself up. One floor down and one to go. The attached building between this one and mine was about 8 feet up at the lowest point. Jumping up I grabbed the roofline and attempted to pull myself up again, but to no avail. At this point I silently cursed the third plate of food that I filled for Thanksgiving dinner. I jumped up again and while I had even less strength to lift I noticed an electric box off to my right that gave my legs just enough leverage to lift myself up. The 5 foot difference between this building and my own was a piece of cake and I approached the elevator shaft.

I had been on the roof a number of times before but this would be different. The doors between my apartment and the elevator shaft are the kind that lift up as the elevator rises, three long wooden panels. Typically I would lift the top two panels and prop them up with a scrap piece of metal. With those two panels taken care of I would step on the bottom one making it easier to climb onto the ladder which was mounted to the elevator shaft wall. Without this bottom panel (approx. 20 inches high) it was nearly impossible to scale the ladder as the first ladder rung was level with my upper chest. So here I am at the top, with the elevator inconveniently yet predictably stored at the main level, and the doors to my upper floor heavily closed.

As I leaned over the black abyss I could feel the heat rising from my apartment and my second wind rushed in. With my flashlight between my teeth I grabbed the ladder and swung out over the shaft. Don’t worry Matt it is only a mere 30 feet to the bottom of the elevator shaft, high chance of severe injury but very low chance of death.



I climbed down to the last rung and looked over at the door. As it seemed I needed to be even lower to reach the top section of the door I bent down and wrapped my right arm around the second to last rung and slowly lowered my dangling legs toward the door. My left foot easily reached the top section of the door but was not long enough to reach the middle one. This was not a huge disappointment as I had already decided that I would not be strong enough to get both of the panels up. I settled on the top one and hooked my toe under the edge. I was able to lift it approximately 5 inches before it slipped off my toe but I was not fast enough to get my entire foot between it and the board below it. After two more tries I got my foot in, lift it with my ankle just far enough to get my calf in and repeat the process for my thigh and hip. Resting some of my weight on the elevator door, I used my left arm to push up the top board. Deciding that I had enough space I pushed off of the ladder with my right arm and tucked and rolled through the opening. Crashing to the floor the top panel dropped shut behind me to make a picture perfect Indiana Jones escape.

Of course at this point I am sweating and so I proceed to turn the heat back down to 55 and head to bed. But not before polishing off one of the four plates of food that the Kesslers sent me home with.

working thanksgiving

For most the day it did not feel like Thanksgiving. It may have been the absence of family but I think it may have been a little more allusive than that. I came to work early and treated the crowds with papcorn and holiday movies. They were fairly large crowds. It was clear that many of them were from out of town. In part because of the surprise at the $4 matinee tickets (as opposed to $12) but more directly because I heard at least 3 foreign languages (some kind of Arabic, Russian, and even some French), I guess with the diverse faculty that they have at Grinnell College comes even more diverse relatives.

After the 4 o’clock shows began, I bundled up and trudged across town (trudged is a slight exaggeration as we did not have any snow, but it was 20 degrees and very windy so I feel like it is justified). Two blocks away lives a nice man Kamal and his family. Kamal runs the best restaurant in town called the Phoenix and used to be my neighbor. I happened to run into him a week back and he had invited me over for some food, telling me they would be at the restaurant at not at their home, and that I should be there.

Entering the restaurant there was no one in sight but it did smell wonderful. As I came through the door they came into view carrying a tray of wine glasses (one kind for white wines and one kind for red) and a tub of ice holding the white wines, deep in a hearty conversation. They paused just long enough to pull me into the house (the restaurant is in a converted house) with a warm “come in. come in.” I fielded a few questions about where Brielle was and what my family what up to this Thanksgiving (it was ever so nice to have someone other than myself miss the presence of my fiancé) before they disappeared back into the kitchen. Just then a random uncle appeared and sat at the piano playing random tunes (he reminded me of a skinny Tom Waits who had never smoked). As I wandered in circles through the empty dining area I realized that this was not the intimate family affair that I had imagined. I counted 42 place settings.

I wandered into the kitchen in time to see Kamal and his brother cutting the turkey., well three turkeys to be specific, and setting out huge containers of beats, mashed potatoes, stuffing, steamed vegetables, and some kind of confetti colored cranberry dish. Snapping out of my food induced trance I noticed a small stream of people flowing through the front door carrying countless pies and whipped topping in a metal mixing bowl.

With conversation swilling all around me I began to feel out of place. It was nice to see their family interacting but this was not my family and these were not my conversations. Two aunts near my right were exchanging stories about their children and their respective grade schools both talking as though their children were not silently standing half behind each leg, I listened intently and not seeing a comfortable moment to join the conversation (for although I was wearing a shirt and tie at the time, I have cleaned up my share of baby vomit and dirty diapers) I turned around for my tenth trip around the empty dining area. For a moment I conceded that this was the most it would feel like Thanksgiving today and headed for my coat. It was the food that stopped me just short of the front door. Since this was technically my dinner break I decided that I should at least stay long enough to get a bite to eat.

Trying not to trip over the small children running around I filled my plate to the edges and sat down at the first big table. It only took about two minutes for me to realize that I had inadvertently picked the kids table. I racked my brain for good starter questions but only came up with the usual “Where are you from? How long are you staying? So you are all cousins or what?” Yeah, terrible I know. After the third awkward silence I began plotting my escape. For some reason I was sure they were having more fun at the table full of the crazy aunts or the one where the piano playing uncle had just sat down after finishing a rough but pleasant version of piano man. With most of my food left and a full glass of wine I was nowhere near a natural reason. As I put the final mental touches on my excuse to switch tables (which happened to include aliens and a tragic simultaneous third and four world wars if I were to stay at this table) I was unexpectedly saved from the awkwardness. At exactly the same moment, as if they silently agreed they had been hard enough on me, a conversation broke out on both sides of me one about the game of Risk going on upstairs and the other about the new Harry Potter movie. Feeling at home in the two conversations I participated equally in both and before long was laughing and debating musical tastes and general world domination with a huge smile on my face.

After going back for thirds and eating my share of the pies I headed back to the theatre, having already stayed a little longer than I should have. Carrying a box full of extra food for my employees back through the cold I smiled, although I was missing my family and my love, it was the kids and the laughing that really made it feel like Thanksgiving, and the food, which was amazing, quickly became a sideline bonus.

macho sucks

Alright Jack I got another one (i.e. three) for you.

Last night we opened Saw II, a second in the Saw series (although for those of you that are interested, it was written by a graduate of Grinnell College that had never seen Saw. Someone bought his story, adapted it to fit the Saw story line and shazaam instant sequel. One other bit of Saw trivia for ya: the actor who plays the kidnapper in the first Saw is from Grinnell and I met his parents the other night. Apparently he also has a role in Zorro and they came out to see it). For those of you that don’t already know I dread playing “R” rated movies because most of my night is spent listening to 27 identical stories about how they accidentally dropped their id into the Grand Canyon last week and although an amazing updraft almost brought it back into their reach a pterodactyl swooped down and ate it thinking that it was a prehistoric moth. Tragic. Actually if I ever heard a decent variation of “Oh I don’t have it with me” I just might let them in based on creativity alone.

The four o’clock shows went without a hitch. We sold about 5 tickets to the movie. In fact the gap between the two shows went fairly smoothly as well, except for the story of near death which we will cover soon. So now we are sitting just before the 7 o’clock movie starts. I have heard about 9 variations of “I didn’t bring my id” and about 6 pleas about why they should be allowed an exception to the rule. I have a line of about 20 people mostly families and kids for Chicken Little and Dreamer, but a few scattered teens clearly here for Saw II. A guy walks up to the counter with two young girls, one on either side of him. I am guessing him to be around 24 and the girls to be between 15 and 17. He asks for 3 tickets and I ask for their ids. Neither one of the girls has their id but he assures me that they are both 17. I press him on it telling him that I have to see the ids or no tickets. Then he comes out with a story about how the girl on his right is his sister and he is her legal guardian and therefore she doesn’t need her id. He tells me that their parents died while back and the courts appointed him her legal guardian. While unlikely, I tell him ok but still insist on seeing the other girl’s id. She breaks into a story, but before she gets too far he holds up his hand to silence her, gives me a smug look, and says “she’s ok I’ll vouch for her.” At this point I am growing tired of them and the people behind them in line are craning their necks to see what is going on. When he realizes that that excuse still doesn’t fly, just like it didn’t when he used it 2 minutes before that, he slips his hand into his pocket and slides a bright and shiny

across the counter. Sporting an even smugger face he cocks his head a little and assures me that that would be mine if I just helped him out this once. I decided that that was enough and told him firmly that they were to leave. At this point he leans slightly over the counter and asks “who are you talking to!?” I respond, possibly a little too quickly, “I am talking to you.” In an instant his face changes and I am suddenly sure that I am going to get hit in the face. Poor Joey and Susie, in line behind him, just came for their Chicken Little tickets and they are going to be scared for life. And while I know that Joey and Adam have my back they wont be able to get here quick enough to stop the first and fatal blow. Thankfully, instead of pulling a John Cossack from High Fidelity, he simply turns and leaves with his underage floosies in tow. They stew just outside the front door for a while, throwing me dirty looks, but end up leaving without giving me any more trouble.

bowling for q tips

Now cut to the beginning of the 9 o’clock shows, chalk up 10 more ‘forgotten’ ids and 2 more requests for personal favors that would allow them to get into the movie underage. I catch some movement out of the corner of my eye and turn my head just in time to catch two kids disappearing into Saw II, the same two kids that I had just refused tickets to because the guy’s girlfriend was only 16. My concession guy attempted some half hearted “Can I. . . need to. . . ticket” but they were unaffected. So I jog across the lobby hoping to catch them before they sit down (with the movie already running I was not looking forward to a game of “who’s who” in the dark). As I am almost to the door a little girl comes sprinting around the corner right into my path. With my cat like reflexes I dodge to the left just missing her, but while dodging I managed to bump an adult coming out of Dreamer. Having already used up my reflexes to avoid the first collision I turned to catch myself as I fell. While falling I turned just enough to watch a sixty year old woman

stumble and fall over backwards; the woman that I had bumped while trying to avoid the little girl. I jumped up and helped her back to her feet, feeling much more like a shmuck than I ever have in my life. She was fine. I apologized and mumbled something about trying to keep the younger kids out of Saw II. She apologized for “getting in my way.” I assured her that she had done nothing of the sort and that it was completely my fault. Meanwhile the two underage kids peaked back out and, seeing that they were caught, proceeded to stand there and smirk. Her husband walked her out and, while he looked really pissed, didn’t say a word to me (her husband happens to be one of the primary investors in the theatre). I then gave a weak attempt at kicking the two kids out of the theatre but instead sent them back into Chicken Little.

Before last night I would be hard pressed to recount any embarrassing moment, but not so much anymore.

clots anyone?

And the one that takes the cake (warning not for the faint of heart; seriously). Shortly after the 4 o’clock shows started (before both of the previous anecdotes) two girls came in to buy tickets for the 7 o’clock Saw II. They give me the usual banter, pretending to be offended that I don’t think they look old enough. According to their ids they are both 17 so I sell them their tickets and they leave. Thirty seconds later they come back in the door with one girl holding her hand to her face trying to stop her nose from bleeding. I hand her friend some paper towels and direct them toward the bathrooms. As they walk by I hear the girl mumbling something like “Holli I am scared… Holly I’m scared...” The friend turns to me and says she needs the phone to call an ambulance. While I silently scoff at the idea of calling an ambulance for a bloody nose, I tell her that I will call them and she should go with her friend.

The operator informs me that once they get here it will be up to her whether or not to go with them, so I comply with her request and ask that one be sent over. So, the two girls are in the bathroom along with one of my employees and I am lingering in the lobby waiting for the paramedics to show up. At this point I am feeling rather calm. You know “all in a days work.” I turn around to see my employee coming out of the bathroom. She tells me that apparently this girl had just had some kind of surgery and is not sure what is going on. While I silently wondered what kind of cosmetic surgery seventeen year old girls are having these days, I notice Holli coming out of the bathroom and walk up to the concession trash like she is preparing to vomit. My gut tells me that this is a very bad sign and that I need to see what is going on in there.

I enter the girl’s bathroom following the trail of blood across the tile, and see the last thing I would have ever imagined I’d see. She is leaning over the bathroom sink with blood covering her hands and most of the area around her mouth. Her hands are gripping the edge of the counter top and her whole body is trembling with sheer panic. The white sink and countertop are covered with blood, with splatters also on the wall and mirror. On top of that there is still a small stream coming out of her mouth.



While blood has never bothered me in the past, my gut tightened and a sharp spike appeared in my stomach. I had never seen this much blood before and I was pretty sure this had nothing to do with a bloody nose. As I got closer to her I realized that what I thought had been her tongue was actually a blood clot hanging from her mouth. In fact, the bottom of the sink was covered in them. I put my hand on her shoulder and told her to look at me. She turned her head ever so slightly and moved her eyes in my direction. Small streaks of tears ran down both sides of her face and while her eyes did not focus on me I knew that she was listening. I had no idea what I was going to say but I started talking. I told her that help was on the way and tried to assure her that while it looked gross, and probably felt even more so, that the clumps were a normal part of her body trying to stop the bleeding. I admitted that I didn’t know why she was bleeding but that is why we were getting help. As I was talking a chill went over my whole body and I suddenly felt terrible for her. I know it sounds ridiculous but next thing I knew I was telling her that I was sorry that this was happening to her. I am not sure how much she heard, or how much she will remember, but she did stop whimpering and her arms were not shaking nearly as much.

At that point I heard the sirens and came out of the bathroom to direct them in. The first one to arrive was a police officer with the paramedics right behind him. I waited just outside the bathroom as they asked her questions and brought the stretcher in. It turns out that she had had her tonsils out the week before and not some kind of cosmetic surgery. They wheeled her out as she held a plastic bag to her mouth with a trickling of blood running down the inside of the bag. I broke out some gloves and paper towels and started the clean up. It didn’t take too long.

A few hours later Holli came back in to thank us for our help and to tell us that the girl was going to be fine. Reportedly the girl had coughed or sneezed really hard and had managed to pop the stitches on both sides of her throat from her recent tonsillectomy. They scheduled her for an ‘emergency’ surgery that night and got her all fixed up.

Well, all in a days work I guess. But many more days like that and I am going to need a significant pay raise.

Bela Fleck & Edgar Meyer

Tonight I saw the best live show I have ever seen. Bela Fleck is an amazing Banjo player and Edgar Meyer played the upright bass and piano. The music was incredible. To see it happen live . . . well it just was.

Meyer plucked and bowed as quickly on his bass as I have only seen a violin or viola played. In fact at times it sounded like a violin.

Near the end of ths show Fleck pulled out a very impressive steel guitar. Not the best track of the night but unique as all the rest.

I guess I can't really say enough about it and at the same time feel like I am saying nothing. All I know is that I felt it. It made me happy, I was focused and then drifting, at times I had tears in my eyes. After each song a nearly deafening roar would start up behind me. The College chapel was packed to the edges and I sat on the floor dead center in the very front. I wish you all could have been there with me.